- SOURCES OF EFFECTIVENESS IN PUBLIC SPEAKING PSYCHOLOGICAL PRINCIPLES PRACTICALLY USED IN DEVELOPING ABILITY TO SPEAK BY C. EDMUND NEIL Professor of Public Speaking in Boston University and Newton Theological Institution. Formerly Professor of Public Speaking in West Virginia State University. HINDS, HAYDEN & ELDREDGE, Inc. PHILADELPHIA NEW YORK CHICAGO Copyright, 1920 HINDS, HAYDEN & ELDREDGE, Inc. (State TABLE OF CONTENTS INTRODUCTION I. THE NEW AGE AND THE NEW STYLE OF SPEAKING; THEIR CHARACTERISTICS AND THEIR DEMANDS. PAGE 1. Present-day speaking more simple and direct ... 2 2. Present-day speaking built out of the daily lives of the people ..... .... 2 3. More speeches and more kinds of speeches called for to- day . . 2-3 4. The preparation is not fully meeting the demand . . 4 5. The kind of preparation essential to effective speaking . 5-7 CHAPTER I THE NATURE OF PUBLIC SPEAKING ... 8 I. THE ESSENTIAL CHARACTERISTICS OF TRUE PUBLIC SPEAKING 8-10 II. FALSE IDEAS OF SPEAKING: . n 1. That it is entirely different from conversation . . . 11-14 2. That it is nothing more than ordinary conversation . 14-15 III. DIFFERENT VIEWS OF PUBLIC SPEAKING HELD BY DIFFERENT TEACHERS: 16 1. The view that speech-manner alone is of real conse- quence 16-17 2. The view that speech-matter alone is of real conse- quence . 17 IV. THE LOGICAL RESULTS OF THESE VIEWS 18 V. THE CAUSE OF THE FALSE IDEAS OF SPEAKING: 1. The effect of ignoring Nature's law of compensation . 18-19 2. The relation of this law to art, especially to the art of speech 19 3. What speech lost through failing to employ the science of psychology 19-22 v VI TABLE OF CONTENTS a. Nature's way was slighted; &. An artificial way, substituted 22 VI. How THE IDEAS OF SPEAKING ARE BEING TRANSFORMED: 1. The laws of effectiveness in speaking 23-26 2. The results of applying these laws 24-26 VII. FIRST PRACTICE IN SPEAKING 26 CHAPTER II SENSATION AND IMAGINATION .... 28 I. THE FUNDAMENTAL FUNCTIONS OF THE MIND IN SPEAK- ING 28 1. Definition of Sensation 28 2. Relation of Sensation to Imagination 29 3. Definition of Imagination 29 4. The Purpose of Sensation and Imagination . . . 29-31 II. WHY STUDY SENSATION AND IMAGINATION TO PREPARE FOR SPEAKING 31-34 1. Five reasons for studying Sensation 31-32 2. Three reasons for studying Imagination .... 32-34 III. THE VALUE OF IMAGINATION IN PRACTICAL LIFE . . . 34-37 IV. IMAGINATION AND FANCY CONTRASTED 37 V. THE SENSES 39 VI. How PERSONS DIFFER IN SENSATION AND IMAGINATION . 43 VII. THE VALUE OF COMBINING THE SENSES IN SPEAKING . . 45 VIII. SECOND PRACTICE IN SPEAKING 47 CHAPTER III THE DEVELOPMENT OF SENSATION AND IMAGINATION 49 . . i I. THE LABORATORY METHOD TO BE USED IN THIS DE- VELOPMENT 50 II. THE NECESSITY FOR DEVELOPING SENSATION AND IMAG- INATION TOGETHER . 51 III. DEVELOPMENT OF THE SENSE OF MOTION: 51 i. Reasons for beginning with this sense 51 IV. EXPERIMENTS TO DEVELOP THE SENSE OF MOTION: . . 52 1. Receiving actual sensations of motion while speaking 52 2. Reproducing these sensations in imagination while speaking 53 TABLE OF CONTENTS Vll PAGE 3. Imagining another person to receive these same sensations 54 4. Application of these experiments to Productive Imagination , 54-56 5. Additional experiments in the Sense of Motion . . 56 V. DEVELOPMENT OF THE SENSE OF TOUCH: i. Reasons for developing Touch next after Motion . . 57 VI. EXPERIMENTS TO DEVELOP THE SENSE OF TOUCH: . . . i. Touching material objects; 2. Imagining these same contacts; 3. Imagining another person experienc- ing them; 4. Application of work done in i, 2, and 3, to practical, constructive speaking . . . 59-63 VII. THE VALUE OF DESCRIPTION TO THE SPEAKER .... 64 VIII. THE MOST EFFECTIVE MENTAL ATTITUDE IN DESCRIP- TION 66 IX. DEVELOPMENT OF THE SENSE OF SOUND: i. Reasons for developing Sound next after Touch . . 67 X. EXPERIMENTS TO DEVELOP THE SENSE OF SOUND . . . 68-71 )t XI. DEVELOPMENT OF THE SENSE OF SIGHT: i. Advantages of developing Sight next after Sound . . 72 XII. EXPERIMENTS TO DEVELOP THE SENSE OF SIGHT . . . 74-77 , ,: XIII. THE OTHER SENSES 77 CHAPTER IV CONCEPTION 78 I. DEFINITION OF CONCEPTION 78 II. A PRIMAL CAUSE OF EFFECTIVE SPEAKING 79-82 III. THE BASIS FOR CONCEPTION 83 IV. NEW CONCEPTIONS ESSENTIAL TO GROWTH 84 V. THE SOURCES OF NEW CONCEPTIONS 86-91 VI. PRACTICAL SPEAKING ON CONCEPTION 92 CHAPTER V DEVELOPMENT OF CONCEPTION-BUILDING . . 93 I. THE Two GENERAL CLASSES OF CONCEPTIONS: i. Miscellaneous Conceptions; 2. Conceptions for definite speech . Vlll TABLE OF CONTENTS PAGE II. MISCELLANEOUS CONCEPTIONS: A. Forming Conceptions of Characters: 1. The value to the speaker 97 2. Good and bad conceptions formed by students of speaking 98-101 .3. Experiments in building conceptions of characters . 102-103 B. Forming conceptions of other Miscellaneous Things: i. Conceptions formed by students of speaking . . 104-108 PP- 22 4- 2 3o), Thorndike (Human Nature Club, pp. 100- 108). It may add to our understanding of this great function 36 SENSATION AND IMAGINATION of the mind, to consider why it is regarded so highly. We have found that the Imagination is given us that we may make active mental use of the many things which are neces- sarily absent from our senses. Do you realize what that means in every- day life? Do you not see that we employ the Imagination every time we think a real thought ? Every time we think, we make s<3me comparison of something which now affects one or more of our senses, with some- thing that is absent; or we compare two things both of which are absent. In either case, the Imagination is the only means we have of bringing the absent object up for comparison, so how could we think without it? And if impossible to think, how could we remember? If new knowledge, old knowledge, all knowledge, comes to us at any moment of our lives through some active use of the Imagination, need we further emphasize the importance of training this faculty? Yet one thing more should be said. Not only do we depend upon the Imagination for all that we know, but also for all that we feel. Professor Ross, of the University of Nebraska (Social Control, p. 258) gives his testimony to the fact that "the taproot of selfishness is weakness of imagination." No one can hope for large success in speak- ing until he overcomes his selfishness. The speaker must substitute sympathy for selfishness. Professor Hudson (Church and Stage, p. 68) says: "We can sympathize only with what we can picture to ourselves ; the inability to feel for another, simply means inability to grasp, by means of the imagination, the experiences through which that other is passing." When we investigate our emotions, we find that ive feel because we have experienced certain things. IMAGINATION AND FANCY CONTRASTED 37 We meet a friend we have not seen for months; a thrill of joy runs through us. Why? Simply because the Im- agination causes us to re-live former relationships with that person. We find this same law in everything that gives us pleasure or sorrow; it does so because it causes the Imagination to bring to life a former feeling. We cannot feel, we cannot sympathize, we cannot enjoy without the Imagination. Imagination and Fancy Contrasted When Imagination is found to be of so great value not only in speaking but in all of life, the question naturally arises why some persons, even some educators, regard it lightly and even condemn it. The reason is, that such persons have not learned to discriminate between Imagina- tion and Fancy. The difference between the two is about the same as the difference between real thinking and mus- ing. When one really thinks, his mind is held firmly on something until he has a clear notion of that thing; when one muses, his mind is allowed to drift from one object to another without getting any definite knowledge from any one of them. So when one really imagines, he holds an object before the mind until he feels a positive, active relationship with the thing imagined. Fancy, on the other hand, may bring before the mind only disconnected or trivial parts or characteristics of the thing fancied, without any regard for the vital relationship of these parts to the life or being of the thing to which they belong. Musing may be called dissipated thinking. Fancy may be called dissipated Imagination. 38 SENSATION AND IMAGINATION Two men of note in the world of letters, who have given much attention to the real distinction between Fancy and Imagination, are Wordsworth and Ruskin. In one of his famous prefaces Wordsworth says : * "When the Imagination frames a comparison, the resemblance depends upon the inherent and internal properties. . . . Fancy de- pends upon the rapidity and profusion with which she scat- ters her images." Ruskin, in criticising Wordsworth's four stanzas in To a Daisy, says :* "There is more Imagination in the last stanza, because it is more simple, more genuine, truer to human experience, and centers the mind's attention, as the Imagination always does, at the heart of things" From all this it appears that Fancy is Imagination minus concentration and penetration of mind. Does this not make it clear how Imagination has received a bad name that it does not deserve? Everyone knows how important it is to keep the mind strongly concentrated on any thing thought about, if any mental development is to be realized. Then, since many persons erroneously regard Imagination and Fancy as one and the same thing, and since they have observed the lack of concentration that is always present in the mind that is "fancying," we cannot wonder that these persons have made the serious mistake of condemning the Imagination. If the mind has formed the habit of fancying instead of imagining, as is very often the case in students' minds, the habit can be cured and Fancy turned into Imagination only by vigorous practice in concentration. This practice should be given through the performance of many experi- ments with the different imaginative senses. * Italics ours.. THE SENSES 39 The Senses This brings us to a consideration of the senses them- selves. It is clear^that we shall begin that work more intelligently if we first inquire what the senses are, and how many senses there are which we should undertake to educate for public speaking. What is a sense? A sense is the peculiar capability of a nerve, or set of nerves, to receive certain physical impres- sions from the outside world and transmit these impressions to the mind. When we are asked how many senses we have, most of us are accustomed to reply that we have five. Some of our best modern thinkers, however, have proved that we have more than five senses, more than five channels through which we get impressions of the world in which we live. To the familiar list of five, namely, the senses of touch, sound, sight, smell and taste, they add the sense of motion. M. Ribot, an able French writer, (Maladies de la Memoir, p. 85) says:* "We are conscious of our- selves solely because we feel our ever-present, ever-acting vitality" M. A. Binet, another French authority of note, (Psychologic du Raisonnement, p. 25) proves by his in- vestigations that "all our perceptions, and in particular the important ones, contain as integral elements the movements of our eyes and limbs." Dr. Strieker, of Vienna, (Studien ilber die Sprachvorstellungen) adds his strong testimony to the reality of the sense of motion. Professor Thorndike (Human Nature Club, p. 104) clearly shows that he recog- nizes this sense. Professor Ladd (Introduction to Philos- ophy, p. 343) declares that "nothing which seems incapable * Italics ours in excerpts in this paragraph. 4O SENSATION AND IMAGINATION of motion is beautiful to the human mind." These men and others prove in a very convincing way not only that we have a sense of motion, but also that it is one of the most important senses we have. The present writer, after long-continued investigation, declares unhesitatingly that many of the strongest and most useful sense-impressions we ever get are received through the sense of motion. In fact, in many instances all the other senses seem dependent upon this sense. That is, full impressions through the other senses often seem impossible until aided by strong action of the sense of motion. The case of Helen Keller shows, in a wonderful way, what the sense of motion can do for the other senses. Miss Keller, in her very early infancy, became blind, deaf and dumb. People thought this had robbed her of all ability to learn. Of course, she still had the senses of smell and taste; but these could give her little more than the knowledge of things with which to feed herself and keep up a mere physical existence. Touch she still had and it could tell her much of the presence and physical nature of things around her; but how was she to communicate with other minds? Her teacher knew the great power of the sense of motion. She taught her pupil the motions of the muscles in the throat by holding the child's fingers on her (Miss Sullivan's) throat while she spoke certain words. Miss Keller caught the motion, and, associating it with certain things, came to know those things. Through this sense her teacher brought her into splendid contact with our complex society, so that she graduated from Radcliffe College, and, most wonderful of all, so that she can speak her ideas in public, as many of us have heard her do. THE SENSES 4* Another noteworthy thing about the sense of motion, and the thing of greatest value to the student of speech, is that it is often the only sense that will do effective imaginative work. Within the last hour, I have had the following experience, the like of which I have often had before. As I sit here I look at a yacht a short distance from me on the bay. It is painted a beautiful, shiny white, with the stern, which is turned toward me, a pleasing, deep red in sharp contrast to the white surface. It is rocking on the waves and turning its well-shaped form this way and that in graceful fashion. All this should be exceedingly easy to imagine. I close my eyes, and for a few moments it is all very distinct. Then the colors begin to fade, to blur one into the other, then, finally, to disappear. Even the outline is no longer perfectly distinct; but the sensation of the motion of the boat is, and remains, as strong and as clear as at first. I find another notable thing. If I hold my mind quietly attentive and give myself to the sense of motion, with the sense of location keenly attentive, presently a part of the outline, then the white surface, then the red surface, and, at last, the whole picture is restored. Similar experiments have been made by many students with like results. Try to imagine a church-bell ringing this moment. The result is probably intense and disappointing silence, unless your sense of motion is already coming to your aid. But try again. This time, imagine the movement of the bell as it swings far over to one side and then to the other, and imagine the movement of the clapper as it drops with a firm bang against one side and then the other. Keep your attention firmly riveted on these motions and let your 42 SENSATION AND IMAGINATION sense of motion have full influence over you, and, unless you are a rare exception, the sound of the bell will begin to come. At any rate: The important thing is, that you did receive the sen- sation of motion, and that it Renewed and Refreshed your First-hand Knowledge of the Bell and brought you into immediate relationship with it, Though Absent, and that it did this when your other senses could not do it. The sense of motion easily proves itself one of the great- est aids the speaker can find. In the example of the yacht, given above, we referred to another sense of great value to. the speaker, which is also one omitted from the list of five senses with which we are familiar. That is the sense of location, sometimes called the sense of "locality." This sense has come to be generally recognized, though it is not so strong nor so independent in man as in some of the animals. In some animals, for example the carrier pigeon, it is stronger than any other sense; but in man it usually acts through and in connection with some other sense. For instance, we locate a thing which we see or hear or taste or touch. This fact that it depends more or less upon the other senses, however, makes the sense of location no less important to the speaker. The speaker will soon find that unless he exercises his sense of location to give him definite sense impressions of just where anything observed is (just how far from him) and just where its various sides are (giving him its size and shape) his first-hand knowledge of that thing will be very vague and indistinct. There is a law of the mind that makes it impossible for us to get a clear conception of anything to which we may turn the mind, HOW PERSONS DIFFER 43 unless the thing contemplated assume a definite location in space. For instance, we cannot speak of as simple a thing as a triangle and have anything but the vaguest conception of it until we locate a definite triangle just so far from us. Try it and be convinced. This should make clear the great value of the sense of location in speaking. The speaker who hopes to have his work effective at all times, must be ready to imagine, in the clearest possible form, everything about which he speaks. Since he can do this only when his imaginative sense of location is acting quickly and well, and since the imaginative sense will not act well unless the direct sense has been well trained, it is evident that: One of the best things a speaker can do, in his prepara- tion for speaking, is to exercise his sense of location vigorously and accurately on everything about which he thinks and everything about which he speaks. How Persons Differ in Sensation and Imagination Individuals differ very widely in their ability to receive sensations, both direct and imaginative. Careful examina- tion of large numbers of cases has proved this beyond doubt. Some get most of their sense-impressions through the sense of sight; others, through the sense of sound; others, through the sense of motion, and so on. This fact proves to be very important when we attempt to educate the imagination. In the first place, it has led many persons to believe that they have no imagination. Such persons have tested their imagination through some sense in which it was not active, and, finding no satisfactory response, have concluded that 44 SENSATION AND IMAGINATION they lack imagination. For example, many students have told the present writer that they could not see anything not present to the sense of sight. Practical tests have frequently proved that they could not. James Mill, who spent much time in studying the real uses of the various senses, tells us (Analysis, I, 97) that we derive nothing whatever from the eye acting alone but the sensations of color. Many students seem unable to close the eyes and then bring before the mind anything but blank darkness. Very few cases have been found, however, where a few days of careful work have not begun to awaken the ability to "visualize." This test proved that most of the students examined have simply not been educating or correctly using this imaginative sense of sight, and, therefore, think they do not have it. Whenever a student is found who does not seem able, through a reasonable amount of training, to bring before the mind imaginative sights of things, we have always tried to rouse the imagination of that student through some other sense than the sense of sight. We have never found a case where this could not be done. Some students who think they have no imagination because they cannot imagine either colors or sounds, can distinctly imagine the touch of absent objects. But by far the largest number of those who have lost faith in their own imagination because they have no bright "images" before the mind, can quite distinctly imagine the location or the motion of absent objects. Fur- thermore, it has practically always been found possible through these two, the senses of location and motion, to start the action of the other senses and, thereby, to bring them to real imaginative response. THE VALUE OF COMBINING THE SENSES 45 It should be kept constantly in mind that the failure of a sense to act imaginatively, is direct proof that that sense has not been receiving as strong impressions as it should receive when in direct contact with things. An imaginative sensation is only the acting of one of the senses in absentia, and is in direct proportion to the impressions which that sense receives when in direct contact with things. There- fore, to develop the imagination in any one of the senses, that sense should first be put to work on actual things. The Value of Combining the Senses The fact that individuals differ so widely as to their ability to use the imagination in a practical way, and the fact that in so many persons only one sense is found to be particularly active, raises the question whether it is necessary or even desirable to have the various senses de- veloped equally. We are apt to reason that if a person can get in touch with a thing that is absent from his senses, it matters little how he does it. If he can see an object in imagination, why should he worry because he cannot hear it? Or if he can hear it, why should he care because he cannot imagine the touch of it? That sounds well at first thought, but it is very shallow and dangerous philosophy for the speaker. In the first place, dependence upon one sense is dangerous because the knowledge we receive about anything, through the testimony of only one sense, is not very sure or strong knowledge. At least two witnesses are used, where possible, to establish a truth in the courts; and our minds are very much like the courts. When two or more senses tell us 46 SENSATION AND IMAGINATION different characteristics of a thing, we then begin to feel that we know that thing. For example, who would feel that he had any real knowledge of a certain kind of fruit if he had only seen its color? No one would claim such knowledge until he had sensed the taste and smell as well as the color and touch of that fruit. Every particle of knowledge which the speaker hopes to use in public speaking, should be as definite and as full as possible. If his knowl- edge is not definite and full, concerning anything about which he speaks, the speaker at once loses confidence in what he has to say about that thing. The result is that his message is neither clear, nor strong, nor intensely alive, all of which it must be if it is to have the desired effect on the hearers. The speaker finds even greater profit from using all his senses in their imaginative work, than in their direct work. In the first place, if the senses must work together to give us real knowledge of things which are actually present to the senses, the imaginative senses must surely work together in the same way to revive and refresh our knowledge of things which are absent from our senses. But more than this: The public speaker who hopes to do the most effective work, must be ready to describe anything that will add to the effectiveness of his speech. The situation may call for a description of something seen or something heard or the touch of something or the motion of something who can tell? Lotze declares that artistic effect "is notably bound to simultaneousness and multiplicity of expression." In other words, artistic effect, he has found, depends on the use of all the senses. Marshall SECOND PRACTICE IN SPEAKING 47 (Pain, Pleasure and Aesthetics, p. 335) says: "The artist endeavors to use, at the same time, arts of ear and of sight, and those which depict more directly the activities of men." This is far more true of the successful speech-artist than of any other, for he has but a moment in which to make each truth leave its impression on the listener. The senses should all be ready to give the service needed. It should be said in passing, that there is one and only one safe substitute for a thorough training of all the senses. If, for any reason, the speaker has found it impossible to employ all his imaginative senses when he stands before an audience, he should, at least, employ those senses which are most likely to be active in a majority of his hearers. Only so can he hope to make his message most appealing to the majority. Numerous experiments with audiences of various kinds, have disclosed the fact that the two senses which are most likely to be active in an audience, even when the other senses are not active, are the senses of motion and of location. For this reason, the public speaker and reader should at least have these two senses active, and as many others as possible. Second Practice in Speaking As at the close of the first chapter, so again here let the student put into practical speaking the knowledge he has gained in the study of this chapter. When the chapter has been thoroughly read and re-read, then make a careful outline of its divisions and subdivisions. With this outline before you, stand to your feet, imagine the class to be before you, and discuss aloud the first division. If it does 48 SENSATION AND IMAGINATION not come to you readily enough at first, to make an effective talk on it, refresh your knowledge by glancing over that part of the discussion in the book, to see where your mind was uncertain. Then discuss this division aloud again. Follow this same plan with every division until you can discuss any one of them or the entire chapter, as you may be asked to do. Apply the principles set forth in the chapter, by bringing before the class as many concrete examples as you can from your own experience, to illustrate each point, and put your imagination to work. CHAPTER III THE DEVELOPMENT OF SENSATION AND IMAGINATION WE have found that Sensation is the only means we have to bring us into such close contact with the things of life, that we shall have live, fresh, interesting things to say; and that the Imagination is the only means we have for making what we have to say as fresh and interesting when we come to say it as it was when we first found it. We have learned that Sensation and Imagination can be greatly developed, and that their development can be realized only through the education of the senses themselves. The first task before us, therefore, is to discover wherein the senses need development, and then to develop them. To speak in the language of the photographer, we must become thoroughly "sensitized." It is vitally important to keep the negative for the camera, or the film for the kodak thoroughly "sensitized" so that the slightest ray of light will make the proper impression upon it. Our subject may be a splendid view, the focus may be perfect, and the light good, yet instead of a picture we will get only the faintest blur, if the film grow "inactive." So it is when the mind is the kodak, and the senses are the film. Unless we keep the senses quick and strong through healthful use, the things we see, hear, touch, etc., will not impress us. At least the impressions we get will be too dim to show 49 50 DEVELOPMENT OF SENSATION AND IMAGINATION to others as records and treasures of the places where we have been. Outline of the Method of Development In the education of the senses, as in the development of all the elements of speech-ability: We shall follow the modern scientific method ; namely, the Laboratory Method. The student is required to make of himself a mental laboratory. Into this laboratory, he is asked to bring the materials out of which effective speaking must grow. With these materials, the intending speaker is asked to Perform Original Experiments, first putting together the simpler elements of speaking, and, later, all the materials entering into a well-rounded and Effective Speech. The tasks assigned are not experiments in the sense of being untried. Each one has been tested in practical class- work for years, and its worth to the student has been thoroughly proved. Each piece of work outlined is, how- ever, a real and original experiment for each individual student, to enable him to discover his own needs and to show him the means by which to accomplish those needs. In the experiments for the development of Sensation and Imagination, the student is first required to devote his entire attention to one sense at a time. This method brings to the student two distinct benefits, i. It is much easier for the student to begin his work, work that is entirely new to him, if he be required to pay attention to nothing but the impressions received from one sense. 2. When vigorous effort is devoted to one sense, through a number of experi- OUTLINE OF THE METHOD OF DEVELOPMENT 51 ments performed in immediate succession, the response and the development of that sense are more rapid, and the acquisition more lasting, than they can be when the atten- tion is divided among different senses. Before undertaking these experiments for the develop- ment of Sensation and Imagination, the intending speaker should understand why it is necessary to develop the senses and the imagination together. Professor Royce (Outlines of Psychology, p. 158) says: "The training of the imagina- tion cannot normally occur apart from a fitting training of the senses." He makes the reason for this clear when he says (ibid. p. 161): "All mental imagery results from former sensory experience." (See also Pyle, Outlines of Educational Psych., p. 221, and Thorndike, Human Nature Club, pp. 100-108.) Naturally, then, the more recently the senses have experienced a thing, the more readily can the imagination reproduce that thing. These facts make it very evident that the speaker will acquire the fullest and freest use of his senses and his imagination by training each in immediate connection with the other. Development of the Sense of Motion There are two distinct reasons why it is best for the student of speaking to begin the development of Sensation and Imagination by performing his first experiments with the Sense of Motion, i. It is easier to begin with this sense than with any of the others. This is so from the very nature of the sense of motion. The sense-impressions it gives are stronger and more easily observed than those received through any other sense. 2. To begin with the 52 DEVELOPMENT OF SENSATION AND IMAGINATION sense of motion, makes the development of the other senses easier and more effective. Sensations of motion, when fully experienced, tend to invigorate the entire body. Each of the other senses naturally receives its share of this general vigor of the whole body. The result is, that all the senses become more active, more ready to work and more efficient. Not only is it best to begin with experiments in sensations of motion ; it is also best for the intending speaker to begin with sensations which he receives from movements of his own muscles. There are three reasons why this is so : 1. It is much easier to imagine the muscles again doing a thing which they recently did, than to imagine motions as occurring in something entirely separate from the body. 2. At the very beginning of his speech-work, it causes the student to form the habit of being in immediate contact with anything he describes. This causes every object described to seem much more real to the speaker, and, hence, much more real to the audience a consummation so essential to effective speaking. 3. When the beginning speaker starts his development by actually handling the things he describes, he realizes at once that his whole body can play a great part in his speaking. This immediately starts a spontaneity in his speaking as nothing else can do. The value of this can hardly be over estimated. Experiments to Develop the Sense of Motion i. For the first experiment, place a number of books on a chair. Consider, before proceeding with the experi- ment, that you must now pay so close attention to every EXPERIMENTS TO DEVELOP SENSE OF MOTION 53 movement you make, that you shall be able to describe all the movements you have made, when the experiment is finished. Now step toward the chair, on which you have placed the books, until one knee is brought near to it. Bend forward and place the hands under the chair ready to lift it. As you do so, relax every muscle in your body, so that it shall be ready to receive the strongest possible impressions from every movement you make. Slowly lift the chair about a foot from the floor. Become intensely conscious of every movement, every strain, and every pull your body experiences. Step slowly forward one stride, let the chair down slowly until it is near the floor, then suddenly drop it and straighten up. 2. As soon as this experiment with the actual sensations of motion, has been completed, at once perform the same experiment with your imaginative sense of motion, to find how well you can imagine yourself doing the whole thing over again. Immediately step away from the chair. Imagine that it is again before you. Now perform, in imagination, the entire experiment from the time you stepped toward the chair until you put it down and again stood erect. In this imaginative experiment, allow yourself actually to move only enough to start each movement which you hope to imagine. You have doubtless discovered, by the time you have completed the imaginative experiment, that you did not imagine all the movements which you made while perform- ing the experiment with the actual senses. At least some of the movements gave you so faint an imaginative sensa- tion, that you were not at all satisfied with it. To develop these sensations, again perform the experiment of approach- 54 DEVELOPMENT OF SENSATION AND IMAGINATION ing, lifting, and carrying forward the actual chair. As you do so, this time relax your muscles even more than before and rivet your attention upon every sensation of motion you experience in any part of your body. Let not one escape you. When the chair is deposited, quickly step away from it and again perform the imaginative ex- periment. Determine not to miss a single movement that you made in the actual lifting and carrying, but to imagine them all. Repeat this double experiment until you can do that. 3. As the third experiment, begin to apply, in actual speech-work, the development you have realized in experi- ments i and 2. To do so, again stand as if you were going to perform the experiment yourself, but, instead, imagine someone a short distance before you now performing it. Determine to imagine every movement he makes, as dis- tinctly as if you were actually making all the movements yourself. Imagine that you are before the class as you watch this person perform the experiment. Feel that it is now your duty to describe, orally, each movement which you imagine this person to make, so clearly that the class can see and experience the entire experiment as you describe it. With these conceptions clear in mind, fix your mind upon this imaginary person about to perform the experi- ment. Closely follow him in every detail, and, as you do so, again let yourself actually move only enough to start each movement which you wish to imagine. Describe orally, to the class, which you imagine before you, every sensation of motion which you imagine this person experi- ences as he performs the experiment of actually lifting and carrying forward the chair. EXPERIMENTS TO DEVELOP SENSE OF MOTION 5 5 4. For the fourth experiment, make a more advanced application, in actual speaking, of the development of the sense of motion which you have realized in experiments i, 2, and 3. So far, the entire effort has been to experience actual sensations of motion and then to reproduce, in im- agination, the sensations you recently received. This kind of imagining is known as reproductive imagination. The principal work the imagination has to perform in actual speaking, is to imagine things which the speaker has not recently experienced. This kind of imagining is known as productive imagination (sometimes called creative imagina- tion). Let us at once do some work in productive imagina- tion, work so similar to the reproductive imagining already done, that we shall get the full benefit of all that we have done, and yet shall be employing the imagination as it will be employed in effective public speaking. Perform the experiment of preparing to describe before the class all the sensations of motion which you imagine are being experienced by two or three students who are vigorously engaged in a strenuous midnight prank. Imagine that you have taken a friend with you to a place where you will not be observed and where you can watch and describe to this friend every movement these students make. They have secured a large, heavy, square box and are rapidly tumbling it ahead of them up a hill. Imagine that it is a task which these students would find impossible to do if they were required to do it, but in this spirit of prankish play they are throwing into it all the power they have. Enter fully into this spirit with them, and, as you describe the movements of first one then another, imagine so strongly how you would feel if you were doing those 56 DEVELOPMENT OF SENSATION AND IMAGINATION things yourself, that you get a vigorous imaginative sen- sation from every movement you describe. As in the other experiments, allow yourself to move only enough to start each movement you try to imagine. Create your own end- ing to the midnight "lark," and describe the movements of the students as they leave the scene. Be prepared to perform experiments 2, 3, and 4 before the class. If I and 2 have been carefully and vigorously performed and repeated, in a careful manner, many times, the descriptions as well as the imaginative sensations in 3 and 4 will be much more easy and much more successful. In your descriptions, be sure to keep imagining that you are in the actual presence of the thing you describe. Speak in the present tense of all the verbs you use, and do not allow the scene you describe to slip away to the distance or the past. Additional Experiments in Motion If the sense of motion is not responding as it should do by the time these four experiments are ended, it may be well for the intending speaker to spend another day or two on additional experiments with this sense before taking up another. If this seems advisable, very helpful experiments can be performed in such acts as striking a punching-bag, throwing a basket-ball, or using a tennis- racket. The best development will be found by following the progressive plan of the above experiments. Whether you take time for actual additional experiments with the sense of motion just now or not, you should, at least, realize that the few experiments here outlined cannot ADDITIONAL EXPERIMENTS IN MOTION 57 possibly develop the sense of motion as it must be developed for the most effective speaking. Such development can come only through vigorous, daily use of this sense for years. You have seen that a speech can be alive only when the speaker senses life in the things about which he speaks. You have seen that it is your sense of motion that fills you with the life of things. You have seen how this sense responds and develops through vigorous and repeated exer- cise. If you are wise, therefore, you will begin right now to exercise this sense on everything around you that shows any remarkable characteristic of motion, and you will con- tinue this exercise through life. Development of the Sense of Touch For several reasons, the student will find it to his ad- vantage to begin the development of his Sense of Touch next after the Sense of Motion. I. The work in touch joins itself easily and naturally to the work already done in motion. 2. The sensations of touch are stronger and, hence, more easily realized than those of any other sense except motion. 3. More satisfactory imaginative sensations can usually be experienced, at the beginning, through touch than through any other sense except the sense of motion. 4. It again employs the entire body, as did the sense of motion, and causes the student still further to realize how his whole body should enter into speaking. 5. It tends to increase spontaneity more than work on any other sense would do at this stage of the speaker's development. Before attempting to develop this sense, the intending 58 DEVELOPMENT OF SENSATION AND IMAGINATION speaker should get a clear conception of the great value of this sense. One reason why so many students can describe accurately very few things, is because they have so little use of this sense. They never keenly realize how anything feels, so they have very little feeling for any- thing. One reason, also, why so many students have neither freedom nor force nor grace of gesture, is because they have never developed their sense of touch. Neither the nerves of touch nor of motion have been trained to act while the student is talking. The result is, that when any action is needed to suggest to the listener the nature of the thing talked about, the student does not feel able to make that action. Let him form the habit of describing things while touching them, and of touching them while describing them, and his gestures, and all his action, will soon become effective because unconscious and spontaneous. The fingers are, of course, the principal agents of the sense of touch, but many nerves over the entire body are ready to do service in bringing messages of how things feel. For instance, if we suddenly come into air that is much cooler or warmer than the air we have just been in, any part of the body that comes in contact with it, will inform us, through the sense of touch, how the new air feels. If we pass through thick smoke, the eyes, the nose, and even the lips give us intense sensations of touch. In the experiments in touch, as in all others, the plan is, first to bring the sense of the intending speaker into actual contact with things; then, to help him to imagine that sense again in contact with those same things; then, to help him to imagine someone else in contact with those same things, while he orally describes the sensations he EXPERIMENTS TO DEVELOP SENSE OF TOUCH 59 imagines that person to be receiving; and, finally, to help him to describe a practical scene in life in which similar sensations play a prominent part. In this way, the sense is given the easiest, the most natural, and the most progres- sive development, and is brought into use in practical speak- ing just as soon as it is ready to be so used, and not before. Experiments to Develop the Sense of Touch I. As the first experiment in touch, learn the actual touch of all possible wall-surfaces on the interior of a house. Determine to get the full benefit from the sense of motion, by entering into this experiment with as much vigor of movement as possible. You will find this much easier if you imagine yourself in a situation where you feel you must touch things with almost desperate earnestness. Hence imagine the vigor with which you would touch these sur- faces if it were the middle of the night, with the lights all off, when you find yourself in a strange house which, for some reason, you feel you must leave quickly, yet have no means of finding your way out except by feeling along the walls. In such a situation, you would press near to a wall, with your face turned half toward the wall and half in the direction you expect to move. With the foremost hand well opened, you would begin to feel earnestly before you as you start forward. Do these things now. Consider that the purpose of this experiment is to enable you to get sensations so definite from each thing touched, that you can describe just how that thing feels to you. Otherwise, the experiment can be of little direct help in speaking. 6O DEVELOPMENT OF SENSATION AND IMAGINATION Therefore, imagine that someone is following you, who depends absolutely on your guidance. The instant you touch anything, tell this person what he may expect to feel at this point and how he may recognize it by the way it feels tell it aoud. For instance, you may say: "Next I come to a papered wall. You will recognize it by its feeling flat and even, solid underneath and soft and dry on the surface." As you move forward, include in your list of things touched such surfaces as those of walls, doors, win- dows, curtains, and pictures on the walls. 2. When you have concluded this experiment with the actual sense of touch, immediately perform an experiment with the imaginative sense of touch. Stand entirely away from all wall-surfaces, but imagine yourself at the place where you began experiment i. Let your imaginative sense of location bring that first wall just as near to you as it was when you were actually touching it. Assume the same attitude of earnestly feeling your way forward, as you had then. Imagine the person whom you are guiding, just as near behind you as he was before. Now imagine your fingers coming into contact with the first surface you touched, and passing sensitively and vigorously over that surface. If you fail at first to get a distinct imaginative sensation of touch in your fingers, do not go on to the next surface, but step over at once to the real surface which you are trying to imagine. Again pass the fingers over this actual surface. This time, touch it more sensitively and more vigorously than before, and fix your mind more firmly on the sensations you are receiving in your fingers. Go forward until your fingers come upon a surface that is decidedly different from the first one. Be keenly sensitive to the difference in temperature of the two surfaces, the EXPERIMENTS TO DEVELOP SENSE OF TOUCH 6 1 difference in apparent density, the difference in resistance which each surface offers to the progress of your fingers. Now step away from the walls and again begin the experi- ment with the imaginative sense of touch. As you do so, describe aloud to the imaginary person whom you are guiding, the location and feeling of everything you touch while you imagine yourself making the same vigorous trip along the walls, as you made before. If some of the surfaces still give you no satisfactory imaginative sensations, again go to these surfaces and ac- tually touch them until your sense of touch is made distinct. Then repeat the experiment of imagining how these surfaces feel. Continue this process until you can imagine yourself taking the entire trip which you formerly took along the walls, and can imagine the feeling of everything along the way, distinctly enough to describe its feeling to the im- aginary person whom you are guiding. Continue to describe aloud each surface as you feel it in imagination. Before beginning the third experiment in sensations of touch, realize that the object of this experiment is twofold. Its first purpose is to enable you to profit by the work you have already done with this sense, by putting the actual sensations which you so recently experienced, to a more advanced imaginative use, and, thus, to strengthen still farther your imaginative sense of touch. The second pur- pose is to bring you one step nearer to the use you will make of the sense of touch in practical speaking. 3. To accomplish the two things suggested in the last paragraph above, now perform the third experiment in sensations of touch. In this experiment, imagine that an- other person is now feeling his way over the same surfaces and in the same way as you did in experiment I in touch. 62 DEVELOPMENT OF SENSATION AND IMAGINATION Imagine that this person is a very short distance before you, and that you keep this same distance behind him as he sensitively but vigorously feels each surface. Have an imaginary friend beside you and realize that your task now is, to describe, to this imaginary friend, the sensations of touch which you know, by your recent experience, that this person before you is receiving as he passes his fingers sensitively over these surfaces. Live his sensations with him. Do not allow yourself to say that the thing which you imagine this person to be touching, feels this way or that merely because you remember that it had this or that kind of feeling; but, before telling of any sensation which he receives, pause until you get that sensation at the ends of your fingers. Mere pausing will not bring it. It demands, of course, that you concentrate your mind on the distinct feeling which you had when you were actually touching the same thing, while you describe that feeling, aloud, to the imaginary friend beside you. If you do this, and if you use your sense of location to keep things near enough to you, and your sense of motion to start the movement which you would be making if you were actually touching the things yourself, your imaginative sensations of touch should soon be clear and distinct. If you find that you have lost your imaginative sense of the touch of some of the things, again actually touch those things with your fingers, with your mind concentrated on their feeling, until your sense is quickened, then try again to imagine the sensations the imaginary person before you is getting. Continue this process until you have fol- lowed him over the whole course. 4. As the fourth experiment in sensations of touch, apply ADDITIONAL EXPERIMENTS IN TOUCH 63 the work done in experiments i, 2, and 3, to practical speak- ing. Imagine that a friend of yours is in a building where a fire has broken out. Imagine that the lights are out, leaving this friend in total darkness. Imagine that, though the fire is some distance from him, the smoke is almost stifling him. Imagine that this friend gropes his way from wall to wall, by feeling the various wall-surfaces. Describe orally the sensations of touch which you imagine him to receive. Describe not only the sensations which he receives in his fingers, from feeling his way, but also the sensations of touch which he receives on his skin, in his eyes and nose, and on his lips, from the smoke and from the various temperatures of air through which he passes. Keep in such close sympathy with this friend, that you do not allow yourself to describe a single sensation which he receives, until you receive, imaginatively, that sensation, as if you were actually going through the experience with him. Describe his sensations of touch until he is out in the free air. Be prepared to perform experiments 2, 3, and 4 before the class. The success of 3 and 4 will depend largely on the thoroughness with which i and 2 were done as a prepara- tion. The success of all, however, will depend finally on the accuracy and frequency with which they are repeated. There is a very old adage that applies to all art, "practice makes perfect." Nowhere is this more true than in the training of the senses for the spontaneous work which they must do in effective speaking. 64 DEVELOPMENT OF SENSATION AND IMAGINATION Additional Experiments in Touch If it is thought best to devote another day or two to the development of the sense of touch before beginning the development of another sense, good additional experi- ments may be performed on the rough materials, stone, concrete, metal, woods of different kinds, and bricks of different kinds, out of which the exterior of buildings is constructed, also on such materials as silk, cotton, and woollen goods and clothing of various textures. If additional experiments are performed, they should all be done in the careful, thorough manner outlined above. Unless this is done, the intending speaker will not come to know the touch of things, with any definiteness or distinct- ness. Without such knowledge, his ability to describe the touch of things will be poor, and one of the chief elements of effective speaking will be lost. For these reasons, the student of speech who has mettle in him, has already determined to use and educate his sense of touch as he has not been doing. He will endeavor to allow no single day to pass without quickening his sense of touch, both direct and imaginative, by carefully and vigor- ously using it upon some things with which he comes in contact. The Value of Description to the Speaker You have observed that the practical work in speaking has all been in Description. Or rather, it has been a com- bination of Description and Narration which we might call Descriptive Narrative. So it should be for some time to THE VALUE OF DESCRIPTION TO SPEAKER 65 come. There are very strong reasons why speech-work should be based upon and begin in Descriptive Narrative. There are only four fundamental things which men attempt to do in public speaking, i. They attempt to describe. 2. They attempt to narrate. 3. They attempt to explain. 4. They attempt to prove things by arguments. These attempts give rise to the four forms of speaking, Description, Narra- tion, Exposition, and Argumentation. The reasons why Descriptive Narrative should be studied and practiced first in speaking, are: A. Description is the basis of all three of the other forms of speaking. Suppose a speaker attempts to tell a story (in other words, to give a Narration), what is the first thing he must do ? He must first describe clearly the "setting" for his story ; and he must then describe every situation out of which any part of his story arises. So, Narration must begin in Description. If the speaker at- tempts an Exposition, (that is, if he attempts to explain something) his explanation can have little effect until he has clearly described the thing he would explain. So, Ex- position must begin in Description. If the speaker attempts to argue for a certain principle, as soon as he has stated his proposition, what does the mind of the audience say to him? It says : "Show us an example where this applies," which is equivalent to saying "describe a situation which illustrates your principle." So, the real effectiveness of even Argumentation depends upon Description. B. As we have already found, work in Description brings the begin- ning speaker into contact with things about which he speaks, takes his mind away from himself, and starts a spontaneity which work on any one of the other three forms of speak- ing could not do. C. Descriptive Narrative, in which the 66 DEVELOPMENT OF SENSATION AND IMAGINATION speaker moves from one situation or event to another, is much easier and more stimulating to the beginner, than pure Description would be. The reason for this is plain : When the speaker presents a Descriptive Narrative, in which he moves from one situation or event to an- other, he employs his greatest aid, his Sense of Motion, as he could not do in pure Description. The Mental Attitude in Description You have also observed that we have advised the speaker, when describing a thing, to have beside him an imaginary friend to whom he is describing the thing observed. The reasons for this method are these: i. It allows the speaker to make use of the habit he has followed all his life. When we have described something in life, we have always had someone to whom to describe that thing. With this person beside us and a little to our rear, we have stepped toward the thing described. While we pointed out the character- istics of that thing, we have kept saying, mentally at least, to this friend beside us, "Don't you see?" "Now look at this," etc. The reasons are many why we should follow this same habit in our public speaking. 2. This method of having an imaginary friend beside him when he describes anything, is the speaker's best means for overcoming all self-consciousness before an audience. If the speaker main- tains this mental attitude during all his practice of a speech that he expects to make, it is easy for him to maintain it in that same speech when he comes before the audience. If he does maintain it before the audience, the presence of the audience cannot trouble him. DEVELOPMENT OF THE SENSE OF SOUND 67 Development of the Sense of Sound Careful examination of a large number of cases, has proved that it is only the exceptional individual who employs his hearing as he must do, for the most effective speaking. Sounds are, often, the principal characteristics of things, the principal means by which to describe those things; yet most persons listen so carelessly that when they are asked to describe sounds they have heard, they find themselves scarcely able to -do it. They find themselves equally unable to imagine those sounds in their absence. The speaker must be able to do both these things before he can hope to do the most effective speaking, for some of the best effects we ever witness, when listening to speakers, are realized through the speakers' graphic description of sounds. There is a psychological reason for this. Through life, when we have listened intently for something, we have given our whole attention to that thing as we do to few other things. This has become an unconscious nabit. The result is, that when a speaker vividly describes the sounds of anything about which he is speaking, both his attention and the attention of the audience are at once fastened upon that thing, with unusual firmness. The reasons why a beginning speaker will find it to his advantage to start ihe development of his sense of sound next after his work on the sense of touch, are these: I. It is easier to profit by the work already done in the sensations of motion and touch. This is due to the fact that the sounds we hear are more closely associated with motion, than sensations received through any other sense except 68 DEVELOPMENT OF SENSATION AND IMAGINATION the sense of touch. 2. Because of this fact, sensations of sound are more vigorous, hence, more easy to realize and more easy to reproduce in imagination, than sensations from any other sense. 3. For these reasons, the sense of sound continues the work of employing the whole body in speech and of keeping the beginning speaker natural and spon- taneous, just now when it is so important that he develop these characteristics. Experiments to Develop the Sense of Sound Since motion is closely associated with most of the sounds we hear, the sense of motion is of great advantage in getting distinct sensations of sound. Because many things which move while they make sound, naturally are repeatedly changing location, the sense of location can give great aid in securing distinct sensations of sound. i. As the first experiment, actually listen to the sounds made by a team going along the street. As you listen, sense, as clearly as possible, just how far from you the team is when each sound is made. If there are alternating light and heavy sounds, sense the movements which produce these sounds. But, while noting these motions, rivet the attention so closely to the sounds, that the motion seems to be a part of the sounds themselves. Give your closest and most undivided attention to these sounds from the time you hear them faintly in the distance till they pass you and die away in the opposite direction. If it is not found possible, within the time at your disposal, to listen to the sounds made by a team, the rhythmic sounds produced by an approaching and receding train, EXPERIMENTS TO DEVELOP SENSE OF SOUND 69 or motor-boat, or an automobile that is moving slowly enough and with noises loud enough for each sound to be distinct, may be as satisfactory as the sounds from the team. 2. For the second experiment in sound, employ the im- aginative sense on the same sounds to which you have just been listening with the direct sense. As soon as the team has passed and the sounds made by it have ceased, try to imagine that you are again hearing the team approach and pass just as it did before. As you do so, make the following tests: Are the sounds real to you? Do you hear them now? Or do you only remember exactly how the sounds occurred? If you do hear them distinctly, give a vigorous oral description, to a friend whom you imagine to be standing beside you, of just how the sounds affect you; tell what motions the imaginative sounds set up in your ears, or in any other part of your body, how they make you feel. If you do not actually hear the sounds in your imagination, do you get any imaginative sensations from the team? Do you get definite sensations of location of the team, is it drawing nearer to you or going farther away from you at each successive sound? If not, then concentrate the mind upon it until it does become definitely located in the imagination. Now, keeping its location well fixed in mind, with the location changing with each sound, begin to imagine the motions which produce the sounds. Are these motions real to you? Do they cause your nerves to move with them as they did when you were listening to the very sounds produced by these motions ? Do the light and heavy motions come with regularity and do they give you distinctly dif- ferent sensations ? As you fasten your mind to these move- 70 DEVELOPMENT OF SENSATION AND IMAGINATION ments and their definite locations, and give 'yourself up to their rhythm, thinking how they are causing the sounds, do you begin to hear the sounds faintly? Continue in this manner, getting all possible help from the senses of location and motion, until the sounds become distinct. Through the entire experiment, describe aloud, to the imaginary friend beside you, every sensation you receive. Do not allow yourself to lapse into inaction, and merely wait for the sounds to come to you. Don't forget for a moment that you can become a more effective speaker, through this experiment, only by making the imaginative sounds so real to you that you can make the listener hear them. Realize also, that though you may not, at first, be able to imagine as distinct sounds as you wish you might, if you have performed the work carefully as outlined, you have received real and live sensations, through the senses of location and motion. These sensations have made the sounds seem to you real and present, while you described them, even if you could not actually hear them. More than that, if you have made your sensations, received through these two senses, as strong as you can do, they have given a spontaneity to your description which no other process could do. 3. For the third experiment in developing the sense of sound, apply what you have gained, in experiments I and 2, to practical speaking. Prepare a description of a scene where you listen intently to sounds that are approaching. An ideal scene for this experiment is to imagine that you are one of a small scouting party that has been sent forward to gain some information of great value to your country. ADDITIONAL EXPERIMENTS IN SOUND 71 Imagine that each member of your little party was sent out alone, and, amidst much danger, has made his observations and has escaped the enemy. Imagine that you have all hastened away some distance from the enemy's lines, and that you have now met at night in an appointed place in a thicket near a road. Let your description begin at this point, with your party all present in the thicket. Feel that your nerves are tense from fear that you may have been detected. Feel that you, personally, now have the task of standing as near the road as you dare to do, and of telling your companions when you hear anyone coming. As you listen intently, imagine that you hear something, in the distance, which you know to be a horse's hoofs striking the road. With this situation clear in mind, begin your description here and construct the outcome from your own productive imagination. As you do so, give a graphic oral description, to your anxious companions, of everything you hear. Feel that, for some reason, those with you can know what is going on, only as you tell them, hence you must make them hear everything you hear. This is the case with any public audience, and, for this reason, such an attitude will help you to do much more effective speaking. Let this description be about three minutes in length. Be prepared to perform experiments 2 and 3 before the class. Additional Experiments in Sound If it is thought best to devote another day or two to the sense of sound, in order to make its action more vigor- ous, before beginning the development of another sense, 72 DEVELOPMENT OF SENSATION AND IMAGINATION good examples on which to experiment may be found in the many strong and rhythmic sounds occurring all around you. Some of these, the train, the automobile, the motor- boat, were suggested above. The ringing of a large bell and the ticking of a clock are also good sounds for ex- perimental purposes. The principal things to be remembered in selecting a sound for an experiment, are that it should be a sound produced by a strong and free movement, that the movement be recurrent with light and heavy strokes, and that the sound be near enough to be definitely located. These things make it much easier to reproduce the sound in imagination. As we have said before, the experiments outlined here can do no more than give the speaker the start that he needs, and get clearly before him the fact that by careful, daily education of the senses, can he hope to have that full development of them which effective speaking demands. Therefore, make it a daily practice to select some distinct sound in your room or outside your window, or outside the city. Treat that sound as you did in experiment i. Then, immediately afterward, test the sensation you have received by trying to reproduce it in imagination, as in experiment 2. Development of the Sense of Sight Public speakers attempt more descriptions of things ex- perienced through the sense of sight, than through any other sense. Yet it is surprising how much less effective such descriptions often are, than those which a speaker gives through the sense of motion or touch or sound. The DEVELOPMENT OF THE SENSE OF SIGHT 73 reason why the imaginative sense of sight is so often less effective in speech, than the other senses, seems to be as follows. We are accustomed to look at things without concentrating our minds on the things looked at, intently enough to give us any strong impressions from those things. Consequently, when we try to draw, before an audience, a picture of something we imagine we see, our imaginative sense-impressions from that thing are too weak to produce the desired effect on speaker or audience. It is clear, then, that if we wish to make a success of this sense in speech-work, we must first train ourselves to select quickly, from the many things to be seen, the few things which deserve our undivided attention. We must then train ourselves to concentrate the mind so strongly on these selected things, actually seen, that we shall have strong mental images of them. In this training, the sense of location is of great value. In fact, it is quite impossible to realize vivid and effective mental pictures if we do not employ the sense of location to tell us just how far from us is the object we wish to picture and also to trace for us the outline of that object. Make the test and you will soon discern that a mental picture becomes strong enough to be practical and effective in speaking only when It brings before the mind three things: first, the location of the thing we are trying to Imagine we see (that is, just how far from us that thing is); secondly, the outline of that thing (Including its size and shape) ; thirdly, the coloring of that thing. 74 DEVELOPMENT OF SENSATION AND IMAGINATION . Experiments to Develop the Sense of Sight 1. As the first experiment to develop the sense of sight, look intently at some object of distinct outline, with the outline decidedly varied. Let it be an object of distinct and vivid color. First, sense keenly the distance of this object from you. When you have done this, fix your eyes, and your mind, on the outline of the object. Begin at some point on the outline and trace it all the way around, paying close attention to every change in the direction of the outline. When the eyes have traveled all the way around, try to see the entire object at once. As you do so, get the most vivid possible sensations of the entire outline. At the same time, pay close attention to the color of the object and try to feel that the outline and color are essential parts of the object. Do this several times, each time deep- ening your sense-impressions of the size and shape of the color looked at, and also of the nature of that color. Does it seem thicker or thinner in substance than the general color surrounding it? Does it seem lighter or heavier, cooler or warmer? Sense these things so keenly that you feel, as never before, how much the color and the outline tell you of the very nature of the object. 2. As the second experiment in sensations of sight, try to reproduce in imagination the object studied in experi- ment I. Turn away from the object, try to imagine it the same distance from you as it was when you looked at it, and trace the entire outline in imagination. As you do so, imagine a friend beside you and describe aloud to this friend exactly what you see in imagination. If the outline is not perfectly distinct, turn again to the object and again EXPERIMENTS TO DEVELOP SENSE OF SIGHT 75 trace the outline, with your eyes and mind still more firmly concentrated on it. Then again try to imagine it. As the outline becomes clearer in imagination, does the color be- come real and vivid? If it does, describe aloud the sense- impressions you get of the nature of that color. If the color is not yet vivid in imagination, try to recall the impressions you got of the way this color seems to contrast, in its inner nature, with the nature of the color outside its outline. If it still will not become vivid in imagination, turn again to the object and renew your sense-impressions of this contrast. Then try again to imagine the color as well as the form of the object. Now test the imagination by closing the eyes. Are both the outline and the color distinct? Continue the experiment until they are so, either with the eyes open or closed. Remember that in this experiment you are attempting to do something that will bring you, as quickly as possible, to a practical use of your imaginative sense of sight, in effec- tive speaking. To accomplish this, it is necessary that you describe aloud, each time you try to imagine the object studied, what you actually see in imagination. 3. For the third experiment in sensations of sight, apply the work done in experiments I and 2, to practical speaking. Observe a scene made up of many objects of many shapes and colors. Let it be a scene of decided "atmosphere/ 1 or character, and not merely a jumble of dissociated objects. For instance, if the scene you choose for the experiment is a room, let it be one in which the principal characteristics are order and neatness, or quite the opposite to these. Be- fore beginning, realize that the experiment is to test how well you can reproduce in imagination the actual appearance 76 DEVELOPMENT OF SENSATION AND IMAGINATION of this scene, and how well you can describe orally the scene which you imagine. First concentrate your eyes and mind on the general scene until you have an unmistakable impression of the chief characteristics of the scene and the principal things in it which give it that characteristic. When this is done, then observe these objects one by one, and experiment on each one just as you did on the single object in experiment i. As you do so, try not only to fix that object so firmly in mind that you can imagine it later, but try also to realize how that object, through its position, its outline, and its color, adds its part to the general char- acter of the scene. When you have observed, in this manner, all the objects in the scene, then concentrate your eyes and mind, for a few moments, on the whole scene at once, while you review rapidly the part the various articles play in making up the whole scene. Now turn from the scene and try to imagine it all before you, just as it was when you were actually looking at it. As you do so, imagine that a friend stands beside you and, to this friend, describe orally what you see in imagination. Repeat this experiment until you can make your description ac- curate, orderly, rapid and vigorous. Again let us remind the intending speaker that if he would make his speaking interesting, he must avoid letting the thing imagined slip away to the distance. The speaker must keep things as close to him in im- agination as they were when he was actually observing them, and must describe them as if he were actually showing them and pointing them out to the listener. THE OTHER SENSES 77 Additional Experiments in Sight If it is thought best to spend more time at once on the development of the sense of sight, countless objects on every hand furnish abundant material for experiments. To get results, every experiment must be performed with ac- curacy and thoroughness. The sense of location must be constantly used as an aid to the sense of sight, to give the student definite sense- impressions of the location and out- line of each thing observed. The sensations received must constantly be tested to see if they can be reproduced in imagination. And, finally, the speaker must make it a habit to describe orally the results of his experiment, if he would associate his experimental work, with practical speaking in such a way as to cause it to produce its own fruit. With this plan before him, the alert student will experi- ment every day on at least one or two things whose outline and coloring give them distinctive appearance and char- acter. In this practice, he will not only gain knowledge accurate, more accurate by far, of things which he sees, and thus have a greater fund of first-hand knowledge to enrich his speaking, but will also immeasurably increase spontaneity and attractiveness in his speaking. THE OTHER SENSES Interesting and helpful experiments may be performed also in sensations of taste and smell. These senses, how- ever, are not very often employed in speech-work. For this reason, we have not taken the time and the space to outline such experiments. CHAPTER IV CONCEPTION WE have now learned that Sensation and Imagination are two of the basic causes of effectiveness in speaking. We shall soon see that another function of the mind, known as Conception, is the chief means of bringing these two functions of the mind to their highest usefulness, and that, with them, it is another foundation-stone on which effective speaking must be built. The Definition of Conception Perhaps we can see more clearly just what this act or function of the mind is, if we examine the relation between it and Sensation, with which we are now familiar. Sup- pose you have never seen a fire-fly. You are walking at night when you suddenly see a flash of light at your feet. You know that you have experienced a sensation. You look again at the spot whence the light came, and discover that the flash of light continues to come at intervals. You in- vestigate the source of this light and find that it is in a small, soft, rather slender, winged insect, that has the peculiar function of emitting light from a part of its body till it seems to be on fire, yet feels as cold to your touch as other insects. You now say that you have a conception of the fire-fly. What do you mean? You mean that you 78 A PRIMAL CAUSE OF EFFECTIVE SPEAKING 79 have learned enough characteristics of this bug to know it if you meet it again, and to know that you have met it before. The function of the mind by which we are able to single out, from all other things in the world, a distinct thing and know it as the same thing we have known before, we call Conception. Dr. James (Psychology, I, 461) defines conception as:* The function by which we identify a numerically distinct and permanent subject of discourse. In simpler and fewer terms, we might call it the function by which we recognise a distinct thing. A Primal Cause of Effective Speaking When we have learned what conception is, we hardly need to be told that it is one of the strongest of all causes of effective speaking. We have found, in the definition just formulated, that when the mind conceives a thing, it singles that thing out from all other things in the world and fixes the attention upon that thing. What is more important to the speaker than this very process? Every moment a speaker stands before an audience, every mind in that audience, consciously or unconsciously, expects him to bring the attention of all to one definite and certain thing. How can he do this if his own mind is not fixed on one certain thing? This a speaker is never able to do with certainty until he has thoroughly trained the function of his mind which we have called conception. We can think of nothing that better illustrates a speaker's need of clear conceptions, than the situation of an acrobat as he walks a rope suspended in mid air. If the acrobat should fail, * Italics ours. 8O CONCEPTION for one instant, to keep his eye fixed on a definite object, he would very likely fall from his position. In like manner the speaker who speaks w^iout having his mind on a dis- tinct thing, figurately loses Deposition in the estimation of his hearers, and his speech lo^^its effectiveness. The term "conception" has ^fc fairly distinct meanings. When we use this word in one oRits meanings, we refer to the action of the mind when a conception is being formed; in the other meaning of the word, we refer to the recogni- tion of a thing the conception of which has previously been formed. These two actions of the mind are easily to be distinguished in the above illustration of the fire-fly. When the mind was gaining new knowledge of that insect by closely examining its chief characteristics, the mind, we say, was then conceiving, or forming a conception of, the fire-fly. If later that mind meets that kind of insect again, or if the imagination brings an image of the fire-fly before the mind, and if, in either case, that mind recognizes the insect, we say that mind has a conception of the fire-fly. These are the two ways in which conception, when rightly developed and employed, stands ready to aid us. It is the function which gives us the ability to recognize a thing at a future time, and is also the function by which we do recognise what we have known. What These Mean to the Speaker It is easy to see that the first of these mental acts is vitally important to the speaker. No matter how simple a subject he may have to present to an audience, if his preparation of that subject is what it should be, while WHAT THESE MEAN TO THE SPEAKER 8 1 preparing his speech, the speaker selects certain very defi- nite things which he wishes to bring before the minds of his audience. Then he turns his mind to these things, one at a time, and becomes so thoroughly familiar with each of them that he can easily and quickly recognize each of them later. In other words, he forms a thorough concep- tion of each of them. The mental process of forming conceptions is the most important part of thorough prepara- tion of any speech. When does a speaker employ conception in its second use and meaning? When is it necessary for him to recog- nize quickly and fully, things which he has already thor- oughly conceived? Is it not clear that this is just what a speaker must do in presenting his speech, if he hopes to make it really effective? Is it not clear that if the speaker hopes to succeed in holding the attention of his audience on one single, definite thing at a time, by holding his own mind on that thing, then the speaker's mind must be fixed on one of those things of which he has formed a clear and strong conception? Furthermore, if the speaker holds the minds of his hearers on only one thing, he must do so by interesting his hearers, must he not? He will interest his hearers only in those things in which he is interested. To be instantly and constantly interested in the things about which he speaks, the speaker must quickly recognize not only things which he has known before, but also the char- acteristics of those things which make them interesting to him. He must show these characteristics to the audience in such a way as to make them catch the interest of the audience as they caught his interest. This makes it quite as necessary for the speaker to build his conceptions over 82 CONCEPTION again before his audience as it was to build them when he prepared his speech, if his speech is to have the effectiveness which it may have and should have. Conceiving the Sources of Interest We have just said that a speaker must conceive the characteristics of a thing, which make him interested in that thing. This brings before us the question, what are the characteristics of things which make us interested in them? Some people, when asked this question, will reply: "We are interested in things concerning which we know something." Others will say: "We are interested in some- thing different, something new." The author of this book has received both these replies many times from thoughtful people and people of experience. A thorough study of the elements of interest, seems to prove that both these replies are correct, contradictory as they seem to be. Unques- tionably we all have a tendency to be interested in some- thing new in a novelty; but what is a "novelty"? If we investigate it closely, we shall find that it is a familiar thing in an unfamiliar form or situation. Suppose, for instance, this extremely "novel" case. A flying machine passes high over a remote settlement where the inhabitants have never heard of such an invention. Instantly every man, woman and child looks, in rapt amazement. Interest is intense. Why? Because, although they have often seen creatures flying through the air, they have never seen a bird like this one. Or suppose the strange object comes near enough for the people to see that it is a machine run by a man. Their interest now increases many fold. Why? Because, though they have seen men run machines, they never saw THE BASIS FOR CONCEPTION 83 one in mid air. It is clear that their interest springs from the discovery of familiar things in unfamiliar form and situation. This same principle runs throughout life. To be interested in a thing, we must find what there is familiar and what there is unfamiliar about that thing. On this point, Dr. William James, with his usual clearness (Talks to Teachers, p. 108) says: "Neither the old nor the new, by itself, is interesting: the absolutely old is insipid ; the absolutely new makes no appeal at all. The old in the new is what claims attention the old with a slightly new turn." (See also Pyle, Educational Psych., 214-217; Miinsterberg, Psych, and the Teacher, 163 ; and Royce, Out. of Psych., 235-6.) Development and right use of the function of conception, are the only means given the speaker by which to discover these elements of interest, hence the only means by which to assure himself that he can interest an audience. We have seen that conception can do for the speaker four things. It can enable him, i, to discern those things which are worthy to receive his undivided attention; 2, to know those things so well that he will instantly recognize them later; 3, to distinguish the characteristics of those things which will interest an audience; 4, so to fasten his mind on these elements of interest, that the attention of the audience will be assured. Surely the function of the mind that does these things, is a primal cause of effective speaking. The Basis for Conception From what we have said above, it is evident that a speaker can form a worthwhile conception of anything only when 84 CONCEPTION he recognizes in that thing some characteristics he has known before. It is also evident that it is not necessary that the thing conceived should have been literally experienced. By this we mean that it is not necessary that the thing conceived should have been fcfore the mind in its present form. In- deed, we seem able to conceive things which we have never experienced at all. You can, this moment, conceive a mer- maid, a thing that does not even exist. How do we come to possess this ability to "identify" things we never saw? Do you not see that all the mind does, in this instance, is to make a "compound" conception? The mind holds two distinct conceptions, one of a maid and one of a fish. The imagination puts a part of the image of the one against a part of the image of the other. The power of conceiving recognizes each part as a form of life it has known. It recognizes also that each part is incomplete in itself and might be completed by the other; therefore it recognizes the two parts as a possible whole. It does not mean that the imagination has deceived the function of conceiving, for conception also recognizes the difference between the thing now before it and things it has known before. The important point to be remembered is this: Whether con- ception recognizes, in anything before it, something it has known in its whole and present form, or whether it recog- nizes it as something only a small part of which it has known, the basis for conceiving is the finding in the thing to be conceived something we have known before. New Conceptions Essential to Growth Since the basis for conceiving . is the finding in a thing something we have known before, it is clear that we can NEW CONCEPTIONS ESSENTIAL TO GROWTH 85 form a new conception of anything only when we discover in that thing something different from what we have known before. It is also evident that every time we gain the least particle of new knowledge, we do so by forming a new conception. This means that the degree of mental growth, in anyone, depends directly and absolutely on the number, and the accuracy, of the new conceptions which that mind forms. The student of speech who is alert, will be quick to see how much this principle of new conceptions means to him. He will see that it is the very essence of ability to interest an audience. We have learned that interest depends on finding something new or unfamiliar connected with some- thing old or familiar. We have now found that this is the very process by which new conceptions are formed. From this it would appear that new conceptions and interest are inseparable. In other words, it would seem that if one keeps forming new conceptions, and can convey them, he is sure to be able to interest an audience. Is this true? By no means. The speaker must not only form new con- ceptions; he must form new conceptions of the right kind. They must be new conceptions of things which vitally concern his work, the work of public speaking. Let us consider, for a moment, the kind of conceptions which the work of public speaking demands. We have learned that to-day, as never before, the success of a speaker depends on his being able to adapt everything he says in public, to the demands of each new occasion and each new audience. This means that the speaker must be ever alert to conceive the important changes which are taking place all around him. He must form a clear conception of each 86 CONCEPTION new thing he reads or observes. He must conceive the essential characteristics of each particular occasion on which he is about to speak. He must form as clear a conception as possible of each new audience which he is to address. Finally, he must conceive the effect all these things may have on the message he intends to present, and, according to this effect, he must r^-conceive his subject. These many demands on the speaker, for new conceptions, make it clear that the speaker should first learn the process by which he can most quickly form accurate and adequate conceptions. When this has been accomplished, he should then be thoroughly trained in forming quick and clear con- ceptions of all things about which he speaks. Let us adopt this plan, and, according to it, let us next investigate The Sources of New Conceptions When we examine the elements out of which a new con- ception is built, we find at once the close relation between conception and the two functions of the mind which we have already studied, sensation and imagination. We find that conception is the immediate outgrowth of the other two and, hence, should naturally be studied and developed immediately after them. To illustrate how a conception begins in and grows out of sensation and imagination, let us turn again to the case of the fire-fly. When you first met that interesting little insect, a sensation introduced it to you. A sensation in- troduces to us every new thing we meet. As soon as you had met it, you began seeking further knowledge of that THE SOURCES OF NEW CONCEPTIONS 87 insect. This you did by examining its characteristics. Sen- sations, one after another, told you every one of those char- acteristics. Sensations, direct or imaginative, always tell us the characteristics of things, hence form the foundation of every new conception. This shows us that we have already begun the special work which conception-forming demands, for: The first necessary step in forming new conceptions, is the training of the senses. In most of our conceptions, the imagination plays as im- portant a part as do the direct senses. Very many of our new conceptions are formed from things we read or from things we hear others say; and, since all such conceptions are formed in the absence of the things conceived, it is clear that the imagination is the only means we have for bringing these things before the mind. And, even when we form conceptions of things actually present, the imagina- tion must bring before the mind the things we have known which are somewhat like the things now present, in order that the mind may see the difference between the old and the new. This makes it evident that : The second necessary step in forming new conceptions, is the training of the imagination. So the work we have done in beginning the development of the imaginative senses, has still further prepared us for the task of conception-forming. It is quite possible, however, for the student to train himself to receive keen sensations and even. to reproduce vivid imaginative sensations, and yet find that he has done little or nothing toward developing ability to form quick, accurate, and full conceptions of things. Practically every- 88 CONCEPTION thing of which we may wish to form a conception, has a number of characteristics. Each material thing has at least size, shape, coloring, density, and weight of its own. Since we can conceive a thing only by coming to know the char- acteristics of that thing, and since each characteristic will give its own sense-impressions, we must not only receive sensations from that thing, but must also analyze that thing. To analyze is to pay attention to the separate parts of a thing. Only by paying close attention to the separate char- acteristics of a thing, can we come to know those char- acteristics through the definite sensations received from each, hence, only in this way can we really conceive a thing. Therefore : The third essential step in forming a conception of anything, is to analyze that thing, to discover its different characteristics while the senses are acting upon it. Often one single sense-impression will tell us several characteristics of a thing. For this reason, we must not only analyze a thing to discern the many different sensations we get from it, but often it is necessary also to analyze a separate sensation, and to pay close attention to the different things it tells us. Suppose, for example, that you desire to form a conception of a certain bird. The voice is a prominent characteristic of a bird. For this reason, as soon as your sense of hearing gives you an impression of this bird's voice, you must analyze that voice. You must in- vestigate the characteristics of that voice. Is it large or small, shrill or soft, clear and ringing or muffled, is it a twitter or a call, a single short note or a melody? If it is a single, short note, with what frequency is the note repeated? If it is a melody, what is its rhythm? When THE SOURCES OF NEW CONCEPTIONS 89 you have paid attention, adequate attention, to these char- acteristics, separately, then, and not before, will you have an adequate conception of that voice. When you have added to your knowledge of the bird's voice, a clear con- ception of this bird's size, shape, coloring, and movements, then, and not before, will you have a conception of this bird, that is full enough and clear enough to be of real service in speaking. When you have made such an analysis as we have just outlined, of one bird, it will do two things for you in your future efforts to form adequate conceptions of birds, (i) It will enable you to recognize that bird when you meet it again; and (2) it will enable you to recognize some points of similarity between that bird and the next bird you meet. It may also cause you to recognize points of similarity between certain characteristics of that bird and many other things which you meet. We have found that the forming of a new conception involves two basic acts. First we must recognize something with which we are familiar; and, secondly, we must recognize something with which we are unfamiliar. This means that as soon as you have found a new bird, you must analyze it as thoroughly as you did the last one and that, while you pay close atten- tion to its separate characteristics, you constantly compare and contrast them with characteristics you have known be- fore, that you may know just how this bird differs from the other. So: The fourth essential step in developing ability to form new conceptions, is to train the mind to make keen dis- tinctions between things which have similar char- arteristics. QO CONCEPTION Professor Judd of Yale University (Genetic Psychology, pp. 155-156) emphasizes the great value of sensory training and then says : "Sensory training takes the sensory impres- sions after they are received, and, first of all, sharply dis- criminates them, and then organizes them. ... It is train- ing in discrimination and reaction to sensory impressions." This is precisely the kind of training the senses get, in thorough conception- forming; so, while the speaker is train- ing himself to discriminate in such a manner as to form the conceptions he needs for effective speaking, he is also con- tinuing, in the best possible way, the training of both his senses and his imagination. This brings before us a principle of the mind that is much emphasized by James, Dewey, Pyle, and other modern psychologists. The principle is, that we come to know by knowing. That is, each conception, thoroughly formed, makes it much easier to form other conceptions of things related to the first. This is but another application of the biblical declaration "to him that hath shall be given." The student may, at first, find it somewhat difficult to form a thorough enough conception of a thing to enable him to give a good description of that thing. As soon as one clear conception is formed, however, he finds that like begets like; and the next conception of something similar to the first, is decidedly easier. Not only this, but, if new con- ceptions are added while other thorough conceptions of similar things are still fresh in the mind, the number of like- nesses that arise in the mind, tend to multiply rapidly. Remember that the discovery of a likeness, the discovery of something we recognize, is the basis of conception, and you cannot fail to see what this means in your development. THE SOURCES OF NEW CONCEPTIONS 9 1 It means that the frequent forming of clear conceptions not only makes it much easier to form them, but also that it rapidly widens the circle of your possible knowledge. This principle shows us that: The fifth essential step in developing ability to form quick and thorough conceptions, is daily practice in form- ing conceptions of things as closely related as may be. There is another principle of mind that adds decided interest to the work of conception- forming and brings de- cided benefits, especially to the intending speaker. The principle is, that when different minds are forming concep- tions of similar things, the conceptions tend to be fuller and clearer. For example, the author of this book recently visited a friend who had become interested, together with several other persons, in the study of birds. This friend declared that this common interest in observing birds, and the resultant exchange of notes on the observations made, had taught him more about birds in a few weeks than he had learned in all his life. The reasons seem to be these: I. When different minds are observing the same or similar things, each mind has the benefit of the different view- points of the other observers, so that each of his own conceptions tends to be fuller. 2. When a mind realizes that each discovery it makes is to be put to immediate use in interesting others, and also that each discovery, and the statement of it, must be accurate else the inaccuracies will be quickly detected, this tends greatly to increase the interest in the work and to make the work more thorough. It is obvious that this practice is highly beneficial to the speaker who wishes, as soon as possible, to bring his con- ceptions into use in practical speaking. 92 CONCEPTION Practical Speaking on Conceptions Let the student now test the conceptions he has formed of the discussion in this chapter, and at the same time let him apply his conceptions to practical speaking. To do so, make a detailed outline of the chapter and, when this is complete, lay the outline before you, imagine that you are before the class, and discuss, aloud, the first main division of the subject. Let it be* your own discussion and not a mere report of what is said in the text-book. Use your own illustrations, as far as possible, and make your own applications of the principle discussed. When you have completed your discussion of the first division of the subject, think it over to see if you have put too much time on some parts of it and have failed to develop other parts. When you have done this, discuss the division again, aloud, and try to improve on your former effort. Treat in like manner every division of the chapter, separately, and then discuss the chapter as a whole. Be prepared to discuss before the class any one, two, or three divisions of the chapter or the whole chapter. CHAPTER V DEVELOPMENT OF ABILITY TO FORM CON- CEPTIONS HAVING discovered the nature of conceptions and the elements out of which they are built, the student of speaking who seriously purposes his own development is eager to try his skill in forming conceptions. He discerns that he must master the art of conception-forming, first, that he may always thoroughly conceive his subject, and, hence, be master of it, whatever the subject may be; secondly, that whatever he says to an audience shall be accurate, clear and understandable; thirdly, that he may be able always to discern and use the elements of interest in a subject, hence, able to hold the attention of an audience. The Two General Classes of Conceptions There are two distinct classes of conceptions which the speaker must train himself to build. First, conceptions oi a large number of individual, isolated things which he meets in every-day life, without any particular thought of using them in any one, certain speech. Secondly, conceptions of things which are so aptly related to a certain subject which he expects to discuss, that he feels he must use them in that speech. i. Each of these two classes calls for a distinct kind of conception. 93 94 DEVELOPMENT OF ABILITY TO FORM CONCEPTIONS When we form conceptions of isolated things, that we may store them away for future use, it is necessary that we conceive all the characteristics by which we know each of those things to be itself and nothing else. This is the very work that a speaker destined to be successful, will do every day, even though he have no definite speech in preparation. These conceptions, formed for the future, will constitute his stock of material, out of which he will build the larger part of any speech he may make. If he has stocked his mind with this material, by the time he comes to prepare a definite speech his task will not be so much a hurried search for things to say, but rather a selection of the best from the store he has accumulated. Since each of the conceptions thus stored away for future use, should be usable for various subjects, it is easy to see that each of these conceptions must embrace the fullest possible knowledge of the thing conceived. This is why this class of conceptions demands that the speaker conceive all the characteristics by which he recognises a thing. 2. The second class of conceptions which a speaker must train himself to form, comprises conceptions of the various things entering into a definite speech which he is preparing. A careful examination of the use to which he intends to put conceptions of this class, will show the speaker that he cannot go into such detail as is required when forming conceptions of the first class. In each conception of the first class, the speaker's effort is to know thoroughly a thing and to be able so to describe that thing that anyone who hears the description would know the thing by the descrip- tion. But in each -conception of the second class: THE TWO GENERAL CLASSES OF CONCEPTIONS 95 When a speaker is conceiving things for their use in a definite speech, he is concerned only with finding those characteristics of a thing which best illustrate some point in the theme he is presenting. Therefore, it is as necessary that the speaker learn to avoid useless details in conceptions of the second class, as it is necessary to include details in conceptions of the first class. In chapters following this one, we shall give special at- tention to the second kind of conceptions, those entering into a definite speech. In the present chapter, we shall treat only the first kind, namely, conceptions of things observed in every-day life, some of which should be formed every day. We have already observed (p. 84!?.) that new con- ceptions are essential to growth. This fact alone is enough to make each of us resolve to form at least one or two new conceptions every day. But there is a particular reason why the speaker must do so if he is to have full success. When the time comes for him to prepare any message for an audience, his task is very much like the task of a builder who must construct his building within a very limited time. How does the builder proceed? Does he wait till the time of construction and then try to find his material while he builds, or does he have all his material ready to hand, so that his task is but to select the special kind he needs at each moment? We know that if the builder should not follow the latter method, his task would result in failure. Equally much does the task of the speaker demand that his mental material be ready, so that, in the preparation of his speech, his mind shall have little more to do than to select the thing that fits the need. 96 DEVELOPMENT OF ABILITY TO FORM CONCEPTIONS And even if the speaker could take the time, while con- structing a speech, to form all the conceptions needed in that speech, there is yet a greater reason why he should not depend alone upon conceptions formed at such a time. This reason is well illustrated in a certain custom prevalent among some managers of the moving-picture business. When any noted accident or great event occurs, these man- agers hurry their cameras there to get the clearest possible picture of the burning building, the wreck, or whatever it may be. Why do they do this? Are they preparing a picture that calls for this exact event? Not at all. The chances are, that they have in mind no present use for such a scene. Then, what has been the gain ? Some night when we are witnessing a famous moving picture, we are amazed at some of the scenes presented, where life is apparently recklessly risked and property is sacrificed without apparent thought of cost. We do not realize the ease with which those pictures, stored away for future use, have been in- serted in the story and have given these marvellous effects. The speaker will do well to learn the lesson. More striking illustrations, of any theme we may present, are happening from time to time in actual life, than we can ever find while preparing a speech. If we have formed a clear and adequate conception of everything worthy to be noted, then we shall be able to produce effects in our speaking which otherwise would be impossible. In the experiments in this chapter, we attempt to do noth- ing more than to give a suggestive start to the work that must become a daily habit in the life of the speaker who would grow to his fullest capacity in speaking. In life, we form our conceptions mostly of the things FORMING CONCEPTIONS OF CHARACTERS 97 we see and hear. We, therefore, outline only those experi- ments in which these two senses take the leading part. It should not be forgotten, however, that: The more senses we employ in studying an object, the fuller is our conception of that object, provided only that we give each sense employed full time to get its information. Remember the suggestion (on p. 45) that, just as in a court of law the truth is established, when possible, by the testimony of several witnesses, so does each of us learn the truth (that is, each of us forms an adequate conception) through the testimony of several senses, the witnesses sup- plied us by Nature through which to prove all things. Forming Conceptions of Characters Nowhere, perhaps, do we more often employ various senses in quick succession, than when we are observing people, and forming conceptions of them. For this reason and also because this particular effort is one of the easiest to be found with which to begin conception- forming, and at the same time is highly interesting and beneficial, let us first form a few conceptions of characters. Such train- ing is very valuable to the speaker for several reasons. The speaker who has not trained himself to form quick and accurate conceptions of men, is very likely to make a failure of his speaking, no matter how well he may know his subject. A moment's thought will show us the reason for this. Unless the speaker knows the nature and the point of view of anyone to whom he speaks, how can he enter into that person's nature and take his point of view? 98 DEVELOPMENT OF ABILITY TO FORM CONCEPTIONS And unless the speaker can take the point of view of an- other, how ican he hope to persuade the listener, since per- suading means causing one to take a different point of viezv? And, since the highest result a speaker can attain is to persuade the listener to accept and adopt the speaker's message, it is clear that the habit of forming careful and adequate conceptions of people may become a major source of effective speaking. The author has found that it helps the student to save time and also to form more accurate conceptions, to let him first observe efforts that other students have made in conception- forming. For this reason, before outlining original experiments, we give two student-descriptions of experiments they have performed in forming conceptions of characters. The first paper is inserted because, in the main, it is successful and may serve as somewhat of a guide to the beginning speaker. The second paper is given to show some of the principal things to be avoided in this kind of conception- forming. The following paper was submitted by a young man with a quick, sensitive nature, who had seen much of men, especially in business pursuits. He says : I hear a man speak. His voice is of moderate depth and seems almost expressionless. He never lets his voice fall, yet pauses at the end of every two or three words. The effect is a dull monotony, and it would seem that the man speaking is a dull, listless sort of man. Yet there is an indescribable sound in this voice that seems to indicate unfeeling, dogged determination. It seems to tell me that this man is an unfeeling, determined egotist. I watch hum walk. He has a moderate gait and plants his feet firmly as he takes even, measured steps. These things seem to indicate controlled strength and de- FORMING CONCEPTIONS OF CHARACTERS 99 termination. His shoulders and head are thrown back and his head is carried on one side. These characteristics seem to indicate self-esteem, disregard for others, and self-confidence. I notice that he is looking at the ground. This shows that his thought is not going out to anything around him; he is lost in thought of self. He methodically twirls his mustache. This, too, shows that he is thinking of his own appearance. He wears a dark suit of good material and a black hat. His apparel might denote modesty, but coupled with other things already observed, it rather seems to emphasize his lack of feeling. I see his face. His high forehead indicates intellect. His cold, dull, narrow, grey eyes denote selfishness and lack of feeling, and his long, thin nose seems to emphasize these traits. His thin, tightly compressed lips indicate determination. He smiles, but the smile seems forced and unnatural. He talks to me, but looks at the ground or the sky, with only an occa- sional glance at me. From this I conclude that he is under- handed and deceitful. It is very evident that he is attempting to be pleasant, but it all seems forced and insincere. When I sum up the testimony he has given me of his character, I find my first opinion of him confirmed and strengthened. He is an unfeeling, determined, methodical, intellectual, selfish, deceit- ful, insincere egotist. This is a terrible charge against the poor victim who unwittingly walked into this observer's psychological labora- tory. Probably the man had some redeeming traits which were not observed, but so far as the diagnosis goes, it is a careful and commendable piece of work. Before presenting the next paper, which, as we have said, is submitted for its faults and not for its merits, let us record a caution or two. In building conceptions of characters, the speaker must exercise great care to avoid descending to mere loose description. He must exercise even greater care to avoid describing things sensed by only one sense, without proving his impressions through the witness of other senses. The following paper shows the bad results from neglecting these cautions. The author of this paper begins by saying: 100 DEVELOPMENT OF ABILITY TO FORM CONCEPTIONS I see a woman walking along with a careless, shuffling gait. She hardly lifts her feet from the sidewalk as she scuffs along, and her shoes have a dusty, rundown-at-the-heel look. A fringe of her hair hangs over her collar at the back, and the back of her waist gapes open where a button is missing. Her dark skirt is carelessly fastened to her waist with an old, colored leather belt, and from under the belt protrudes the end of a safety-pin. On the sides, her waist has pulled out from its belt-fastening, and the rough edges of the bottom of the waist can plainly be seen. As my gaze travels downward, I see a ragged ruffle of a striped petticoat hanging in plain view from under her dark skirt, -he ruffle is already black from having dragged in the dust. From these things, I infer that this is an extremely careless, untidy, uncleanly character. Some rather close observing has been done by the authoress of this paper, but the work ended in mere descrip- tion, a description, furthermore, of what the authoress of this paper saw, unsupported by the impressions of any other sense. More than that, it is a description of only what the observer saw in apparel. Safe and sure conceptions cannot be built in this way. Such a method leads to all sorts of hasty, unwarranted conclusions. As soon as the young woman who wrote this paper saw some feature of the apparel studied, which she thought in- dicated the character of the person observed, she should have proved or disproved her inference by the testimony of some of her other senses. That is, she should have listened to the woman's voice, or she should have let her own sense of motion seek for the corresponding char- acteristics in the woman's movements, as she had discerned in her costume. She should have looked into the woman's face to discover whether the facial expression also seemed to tell of carelessness or whether it marked something quite different. No note is made of how this woman's voice FORMING CONCEPTIONS OF CHARACTERS IOI would sound, how her face looks, how she carries her head, her hands, or her body. The result is that we do not know this woman. This means that no conception has been built. For a number of reasons, such work as that done in the last paper quoted above, should be avoided. In the first place, such work will give us false notions of people and of life. The young lady who wrote that paper is wholly unwarranted in concluding that the person she observed is merely careless and uncleanly. That woman's hands may be paralyzed so that she is unable to attend to her apparel. Our observer can hardly have seen her hands. The woman may be blind, hence unconscious of her appearance. Our would-be student of character did not think to observe the eyes. The unfortunate woman may be so poor that she must wear cast-off and ill-fitting garments, and so hard- worked that her appearance is due to exhaustion. Our critic forgot to look into the face, the very "sign-board" of one's attitude toward life. "By many witnesses shall the truth be established." Let us get the testimony of many witnesses, our senses, that we may know the character observed and that we may enable others to know. Another vital reason why students of speaking should avoid incomplete work like that in the last paper, is that it does so little to build up speech-power. Whoever allows himself to study anything observed through only one sense, fails to come into close sympathy with that thing. He soon comes to hold himself in a critical attitude toward the thing studied. In a purely critical attitude, it is "almost impossible to see the real truth. It is only when we come to realize how things are IO2 DEVELOPMENT OF ABILITY TO FORM CONCEPTIONS affecting the person observed, that we begin to be af- fected by that person. And certainly the person whose character we are describ- ing, must have some effect on us if we are to have any effect on those to whom we speak our conceptions. So, if we wish to build effective speech out of character-study, we must employ as many senses as are necessary to get ourselves into thorough sympathy with the persons observed. Experiments in Building Conceptions of Characters With the helps given in the papers and criticisms above, observe, separately, three different persons. Let each person studied be one of decided individuality. Note closely every peculiarity of costume, of voice, of facial expression, of walk, of carriage of body, head and limbs, which seems to tell you the character of the person studied. As soon as you think you have discovered some characteristic in the nature of the person observed, as shown by some peculiarity in his appearance, at once try to prove or dis- prove your conclusion. Do this by employing some of your other senses. For example, if you see something in his apparel which you think shows his character, listen to his voice to see if you find anything to support your observa- tion. Also use your sense of motion to determine whether anything in his movements agrees with what you thought you saw in his apparel. During your entire observation, imagine a friend stand- ing beside you, and, to this imaginary friend, describe each sensation you receive from the person observed, and tell what trait of character each sensation seems to indicate. EXPERIMENTS IN BUILDING CONCEPTIONS 1 03 If a character is studied on the street, where it is not pos- sible for you to talk aloud to an imaginary friend, keep the same mental attitude as if you were talking aloud. That is, imagine the friend to be there beside you, and -feel that you are conceiving each trait of character for the sole purpose of showing it to the listener. Then, as soon as you can get back to your room, again imagine the person studied to before you and the imaginary listener beside you, and again build your whole conception of that char- acter, while you tell your observations aloud. This principle of associating with everything studied a listener to whom you describe a thing (imaginatively, at least) while you study it, is the very key-stone of rapid growth in natural speaking. As soon as a thorough conception of a character has been built, you should practice, orally, a number of times, re-building it; the^i write down your conception of that character. Submit these written conceptions in class, and be prepared to re-build them orally before the class. Forming Conceptions of Miscellaneous Things We have found that conceptions of characters constitute an important part of effective speaking. It is apparent, however, that the speaker will be required to form many more conceptions of other things, miscellaneous things. For this reason, we have outlined three experiments in forming conceptions of this nature, to give the student of speech a helpful start. We follow the plan suggested above. Before outlining the experiments to be performed, we give the intending 104 DEVELOPMENT OF ABILITY TO FORM CONCEPTIONS speaker an opportunity to see some of the successes and failures other students have made in forming conceptions of miscellaneous things. The first paper to be quoted was submitted by a young man whose active sense of motion aids him remarkably. It not only puts him in close sympathy with the sound heard, it also makes his comparisons and contrasts of this sound with other sounds, easy and effective. The author of this paper says: I listen. I hear a heavy, rumbling sound. It isn't very loud nor very faint. It is getting louder all the time. It is coming down the street. I listen carefully. I hear, within this general sound, many sharp sounds, as if two hard materials were striking against each other. It seems like iron striking stone, only there is no ring to it. Each of these sounds is metallic and yet it is muffled until it is flat and hollow. It is horse-shoes striking the pavement. There are many of these sounds. By their frequency and the broken rhythm, I know there are two horses. Now, moving along with the horses, I hear a heavy, rattling noise. It must come from some kind of vehicle these horses are drawing, since it moves with them. But what kind of vehicle is it? It can't be a carnage. A carriage seldom rattles, and when it does, the sound is much lighter than this. Now this heavy, rattling sound seems hollow. It seems as if a large, hollow box with a loose lid were being bumped along. It is a wagon. The wheels must be wide; for a narrow wheel could not make that heavy, blunt noise rolling along on the bricks. I hear two of these heavy, blunt sounds made by the wheels. They seem to come from two different places, suggesting that it is a very long wagon with the wheels some distance apart. I conceive it to be a large, long, heavy wagon whose box is empty arid covered with a loose covering. I think it is an empty, covered, garbage wagon, driven slowly. I look out my window and find my conception correct. The work in the above paper, is worthy of praise. It is a good, strong, clear conception, sensitively realized, and told in short, simple sentences. CONCEPTIONS IN MISCELLANEOUS THINGS IO5 The following paper is inserted here mainly for the purpose of pointing out its faults, that the student may avoid them. Here it is : I hear a loud, whirring, humming, singing sound like that of a planing-mill. I hear the escape of steam from the boilers, the chug, chug of the engine, and the squeaking of the belts. But the whirring, humming, singing sound is too steady and not loud enough to be that of a planing-mill. It sounds like a number of dynamos. This sound, as well as the escape of steam, the chugging of the engine, and the squeaking of the belts, enables me to identify this noise as that of a power-plant. This attempt is full of faults. In the first place, the author of this paper is insincere in his work. He pretends to be making an effort to identify a sound, when there is abundant evidence that he is really making no such effort. If he went so near to the source of the sound studied, that he could hear the "squeaking of the belts," the impres- sions then made on his senses of sight, location, and motion, as well as those made on his sense of hearing, were so strong, that he instantly knew that he was observing a power-plant. There was no incentive to try to', discover and make sure what the thing was. Hence, all his com- parisons and contrasts are at once forced and unconvincing. In the second place, the author of this paper makes no honest effort to identify the smaller sounds making up the whole, complex sound studied. This leads him to jump to all sorts of unwarranted conclusions. For example, when he says : "I hear the escape of the steam from the boilers," we are suddenly conscious of the fact that we, as listeners, have been told nothing by which to recognize either steam or boilers. The one who is pretending to conceive these sounds, should first bring them before us by showing us IO6 DEVELOPMENT OF ABILITY TO FORM CONCEPTIONS the pecularities of the sounds by which he recognizes them as sounds of steam from boilers. Again when he says: "It sounds like a number of dynamos," what effort has he made to help the listener recognize dynamos? None. Instead of hastily determining that the sounds are the sounds of dynamos, he should have taken great care to tell us the peculiar characteristics of the sounds, how they differ from the hum of other machinery, etc. When this student Concludes by saying that these things enable him to "iden- tify this noise as that of a power-plant," we are very sure that they have not enabled us to identify anything. Such careless work as this cannot be too strongly condemned or too carefully avoided. It will diminish the power of think- ing instead of building it; it will dissipate the imagination instead of developing it. We have now examined one good and one faulty con- ception which students have formed, with the sense of hear- ing doing the primary part of the work. We pointed out above that most of our conceptions in life are formed when either the ear or the eye is taking the lead in the observation that is being made. Therefore, before we pro- ceed to perform our own experiments, we shall examine two conceptions which students have formed, of miscellaneous things, when the eye did the primary work. The first paper below was submitted by a young man who has an active imagination but whose imagination, through bad use, had become very fanciful and uncontrolled before he began the study of speaking. Because of this condition of his imagination, when he entered the class in the Psychology of Speech, he discriminated very poorly, and all his conceptions were inadequate. At the end of CONCEPTIONS IN MISCELLANEOUS THINGS 1 07 eight weeks, when he submitted this paper, his ability to form clear conceptions, had remarkably improved. Here is his paper : I look at an imposing building some distance from me. From its shape, size, proportions, the sizes and locations of its win- dows, and the size and shape of its porches, I recognize it as a residence. Its walls are a solid, dark red color; yet, as I look more closely, I see that two sets of lines, one set vertical and the other horizontal, divide the wall into small sections about twice as wide as they are tall. These are the char- acteristic features of a brick wall, but a brick wall usually has a different color in the lines of mortar between the bricks. The lines in the wall before me are red like the rest of the wall only a little darker red. I have seen imitation brick walls made of sheets of metal lined like brick walls and painted a solid red color. Is this building made of imitation brick? No, for I remember that the uneven light reflected from the metal sheets after they are nailed on, always shows the small waves in that kind of a wall. The light comes evenly from all parts of the wall before me; and, as I look more closely, I recognize the rich red and the smooth, cool appearance which I have seen only from pressed brick. It is a residence built of pressed brick and laid with red mortar. The above paper contains some small faults, e.g., a little tediousness in giving details ; but in the main it is a true and clear conception. Let us now examine a student effort that failed to build a conception through the sense of sight. The author of the following paper not only failed, but he failed in what might be called a typical way since so many other students make the same kind of failure. This student says: I look at a book-case. It stands on four legs about six inches high. It is brown in color. It stands about six feet high and is about four feet wide. It has two glass doors. It con- tains six shelves on which are about four hundred volumes. The case is made of heavy wood and seems very solid. 108 DEVELOPMENT OF ABILITY TO FORM CONCEPTIONS This last paper illustrates, perhaps, the commonest of all errors which students commit when they attempt to build conceptions. This is a mere, loose description, not conception-building at all. In his last sentence, the author made a weak, little effort in the direction of a conception, but did nothing to build or finish even that. Such loose descriptions as this is can be given without any great effort to discover or to prove the identity of the thing examined ; but: To build a conception requires us to discover, through the sensations we receive from the thing examined, what the very inner nature of that thing is, and above all, how we recognize it. Experiments in Forming Miscellaneous Conceptions With the help of the quoted papers and the criticisms given above, the intending speaker should now be able, with pleasure and success, to perform experiments in forming conceptions of miscellaneous things. Three experiments are to be outlined. The first one is in sound, where the ear must do the initial work. The second, in sight, where the eye must play the leading part. The third experiment is designed to help the speaker to apply the work done in the two preceding experiments, to practical speaking. It will be found easiest and most profitable to perform these three experiments on the same day. I. As the first experiment in forming conceptions of miscellaneous things, listen to some sound outside your room. Pay close attention to each characteristic of the sound studied. Imagine that a friend is standing beside EXPERIMENTS IN FORMING CONCEPTIONS you, and, the instant you receive a sensation that tells you any one characteristic of the sound listened to, describe it to your imaginary friend. As soon as you think you have discovered what the sound is and from what source, make sure that you are not mistaken, by noting keenly the differ- ence between this sound and others so like it that they might easily be mistaken for it. For example, if you think the sound is made by a vehicle of any kind, make clear to your friend just what sensations of sound, location, and motion, give you that impression. Then, make clear just what kind of vehicle it is. Make clear what sensations tell you this. When you have formed a clear and adequate conception of the sound studied, practice re-building this conception several times while you tell it aloud to the imaginary friend beside you, as if you were doing it solely to help this friend identify the sound to which you now imagine you are listen- ing. When this has been done, write your conception, to be submitted in class. Also be prepared to re-build the conception, orally, before the class. Most of the sounds listened to are likely to be moving sounds. Many of them will move rapidly. For this reason, you will probably find it necessary to experiment with several of these moving sounds before you find yourself able to form a full and satisfactory conception of any one sound in the very short time you hear it. It will also require intense concentration and mental rapidity. These things sometimes cause the speaker to withdraw himself from the listener and speak his conceptions as if his only task were to receive sense-impressions. To overcome this tendency, never lose sight of the fact that your principal I IO DEVELOPMENT OF ABILITY TO FORM CONCEPTIONS effort in conceiving a thing should be to make real to the listener the thing you are conceiving. An audience is able to see any object a speaker may have in mind, only in proportion as the speaker shows the audience the characteristics of that object by which he recognizes it. Then give yourself the benefit of keeping a listener in mind, and speak aloud while you build every conception ; and the habit of speech thus formed will rapidly develop your ability to do the same thing for the audience that you have been doing for the imaginary listener. 2. As the second experiment in forming conceptions of miscellaneous things, look at some object of more or less striking appearance. Let it be something of various shapes, colors, and materials. Pay close attention to all the sensa- tions which enable you to recognize the object and the materials in it. If you see, in the object studied, such close resemblances to something else, that you might easily mistake this thing for that other thing, make it clear to a friend whom you imagine to be beside you, just how you know that this object is not the other object which it resembles. Make it clear what sensations tell you the points of difference. Get as much help as possible from your senses of touch, location, and motion. The sense of touch is exceedingly helpful in forming adequate conceptions and also in enabling the speaker to reproduce his conceptions imaginatively later in speech. As we found in the study of Sensation, this sense is the only means we have by which to come into real touch with the things about which we speak. As soon as you have given so clear and vigorous an oral description of the process by which you form your concep- EXPERIMENTS IN FORMING CONCEPTIONS III tion of the object looked at, that no one who could hear you could fail to recognize the thing you describe, imme- diately write your conception. Then practice telling your conception aloud several times, while you re-build it, with the object you are conceiving before you only in imagina- tion. As you do so, be constantly on your guard not to let the thing which you imagine before you, slip away to the distance. Keep the object you are conceiving as near you in imagination as it was when you actually saw it, and constantly imagine a friend beside you who is intensely interested in following with you each act of your senses and of .your mind as you identify the thing observed. Be ready to do this before the class. 3. For the third experiment, apply the training you have just received in experiments I and 2, to more practical speaking. Suppose that you are before a certain audience making a plea for national defense. Suppose that you have argued as strongly as you can, that we are absolutely un- prepared to repel any foe that might attack us. Feel that you have done all you can, through argument, to make your audience realize the disaster a war would bring to us in our helpless condition. Begin your experiment where you determine to drive home all you have said, by building a brief, graphic con- ception of a peaceful, happy home, and then a conception of that home demolished by the hand of war. Imagine this peaceful home only a short distance before you as you address your audience, and build your conception of it as you see it before you. While you show this home to the audience, imagine that you hear sounds approaching in the distance. Build a conception of the approach of an 112 DEVELOPMENT OF ABILITY TO FORM CONCEPTIONS army. End your picture by building a conception of that home in ruins after the army has passed. Condense the entire double conception to about three minutes. Practice re-building this whole double conception several times while you tell it aloud to an imaginary audience. Be prepared to re-build it orally before the class. Daily Practice in Conception-Forming As we have said above, the student must put into daily practice the principles of conception- forming, if he hopes to become an effective speaker. There are three general and fundamental requirements which every successful speaker must meet. I. He must have a large fund of clear and ready ideas. 2. He must have a large fund of words by which to express his ideas. 3. He must so frequently practice using his ideas and his words in actual speech, that they are accurate, and ready, when needed. To accomplish these three things well, the speaker must make each of the three help the other two. Ideas are never so accurate as they should be, until the speaker has the exact words to represent these ideas. For this reason, whenever the speaker finds anything so interesting that he feels he might sometime use it, he should form a clear and accurate conception of that thing the moment he experiences it. Then, as soon as he can get to his room, he should describe his conception to an imaginary friend or audience. Whenever he hears or reads a word the meaning of which is not perfectly clear, the speaker should go to the dic- tionary at the earliest possible moment, and, by combining the dictionary definition with his past experience, through DAILY PRACTICE IN CONCEPTION-FORMING 113 an active use of his imagination, should form a clear con- ception of the thing for which that word stands. Then, as soon as possible, he should describe that conception orally and in writing. Only by combining, in this way, words with ideas and ideas with words, and by forming accurate conceptions of both, can the speaker hope to have an adequate fund of either ideas or words. And only by combining with all conceptions he forms, immediate practice of those conceptions in speaking, can the speaker hope to have a ready and facile use of ideas and words. When a student has made a habit of such daily practice as we have outlined, if he has a good general education a thing indispensable to the speaker of to-day and if he takes advantage of every opportunity to hear good speakers and to read good speeches and other good literature, and to form accurate conceptions of everything he hears and reads, he will have gone far toward the completion of the general preparation which effective speaking demands. Much special preparation for any definite speech will still remain. This we shall treat in the next chapter. CHAPTER VI CONCEPTION-FORMING IN ORIGINAL SPEECH Four Classes of Conceptions IF the intending speaker has laid the foundation for his work outlined in the last chapter, it is now time to consider the special preparation required by each individual speech. The conceptions which the speaker must form in pre- paring any message for an audience, are of four general classes. I. He must conceive an appropriate subject. II. He must conceive a definite purpose in presenting this sub- ject. III. He must conceive a definite plan for presenting this subject. IV. He must conceive the definite preparation required by this subject, this purpose, and this plan. I. Conceiving an Appropriate Subject Let us first consider the Conception of an Appropriate Subject. How often we hear such remarks as these: "I have been asked to give a talk next week, and I can't think what to talk about"; "I have been pjaced on the program for an oration, I wish you would give me a good subject"; "Won't you please suggest a list of good subjects for me to use in the class in Extempore Speaking this semester?" Even a little careful thinking will cause the speaker to realize that the best subject for him, the subject in which he will realize his best success, cannot be found in this 114 CONCEIVING AN APPROPRIATE SUBJECT 11$ manner. For years, the author of this book has carefully observed the success of speeches made on subjects chosen in either the arbitrary or the haphazard way suggested by the remarks we have just quoted, and in practically every case such a speech was a failure. These observations have led to a careful analysis of the nature of a good subject. A good subject has been found to possess four fundamental qualifications. (A) An appropriate subject is one on which the speaker has some personal knowledge. (B) An ap- propriate subject is one in which the speaker has some personal interest. (C) An appropriate subject is one in which people are interested. (D) An appropriate subject is one that is simple enough and concrete enough to hold the attention of the audience. (For class-use, the subject should be one on which abundance of good reading is available.) (A) The Speaker's Knowledge On The Subject. The first thing necessary, in attempting to select the best possible subject, is for the speaker to conceive the subject about which he knows the most. Frequently when a student attempts this task for the first time, he imagines it a very difficult one. He feels that he does not know anything worth talking about. This is because he does not realize what is worth talking about. It often happens, when a student finds how something that he had considered too small or too insignificant to be the subject of a talk, is, after all, an excellent subject, that a peculiar expression of sur- prise and relief comes over his face as he says: "I guess I know more than I thought I did. Why, anybody knows subjects like that." That is just the point. We all know subjects on which we can speak better than on subjects Il6 CONCEPTION-FORMING IN ORIGINAL SPEECH anyone else may give us. When we stop to think about it, this fact is in perfect keeping with the law of conception- forming. We learned in the last chapter, that the first essential in forming any conception, is for the mind to find in the thing to be conceived, something it has known before. It naturally follows that if a speaker is trying to conceive the best subject for any occasion, he should first think over a list of things on which he has some personal knowledge and find the one on which his knowledge seems to be fullest. He should then form a clear conception of his knowledge on that subject. (B) The Speaker's Interest In the Subject. The second essential in conceiving an appropriate subject, is that it be a theme in which the speaker is personally interested. As soon as you have conceived something concerning which you have some personal knowledge, as yourself: "Am I interested in that ?" "Why am I interested?" Is it because you have found it to be something new concerning things which you know a novelty? (We found, in Chapter IV, that this is one of the principal sources of interest. ) Or are you interested in the subject under consideration, because it has brought to you some kind of personal gain? (We found this to be the other principal source of interest.) If you find yourself interested in the thing considered, because of some profit or gain you have enjoyed from it, examine more carefully the kind of gain you received. Did the subject you are considering give you increased pleasure, or increased health and vigor, or did it give you intellectual gain, or financial gain, or did it appeal to your deeper, better self and, thereby, give you soulful gain? CONCEIVING AN APPROPRIATE SUBJECT 117 If, after a thorough examination of the subject, you find that it has neither been an interesting novelty nor has it profited you in any such ways as those enumerated, it is exceedingly doubtful whether you are deeply enough in- terested in that subject to interest others in it, even though you do know something about it. The encouraging thought, however, is that practically every subject on which we have any considerable personal knowledge, is interesting to us through one or more of these causes, if only we are keen enough to realize it. Since we must realize why we are interested if we hope to interest others in the subject, it is vitally important that we build a thorough conception of our interest in any subject we intend to present. (C) The People's Interest In the Subject. When you have conceived a subject on which you have personal knowl- edge and in which you are personally interested, the next essential is to conceive the interest the people have in that subject. Naturally you will build this conception very much as you built the conception of your own interest. You will inquire : "Are the people interested in this theme ? Why should they be interested?" We found, p. 83, that: It is the new in the old that interests, hence, you will inquire : Have I reason to believe that this subject will present decidedly new characteristics of things known to the people, and, hence, that it will interest them through its novelty? Professor Judd (Genetic Psychology for Teachers, p. 41) says: "Mental life is made up, in very large measure, of those processes of getting behind experiences and grasping meanings" He could not have said a better thing for the speaker who is trying to conceive an appropriate subject; Il8 CONCEPTION-FORMING IN ORIGINAL SPEECH for a speaker's conception of a subject is worth little until he conceives some meaning, some use, of that subject for his hearers. Professor De Garmo (Interest and Education, p. 28) says : "Interest ... is a feeling of the worth, to the self, of an end to be attained." Professor Pyle (Outlines of Educational Psychology, p. 215) says: "The basis of interest is always the same, the needs of the individual. . . . When we try to interest him in aspects of life that have no meaning for him, he feels no need for the new ideas." Hence, in trying to conceive what interest your subject will have for the people, the second question you should ask is: "How can I show the people that this subject will bring them profit?" To answer this question, it is neces- sary to conceive, as clearly as possible, the occasion on which you will give your speech and the audience to which you will give it. Inquire what there is in the lives or pursuits or beliefs of the special people to whom you expect to speak, that will help them to be interested in your subject. Inquire also what there is in the special occasion, that will cause the subject you are contemplating, to mean more to your audience. Do you conceive, in your subject, some special financial gain that it may bring to this people? Or some physical comfort or happiness? Or some community welfare that will mean peace and contentment? Or some increase of health and vigor? If you can conceive no special reasons why any certain class or classes of persons should be interested in your contemplated theme, next inquire if your subject presents things which concern the success or the happiness or the welfare of all the people, so that you feel that any audience should be interested in it. Professor Ross (Social Control, CONCEIVING AN APPROPRIATE SUBJECT 119 p. 72) declares: "The crowd stands for the common man in his most unreasonable mood." Hence, the necessity that the speaker should change the CROWD into an AUDIENCE. To do this, he must first conceive a subject that will unify the minds of his hearers. Nothing can do this more effec- tively than to show them something that threatens things in which they are all interested. Professor Ross (Ibid., 18-19) says: "Not sentiment, but invariably force or the dread of force, has called into being that most extensive of co-operations, the State." So, the audience can best be solidified, unified, by the speaker's first conceiving the IN- TERESTS of his hearers, and then the dangers which threaten those interests. Therefore, ask the question: 'What is there in this subject I am contemplating, that will help the people to preserve those things which are valuable to all?" Not until you have formed a definite conception of the special or the general reasons why the people should be interested in your subject, have you proved your subject an appropriate one even though you have personal knowl- edge on that subject and a personal interest in it (D) The Simplicity and Concreteness of the Subject. When you have conceived a subject in which you are in- terested because you know something about it and because you have conceived the interest the people have in it, the next essential is to inquire whether it is simple enough and concrete enough to hold the attention of the audience. Professor De Garmo (Interest and Education, p. 141) says: "Concreteness contributes perhaps more than any other single phase of instruction, both to clearness and to vivid- ness. It lays the foundation, therefore, for interest." Here I2O CONCEPTION-FORMING IN ORIGINAL SPEECH again the golden principle which we have previously quoted from Dr. James, comes in with special force, "The only things of real intellectual value are all concretes and sin- gulars." Nowhere else is this so strikingly true as in speak- ing. Professor Judd (Genetic Psych, for Teachers, p. 150) very wisely declares: "Attention means the active con- centration of the senses on the object attended to." People can sense only concrete things and people re- fuse to give any continued attention to things which they cannot sense. Therefore, if you desire to hold the attention of your audience, you must conceive a subject that is not only brief and simple, but one that treats concrete things. It requires a very skillful speaker to make anything but a failure out of such subjects as "Pessimism versus Optimism/' "The Moral Nature of Man," or "Immortality." We must get closer to life, to things we see, touch, and otherwise sense in life, when we conceive a subject, if we would get close to the audience when we present that subject. Finally, the ability of your subject to hold the interest of the audience, will be greatly increased if your subject presents concrete things which have in them life and move- ment. Dr. James (Talks to Teachers, p. 92) tells us: "Na- tive things, moving things . . . these are the objects natively interesting. ... I have seen a roomful of college students suddenly become perfectly still to look at their professor of physics tie a piece of string around a stick which he was going to use in an experiment, but immediately grow restless when he began to explain the experiment." Undoubtedly the sense of motion is one of the speaker's most effective means for holding the attention of the audience. Therefore, CONCEIVING A DEFINITE PURPOSE 121 inquire whether the subject you are considering will give you an opportunity to present and discuss moving things. II. Conceiving a Definite Purpose in Presenting the Subject When a speaker has conceived a subject on which he expects to speak, and has tested the appropriateness of that subject, as outlined above, he is then ready to take the second important step in preparing for his speech. That step is the forming of a clear conception of the speaker's purpose in presenting the subject. What a fatal mistake it is for a speaker to think that when he has a good subject, all there is left for him to do, is to study that subject and then talk on it! How often we hear a very poor speech made on a very good subject, even when there is reason to believe that the speaker has done some good work in preparation, simply because the speaker has not conceived a definite purpose for which to present his theme! How can a speaker expect his speech to accomplish any definite thing with the audience, if he has not determined what definite thing he wishes it to accom- plish? What would you think of an architect who would construct a building without first conceiving clearly the use to which the building is to be put, without asking whether he is to build a storehouse, a schoolhouse, or a residence? We can hardly imagine an architect who would make such poor use of material; yet many a speaker makes equally poor use of his speech material, by building his speech without asking what it is he hopes to accomplish by making this speech. A speaker may address an audience for any one of four 122 CONCEPTION-FORMING IN ORIGINAL SPEECH fundamental purposes. These are: (A) The Purpose of Entertaining; (B) The Purpose of Instructing; (C) The Purpose of Convincing; (D) The Purpose of Persuading. To make any speech reach its highest degree of effectiveness, the speaker must clearly conceive which one of these pur- poses best suits the subject he is presenting, the occasion on which he is to speak, and the audience to which he is' to speak. (A) The Purpose of Entertaining. When a speaker attempts to decide whether he should make his speech primarily to entertain, or to instruct, or to convince, or to persuade, he must have clearly in mind the characteristics of a speech which cause it to do one or another of these four things. Let us inquire, what are the characteristics of an enter- taining speech? In the broadest meaning, the term "enter- taining" refers to anything that so affects the emotion of the listener as to divert his mind from its ordinary channels of thought. In practical usage, however, we regard as really entertaining, only that thing that turns the mind of the listener into lighter moods and makes it cast off the cares and burdens of life. The thing that does this, is commonly called "amusing." Therefore, as we speak of a speech given to entertain, we have in mind a speech that will amuse. The question before us, then, is what makes a subject amus- ing? Anyone who closely observes the nature of speeches whose chief function is to cause the audience to "pass a pleasant hour," will soon notice that there are four funda- mental characteristics at least two of which are always present in such a speech. These are: i. The Unusual Thing; 2. The Unusual Situation; 3. The Unusual Move- CONCEIVING A DEFINITE PURPOSE 123 ment ,' 4. The Unusual Attitude the Speaker's Mind Assumes. We listen to a speech, at one time, with much amusement because the speaker is telling us about certain things which are "funny," about things which are immense when we expected them to be small, as the proud swagger and crow of a tiny bantam rooster, or about things which are small when we expected to find them immense, as the thin, effeminate voice of a very large man about things, at least, some of whose characteristics are very different from what we might expect. Such a speech is entertaining because the things described are made to appear so different from our conceptions of what those things should be, that they touch our sense of humor. Noted examples are "Bob" Burdett's description of the 'furniture that is put in a boy's room, in his famous lecture, The Rise and Fall of a Mustache, and Mark Twain's description of New England Weather. Another speech entertains us not so much by presenting things ludicrous or incongruous in themselves, but rather by showing us things in unexpected situations, for example when a speaker describes someone in an inverted position on the ice, vainly endeavoring to gain his feet, or when a bashful, country boy is described at a formal party or in the midst of a group of lively girls. / At another time, a speech entertains us because certain movements of things or persons talked about, are so unex- pected that they are humorous, as when, in the midst of some great flurry of excitement, a very deliberate character is asked to do something quickly, when he drawls: "Aw, don't be in such a hurry !" or when, in some solemn moment, an irrepressible young girl comes dashing in and pours forth a veritable clatter of words. 124 CONCEPTION-FORMING IN ORIGINAL SPEECH Most often of all, however, a speech is thoroughly amus- ing when the mind of the speaker is so completely filled with a conception of humor, that he takes a humorous attitude toward nearly everything about which he speaks. When this is the case, the speaker recognizes amusing char- acteristics which ordinarily would be passed by unnoticed. Such a speaker also employs one of the strongest of all sources of humor, namely, exaggeration. He sees things, in the speech he is making, which are somewhat amusing because of their unexpected nature or their unexpected situations or their unexpected movements, and he so ex- pands these amusing features that they seem extremely amusing to the listener. From these observations the student of speech will realize that when he wishes to decide whether his principal purpose in presenting any proposed speech, should be to entertain his audience, he should first inquire whether there are things about which he intends to speak, which are so genuinely amusing that this is their chief characteristic. If this is not the case, the speaker should next determine whether there are things in the occasion on which he is to speak, in the nature of the audience to which he is to speak, and in his own nature, which cause the subject on which he is to speak to grow more amusing to him every time he thinks about it. If none of these things obtain, the speech would better be made for some other purpose than merely to enter- tain the audience. Even when a speaker is sure that he can make a proposed speech entertaining, he is not always wise in presenting it for that purpose alone. Noble and commendable as is the desire of a speaker to give his audience pleasure, there are CONCEIVING A DEFINITE PURPOSE 12$ few subjects which do not deserve to be presented for some other purpose than amusement of the moment. The successful speaker is always alert to conceive all the amus- ing elements in any subject and to use these elements to make his speech a success; but he uses them to aid in the accomplishment of some other purpose, far more often than he makes entertainment an end in itself. It is only on occasions when the mind of the audience is in no con- dition to receive anything more than entertainment, as, for example, the after-dinner speech when the listeners have eaten a heavy banquet, that a speaker is wise in making entertainment his chief aim and purpose. Even then, it is often best for the speaker to work for some higher purpose, but to make his speech so thoroughly entertaining that he accomplishes his higher purpose without making his hearers conscious of it. (B) The Purpose of Instructing. When should a speaker make the chief aim of his speech, to instruct his audience ? Before a satisfactory answer can be given to this question, we must form a clear conception of what we mean when we speak of making a speech for the purpose of instructing an audience. To do this means decidedly more than merely to give the audience some information during the speech. Every speech that rises above the purpose of mere entertainment, presents (or, at least, is supposed to present) some knowledge to the hearer. Indeed, the speech that is presented merely to entertain, often accomplishes its purpose through giving the audience a certain amount of information. But they are two very different and distinct things, to present a speech that gives some facts and truths to those who hear it, and to make a speech whose aim is to 126 CONCEPTION-FORMING IN ORIGINAL SPEECH instruct the hearers. When a speaker deliberately makes this his purpose for presenting any proposed speech, if he does it intelligently: He must do so because he conceives certain very de- finite reasons why it is better for his audience to get a clear understanding of certain facts concerning his subject, than it is for them to be entertained or convinced or persuaded by that subject. This brings before us the question, what reasons can a speaker have for thinking that any speech will be most effective if it ends in instruction? What can there be in the nature of a subject or an audience or an occasion on which he is to speak, that will lead a speaker to this con- clusion? It is easy to see that the most typical subject call- ing for such treatment is a purely scientific theme. For example, if an electrician is going to speak on the subject of some new electrical discovery, he may, quite naturally, conclude that the most important end for him to try to attain, is to cause those who hear him, so clearly to under- stand the principles of this discovery that they will be able to teach it to others or to apply it in the use of electricity. If a chemist wishes to explain the effect of certain chemical compounds; if an astronomer intends to discuss the nature of a planet; if a horticulturist desires to explain the "habits" and the characteristics of certain varieties of apples each of these speakers will endeavor, most of all, to have his hearers understand the scientific facts and principles about which he speaks. From these few illustrations and others which will occur to the reader, it is easy to see, also, that the most typical audience to which to present a speech for the purpose of instructing, is an audience composed of CONCEIVING A DEFINITE PURPOSE 127 students of science, or of practical scientific men. It is equally apparent that the most typical occasion for such a speech, is a class-room in science or a convention or institute assembled for the purpose of discussing scientific ques- tions. A little careful thinking, however, will show us that the speech made for the purpose of instructing, is not limited to the scientific talk. A class-room lecture on any subject, scientific or otherwise, may be presented for the prime pur- pose of instructing, when the speaker feels that the most important thing for him to do is to give his hearers accurate knowledge of certain facts and principles on which to build. Then, too, there is the large field of commercial speeches, talks of businessmen to businessmen. Many of these are given for the chief purpose of instructing those who hear the speeches, as when a general manager or a sales-manager lays before his "force" his plans for the next day or the next week, or when a speech is made to an audience of capitalists to show them the practicability of a proposed investment. While there is a wide range of subjects and audiences and occasions which seem to call for speeches with the prime purpose of instructing, yet the speaker should think well before he determines to make a speech with instruction as his final end and aim. Undoubtedly the giving of instruc- tion or information, should be one of the principal features of almost any speech; but, like the feature of entertaining, the feature of instructing, in a speech, is better as a means to an end than as an end in itself. In Chapter I, we pointed out the important fact that any talk worthy the name of a public speech, is conversation enlarged, expanded, ennobled. 128 CONCEPTION-FORMING IN ORIGINAL SPEECH A speech that is made for the final purpose of instructing, is almost sure to lose these characteristics. When a speaker feels that he has nothing more than matter-of-fact to say, he naturally drops into a matter- of-fact way of saying it. This is unquestionably one of the main causes of the dry, commonplace, uninteresting and ineffective speeches of which we hear so many at the present time. Only yester- day, one of the foremost educators of the country came to the institution with which the writer is connected, and gave a lecture on one of our finest statesmen who died recently. The subject, the occasion and the audience con- spired to bring forth a public speech of the highest type. The speaker, however, had conceived the highest purpose of his speech, to be to instruct his audience concerning cer- tain facts in the life of the dead statesman. The result was a dead and unprofitable talk, unworthy the name public speech. The audience was insulted, outraged. This is but one of innumerable failures of this kind which are occurring on every hand because speakers do not realize that the instruction given in a public speech, should be a means for reaching some higher purpose, rather than an end in itself. (C) The Purpose of Convincing. What does it mean to make a speech for the purpose of convincing those who hear it? Think of the use you have been accustomed to make of the term "to convince." When you have said, "Well I convinced him," you meant that you succeeded in showing someone that you were right, didn't you ? Or you meant that you showed wherein he was wrong, which amounts to the same thing. This is precisely the meaning CONCEIVING A DEFINITE PURPOSE 129 we give the term here. It has to do with the right or wrong, the truth or falsity of a thing. When a speaker's chief aim is to convince his audience, it means that he desires, most of all, to show his hearers that certain principles of action, certain principles of life, are right. You will perceive at once that this is a higher purpose for speaking than the purpose of instructing. It is higher because it enters more directly and more closely into the lives of people. As we have said above, a spech that has instruction as its final aim, deals almost wholly with facts and is likely to become as lifeless as the facts presented. But when a speaker's main purpose is to convince his hearers, he is primarily concerned with life; for when we attempt to show that a certain thing is right, we really try to prove that that thing will have a beneficial effect on human life. This is the reason, perhaps, for the common saying that x people will fight for their rights more fiercely than for anything else, because the thing that is right actually affects life. For this reason, the speaker who speaks to convince, will find himself more vitally interested in his subject and more ready to fight for it. For this reason, too, he will find his audience more vitally interested in him as well as his subject, for they will feel that he is, in a sense, fighting for their rights. For these reasons, the purpose of con- vincing is the highest of the three motives for speaking, which we have considered. It is a worthy aim, to give the audience genuine pleasure; it is a more worthy aim, to give them both pleasure and useful information; it is still more worthy, to make both the pleasure and the in- I3O CONCEPTION-FORMING IN ORIGINAL SPEECH formation your means for convincing your audience that certain things are right and useful in their lives. How will you determine whether any speech you expect to make, shall be made for the purpose of convincing? Since we find it such a wise and worthy motive for speaking, should you determine to make all speeches for this purpose ? This might seem a commendable ambition, were it always practical. You will find, however, that your speaking will be most effective if you form your conception of the pur- pose for which you should speak, out of the nature of each single subject upon which you speak, together with the nature of the occasion and the audience to which you will speak. When you have fully conceived subject, audience, and occasion: Inquire what things there are in the nature of your subject and the occasion on which you will speak, which might have decided effect on the lives of those to whom you will speak. If, after thorough investigation, you do not find things which appeal to you as being so beneficial or so detrimental, that you feel like convincing your hearers of the desirability or undesirability, the right or wrong, of those things, then you may feel sure that you are not ready to make a speech for the purpose of convincing. Since practically everything that is worth making a speech about, however, can be of decided help or hindrance to human beings, you should not give up the search until you have found, in your subject, those things which may affect the lives of those who hear you. While practically every speech that is worthy to be given in public, undertakes to convince the audience of the right CONCEIVING A DEFINITE PURPOSE 131 or wrong, the truth or falsity, the desirability or unde- sirability, of certain things, and while we have found this purpose of convincing the highest motive for speaking thus far examined, yet the speaker will find that the fullest success in speaking will be reached, not through this but through a still higher purpose. This is so from the nature of the act of convincing. When our final aim is to convince, we appeal only to the understanding, not at all to the heart or the will. What is the result? The man convinced may see his duty, but may not be inclined to do his duty. It is a well-known principle of ethics, that the man who sees his duty and does it not, is a worse man than he was before he saw his duty. The speech that only convinces, then, and leaves the listener in inaction, is a failure. Convincing, like entertaining and instructing, should be the means for accomplishing a higher purpose rather than an end in itself. (D) The Purpose of Pursuading. Throughout the above discussion of the various purposes for which a speech may be made, we have been constantly approaching what seemed to be a moving goal. As soon as we have in- vestigated the virtues of any one purpose, we have dis- covered that its chief virtue is, that it prepares the way to another purpose farther on and higher up. The best thing about the purpose to make a speech entertaining is, that it better prepares the audience to receive the instruction the speaker would give. The best part of both entertain- ment and instruction, is that they enable the speaker to convince the audience of the right or wrong of the things discussed. The greatest thing the purpose to convince does for a speaker, is that, by showing the audience the right 132 CONCEPTION-FORMING IN ORIGINAL SPEECH or wrong in things, it enables him to influence his audience to act for or against those things. When a speaker so influences his hearers as to move them to action, he has then persuaded his audience. Persuasion is the last of the four general purposes named above. Since each of the first three seems to have, as its chief mission, the task of preparing the way for some higher purpose, and since we have now come to the last one, it would seem that this one, namely, the purpose of persuading, must be the chief and final purpose of public speaking. So it is. Twenty-two centuries ago, one of the greatest intellects of all time, gave to the world a definition of public speaking. Aristotle said : "Oratory is the art of persuasion." No one has ever been able to surpass that definition. Why? Be- cause the great philosopher went to the bottom of the sub- ject of speaking, as he went to the bottom of every subject he attempted. While there are many apparent motives or purposes which may cause a person to speak, Aristotle saw that beneath all these there lies a fundamental purpose, the purpose of persuasion. He saw that it is only when a speaker makes every other aim and motive serve this final purpose, that either speech or speaker can attain to full success. You are probably ready to ask a practical and pertinent question: "How am I to conceive this final purpose of persuading, in every subject on which I speak?" We ad- mitted above that it is not always desirable to make every speech for the highest possible purpose. We have found that there are rare occasions when it may seem best to speak for the final purpose of entertaining or instructing the audience. However, since the most effective speaking EXPERIMENTS 133 can be realized only through the purpose of persuading, it is certainly worth the speaker's effort, before discussing any subject, to conceive what there is in that subject that will lend itself to persuasion. To do this, the speaker must turn again to inquire what there is in his subject that is interesting to his audience, for certainly no one is persuaded by anything that does not interest him. Furthermore, no one is likely to be moved to action, by a speech, until he is made to believe that his action will bring some results, some returns. Therefore, the first thing to do, is to conceive the things about which you expect to speak, which will bring financial or physical or mental or moral or spiritual gain to the listener, provided he will perform the acts neces- sary to get the gain. Next conceive just what things it is necessary for the listener to do in order to realize the sup- posed gain, and whether those necessary acts are reasonable and such as the listener might be expected to perform. Finally, conceive what means you have (or expect to get in your preparation of the speech) by which you hope to per- suade the listener to perform these acts. When you see all these things clearly, you will then be ready to begin the actual preparation of a speech that is to be made for the highest of all purposes, the purpose of persuading. Experiments in Conceiving an Appropriate Subject and a Definite Purpose 1. Perform the experiment of conceiving a subject which meets the requirements outlined in the preceding discussion under the heading, Conceiving an Appropriate Subject. 2. When you have conceived a subject on which you feel 134 CONCEPTION-FORMING IN ORIGINAL SPEECH that you can make your best effort, then perform the ex- periment of conceiving the best purpose for which that speech can be presented, according to the requirements out- lined in the preceding discussion under the heading "Con- ceiving a Definite Purpose." Conceive also how much aid you expect to get, in presenting this subject, from each of the other three fundamental purposes. The process by which the subject and also the purpose is found, should be written and brought to the class for class- discussion. Or you may make a careful outline of the reasons why you tfelieve this to be your best subject and your best purpose, and then present these reasons orally before the class. CHAPTER VII CONCEPTION-FORMING IN ORIGINAL SPEECH Conceiving a Definite Plan for Presenting a Subject WHEN a speaker has conceived his subject and his pur- pose, as outlined in the last chapter, he is then ready to take the third important step in the preparation of his speech. He is ready to conceive a definite plan for present- ing his subject. He finds himself eager to construct the plan for his speech, that he may have definite places in which to put the things he expects to say in that speech. This idea of a place to put each thing, suggests a close analogy between a plan for a speech and the floor-plan of a house. In the discussion of Purpose (p. 121) we sug- gested that no one would expect an architect to succeed who would attempt a building without first conceiving clearly the purpose for which the building is to be used. But sup- pose an architect is to plan a residence, and suppose he locates promiscuously the rooms to be used for various pur- poses, and closets and hall-ways and bathrooms, but with- out a complete and definite floor-plan. Could you expect a livable residence to be the result? Only a little imagina- tion is required to realize that in such a house everything would always be in the wrong place. So, a speaker may conceive an appropriate subject and a definite purpose, yet, if he fail to form a definite plan, much that he says is likely 136 CONCEPTION-FORMING IN ORIGINAL SPEECH to be placed wrongly, either for his own convenience or for the satisfaction of the audience. To conceive a clear and adequate plan for a speech, requires six distinct acts. These are: (A) Conceiving How Subject and Purpose Produce the Plan; (B) Conceiving the Three General Divisions of the Speech; (C) Conceiving the Nature and Number of Main Headings; (D) Con- ceiving the Nature and Number of Sub-headings; (E) Conceiving the Nature and Number of Illustrations Under Each Sub-heading; (F) Conceiving the Order of Main Headings, Sub-headings, and Illustrations. (A) Conceiving How Subject and Purpose Produce the Plan. It should be obvious to everyone that that plan or outline will be best which is the simple outgrowth of the subject itself, and of the speaker's purpose in present- ing that subject; for the sole object of the plan is to aid the speaker in presenting the subject so as to accomplish his purpose. Therefore, the first thing a speaker should do, in attempting to form his plan, is to study the subject, to determine what there is in the nature of that subject that compels this or that kind of a plan. This requires a closer analysis of the subject than you made when you were only trying to discover whether the subject was an appropriate one. You attempted then to recall what you knew about the subject, what interest you and the people would have in it, and whether it was sufficiently single and concrete. Now: You must clearly conceive the nature and the meaning of the theme you have to present. By "theme" we mean the particular phase of life. Ex- amine any piece of literature of real worth, and you will DEFINITE PLAN FOR PRESENTING A SUBJECT 137 find that the author's mind is fixed on some phase of life. You will find that everything he says, is a direct outgrowth of that phase of life, just as the trunk and the branches and the twigs and the leaves of a tree are the outgrowth of a particular phase or kind of life in that tree. The same is true of a speech. How often we hear someone say, when trying to describe a speech that he enjoyed: "It was a live speech." What is meant by the word "live" ? It means that the speaker caused the listener to realize the life in the thing talked about. If you would have your speech worthy of this high compliment, it is necessary that you fix your mind on the distinct phase of life which your subject represents, and that you conceive clearly the nature and the meaning of that phase of life, and the effect it has on human life and human activity. This point may become more patent if we consider a concrete case. Suppose, for instance, that the subject to be discussed is "The Panama Canal." A moment's careful thinking will cause you to realize that the canal has grown to be what it is to-day, just as truly as that a tree grows. The idea of a canal, first existing only in the mind of man, reached out and brought together all the forces of nature out of which the canal grew. Therefore, if you are to make a live speech concerning the canal, it is necessary, first, that you conceive the canal as containing the forces which make it the great being (the great life, if you please) that it is. The next thing necessary is, that you conceive what it is you wish to do with this life, this being, this aggregate of forces. I. Do you wish to tell the story of its life? That is, do you wish to trace the story of its growth? (If your purpose 138 CONCEPTION-FORMING IN ORIGINAL SPEECH is to entertain or to instruct the audience, you may well accomplish your purpose by telling the story of the canal's growth.) If you do, then your speech will assume the form of Narration, and Narration, as we shall soon see, calls for its own kind of plan or outline. 2. Do you wish to cause your audience to realize just what the canal is to-day, by bringing before their minds, in the form of word-pictures, the principal characteristics or features of the canal as it now exists? (If you have no higher purpose in making your speech, than to entertain or to instruct your audience, your purpose may be accomplished in this man- ner.) If such a picture or series of pictures is to be the substance of your theme, then your speech will be a Description; and Description calls for a different kind of outline. 3. Do you wish to explain the principle on which the canal is constructed or the principle on which it operates, or both? If you do (and if your purpose is merely to instruct, you may accomplish your purpose in this manner) your speech will be an Exposition, which requires a third form of outline. 4. Do you wish to prove to your audience that certain ideas concerning the nature or the uses of the canal, are wrong and should be changed? If so, your speech will become Argumentation. Argumentation re- quires an outline different from that required by Narration, Description, or Exposition. Therefore, before you can determine the general form of your speech-plan, it is neces- sary that you determine how subject and purpose jointly produce the plan, by conceiving clearly the inner nature of your theme, and whether you can best present that inner nature to the audience in the form of a story or a descrip- tion or an exposition or an argument. DEFINITE PLAN FOR PRESENTING A SUBJECT 139 (B) Conceiving the Three General Divisions of the Speech. We have just said that the outline will be de- termined by the form in which you wish to present your theme to the audience. There is one characteristic of out- line, however, that remains practically the same for all forms of address. Whether your speech is to be in the form of a story or a description or an exposition or an argument, if it is carefully thought out, it will contain at least three divisions. I. Introduction; 2. Actual Theme ; 3. Conclusion. The reason for this will be quite clear if you will think of the speaker before the audience as of a man taking a number of persons on a trip to show them some- thing. A man conducting such a trip has three distinct things to do. (A) He must take the people to the thing he wishes to show them; (B) he must show them the thing they came to see; (C) he must get them back home. The speaker must perform three tasks of very similar nature. I. In his Introduction, the speaker must lead the audience into the very atmosphere and life of the thing he expects to show them. Since he cannot actually take them there in body, as the man conducting the trip would do, he must so influence their minds in his Introduction, that they men- tally go with the speaker into the presence of the thing to be observed. 2. In the Actual Theme, the speaker should conceive the thing he is discussing, in a form so concrete that his task is the simple one of showing to the persons in his audience, the important characteristics of that thing, as directly as if he and they were in its actual presence. 3. In the Conclusion, the speaker should show the listeners what the thing they have been observing means in their own lives, and, hence, enable them to "take it home" with them. 140 CONCEPTION-FORMING IN ORIGINAL SPEECH Since these three distinct tasks must be performed, each requiring a separate division of the speech, it follows that the first step to be taken in drawing up a plan, is to divide the whole speech into the three general divisions, Introduc- tion, Actual Theme, and Conclusion. A Plan for a Narrative Speech (C) Conceiving a Plan for the Introduction to a Nar- rative Speech. What shall be the principal things and what the subordinate things discussed in the Introduction of a speech in the form of a Narration? The answer to this question must necessarily depend on the particular sub- ject to which the audience is to be introduced. The im- portant thing is, that: The speaker should say, in the Introduction, only those things which will make the audience feel acquainted with the subject, interested in it, and eager to hear about ; and that he say these things as briefly as possible. What things must the speaker say to accomplish quickly these three things? When a tactful business or professional man brings together two persons to make them acquainted, how does he do it? If he really cares to have them knoiv each other, he tries to suggest to each person addressed, something in the life of the other person, in which he believes the person addressed will be interested. The speaker can find no better method than this, for introducing his audience to his subject. Therefore, to determine the things about which he should speak in the Introduction, the speaker should first conceive what things there are in the life or nature of his theme, which things may so affect the A PLAN FOR A NARRATIVE SPEECH 14! lives of his audience, that the audience will become imme- diately interested in those things. For example, you wish to conceive a plan for the Intro- duction to a Narrative speech on the subject suggested, "The Panama Canal." First inquire what things there are in your theme in which your hearers are sure to be in- terested, i. You will instantly note that, in the proposed form of speech you will be telling a story; you know that everybody likes a good story. 2. Your theme is the story of heroic effort against great difficulties; you know that this is the kind of story that people like best of all. 3. Your subject, the Canal, is the greatest thing of its kind in all the world; you know that everybody is always eager to see or hear about anything that is the greatest of its kind. 4. Your subject, the Canal, belongs to the United States; you know that every American takes a special in- terest and pride in anything his country has, that is the greatest in the world. 5. Your subject, the Canal, is a thing created by the skill, the industry, the money and material, of the United States; you know that American pride reaches its greatest height when it can boast some- thing its country has accomplished that no other country has been able to accomplish. 6. Your subject, the Canal, is something that brings to every American a personal gain by giving him some of the comforts of life at less cost and by giving to his home greater military protection ; you know that everyone is most deeply interested in that thing that adds to his security and his comfort. In these six double thoughts you will find the substance of your Introduction. When, by some such method as that followed in the last paragraph, you have found those characteristics of your 142 CONCEPTION-FORMING IN ORIGINAL SPEECH theme in which the people are interested, you may put these thoughts into the form of a plan or an outline, in either of three ways. I. You may make such statements as the six just given above, as your Main Headings and your Sub- headings, letting the first part of each statement be the Main Heading and the second part be the Sub-heading. (This, as you see, makes the particular features of your theme become your Main Headings; and the general prin- ciples of interest to which these features apply, the Sub- headings under these.) 2. You may reverse the order of such statements as the six given in the last paragraph, making the second part serve as a Main Heading and the first part of each statement serve as a Sub-heading. For example, your first main heading would be "Everybody Likes to Hear a Good Story"; your sub-heading, "My Speech Is in the Form of a Story." (This plan brings first before the hearer the kind of thing about which he knows and in which he is interested, and, through this thing, causes him to feel acquainted with and interested in the thing about which you intend to tell him. It is a decidedly better plan than the first, especially if you illustrate each main heading by a concrete example, before you pass on to the sub-heading.) 3. As a third method, you may draw a graphic imaginative word-picture or situation in which you show some person, a child, for example, fascinated by a story in all essentials the same as the story you are in- troducing. Then, when your picture is finished, merely state that such a story you have the pleasure of bringing before the audience. (This third plan calls for no formal state- ment of either main headings or sub-headings. It merely embodies the essential attractive features of your Narration A PLAN FOR A NARRATIVE SPEECH 143 in story or picture form.) This last plan is decidedly the best if it is done briefly and graphically; for it makes the Introduction concrete and, thereby, holds the attention of the audience from the very start. From this discussion, the speaker will realize that it is necessary to know a subject well before a good Introduction to that subject can be outlined. For this reason, it is some- times well to wait until the Actual Theme has been pre- pared, or, at least, outlined, before attempting to outline the Introduction. (D) Conceiving a Plan for the Actual Theme in a Narrative Speech. When a speaker attempts to form an outline for the Actual Theme for a Narrative Speech, he should first recall the purpose of Narration. Professor Royce (Outlines of Psychology, p. 255) says: "Narration more readily appeals to us than does Description. . . . Narration has the advantage of fixing our attention more upon the kind of discrimination which we find easiest, namely, the discrimination of successive facts." We would change the last word quoted from "facts" to "acts"; for this is the very essence of Narration, to set forth a series of acts. This is the reason why: Narration is both easier to listen to and more interest- ing than most other forms of speech, because it makes us feel as if we were doing things which have life and movement. The purpose of Narration is, to cause a series of events or acts so to live again before the audi- ence, that those events or acts will seem to be actually happening while the speaker shows them to the audience. To prepare a plan by which to do this, the speaker must conceive four things: (i) how many and what kind of 144 CONCEPTION-FORMING IN ORIGINAL SPEECH main headings he needs; (2) how many and what kind of sub-headings; (3) how many and what kind of illustra- tions or examples; (4) what shall be the sequence of all these. To discover how these four conceptions may be formed, let us consider the concrete subject used already in con- ceiving the Introduction of a Narrative speech, namely, "The Panama Canal." To tell to your audience the story of the life of the Canal, you must, of course, first conceive the forces out of which the "life" of the Canal sprang. What large needs of humanity were not being served ; what conception arose in the mind of man by which to meet these needs; and what strong, adventurous spirit arose in the heart of man, to realize that conception? A lucid, general statement of these human forces out of which the Canal grew, will form the first Main Heading of the Actual Theme. As soon as you have fully conceived these forces, you will sense the necessity of causing your audience to see and to feel how these forces began to apply themselves. Arrangements had to be made with the governments of the world before any one government could begin to bring forth a project so world-affecting. A statement concerning these arrangements may form your second Main Heading. The third Main Heading may grow out of your conception of the physical obstacles to be overcome, the physical task to be performed; the fourth, out of your conception of the equipment, in money, materials and men, necessary for the accomplishment of this gigantic task. Other main headings may set forth the actual beginning of the work on the Canal, interesting happenings during the progress of the work, and the final completion of the Canal. In other words: A PLAN FOR A NARRATIVE SPEECH 145 The Main Headings of the Actual Theme for a Nar- rative Speech on "The Panama Canal," will be sim- ple statements of the speaker's conception of the most important periods in the life and growth of the Canal. The same method will secure the best main headings for any speech that is to employ the form of Narration. Admittedly, the Sub-headings in such a speech will be largely determined by the Main Headings. Just as a main heading arises out of the speaker's conception of an im- portant period in the whole theme, so: A sub-heading arises out of the speaker's conception of an important period or happening within a period set forth by the main heading. For example, if the first main heading in the Actual Theme of a Narrative Speech on "The Panama Canal," should be "The Forces Out of Which the Canal Grew, First Lived In the Mind of Man," the sub-headings under such a heading might be stated as follows. I. Man con- ceived the great benefit a shorter waterway would bring to mankind. 2. Man conceived the idea of making this shorter waterway across the Isthmus of Panama. 3. Con- ceiving the great difficulties in such an undertaking, man's mind conceived the forces necessary to overcome those dif- ficulties. In like manner every main heading in any Narrative speech, suggests its own sub-headings when you have con- ceived the principal periods or Happenings within the period set forth by the main heading. How many and what kind of illustrations are required to present well the Actual Theme in a Narrative Speech ? Ob- viously this will depend on the sub-headings just as the 146 CONCEPTION-FORMING IN ORIGINAL SPEECH sub-headings depend on the main headings. Two important things should be borne in mind, however, when a plan is being conceived for any narrative speech. First, every sub- heading calls for a concrete illustration or example; for it is only the things brought before their imaginative senses, that win and hold the attention of the audience. Secondly, every illustration should be taken from the life of the theme you are presenting; for, in a Narrative speech, the constant aim of the speaker should be to keep before the audience, the life of the thing discussed, and to cause the audience to see that life develop. For instance, an illustration under sub-heading I in the last paragraph above, might be the trip of a vessel sailing from New York around Cape Horn to San Francisco, bringing graphically before the audience the number of thousands of miles in such a trip and the number of days required to complete it. An illustration under sub- heading 2, might be a trip which man imagined one might take from New York to San Francisco via a canal across the Isthmus of Panama, bringing graphically before the audience the number of thousands of miles, and the number of days of travel such a canal would save. We now come to the last step to be taken, to complete the plan for the Actual Theme in a Narrative Speech. What shall be the order of the main headings, the sub-headings, and the illustrations? Keep in mind the fundamental pur- pose of a narrative speech (stated on page 143) and this question answers itself. If your speech should cause a series of events to live again before the audience, then cer- tainly those events should live in the same order in which they actually occurred. In main headings, sub-headings, and illustrations, begin at the beginning, watch things as A PLAN FOR A NARRATIVE SPEECH 147 they grow, one into another, and you will have the most natural and effective order of any Narrative Speech. (E) Conceiving a Plan for the Conclusion to a Narra- tive Speech. What shall be the plan for the Conclusion to a Narrative Speech ? Some good narrative speeches seem to need no Conclusion beyond that found in the last division of the Actual Theme. The reason for this is easy to find. If a speaker is telling his story merely to entertain, or to entertain and instruct, then, when he has caused the series of events making up his story, to live again before his audience, he may think that his work is done. In such case, the speaker may consider the conclusion of his story the Conclusion of his speech. However, when the speaker de- sires so to present his story that he may convince and persuade his hearers to take a certain attitude toward the subject of the story, as will almost always be the case, the speaker then needs a separate plan for the Conclusion. Suppose, for instance, that you have conceived a plan for an Introduction and for the Actual Theme of a speech that is to be "The Story of the Panama Canal." Suppose that the final purpose of your effort is to cause your hearers to have a deeper appreciation of and a deeper interest in the Canal. You would not feel content to end your speech with the events happening when the Canal was completed. You will wish to show your hearers whether the Canal, completed, is what it was expected to be. In other words, you will wish to show your hearers what the Canal means to them. To accomplish this, one main heading may be sufficient, stated something like this : "Has the Great Effort Been Justified?" Simple and effective sub-headings to this may be found 148 CONCEPTION-FORMING IN ORIGINAL SPEECH by conceiving the contrast between certain prominent fea- tures of the growth of the Canal and similar features in its activity to-day. For example, contrast the cost of the Canal to the Government of the United States, with the revenue the Government receives from the Canal ; contrast the number of people employed to build the Canal, with the number of people benefited by its service, etc. A Con- clusion constructed on such a plan has the advantage over other plans, of doing three important things at once. I. It gives a brief Summary of the principal events in the Actual Theme; 2. It briefly sets forth the principal things which the subject of the Narration may do for the audience; 3. It strengthens the effect of each of these two by con- trasting one with the other, just as white is made whiter and black blacker by putting one against the other. Conceiving a Plan for a Descriptive Speech Conceiving a Plan for the Introduction to a Descrip- tive Speech. If the question were asked, is there any fundamental difference between the Introduction to a Nar- rative speech and the Introduction to a Descriptive speech, we should say that there is not any fundamental difference. The same essential things must be done in each. In the Introduction to a speech in either of these two forms, the speaker should say, as briefly as possible, only those things which will (i) make the audience feel acquainted with the subject, (2) interested in it, and (3) eager to hear about it. To do these three things in the Introduction to a Descriptive Speech, just as in the Introduction to a Narrative Speech, the speaker must first conceive what things there are in the life or nature of his theme, which things may so affect A PLAN FOR A DESCRIPTIVE SPEECH 149 the lives of his audience, that to hear about those things at once makes the audience interested in them for its own sake. For example, you wish to outline the Introduction to a Descriptive Speech on the subject, "The Panama Canal." You, at once, realize that now, instead of telling the audience a story, as you did in a Narrative Speech on this subject, you are going to show the audience a picture. You are going to take the audience on a mental trip from one end of the Canal to the other, that you may show the Canal as it exists to-day. Therefore, the one essential thing which your Introduction must do, is to induce the audience to take this mental trip with you, take it willingly, take it gladly. What characteristics are there in the picture you wish to show the audience, which are like things in which people are always interested? I. You know that people are in- terested in those pictures which present some unusual phases of life ; the picture you are about to present to the audience, is a picture of the greatest thing of its kind in all the world. 2. You know, that in this age of "movies," the people are still more interested in those pictures in which there is some unusual human activity ; the action, which you will picture, of passing through the "Great Canal," is unique. Some such points as these two, when treated in the manner outlined on pages 142 and 143, may be found appropriate Main Headings and Sub-headings for the Introduction. Or you may find it desirable to include such points as those numbered 4, 5, and 6, on page 141. The essential thing is, that you conceive those characteristics of your subject (the thing you are about to describe), which you feel sure will be most interesting to your audience. Such a simple I5O CONCEPTION-FORMING IN ORIGINAL SPEECH statement of these things, as will cause your hearers to realize why they are interested in the picture you are about to show them, will make the best headings for your In- troduction. Conceiving a Plan for the Actual Theme of a Descrip- tive Speech. To find the best plan for the Actual Theme of a Descriptive Speech, let us conceive clearly what a descriptive speech should accomplish. Professor De Garmo (Interest and Education, p. 159) says: Narration describes that which happens in time; description tells of that which exists in space." He declares that Description is always more difficult for the listener to follow, even when well done, than Narration, and then explains this by saying: "In the case of description, the description moves on but the object does not." Professor De Garmo (perhaps un- consciously) is here giving us the secret of successful, effective Description. It is the movement, the life, in the description, or -suggested by the description, that makes it interesting. Not all movements will make a description interesting ; but analyze any description that is uninteresting or difficult to follow and you will find that it lacks interest either because it contains no movement or because the move- ment it contains is monotonous. For instance, few things which we might attempt to describe have more movement than the "restless waves" of the ocean, yet a listener will soon be tired out by a mere description of the waves. Let the speaker describe the waves as they wash some object ashore, however, and the audience will listen in rapt atten- tion. This shows us that Description is interesting when it contains or suggests movement that passes from event to event toward the accomplishment of something. You reply A PLAN FOR A DESCRIPTIVE SPEECH 15! that this is the work of Narration, to describe a series of events? Very true; therefore: To make Description most effective, it must be com- bined with Narration it must be Narrative Description. It should cause the hearers to feel as if they were actually in the presence of the thing described, observing it and passing from one part of that thing to another, as the speaker describes it. Then, naturally : The Main Headings of the Actual Theme of such a speech should be simple statements of the most note- worthy divisions or parts of the thing described. It is clear, also, that each Sub-heading in a plan for a Descrip- tive Speech, should be a simple statement of some note- worthy thing or group of things found within the general division of the subject, that moment described. . For example, if you wish to conceive a plan for the Actual Theme of a Descriptive Speech on "The Panama Canal," the first Main Heading might well be "We enter the Canal from the Caribbean Sea." Sub-headings under this would be statements concerning the vessels you wish to show to your audience at this point, the things seen on the shore at this point, etc. The second Main Heading might well be a statement concerning the division of the Canal lying between the Caribbean entrance and the first lock. The sub-headings under this would be similar to those suggested for the first main heading. The third Main Heading might well be "We pass through the first lock." Each Sub-heading under this would be a statement of some- thing you observe while taking your audience on the im- aginative trip through this lock. All the rest of the Main 152 CONCEPTION-FORMING IN ORIGINAL SPEECH Headings and Sub-headings may be conceived in like manner. When we consider the Nature and Number of Illustra- tions needed, and the Order for the Main Headings, Sub- headings, and Illustrations (points E, and F, outlined on p. 136) the plan for the Actual Theme of a Descriptive Speech becomes still more simple. As to illustrations, it is clear that: Each individual thing described under any sub-heading, is its own illustration. No further illustrations are needed except in those cases where the speaker is describ- ing something wholly unknown to the listener. Then, of course, the speaker must illustrate the thing he de- scribes, by something which he knows to be familiar to the listener. Only in this way can the speaker hope to give the listener a clear conception of the thing he describes; hence, only in this way can he hope to hold the attention of the listener. As to the sequence in which the Main Headings, Sub- headings, and Illustrations should appear, it is clear that the one idea that should govern the order of all these, is the idea of progression. That is, the outline for your speech should move from one part to another exactly as you would move if you were actually passing from one point on the thing described, to the last point on the side opposite to this. By this simple plan, your mind easily conceives each new thing to which it turns, as the immediate neighbor to the thing from which it that moment turns. Such an arrangement of the points in the outline may well be called the "natural" order, for it makes the easiest path- A PLAN FOR A DESCRIPTIVE SPEECH 153 way for both the mind of the speaker and the mind of the listener. Conceiving a Plan for the Conclusion to a Descriptive Speech. The Conclusion to a Descriptive Speech is very much like the Conclusion to a Narrative Speech. We have found that some narrative speeches seem to need no con- clusion in addition to the last division of the Actual Theme ; the same is true in some descriptive speeches. In a descrip- tive speech, if the purpose of the speaker is only to enter- tain, or to entertain and instruct, then the speaker may consider his work done when he has shown his audience the complete picture of the subject. In such a case, the conclusion of the picture is the Conclusion of the speech. You will find, however, that: Almost always you will make a Descriptive Speech for the purpose of persuading your hearers to take a certain attitude toward the thing you describe. When such is the purpose of your speech, you then need a separate plan for the Conclusion. To form such a plan, you must first conceive clearly why you need a Conclusion. What is it you hope to do to the minds of your hearers, to enable them to get, from the picture you have drawn, the lasting impression you wish them to get? You desire them to get the picture before their minds, as a unit, a whole, do you not? You have shown your subject (the object described) to your hearers little by little, piece by piece, till their minds are crowded with a great mass of details. You know that it is impossible for them to remember all these, or to carry away any strong, single impression from them. To give them such a lasting impression, you must simplify for them the picture you 154 CONCEPTION-FORMING IN ORIGINAL SPEECH have drawn. You must cause the picture to come once more before the minds of your audience, but this time not in many details, but in those few, strong, striking features which make it a picture to be remembered. The fewest possible headings that will accomplish this, will make the best outline for the Conclusion to a Descriptive Speech. One Main Heading such as "Contemplate with me the trip we have taken," might suffice for the Descriptive Speech on 'The Panama Canal." Under this you would need only those Sub-headings that will give a quick review. of the most striking scenes in the trip you have taken. Experiments in Conceiving a Plan For a Narrative Speech and For a Descriptive Speech 1. Perform the experiment of conceiving and stating a plan for a Narrative Speech, in accordance with the require- ments outlined above. 2. According to the requirements outlined under "A Plan for a Descriptive Speech," conceive and state a plan for a Descriptive Speech. These plans should be written and submitted for examina- tion and discussion. To save time, it will be found advantageous to use, for these experiments, such a subject as the one we have been considering, "The Panama Canal" a subject on which a Narrative, a Descriptive, an Expository, and an Argumenta- tive speech may be made. The same subject may then be used for the study of all four forms and may then be developed into an actual speech. It is also highly desirable EXPERIMENTS 155 that the intending speaker consult the librarian before de- ciding upon a subject to be used for all these efforts, to ascertain how much material is available on the subject. To make the effort really educative and worth while, a considerable amount of reading should be done on the subject chosen. Is the reading matter available? Since a good speech can be made in the form of either Narration or Description (on a subject with which the speaker is very familiar) with little or no reading, however, if the speaker is anxious to "try out" the plan he conceives, he may desire to use a simpler subject for these two experi- ments, and not only outline it but also prepare at once to make a short speech upon it. CHAPTER VIII CONCEPTION-FORMING IN ORIGINAL SPEECH A Plan For An Expository Speech BEFORE we attempt to conceive a plan for a speech that is to be presented in the form of an Exposition, let us first get a clear idea of the kind of exposition that is used in effective speaking. Practically all rhetoricians agree that pure exposition is the statement and discussion of an ab- stract or general theme, and that the purpose of exposition is to explain the meaning of the thing discussed and to show some general principle upon which that thing is con- structed or upon which it operates. For instance, Professor Maurice G. Fulton (Expository Writing, Introduction, p. xvi) says: The most commonly found subject matter of exposition is the abstract and general. . . . Exposition may take a term like psychology, nature, erosion, art, or culture, and seek to set forth clearly what it is, what are its essential qualities, into what kinds it is divided. Scott & Denny (Composition-Rhetoric, p. 302) say: The subject-matter of exposition is general ideas, laws, or principles, not (as in description and narration) particular things. Now if this is the only kind of exposition there is, the speaker, obviously, will have little use for it, You have 156 A PLAN FOR AN EXPOSITORY SPEECH 157 frequently observed that nothing bores you or puts you to sleep more quickly, when listening to a speaker, than his dwelling upon abstract and general things. Fortunately, however, there is a kind of exposition that is not limited to the abstract and the general. Some of the best writers on exposition make this quite clear. To quote again from Professor Fulton (Expository Writing, Introduction, p. xv) : There are, however, some cases where exposition deals with the concrete and the individual. If one should carefully ex- amine a typewriter, and then write out a full description of its parts keyboard, type-bars, carriage, platen, ribbon, index, etc. giving the form and position of each, and even the ma- terial of which it is made ... his endeavor would be not so much to induce in the mind of the reader a picture of the type- writer and its parts as to explain its mechanism and its use." And the same author, on the following page, says of such examples as the one just cited, that "They are the in- stances in which the general class, the type, is represented as an individual, and the individual is made to serve as a type/' Now this is precisely the kind of exposition that is practical in public speaking. A speaker is often called upon to discuss the usefulness of a thing, or the principle upon which it is built or upon which it operates, and yet he knows that if he is to make his speech interesting and effective, he must keep before the audience a single, con- crete example. The kind of exposition that lets the in- dividual example serve as a type, a kind, a class, enables the speaker to do both of these things. By showing the audience how that individual thing is constructed or how it operates, the speaker easily holds the attention of the audience and at the same time explains how all things of 158 CONCEPTION-FORMING IN ORIGINAL SPEECH the same kind or class as the one shown, are constructed or operate. Conceiving a Plan for the Introduction to an Ex- pository Speech. Let us first remember that in this kind of introduction, as in all introductions : The fundamental thing which the speaker should at- tempt to do, is to conceive certain things which he believes the hearer has known and enjoyed, and to show the hearer how these things resemble the thing he is going to show him. Just what are you going to show the audience in a speech in the form of an Exposition ? We have seen that a speech is made in this form only when the speaker wishes to explain the principle on which the thing discussed is constructed or the principle on which that thing operates. We have seen that the speaker's best way to make this explanation is by describing the thing. It would seem, then, that the speaker will show the audience the same things in an Expository Speech as he would in a Descrip- tive Speech on the same subject; and that the same intro- duction should be used for the one as for the other. There is, however, an essential difference. In a Descriptive Speech the aim, or end of the speaker's effort, is to show the thing discussed, as it exists in space, to show its body, so to speak. In an Expository Speech, to show the body of the thing discussed, is only a means to an end. The speaker brings before his hearers the external form of the thing discussed: Not that they may see it as such, but that through the external form the audience shall discern the inner life, or principle of action, in that thing. Accordingly, to A PLAN FOR AN EXPOSITORY SPEECH 159 ascertain what to say in the Introduction to an Exposi- tory Speech, the speaker must first thoroughly know the principle of action in the thing he expects to dis- cuss; and, secondly, he must conceive what principles of action his hearers have enjoyed watching in opera- tion which are like those he intends to explain.* Upon this plan, let us conceive an Introduction to an Expository Speech on "The Panama Canal." I. You know that everyone, from the small child who takes a watch to pieces because he "wants to see the wheels go wound," to the most sedate adult among us, takes pleasure in watching and learning the "how" of any action that accomplishes unusual things ; the action of the Canal accomplishes things not done elsewhere. 2. You know that people are in- tensely interested in watching the action of anything that not only does unusual, but also great, and powerful things. The action of the Canal which you are about to show to your audience, lifts the largest vessels ever built, to a height eighty-five feet above sea-level, supports them at that level fifty miles across country and lets them down in another ocean. 3. You know that the interest of people reaches its greatest height when there is a certain mystery about some action that does great and unusual things; so silent and unseen is the power of the Canal that lifts the vessels and lowers them again, that its work almost seems to be performed by magic. Out of some such ideas as the three double ones here stated, you will find all the Main Headings and the Sub-headings needed in the Introduction. You will find it most effective to state them and arrange them in one of the ways outlined on pages 142-143. Conceiving a Plan for the Actual Theme of an Ex- I6O CONCEPTION-FORMING IN ORIGINAL SPEECH pository Speech. We have found that, in an effective Expository Speech, the primary thing the speaker attempts is to explain a general kind or class of things, by explaining to the audience one particular thing of that kind. The first requisite, then, in the Actual Theme of such a speech, is to make it clear to the audience just what kind of thing you are about to explain. In other words, you should begin with a definition of the thing to be explained. You wish, for example, to explain the principle upon which "The Panama Canal" is constructed or upon which it operates. When you inquire what kind of canal it is, you learn that it is an inter-oceanic canal, rising far above sea-level. You will realize that, to be successful, the Canal must have a certain depth of water at all times. You will remember the general principle that water seeks its level, and that, therefore, since this Canal rises far above sea-level, the water filling it must come from some source other than and higher than the sea. You will realize that this source of supply must necessarily be large since it must fill a water- way that will give ample room for the largest sea-going vessels, and must continue to provide this supply as long as the Canal shall last. Finally, you will realize that the retaining walls of this Canal must have tremendous strength, to hold such a supply of water back ; and that the locks must be built with great perfection to admit this water-supply just as, and when, needed. When you have formed these ideas into a definition, this definition will enable the audience to see clearly just what kind of thing you are going to explain. When the subject has been clearly defined, in some such manner as we have just suggested, the same four things A PLAN FOR AN EXPOSITORY SPEECH l6l must be conceived as in the Actual Theme of a speech in any other form, namely: i. The Nature and Number of Main Headings; 2. The Nature and Number of Sub-head- ings; 3. The Nature and Number of Illustrations; 4. The Order of Main Headings, Sub-headings, and Illustrations. To conceive these four things in the Actual Theme of an Expository Speech on "The Panama Canal," an effective method will be to take your hearers (in imagination) first to the lake region, in the central part of the Isthmus, whence the canal reaches in one direction to the Atlantic and in the other to the Pacific ocean. This lake, fed by the Chagres River, and being the immediate source of the canal's supply, may well be the subject of the first Main Heading, after you have defined the nature of the canal. What could show to your audience the "working" of the canal in a more interesting way than to take them to one side of the lake where the canal starts toward one of the oceans? Therefore, the outlet on the Atlantic (or the Pacific) side may well suggest the second Main Heading. The physical divisions of the canal from this point to the ocean, will naturally furnish the other main headings for this side of the canal; and a like conception of the canal from the other side of the lake to the other ocean, will supply the rest of the main headings. For instance, as soon as you have shown your hearers where and how the water of the lake is admitted into the canal, you naturally wish them to understand through what sort of a channel that water reaches from that point to the first lock below. There- fore, that section of the canal becomes a Main Heading of your theme. When you lead the minds of your hearers to this lock, you naturally wish them to understand why a 1 62 CONCEPTION-FORMING IN ORIGINAL SPEECH dam and lock are necessary at this point and also what kind of dam and lock are necessary. You readily conceive these as the subject of the next Main Heading, and so on with the other physical divisions of the canal which you dis- cover on your imaginary trip with the audience. Naturally each Sub-heading under each of these Main Headings will be found by conceiving, in a similar manner, how some smaller part of that general division of the canal exhibits its share of the general plan or principle of the canal. For instance, under the Main Heading, ''The First Lock on the Atlantic Side," the sub-headings might be as follows: A. Here an immense dam and lock cross the canal. 1. The dam shows the vast proportions of the canal. Ex. It is ... feet wide at the bottom, . . . feet wide at the top, . . . feet long, and sustains a pressure of ... tons of water. 2. The dam is made of concrete and steel. B. In the lock we see both the strength of the canal and the skill of the canal. 1. Its mighty gates are . . . feet wide, . . . feet high, . . . feet thick, and are made of ... material. 2. These gates not only hold back, but also admit the vast volume of water at will. Ex. We see them admit . . . thousand gallons of water a minute. Other Sub-headings will state the part played by the hinges, the valves, the walls connecting the two pairs of gates, etc. A PLAN FOR AN EXPOSITORY SPEECH 163 It is quite evident that the illustrations under each of these Sub-headings will be the final divisions of the canal itself, except in those instances where you may think that the principle you are trying, at that moment, to explain, is so new to your hearers that you feel you must liken it to some principle of action with which you believe the audience is familiar. In such a case, you must conceive some action that is well known to your hearers, and must show your hearers how that action is like the action you wish to explain. As to the Order in which the Main Headings, Sub-head- ings, and Illustrations should appear in such an Outline or Plan, it is evident that they should be placed in the "natural" order which we discussed on pages 152-153. No other order could be so clear, so simple, or so effective as the plan of taking up each part of the thing discussed, as you come to that part on your imaginary trip with your audi- ence. Therefore, take them up exactly as you would do if you were actually travelling (and explaining as you go), from the point where the principle of the canal begins to operate, to the last point where that principle is seen in operation. After this discussion, the intending speaker may be some- what confused as to the difference between a Plan for a speech in the form of a Description and one in the form of an Exposition. It is quite evident that the divisions of the thing discussed (the parts out of which the various headings arise) are largely the same in both kinds of out- line. The essential difference is found in the different con- ceptions the speaker forms of the same thing when he is only describing it and when he is explaining it. In a De- 164 CONCEPTION-FORMING IN ORIGINAL SPEECH scriptive Speech, the speaker does not start with a definition of the nature and meaning of the thing discussed. He begins by simply taking his audience (imaginatively) to some vantage point where his subject may be viewed (super- ficially, if you please), and there he points out those things which are most attractive to the senses. He then turns the attention of the hearer to another section or part of his subject and shows more things of like nature. Thus: The headings in a plan for a Descriptive Speech are simple statements of those parts of the thing discussed, where certain attractive things may be seen, heard, and otherwise sensed. The expository speaker, on the other hand, starting with a clear definition of the nature and meaning of the thing discussed, naturally has this meaning in mind when he turns his attention to any one part of that thing. Thus : The headings in a plan for an Expository Speech are statements of what the speaker conceives each part to do toward making up the nature and the meaning of the v/hole thing discussed. A Plan for an Argumentative Speech Before we attempt to conceive a Plan for a speech that is to be in the form of Argumentation, it may be well to examine, for a moment, the nature of an argumentative subject, i. The subject must be stated in the form of a proposition. That is, the statement of the question should bring before the audience, for its consideration, a declara- tive statement of some definite scheme or plan of action. A PLAN FOR AN ARGUMENTATIVE SPEECH 165 2. An Argumentative subject should be a single proposi- tion ; it should bring before the hearers only one single plan of action. 3. It should be a proposition capable of proof; it should call for action that has been tried and proved good, or for action very similar to other action that has been proved good. 4. An Argumentative subject should be a proposition to change existing conditions. In law, a person is innocent until proven guilty; so in argumentation no proof is required to show that things are right as they now exist. Therefore, the speaker who would present an argu- mentative speech on any subject, must attempt to show that the thing discussed, as it now exists, should be changed. 5. It should be a proposition to change something in which the people addressed are personally interested. These five essential qualities of an argumentative subject may be well illustrated by the subject we are using for all four forms of speech, namely, "The Panama Canal." Stated in those three words, it would be practically impossible for a speaker to make a successful argumentative speech on that subject. There is nothing definite for which to argue no definite proposal to do anything ; no declaration of some- thing that should be done. Before you can argue on that subject, you must get at some single phase of the owner- ship, the condition, or the use of the Canal, which you believe might profitably be changed from its present status. Suppose, for instance, that your study of the Canal has convinced you that there are vital reasons why the United States should own a wider strip of land on each side of the Canal. Suppose you put this idea into the single, ag- gressive proposition: "The United States should acquire more territory in Panama." You now have met the five 1 66 CONCEPTION-FORMING IN ORIGINAL SPEECH requirements of an argumentative theme. This statement of the subject is a direct proposition; it calls for a definite and single action; it calls for action similar to action we have already tried; it calls for action in which the people addressed are vitally interested; and it calls for action that will change the present status or condition of the Canal. On this subject, an effective argumentative speech might be made. Conceiving an Introduction to an Argumentative Speech. To give your audience a pleasing and effective Introduction to this subject, you must accomplish four things : ( i ) You must show the audience the exact mean- ing of the action you propose when you declare "The United States should acquire more territory in Panama"; (2) you must show the audience out of what this question has arisen; (3) you must show the audience why they are personally interested in the action your subject proposes; (4) you must show the audience the main issues, or points of contention, to which the proposed action gives rise. In other words, you must define the subject, tell its origin and history (briefly), suggest the personal concern your hearers have in the proposed change, and show them the issues to be settled. To define the stated subject, you must tell the audience just what you mean by "more territory" how much more and in what part of Panama. Also what is meant by "acquire." You will probably explain that the proposal is to purchase a strip of land lying along each side of, and parallel to, the territory now owned by the United States, and known as the "Canal Zone." You may see fit to propose that the area to be purchased should be a strip wide enough A PLAN FOR AN ARGUMENTATIVE SPEECH 167 to include all the Gatun Lake and territory of a certain width extending from the lake to each coast. When these ideas have been made clear to the audience, it would be well to "clinch" the clearness by re-stating the question in the light of these defined terms. The question re-stated would be something like this : "The United States should widen its strip of land in Panama known as the 'Canal Zone/ " To show the audience the conditions out of which this question arose, you will probably first state that the strip of land now owned was thought sufficient when it was first purchased. You will then wish your hearers to understand that during the process of constructing and using the Canal, certain conditions have been disclosed which cause many competent persons to believe that the United States needs a wider zone. You may point out that such persons declare that the desired sanitary conditions in this region cannot be maintained as they should be, that the Canal cannot be preserved from leakage, and that it cannot be de- fended as securely as it should be, until the United States has wider territory in which to operate. To secure the personal interest of all who hear you, you may point out the fact that this question is their question. The Canal is the work and the property of the United States ; hence, everything that threatens its destruction, or lessens its usefulness, threatens a loss personal to every American. On the other hand, everything that will preserve the dur- ability and the safety of the Canal, or bring it to a higher degree of usefulness, is a source of personal gain, and a cause for personal pride, vital to every American. You will show your hearers that, for these reasons, everyone 1 68 CONCEPTION-FORMING IN ORIGINAL SPEECH who is alive to his own interests must be anxious to hear the proofs that the proposed change, the proposed purchase, will bring the benefits predicted for it. To bring before the audience the Main Issues involved is the last and crowning act of an effective Introduction to an Argumentative Speech. To conceive these issues requires, first, that two fundamental questions be answered: A. What classes of persons will be affected by the change which this subject proposes? B. How will each of these classes of persons be affected? When you ask these questions concerning the proposal that "The United States should acquire more territory in Panama," you will probably find that the principal classes of persons or interests likely to be affected by the pro- posed change, are: (i) The Government of the United States, (2) the tax-payers of the United States, (3) Panama, (4) other countries which use the Canal. You will realize that each of these classes must be considered separately. You will realize that: Only by carefully examining the probable advantages and disadvantages which the proposed action may bring to each of these classes, can you find the main issues which your subject involves. An easy and effective procedure for forming these con- ceptions, is the following. Take a full sheet of paper, and across the top state one of the classes of persons that will be affected by the proposed change, for example, "The Government of the United States." Below this statement draw a line through the middle of the sheet, from top to bottom, dividing the sheet into left and right halves. At the top of the left-hand column write "Advantages" and at A PLAN FOR AN ARGUMENTATIVE SPEECH 169 the top of the other write "Disadvantages." Under the one heading state all the advantages which any fair and broad-minded person would concede might reasonably re- sult from the action your subject proposes, to the class of persons you are now considering. Under the other head- ing state all the probable disadvantages which the proposed action might bring to this class of persons. Each of these probable advantages, when, considered in connection with its attendant disadvantages, becomes a Minor Issue. When these two groups of advantages and disadvantages have been clearly stated opposite one another, then, below all these statements, collect them all into one interrogative sentence by asking if these and these and these (naming the advantages you have enumerated above) are sufficient to outweigh these and these and these (naming the disad- vantages enumerated). This question, when stated in this manner, brings clearly before you, and will bring before the audience, one of the Main Issues of your subject, and also the Minor Issues out of which this Main Issue arises. Furthermore, it sums up the Minor Issues, and enables you, also the audience, to keep them in mind every time you state this Main Issue. The others may be found and stated in the same manner. To make this plan more concrete, let us consider, accord- ing to this plan, the first of the classes of interests named above, "The Government of the United States." The ad- vantages which we might reasonably suppose the suggested purchase would bring to the Government, are: I. It might afford a better opportunity to preserve the sanitary con- ditions in the Canal Zone. 2. It might enable the Govern- 170 CONCEPTION-FORMING IN ORIGINAL SPEECH ment to preserve the Canal by preventing leakage. 3. It might enable the Government to defend the Canal from side-attacks, as it could not now do. Some of the disad- vantages to be weighed against these advantages, are: I. The purchase would probably cost the Government a large sum of money. 2. The Government might incur the ill will of Panama and other countries by acquiring more territory. 3. The Government would have the burden of caring for and defending this additional territory. When these two sets of statements have been placed in the two columns under their respective heads of "Advantages" and "Disadvantages," you will conclude your consideration of this class of interests, by collecting these opposing state- ments and forming them into a question stated something like this: Is it reasonable to suppose that the advantages to the United States Government, to be gained through better sanitary condition in the Canal Zone, better means for preserving the Canal from leakage, and better oppor- tunity to defend the Canal from attack, are sufficient to outweigh the disadvantages of the cost of the additional territory, the possibility of incurring the ill will of other countries, and the responsibility of caring for and defending the new territory? This question is a Main Issue arising out of this one class of interests. Each of the other classes of interests will yield a like issue. In the effort to conceive the Main Issues, the speaker should avoid making any statements that would arouse the antagonism of persons who may hold opposite views. In other words, the statements of the possible advantages and disadvantages which the proposed action may bring, should never be aggressive propositions calling for proof, but should A PLAN FOR AN ARGUMENTATIVE SPEECH 171 be such concessions as any fair-minded person, on either side of the question, might make. The issues should not be conceived for the Affirmative or for the Negative side of the subject, but for both sides. The reason why this method is necessary, is this: Unless all argument is avoided until all the Main Issues have been fully conceived, some of these are almost sure to be lost sight of and the argument would then get shifted to minor points, and not confined to the real issues. The speaker who follows the method here sug- gested, not only merges all minor issues into the Main Issues and causes the latter to stand out clearly before the audience in his Introduction, before he begins his actual argument, but he also causes the audience to feel that he has taken a basic and broad-minded view of the subject. The value of this in making his speech effective, can hardly be overestimated. When you have fully conceived these four things: the definition of the subject, its origin, the peoples' interest in it, and the issues arising, it only remains to state these con- ceptions in such headings and sub-headings as may seem most helpful to your memory when you come to speak. This should make an effective Plan for an Introduction to an Argumentative Speech. Conceiving a Plan for the Actual Theme in an Argu- mentative Speech. If the Introduction to an Argumenta- tive Speech has been fully conceived, and if it has ended, as it should, in a clear statement of the Main Issues in- volved in the subject discussed, the finding of the Main Headings of the Actual Theme of that speech, will be a simple and easy matter. Each Main Issue will furnish its own Main Heading. 172 CONCEPTION-FORMING IN ORIGINAL SPEECH The only thing required to change a clearly stated Main Issue into a Main Heading for the Actual Theme of the speech, is to state that issue in the form of a short, aggressive, declarative sentence, setting forth the thing which you deem to be most necessary to prove concerning that one class of interests. For instance, if you are preparing a speech on the sub- ject "The United States should acquire more territory in Panama," and if you have found such a Main Issue as the one stated on page 170, it would become a Main Heading when stated somewhat like this: i. "The best interests of the United States Government in Panama demand this move." If you have learned who are the other classes of persons most likely to be affected by the proposed govern- mental action, such classes as we have suggested on page 168, when you have conceived the Main Issues touch- ing these classes, the Main Headings arising from these issues will be like the following: II. The proposed plan would be profitable to the tax-payers of the United States. III. The proposed plan is just, as affecting Panama. IV. The proposed plan would be beneficial to the other countries which are to use the Canal. These four propositions (or four similar ones) should be the Main Headings of the Actual Theme for an Argumentative Speech on "The Panama Canal." In Argumentation, such Main Headings of the Actual Theme are often called Major Propositions. Whether or not we use this name for them, we should remember the important proviso that they must be propositions. They must be strong, terse, lucid declarations of the main or "major" things to be proved. The Sub-headings are often A PLAN FOR AN ARGUMENTATIVE SPEECH 173 called Minor Propositions and Sub-minor Propositions. Whether or not we accept these names, we should observe the fact that these also must be propositions. Each Sub- heading must be a strong, terse, clear declaration of some- thing tending to prove the Main Heading under which it occurs. In other words, mere topics (phrases containing no verbs) have absolutely no place in an outline for an argumentative speech. The reason for this is easy to per- ceive. Each moment a speaker is presenting an argumenta- tive theme to an audience, he should keep before himself and before his hearers two things: (i) The particular thing he is, at that moment, trying to prove; (2) just how much he is doing at this moment to prove that particular thing. If the thought in the mind of the speaker, when he makes his outline, is put down in the form of a mere topic, containing no declaration, the chances are that when he comes to speak from that outline he will lapse into a rambling talk on that point instead of giving direct and convincing proof. Therefore : Every heading, of whatever rank, in the Actual Theme of an Argumentative Speech, should be a direct proposi- tion. When we consider carefully the Sub-headings in the Plan for the Actual Theme of an Argumentative Speech, we find that they are of three or more kinds or classes according to their relative importance. These classes we may call Sub-headings of first rank, of the second rank, of the third rank, and so on. Sub-headings of the first rank arise out of the Minor Issues just as Main Headings arise out of the Main Issues. Just as we found concerning a Main Issue (p. 172), so: 174 CONCEPTION-FORMING IN ORIGINAL SPEECH With a Minor Issue the only thing required to change a clearly stated Minor Issue into a Sub-heading of the First Rank, is to state that issue in the form of a short, aggressive, declarative sentence. We have found (p. 169), that a Minor Issue arises when we consider a probable advantage which the proposed move may bring, together with the attendant disadvantages. Sup- pose you are preparing a speech on the subject, "The United States should acquire more territory in Panama," and suppose you are trying to conceive the Sub-headings under the Main Heading, 'The best interests of the United States Government in Panama demand this move." When you have carefully considered the probable advantages and the attendant disadvantages (enumerated on page 169-170), which the proposed purchase might bring to the Govern- ment of the United States, then, out of the three Minor Issues thus found, will easily arise three Sub-headings of the First Rank. They will be stated somewhat like this: I. The health of those who live in the Canal Zone demands this move. II. The preservation of the Canal demands it. III. The defense of the Canal demands it. Observe the difference between each of these Sub-head- ings of the First Rank and the Main Heading under which it occurs. The Main Heading declared something concern- ing one general class of interests. Each of these Sub- headings of the First Rank declares that same thing con- cerning some smaller part of that general class of interests. This should make clear the purpose of each of these sub- headings. Its purpose is to bring before the mind of the listener something he can more easily see than he could see the effect which the action you propose might have on A PLAN FOR AN ARGUMENTATIVE SPEECH 175 the entire class of interests, if the entire class were presented at once. Sub-headings of the Second Rank and of the Third Rank are different in nature from those of the First Rank. Each Sub-heading of the First Rank, just as each Main Heading, declares something to be proved. Each Sub- heading of the Second and Third Rank, on the contrary, presents its part of the process of proof. Each Sub-Heading of the Second Rank, in an Argu- mentative Theme, should set forth the general principle on which the Sub-heading of the First Rank, under which it occurs, is to be proved. Each sub-heading of the Third Rank should set forth the specific manner in which the general principle of proof applies to the question at issue. To make these ideas more concrete, let us apply them to one of the three Sub-headings of the First Rank con- sidered in the fourth paragraph above. Under Sub-head- ing marked I, declaring that "The health of those who live in the Canal Zone demands this move," the Sub-heading of the Second Rank might be: The witnesses most com- petent to testify on this point are the physicians who in- vestigated the conditions. (This declares the general principle on which you expect to prove the point, namely, the principle of "the most credible witness/*) Under this Sub-heading of the Second Rank, the Sub-heading of the Third Rank might be: These men declare the health of the Canal Zone demands the proposed purchase. (This shows the specific manner in which the principle of proof on which you depend, applies to this phase of the ques- tion.) Or under this same Sub-heading of the First Rank, 176 CONCEPTION-FORMING IN ORIGINAL SPEECH the sub-heading of the Second Rank might be: The Gov- ernment can eradicate disease centers only in territory under its immediate control, and the Sub-heading of the Third Rank might be: The principal sources of the diseases which harass the Canal Zone lie ki the ter- ritory we propose to purchase. Here, as you see, the principle of proof is different. In the last method you do not depend primarily on the strength of the testimony you find, but rather on some general law of action which will be apparent to the hearer when stated, and which, if it be found to apply to the question at issue, will make the pro- posed move seem desirable. Then, in this last method, in the Sub-heading of the Third Rank, you set forth the manner in which this general law of action (which you have stated in the Sub-heading of the Second Rank) applies in the question under discussion. One or the other of these two methods, either (a) con- ceiving the most credible witnesses and then declaring their attitude on the question, or (b) conceiving the general law of action most concerned and then declaring the bearing of this law on the issue considered, will usually be found the simplest and most satisfactory way in which to conceive the Sub-headings of the Second and Third Rank. When we attempt to conceive appropriate and effective Illustrations for an Argumentative Theme, we find that those illustrations are always most effective which are found in the theme itself. It must be borne constantly in mind, that: Every proposition made in an Argumentative Theme calls for evidence. The Illustrations should furnish this A PLAN FOR AN ARGUMENTATIVE SPEECH 177 evidence. Under every Sub-heading of the Third Rank should be cited some cases illustrating and proving the thing declared in that sub-heading. If the Sub-heading of the Third Rank is of the kind first suggested in the third paragraph above, declaring that com- petent testimony favors the move for which you argue, the illustrations should be: A ... favors it; B ... favors it ; C . . . favors it, etc., naming the men whose testimony has been read or heard by the speaker. If the Sub-heading of the Third Rank is of the second kind suggested in the third paragraph above, declaring that a certain law of action applies to the issue considered, the illustrations should set forth actual cases in which the law does apply. For in- stance, under the Sub-heading "The principal sources of diseases which harass the Canal Zone, lie in the territory we propose to purchase," the illustrations should be: "In . . . section yellow- fever germs abound"; "in . . . sec- tion malaria is rife," etc. The next important thing to be observed regarding the illustrations in an Argumentative Theme, is that: After every illustration cited, your outline should con- tain a statement of the source from which the illustra- tion is taken, naming title, volume, and page. If the source is not a well-known and reliable one, then a hint should also be inserted in the outline, as to why you deem the source a reliable one. The reason for this is ap- parent. The final and actual proof of practically every issue you raise in an Argumentative Speech, depends on the credibility of the witnesses quoted. For this reason, you must tell the audience who said each thing which you 178 CONCEPTION-FORMING IN ORIGINAL SPEECH present as a statement of fact, and make it clear why this person's testimony is strong. As to the Order in which the Main Headings, Sub-head- ings, and Illustrations should occur, only one thing need be said. The strongest Main Heading, the one you feel will make the greatest appeal to the audience, should be placed last; for the ending of your speech should be the strongest of all. The second strongest Main Heading should be placed first; for the second best impression should be made at the very beginning of the speech. The weaker Main Headings, if there must be weaker ones, should be placed between the first and the last. The same principle holds true in the arrangement of the Sub-headings, and of the Illustrations. Determine to form such a plan for your speech, that the beginning of the whole speech and also the beginning of every division and sub-division shall be strong and the ending of each shall be still stronger. It is easy to see that you cannot complete a Plan for an Argumentative Speech until you have both studied the theme thoroughly and read much upon it. This should not lead you to the false conclusion, however, that, since you cannot complete the Plan for the Actual Theme until you have a thorough knowledge of the subject you expect to discuss, therefore, you will not begin work upon your out- line until that time. Such a conclusion would be a vital mistake. You need a Plan for your Actual Theme before you begin to read, to enable you to decide wisely what to read on this subject. You need a Plan for your Actual Theme all the time you are reading , to enable you to know the value of each article you read on your subject, and just where to apply it in your intended speech. Therefore, A PLAN FOR AN ARGUMENTATIVE SPEECH 179 complete the entire outline as far as possible at the begin- ning of your work, then fill it in and change it as it may seem best to do during the progress of your reading. Conceiving a Plan for the Conclusion to an Argumenta- tive Speech. Before you attempt to make an outline for the Conclusion, first form a clear conception of just where you now are in your speech. Throughout your speech, you divided, into several groups, the people likely to be affected by the action for which you are arguing, so that you might bring these groups, one at a time, before the minds of your hearers. Before you end your speech, you must again return to the thing you set out to do, namely, to show the audience that the proposed action is desirable for all the people concerned. That is, your Conclusion must bring before the hearers a condensed picture of the many smaller pictures you have been showing them, must do this in a few moments, and must make this condensed picture the strongest part of the speech. This can be accomplished most effectively by reversing the order. In other words, instead of stating a proposition concerning an entire class of persons and then proceeding gradually to the individual cases proving the proposition, as you did in the Actual Theme, begin now with the in- dividual case. Again show the audience the evidence that the action for which you plead will be beneficial in this case and this one and this one. Then show that these cases, taken together, comprise the whole of a certain class, and that, therefore, the proposed action will benefit the entire class. When this has been done in turn with each of the smaller classes comprising a larger class, show, in like manner, that these things make the proposed action ISO CONCEPTION-FORMING IN ORIGINAL SPEECH seem desirable for that larger class. When all of the larger groups have been treated separately, show how they, all together, are the whole group of persons likely to be af- fected by the proposed action, and since 'that action has proved itself good for the separate groups that, together, make up the whole, it must be good for the whole. With this conception in mind, the Plan for the Con- clusion to an Argumentative Speech becomes simple enough. It will be a condensed re-statement of the most effective of the arguments already used under each Main Heading, but, as we have said, arranged in reverse order. The order of the Main Headings will remain the same as it was in the Actual Theme and for the same reasons. Experiments in Conceiving a Plan for an Expository Speech and for an Argumentative Speech 1. Perform the experiment of conceiving and stating an adequate Plan for an Expository Speech, on an appropriate subject, observing the principles stated in the above discus- sion on A Plan for an Expository Speech. 2. Conceive and state an adequate Plan for an Argu- mentative Speech, fulfilling the requirements found in the above discussion on A Plan for an Argumentative Speech. These plans should be written and brought to class for class-discussion and criticism, preliminary to the work of preparing speeches on these subjects. As stated at the close of the last chapter, it will save time and labor if the same subject is used for the different forms of speech, until the student has performed a suffi- cient number of experiments to give him a working knowl- edge of all four forms of speech. CHAPTER IX CONCEPTION-FORMING IN ORIGINAL SPEECH Conceiving the Final Preparation Which the Subject Requires WHEN the speaker has performed the preliminary work outlined in Chapters VI, VII, and VIII, he is then ready to conceive the definite preparation the subject still requires after the Plan has been formed. This final preparation should be of four general classes : thinking, reading, writ- ing, and speaking. There is a saying, that he who would speak well must read, must read much, must read very much. This is good advice, but will not be very effective unless the reading be preceded by the practice of another caution, namely, that he who would speak well must think, must think much, must think very much. The requirement is admirably put in this striking adage: "Never attempt to read till you have thought yourself hungry; never attempt to write till you have read yourself full." Substitute the word "speak" for "write" here and you have an effective recipe for the final preparation needed in most efforts in original speaking. How much of this final preparation should there be, and how much of each of the four kinds thinking, reading, writing, and speaking ? This will depend first on the nature of the subject to be discussed; secondly, on the speaker's 181 1 82 CONCEPTION-FORMING IN ORIGINAL SPEECH knowledge of that subject; thirdly, on the amount of read- ing matter available on the subject; fourthly, on the speaker's purpose in presenting that subject; fifthly, on the literary style of the speech (whether primarily Narration, Description, Exposition, or Argumentation) ; sixthly, on the style of delivery in which the speech is to be presented. A very simple description or narration may require little final preparation; but if a subject is a large one, of which the speaker has little personal knowledge, especially if it is to be presented in the form of Exposition or Argumenta- tion, for the purpose of convincing or persuading the audience, to prepare an effective speech on such a subject will require much preparation after the Plan of speech has been conceived. Conceiving What Kinds of Articles to Read Before beginning to read, form so clear a conception of the kind or kinds of information you would like to get on your subject, and form also so clear a conception of the particular help you believe that information will give you in making your speech more effective, that you become actually hungry for something to read on the subject. When this has been done, the next essential step is to conceive clearly what to read. This will depend on two things: I. What reading-matter is available? 2. What kinds of available articles are demanded by the particular kind of speech contemplated? To answer the first question, con- sult the best librarian who is near, and, with his assistance, make a careful list of all the books and articles in his CONCEIVING WHAT KINDS OF ARTICLES TO READ 183 library, which bear directly on your subject. If not enough of these are available, it may be necessary to include in your list, articles that bear indirectly on the subject. To find these, conceive the various ways in which your subject might be stated, and then search for appropriate articles on each of the subjects thus suggested. To conceive which of the articles, of all those you have found available and have listed, are most worth your while in preparing for the particular speech you expect to make on the subject chosen, depends, of course, on the form of the projected speech. Each of the four forms, Narration, Description, Exposition, and Argumentation will demand its own kind of reading-matter, i. Narration. If you wish to make a Narrative Speech, to tell the life's story of your subject, the most important articles to read are obviously those which disclose the origin of the thing discussed and the principal things which have transpired in the growth of that thing. 2. If you contemplate a Descriptive Speech, you should read every article you can that will get you into the "atmosphere" of the thing discussed. Read the writings of the persons who have been in the presence of the thing you wish to describe, and whose writings point out the most important and striking characteristics of that thing and also of the things immediately surrounding it and con- nected with it. 3. If you expect to make an Expository Speech, naturally the most valuable articles to read are those written upon your subject by persons who have made a scientific study of the principle on which the thing you expect to discuss, is constructed, or on which it operates, or both. 4. If your speech is to be tin the form of Argu- mentation, if you are to argue in favor of a certain prin- 184 CONCEPTION-FORMING IN ORIGINAL SPEECH ciple or course of action, no article you may read is of great value to you in preparing for your speech, unless that article contains, in some form, convincing proof. Most effective speeches are Argumentative. Some are not wholly so, but almost always argument is their principal feature, with Narration, Description, and Exposition em- ployed as a means of making the argument more effective. For this reason, we must give our special attention to the question, what constitutes convincing proof? If we should define it by its effectiveness, we would say that convincing proof of any proposition, is anything, or set of things, that causes the hearer both to see and to admit the desirability of the thing proposed. Careful investigation will reveal the fact that there are just two general classes of things which can do this. We can cause the hearer to see the desira- bility of anything for which we argue, (i) by bringing before him undeniable evidence that the thing we propose has proved itself desirable in the past; (2) by bringing before him undeniable evidence that a certain other thing has proved itself desirable, that is so similar to the thing for which we argue, that the hearer can easily imagine the same result from the thing we propose. Everything read in preparation for an Argumentative Speech, should con- tain evidence of one or the other or both of these kinds. Mere statements and opinions of a writer are of little or no worth. To be worth while, an argumentative article should contain facts illustrating the principle for which you argue and should show why those facts are reliable. CONCEIVING HOW TO READ ARTICLES FOUND 185 Conceiving How to Read Articles Found The time is usually limited that a speaker has in which to prepare a speech. For this reason, it is highly im- portant to get, in the shortest possible time, the largest possible benefit from every article read. How often students have come to the author with long lists of articles they have read, and, laying these down, have said in anguish, "I spent my entire time reading these and got no help from them." To avoid this pathetic result, the speaker must conceive clearly how to read. Before beginning to read any article, have clearly in mind what kind of help you hope to get from it. For example, if you are preparing for an argumentative speech, you probably wish to get statistics showing how many persons have been affected by the principle for which you argue; or you wish to find the testimony, of the author you are reading, concerning things which he himself has witnessed; or you wish to collect the quotations he makes from the testimony of others; or you wish to find the instances he cites where the principles for which you argue, have been applied. When you have formed a clear conception of the kinds of help that you are to seek, are you ready to read? No, not yet. First scan each article, to find out whether the things for which you seek are in it. This can be done in one- tenth the time necessary to read the entire writing. When the seeker's mind is well centered on the things sought, his eye can be trained to run through a dozen pages a minute, and yet discover whether those things are there. If they are not there, the article should be passed by at once 1 86 CONCEPTION-FORMING IN ORIGINAL SPEECH marked off the list of references. If they are there, immediately read the article and take careful notes on it. This art of note-taking is also a mightily important ad- junct of the reading one should do to prepare for a speech. The highest success in this effort depends principally on three things, i. Effective notes depend on the note-taker's clear conception of the things important to note; 2. They depend on the equipment for taking notes ; 3. They depend on the plan by which the notes are made. We have already seen that a clear conception of the things most important to note, depends on the reader's having and keeping clearly in mind the kinds of help for which he seeks. As to the equipment for taking notes, the card system is, by far, the most satisfactory. The old method of using a note-book with bound leaves, and taking several promiscuous notes on one page, is highly unsatis- factory. Much time is lost in turning pages back and forth in a wearisome, if not vain, effort to find and arrange the notes that have been taken in this way. Worse than this, the mind of the speaker is confused and worried by the notes taken in that manner, whereas it can be cleared, organized, and composed by notes which are taken by the card-system. To use this system, provide yourself with a good fountain-pen or a sharp pencil, a small pad (about two-thirds as large as a post card) with detachable leaves of good, firm paper ; and a pocketful of clips for fastening together the related leaves after the notes have been taken. You will quickly conceive the best plan by which to take notes under the card-system, if you will ask yourself how you hope to be able to use your notes. I. You will wish to find one point and only one at a time. 2. You want to be CONCEIVING HOW MUCH WRITING IS REQUIRED 187 able to see at a glance just where that point belongs in the Plan for your speech. 3. You will wish to know at a glance just where you got that point, so that you may tell your audience, if you think best, and also that you may quickly turn again to the source at any time when you may wish to refresh your memory. That you may find each point standing alone in your notes, make only one note on each card. To know at a glance just where each point be- longs in your speech-plan, place, at the top of each card, the Main Heading in your Speech-Plan under which that point should go. (To do this most successfully requires that you commit to memory the Main Headings of the Plan before you begin to read.) To be able to know at a glance just where you got each note, write, at the bottom of each card, under the note you have taken, the name of the author of the article (if his name is given) and the volume and page from which you took it. Conceiving How Much Writing the Final Preparation Requires To take notes as they should be taken, on every article worth reading, requires a considerable amount of writing. Nothing should be left to the memory while the reading is being done, for the entire mind should be given to vigorous and rapid search for material. Time should be saved by making each notation as brief as possible. Yet the exact meaning of the article should be made as clear as possible in the notation ; and, if the exact language used in the point noted, is important, the exact words should be quoted, and quotation marks should be used. 1 88 CONCEPTION-FORMING IN ORIGINAL SPEECH But when copious notes have been taken, is this all the writing which the preparation of a speech requires? No, usually some more and sometimes niuch more writing is necessary to build the most effective speech. For practically every speech the speaker should at least do this much writ- ing after his note-taking is completed: He should tran- scribe to his Outline every important note he has taken, placing each point under the Sub-heading which it supports, and distinctly writing after it the source from which he took it. Whether, when this has been done, still further writing is needed, will depend principally on two things. I. It depends on the individuality of the intending speaker. 2. It depends on the style of delivery in which the speech is to be presented. The individuality of persons makes it practically necessary for some to write carefully the entire speech, while for others this is not at all necessary. Sup- pose that the speaker finds it difficult to keep his notes well arranged in his mind; he cannot present the points in the exact order in which he wishes to present them. Or sup- pose the speaker finds himself leaving out important things or saying things which he afterward wishes he had not said. In all such cases, it is advisable to write every speech in full until a firm, orderly method or habit of mind has been formed; for "writing maketh the exact mind." But if the individual speaker finds himself able to hold all his notes in mind in good order, and if he can keep clear in mind the relationship of everything to be said, it may not be necessary or even advisable for such a speaker to write his speech. The amount of writing which each of the several styles of THE AMOUNT OF PRACTICE REQUIRED 189 delivery requires, we shall consider presently in connection with the amount of practice required. Conceiving the Amount of Practice Required How much should a speaker practice his speech before he presents it to the audience? This depends principally on the style of delivery in which the speech is to be pre- sented. Before we can form a clear conception of the exact practice needed for any individual speech, therefore, we must first understand what the different styles of de- livery are and what is the nature of each. There are six distinct styles of delivery. These are (i) the impromptu style; (2) the extempore style; (3) the partially extempore and partially reading style; (4) the partially extempore and partially memoriter style; (5) the reading style; and (6) the memoriter style. I. The Impromptu Style of Delivery. In the strictest sense of the term (which signifies that the person speaking in this manner has not made any preparation, of any kind, on the subject on which he speaks) there is no such thing as impromptu speaking. If the speaker had not, some- time, gathered facts and ideas which he feels he can use on the subject on which he attempts to speak, then he certainly would have nothing to say on that subject. All gathering of material, no matter how remote from the time of using it in actual speaking, is, of course, a general and indirect preparation for the speech in which it is used. Those who say that they speak without preparation, how- ever, mean that they have made no direct, special prepara- tion for the speech in question. Such a claim is, in itself, I9O CONCEPTION-FORMING IN ORIGINAL SPEECH sufficient proof that this style of speaking has no place in the education of the speaker. We study the science of speech that we may grow in speech-ability. Surely the speaker cannot expect to grow who neither conceives definitely what he is going to do the next time he speaks, nor attempts to improve upon what he did the last time he spoke. It is evident that the speaker who speaks really impromptu can do neither of these things. We may, there- fore, pass the impromptu style by as unworthy of our attention. 2. The Extempore Style of Delivery. Formerly there was little difference between the terms impromptu and ex- tempore. Most persons understood them to mean the same thing. To-day this is not the case. All who have paid close attention to the different ways in which speeches are presented, have noticed that there is a certain style of delivery which shows that the speaker using it has made definite preparation for his speech, that he has conceived what he is going to talk about, that he has thought and read upon his subject, that he has outlined his plan of speech, that he has even practiced his speech thoroughly before presenting it in public, and yet has not allowed himself to determine beforehand the actual language he will use. Such an effort is certainly very different from impromptu speak- ing. It is also very different from the speaking in which definite language is determined upon and either committed to memory, or written and read. Some name had to be given to this middle style of delivery, lying between the two extremes of no preparation and absolute preparation. All authorities on speaking now agree in calling this style Extempore Speaking. THE AMOUNT OF PRACTICE REQUIRED Let us understand, then, that Extempore Speaking not only admits but requires some definite preparation. Let us understand, also, that there is only one arbitrary limit to the amount of preparation a speaker may make for an extempore speech. The speaker must not determine beforehand the definite phraseology he will use to express his thoughts, if he is to make an extempore speech. If he observes this law and keeps himself free to use the words which come to him at the moment of speaking, then the more preparation he makes, of every other kind, the better extempore speech will he have. The extempore style of delivery deserves our very best attention. No other style is so much in demand to-day. There are different reasons why this is so. I. The suc- cessful speaker is the one who gets into close touch with the thoughts and feelings of his audience. No other style permits the speaker to do this as does the extempore. 2. To be most successful to-day, a speaker must ever be ready to adapt his speech to new conditions and circumstances. These often arise suddenly and unexpectedly, and he must, therefore, be able to "weave them in" at the very moment of speaking. The extempore form of delivery is the only one in which the speaker can most successfully do this. 3. An audience is always most keenly interested in those things in which the speaker exhibits keen interest. It is easy to see that in extempore speaking the speaker's in- terest is kept at the highest tension, for each thing he says comes to him as a fresh thought. For these reasons the highest success in original speaking can be reached in the extempore style of delivery. 192 CONCEPTION-FORMING IN ORIGINAL SPEECH To reach this high success in original speaking, by em- ploying the extempore style, requires the most thorough preparation. Dr. Lyman Abbott has well said of this style that "It is like Longfellow's little girl 'When it is good, it is very, very good ; and when it is bad, it is horrid/ " What is more displeasing (if not, indeed, depressing) to an audience, than to have to endure an extempore speech so ill-prepared that the speaker is sure neither of his sub- ject nor of himself ! Such a speaker grows panicky while he tries to recall what he meant to say next. He hesitates and blindly gropes for words. He leaves out important things and says all sorts of disconnected, irrelevant, and undesirable things. Anyone who has witnessed and ex- perienced this sort of ordeal will agree that if a speaker will not make the preparation required to give him accuracy and freedom in extempore speaking, he should not attempt it. This brings up the important question, how much prepara- tion is required to accomplish this? It is obvious that a speaker can decide this question, concerning any speech he expects to make, only by testing his preparation. How does the base-ball or basket-ball player determine how well he is prepared to play a game ? Everyone knows that there is but one effective way and that is to put himself through the game beforehand. As with the athlete, so with the speaker. Therefore, as soon as adequate preliminary preparation for a speech has been made, including a careful outline, earnest thinking, wide reading, with copious notes, test your preparation by actually delivering the speech to an imaginary audience, or, better still, to a friend. Before beginning this practice-speech, make from your complete outline a brief outline, containing only the Main Headings, THE AMOUNT OF PRACTICE REQUIRED 193 or these and the Sub-headings of the First Order. Com- mit this short outline to memory, that you may "keep your place" throughout your speech without having to refer to your notes. When this has been done, fix a time limit beyond which you determine not to go. Make this limit the briefest time within which you deem it possible to ac- complish your set purpose. Place your watch before you, or have the friend keep the time for you. Consider, before you begin, that, to get the greatest benefit from this pre- liminary practice, you must go through the entire speech without stopping, just as you would have to if you were before the audience. Now for the speech! When the time-limit is reached, stop! Probably you will not have finished your speech. Doubt- less you will have omitted some of the important things you intended to say. Now is your opportunity to make your practice telling. Immediately think over what you have said. Recall the points upon which you have put the most time. Examine those points to see how much of what you said on them is of less importance than some of the things you meant to say but did not. Conceive how you can abbreviate or omit those less important things so as to gain time for the things you omitted, and yet have the time to finish the speech within the limit. When these concep- tions have been clearly formed, again speak your speech and stop at the time-limit. Repeat this process until you can finish well within the limit, and yet give the right proportion of time to each division of the speech. The objection may be raised that this process will diminish, if not destroy, the extempore effect. It is true that each time a speaker repeats a speech, he has a growing tend- 194 CONCEPTION-FORMING IN ORIGINAL SPEECH ency to use the same words previously used. To overcome this tendency and make sure that he remain "word-free," the average speaker should observe three precautions: I. He should not write a speech which he is to present in the extempore style The reason for this is clear. A law which we quoted above, declares that "writing maketh the exact mind." Writing a speech not only tends to bring to mind words with exact meanings ; it also tends, as we have said, to cause the speaker to use exactly the same words which he used when he wrote the speech. 2. The extempore speaker should keep his mind on the things about which he is talking, in close imaginative touch with those things, rather than on the words he is speaking. 3. The extempore speaker should change his speech in certain respects every time he practices it. This he can do by imagining a different audience, by taking different attitudes toward the imaginary audience and toward the things discussed, and by changing the concrete illustrations. The speaker who observes these precautions will avoid falling into fixed phraseology; and, if he does happen to repeat some of the sentences used be- fore in the same speech, he does it unconsciously, and not because he had memorized the words. He remains an un- fettered thinker, ready to adapt himself to momentary de- mands, which is the chief essential cf extempore speaking. 3. The Partially Extempore and Partially Reading Style of Delivery. This is the style which speakers adopt when they desire to be "word-free" throughout most of the speech, and yet wish to have certain parts of the speech very accurate. An example of this style is heard when a lawyer begins by reading a carefully written statement of his case, then lays down his manuscript and speaks ex- THE AMOUNT OF PRACTICE REQUIRED tempore until he comes to a place in the speech where he wishes to read some written testimony or authority, reads this, then speaks extempore again, and so on. Other ex- amples are seen when debaters stop in the midst of an extempore speech to read, from a manuscript or a book, some definition or some statement of statistics or some testimony, which the debaters , feel must be given verbatim. At best, this is a diluted or weakened form of extempore speaking. Observe closely the effect on the audience when a speaker turns aside from the freedom and ' spontaneity of his extempore speech, to read something. The author of this book has made this observation scores of times. The effect is always the same. The attention of the audience is instantly lessened. So damaging is this to the general effectiveness of the speech, that it far more than outweighs the advantage which the speaker supposes he gains by ap- pearing to be accurate. For these reasons, we cannot recommend this style of delivery. Instead we recommend, to the speaker who feels that his speech requires that he read certain parts of it, the following preparation. First fix in mind the exact source (volume and page) of the article you had thought of reading, that you may be able to state the source instantly and accurately. When this is done, conceive the exact gist of the article you contemplated reading. Conceive it so clearly that you can state the meaning of the article in a very few words of your own. With this -condensed mean- ing at your tongue's end, you can weave it into your ex- tempore speech as readily as you do any other thought. By doing so, you preserve t*he extempore style, retain your 196 CONCEPTION-FORMING IN ORIGINAL SPEECH hold on the mind of the audience, and greatly increase the effectiveness of the speech. However, since there are times when the speaker deems it practically necessary to read, from a book or a manu- script, a part of what he intends to say, he must know what preparation is necessary, to make such reading most ef- fective. The thing that makes such reading ineffective is that it takes both the mind and the eye of the speaker away from the mind and the eye of the listener. The question, then, is, how shall the speaker prepare to read so as to keep both his mind and his eye on the mind and eye of the listener? Three things are necessary. I. The speaker should read as few moments as possible at any one time. 2. The speaker's turning from speaking to reading and back again should be as little apparent as possible. 3. During the reading, the mind of the speaker should act as nearly as possible as it does when he is speaking. To realize these three things requires earnest, accurate, vigorous, and persistent practice. I. To make sure that you are ready to read the fewest moments possible, seek out the fewest sentences in the article to be read, that will convey the meaning intended. Mark these sentences so prominently on the page, that not one moment will be lost in searching for them. 2. To make sure that your mind shall not turn away from the mind of the listener when you begin to read, practice your extempore speech with the articles to be read so clearly marked and so near at hand that each one can be picked up without a moment's hesitation or search. 3. To make sure that during your reading your mind will continue to act toward and upon the mind of the audience as it does when you are speaking THE AMOUNT OF PRACTICE REQUIRED 1 97 directly to the audience, practice reading the articles you expect to read, as often as possible, with an imaginary audience before you. As you read each phrase, keep say- ing to yourself: "Is that clear to the audience? I must watch them to see if they are getting that." You will soon realize that, to accomplish this, you must keep your eyes looking into the eyes of the audience. This means that you must practice your reading until you become so familiar with the thought in each sentence to be read, that a mere glance at the sentence on the page will instantly recall the whole thought, and permit you to look away from the page before you have lost the eye of the listener. 4. The Partially Extempore and Partially Memoriter Style of Delivery .This is the style that speakers employ when they wish to preserve the extempore style, to be free throughout most of the speech, and yet make certain parts of the speech exceptionally impressive. For example, that type of speaker known as the "spell-binder" often uses this style of delivery. Such a speaker feels that he must be ready to adapt himself to all new conditions and circum- stances which may arise; and, for this reason, he must not have a "set" speech but must keep it almost wholly extempore. But he also feels that he has a "gem of a thought" with which he wishes to conclude his speech, others with which he wishes to end certain paragraphs, and another, perhaps, with which he desires to introduce his speech. He feels that with each of these thoughts he must make the greatest possible impression on the audience. He, therefore, states these favorite ideas in the best sentences he can formulate and then commits to memory these sentences. He does this, confident that he will then be free 198 CONCEPTION-FORMING IN ORIGINAL SPEECH to soar the heights of eloquence when he comes to these passages in his speech. There are advantages and disadvantages in this style. It causes the speaker to conceive certain important ideas more clearly and to state them more accurately than he might do in a purely extempore speech. When employed at the end of paragraphs and at the end of the whole speech, it also enables the speaker to conclude his thoughts in a surer, firmer, and more convincing manner than he might do in a purely extempore effort. The disadvantages arise from the fact that it is difficult to make the two styles of delivery work well together. The change in the speaker's manner as he passes from the one style to the other, is likely to be so apparent to the audience that it will divert the attention from the thing said to the way in which it is said. This, of course, materially lessens the effectiveness of the whole speech instead of increasing it. To overcome the disadvantages of this style of delivery requires thorough final preparation. The speaker who in- tends to use this style should first conceive intensively the exact thought in the extempore speech itself, which each of these memorized passages is to follow. When he has these, and their sequence in the speech, well fixed in mind, he should then practice the entire speech before an imaginary audience (or, better still, before a friend) in the manner outlined under the Extempore Style above. Whenever he approaches one of the memorized passages, he should make that approach natural by conceiving, while speaking ex- tempore, how his subject is rapidly accumulating size and force, so that when he reaches the memorized part, he has already gained the height on which he wishes to place the THE AMOUNT OF PRACTICE REQUIRED 199 memorized part. When he presents the memorized passage, he should keep repeatedly saying to himself (as we advised for reading the passage), "Is that clear to the audience? I must watch my audience to see if it is getting that thought." The speaker who does this in his practice will avoid the lofty and unnatural manner that would inevitably mar the effectiveness of this style. 5. The Reading Style of Delivery. This style, as the name suggests, is the one employed by those speakers who prefer to determine beforehand the exact language in which they will express their thoughts, and yet do not memorize the words to be used. It is the style adopted by speakers whose chief aim is to instruct the audience speakers who consider it more important to state their ideas in exact form than to be free to carry the audience to new heights of thought and feeling. For example, many instructors always employ this style in their lectures before their classes. They carefully write out what they mean to say to the class, take the manuscript with them, and read the lecture from the manuscript. Ministers who fear to trust themselves in extempore speech or who prefer rather to give an exact exposition of some idea than to make a speech of up-lift, write their sermons and read them to the congregation. Presidents in their inaugural addresses, wish- ing to state their policies clearly and exactly, also read written speeches to the audience. The one thing that can be said in favor of this style, has already been said. It does enable the speaker (or rather the reader) to know beforehand exactly what he is going to say and the exact order in which he will say it. Over against this one advantage there are very serious disad- 2OO CONCEPTION-FORMING IN ORIGINAL SPEECH vantages. Everyone is familiar with them. How often have we all sat in an audience when the speaker drew forth his manuscript, and heard someone sigh pathetically and exclaim: "Dear me! He's going to read it." Why this general antipathy to the reading style of delivery? Be- cause people have learned that it is generally a bore, and that the speaker who uses it is likely to be dull and un- interesting. This is not always the case, to be sure, but the attitude of the people toward this style shows that the chances are strongly against it. There is a psychological reason for this. During the entire preparation of such a speech, the speaker is apt to withdraw himself entirely from any imaginative contact with his audience, and to think only of his own ideas and of the mere sequence of them. What is the result? By the time the speech is written, the speaker has so perfectly formed the habit of thinking those thoughts without any vital connection be- tween his mind and the mind of the listeners, that when he comes before the audience, he naturally follows that habit, and reads his thoughts with almost as little contact between himself and the audience as if the audience were not present. He has so little use for the audience that it is no wonder the audience has little use for him or his speech. Yet it is possible to make the Reading Style of Delivery effective. Now and then we hear a speaker who reads his speech so well that we almost forget that he is reading. To make the reading of a speech as effective as an ex- tempore speech, requires extremely thorough and vigorous preparation. This preparation must begin during the writing of the THE AMOUNT OF PRACTICE REQUIRED 2OI speech. If the speaker hopes to have his mind and his eye engage, without break, the mind and eye of the actual audience, when he comes before it, he must keep himself in close contact with an imaginary audience all the while he is writing. An excellent way to accomplish this is to speak each part of the speech to an imaginary audience or to a friend, just before writing it. Before beginning each paragraph, fix in mind the outline for that paragraph ; then, imagining as nearly as possible how you would feel if you were before the audience, present that paragraph orally. If you do not succeed well the first time, repeat the effort until you do; then, while your mind is still in the "heat" of this encounter with the imaginary audience, sit down and dash your words on the paper. If this method is pur- sued throughout the writing, a large measure of success will already be won. The next stage of the final preparation will be the fre- quent reading of the manuscript. For the average speaker the best preparation requires that he read his speech many times before venturing it in public. But more important even than this persistent practice, is the manner in which it is read. Train the eye to run swiftly down the page, so as to catch as much as possible in the fraction of a second. Immediately look away from the page and, engaging the eyes of the imaginary audience, deliver what you gathered from the page. Again gather an "eye-full" in the briefest possible time, and look again into the eyes of the audience which you imagine before you while you speak what you saw on the page. Never allow yourself to look at the paper while actually speaking. If this method is persisted in faithfully until you are thoroughly familiar with the manu- 202 CONCEPTION-FORMING IN ORIGINAL SPEECH script, you will transform a lifeless, ineffective reading into a live, effective speech. 6. The Memoriter Style of Delivery. The difference between the Reading Style and the Memoriter Style of Delivery, is that in the former the speaker writes his speech and then reads it ; while in the latter he writes his speech, commits it to memory, and then delivers it entirely from memory. The Memoriter Style was formerly quite extensively used, but now has fallen into disfavor and is seldom used. Formerly the "oratorical contest/' in which the student wrote and committed to memory a formal oration, was one of the chief means for training students to speak; to-day, in many of our representative colleges and universities, the debate has almost wholly supplanted the oration. In educating the speaker to-day, all our more progressive institutions of learning have regular courses in Extempore Speaking and in Argumentation and Debate, in which the training is wholly in extempore speaking. The reasons for this change have been pointed out in the discussion of the Extempore Style. The speaker of to-day, to be most ef- fective, must be ever ready to adapt his speech to the momentary demands of the occasion. When a speech has been absolutely committed to memory, such adaptation is difficult, and, with many speakers, impossible. For these reasons, the Memoriter Style of delivery is no longer in high favor. There are still some persons, however, who prefer to speak in the Memoriter Style. These persons are of three classes: i. Those who fear to trust themselves to have the right words at the right time ; 2. Those who prefer to make THE AMOUNT OF PRACTICE REQUIRED 2O3 an oratorical display rather than to grapple with and lead the minds of the audience; 3. Those who prefer the Memoriter Style for both these reasons. How shall the speaker who intends to speak in the Memoriter Style conceive the amount of the final prepara- tion he should make before presenting his speech in public ? It is obvious, in the first place, that he should write his entire speech, since he so earnestly desires accuracy of language, and knows that "writing maketh the exact mind." Not only should he write but he should repeatedly re- write his speech until he is convinced that his expressions are the most effective ones he can devise. Next comes the task of memorizing. Nothing else that a memoriter speaker is ever called upon to do, can make 1 a greater difference in the degree of his success, than is made by a good or a bad method of committing his speech to memory. (We shall consider this point more fully in the chapter on Memory.) The fundamental task is the same as in the final preparation for the Reading Style. The speaker must find how to avoid becoming so conscious of his words that he loses the vital connection with the things about which he speaks and with the minds of his audience. To avoid this fatal result, memorize ideas in- stead of words. Make no direct attempt to memorize the words. As soon as the final draft of the speech is written, concentrate the mind on the first paragraph of the speech. As you read each sentence in that paragraph, try to imagine before you, not the words, but the very things about which you are to speak. Imagine also that you are facing the audience, showing the listeners those things. When you have read the entire paragraph through in this manner, and 204 CONCEPTION-FORMING IN ORIGINAL SPEECH have fixed in mind the order in which you have placed the things about which you speak, step away from the manuscript and speak that paragraph, imagining that the audience is before you. When you have finished speaking it, look through the paragraph on the paper, to see if you have made any mistakes. If so, correct your conceptions in those places, then speak the paragraph again. Continue this process until you can speak the entire paragraph, with- out any hesitation and without any errors in the wording, with your mind fixed constantly on the audience and the things about which you speak. Then treat the next para- graph in the same manner, and, when it is memorized, speak the first and second paragraphs in immediate succession. Then treat the third paragraph likewise and then join the first three, and so on throughout the speech. When a speaker commits his speech to memory in this psychological manner, he retains almost all the spontaneous action of mind that he would have in an extempore speech. He transforms the uninteresting, "cut-and-dried" speech (which results from memorizing mere words) into a live, interesting and effective message. Experiments in Making the Final Preparation for an Original Speech Before beginning any one of these experiments, a definite time-limit should be set, beyond which the student must not go in making a speech in his experiments. His final effort before the class should conform to this same limit. I. Perform the experiment of making the fial prepara- EXPERIMENTS 2O5 tion for a Narrative Speech to be delivered in the Ex- tempore Style, i. Use the Subject which you have already conceived to be appropriate and adapted to Narration. 2. Use the Plan for a Narrative Speech, which you conceived and formed while studying Chapter VII. 3. Conceive what articles you should read on this subject, as indicated in this chapter (pp. 182-184). 4. Read these articles and take careful notes on them, in the manner suggested in this chapter (pp. 185-187). 5. Conceive the amount of addi- tional writing you need to do, as indicated on pages 187 and 1 88, and do the writing needed. 6. Conceive (as out- lined on pp. 189-194) the amount of practice that thorough preparation for your speech requires, and practice the speech accordingly. Make the practice accurate and careful. Present this speech before the class. II. Perform the experiment of making thorough final preparation for a Descriptive Speech to be delivered in the Extempore Style, i. Use the Subject you have already conceived as appropriate and adapted to Description. 2. Use the Plan for a Descriptive Speech, which you conceived and formed in your study of Chapter VII. 3. Conceive what articles to read (see pp. 182-184). 4. Conceive how to read the articles selected, and take notes on them (see pp. 185-187) ; read them and take the notes needed. 5. Conceive the amount of additional writing you should do (see pp. 187-188) and write as much as you find helpful. 6. Conceive the amount of practice which an effective ex- tempore presentation demands (see pp. 189-194) and prac- tice the speech accordingly. Present this speech before the class. III. Perform the experiment of making thorough final 206 CONCEPTION-FORMING IN ORIGINAL SPEECH preparation for an Expository Speech to be delivered in the Extempore Style. In performing this experiment, follow the plan outlined in experiments I and II above. When the speech has been thoroughly prepared and yet kept en- tirely extempore in the wording of it, speak it before the class for criticism. IV. Perform the experiment of completing the final preparation required for an Argumentative Speech to be delivered in the Extempore Style. Follow the plan out- lined in experiments I and II above. When the prepara- tion is complete, present the speech before the class for criticism. Additional Experiments in the Final Preparation Required If it be possible to devote to this particular phase of the work, more than the four class-sessions required for these four experiments, it will be found highly profitable to review the entire general subject of Conception-Forming in Original Speech (Chapters VI, VII, VIII, and IX) and to pursue other subjects for speeches, throughout all the steps of preparation, from choosing the subject to present- ing the speeches in class. If time will permit and the intending speaker desires a working knowledge of the other four styles of delivery, then continue the experiments in making the Final Preparation for a speech, through these other styles of delivery. For example, take the Argumentative Speech prepared above. Prepare to present that speech in the Partially Extempore ADDITIONAL EXPERIMENTS 2O7 and Partially Reading Style, and also in the Partially Ex- tempore and Partially Memoriter Style. For the session following the one in which this effort is made, prepare to present the same speech in the Written and also in the Memoriter Style. Observe the laws of effectiveness out- lined in the discussion of these styles in this chapter. CHAPTER X CONCEPTIONS IN LITERATURE The Value of Literary Conceptions So far, as outlined in this book, all our conceptions have been built from the miscellaneous things which we meet in life, and from the particular things which we are pre- paring to use in some original speech. There are several reasons why the speaker should train himself carefully to rebuild the conceptions which are found in literature. In the first place, many of these conceptions were built by master minds and are capable of "setting the pace" to our own minds better than almost anything else can do. In the second place, the student of speech may desire to read selections from literature, in public. He never can do so with the greatest success unless he has first trained him- self to form every conception entering into a piece of literature, which he may desire to read, as carefully as if he were forming that conception for his own, original speech. In the third place, though the student of speech may never expect to read in public, much of the knowledge to be acquired by the speaker must be gleaned from litera- ture. This knowledge will be inaccurate, oftentimes ab- solutely untrue and lifeless, unless the student has been trained to rebuild all conceptions, in the literature from which he gains his knowledge, with as much diligence as 208 ANALYSIS OF LITERARY CONCEPTIONS 2O9 if he were getting his information direct from nature. This hardly needs proof; it is self-evident. When one builds a conception of a thing, he comes into the very inner life of that thing. He takes its life into his life. How, then, can literature that has not been fully conceived by the one who reads it, be made to appear other than lifeless? And if the reader has not come to know the inner life of the thing read about in literature, how can his knowledge concerning that thing be accurate ? How can he be sure that his knowl- edge is true? For the above reasons, some of our best results, in pre- paring for Public Speaking, will come through building conceptions from literature. Analysis of Literary Conceptions Before proceeding with the work of forming conceptions from literature, let us observe one or two important prin- ciples concerning the kind of conceptions we should build from literature. In order to be ready to follow the author's mind, ready to build the exact conceptions he built, and to build them in exactly the same order in which he built them, the first thing necessary is, that we get a clear con- ception of the theme which the author is presenting. By "theme" (as we found on p. 136) we mean the particular phase of life which the author is setting forth. No matter what kind of literature we may read, if it is real literature, worth reading, there is always to be found one central life out of which all smaller parts of the writing grow as the branches grow out of a tree. Naturally, we are not ready 2IO CONCEPTIONS IN LITERATURE to interpret the life found in any of the single lines of a writing until we have conceived exactly the kind of life from which all the lines spring. As soon as we have come to recognize and to feel the kind of life the author is presenting, the second necessary step is to conceive the author's purpose in presenting this theme. Why does he do it ? What does he wish to do with us, his audience, as he sets forth this particular phase of life? Until we have answered these questions, we are not pre- pared fully to conceive single sentences in the selection we are trying to read. We shall answer these questions, and, thereby, come to conceive the author's purpose, largely by turning again to the theme itself. The writer has certainly emphasized those particular features of the life he is pre- senting, which he wishes us to conceive. Then, when we have found the features most often emphasized, have we not found the author's purpose? His purpose is, evidently, to get us to act in full sympathy with those very phases of life. The third essential step in forming conceptions of any piece of literature, is to form a clear conception of each and every phrase as we come to it. The process is simple. By the time the mind of the reader is filled with the con- ception of the main theme presented, and with the pur- pose for which that theme is presented, to form a con- ception of any one phrase requires only that the reader find the likeness between the life in the main theme and the life in the things talked about in that phrase. In other words, the reader must discover what there is in the conception which already fills his mind, that causes him to think about the things mentioned in the phrase now before him. (This ANALYSIS OF LITERARY CONCEPTIONS 211 point will be made more concrete by the conceptions which we insert below.) The fourth step which the student must take in order to know any piece which he may read from literature, is to conceive what there is in the last phrase which he con- ceived, that is so like something in the next phrase, that it naturally calls the next phrase to mind. As soon as the reader has conceived the inner nature, the inner life, of the thing discussed in the last phrase he conceived, he will easily note some striking likeness between that life and the life of the things introduced in the next phrase. If the phrases are written as they should be, that is, if both phrases are the true outgrowth of the central conception of the whole production, the reader will find himself saying : "Why, it is so natural to think of this thing next, that I couldn't help it." Not until he has come to feel this way about it, does the reader have adequate conceptions of any- thing he is attempting to read. When the reader has reached this state where every succeeding phrase seems to be the logical, the necessary, outgrowth of the phrase before it, and all phrases seem to be the necessary outgrowth of the central spirit and life of the whole production, he has accomplished a number of things most valuable to good reading. First, the reader has made a living reality of what he has to read, and has already filled his own life with the life of his theme. Secondly, he has so conceived the spirit of growth in that life, that he is much more capable of causing an audience to see and to feel his theme grow into a living force, when- ever he presents that theme in public. This means that he is much more capable of "carrying his audience with 212 CONCEPTIONS IN LITERATURE him." Thirdly, he has so conceived the real life from which the words of the production sprang, while using those words, that he has, at one and the same time, become word- perfect and word-free. What do we mean by this? We mean that the reader will now be able to use the words of the author and to use them in the order in which the author used them, remembering the order with little diffi- culty, because he has "welded" those words firmly together by this process of conception-forming. To make more clear and simple the four essential steps in forming conceptions from literature (which steps we have outlined above) let us observe the conception which a student built of the following lines from the prelude to part first of The Vision of Sir Launfal, by Lowell. The lines used for this experiment were: And what is so rare as a day in June? Then, if ever, come perfect days; then Heaven tries earth if it be in tune, and over it softly her warm ear lays. Whether we look or whether we listen, we hear life murmur or see it glisten; every clod feels a stir of might, an instinct within it that reaches and towers, and, groping blindly above it for light, climbs to a soul in grass and flowers. The beginning class in Public Speaking had been asked to form conceptions of these few lines, observing the laws for such conception- forming, stated above. These concep- tions were to be written and submitted in class. The paper from which we quote begins in this manner: The central theme of these lines is the intense, living beauty of Nature on a June day. The author's purpose is to make us feel this life and get into close sympathy with it. He wants us to feel how much ANALYSIS OF LITERARY CONCEPTIONS 213 it is like our own lives at their best. He wants us to let our lives be lifted and expanded and filled as the life of this June day is filled to overflowing. I realize that, if I am to read these lines well, I must be moved by this same purpose. I must also conceive myself surrounded by all the things which surrounded the author when he spoke these words, and from these things must receive such vivid imaginative sensations, that I become filled with the life which I am trying to show to the listener. I, therefore, imagine myself in the country on a bright day in June. As I see the perfectly clear light reflected from everything, and as I feel the delightful warmth that is permeating and filling everything, it fills me with a feeling of complete satis- faction till I cannot help exclaiming "What is so rare as a day in June!" As I recall how the bright days earlier than June often have a chilliness in them and how the bright days of later summer often are dry and parched, I am filled with a deeper appreciation of this perfect day; and I say with feel- ing: "Now if ever, come perfect days." As I see everything so filled with life and warmth and happiness, it makes me think of Heaven, the place of complete happiness. It seems as if Heaven has poured its very spirit into this day, as the violinist pours his soul into the instrument on which he plays. Indeed, as I feel the intensely life-filled and yet peaceful atmos- phere hovering over the earth, it seems to me as if Heaven were actually bending over the earth and listening to see how well the earth responds to the life it is pouring into all the earth, as a violinist bends over his instrument and listens to its tones. As I imagine Heaven, sympathetically bending over the earth, listening to find what response there is, it brings me into closer sympathy with the scene. I also bend forward to look and listen. Everywhere I both see and hear the signs of life. I see life in the light that glistens from the shiny surfaces of bright new leaves. I hear life in the calling of animals, in the singing of birds, and in the buzzing of insects, all blended together in a full murmur of happiness. While I am looking down at the life that is everywhere showing itself, the thought comes to me that this fullness of life is entering even the clod; for from every clod I see spring- ing some form of life. It occurs to me that, shut up within the darkness of each clod, there is life not yet showing itself but already feeling the expanding thrill of this June sun. I find myself imagining what it would be to be that little life 214 CONCEPTIONS IN LITERATURE within the clod and to be filled with a burning desire to become something more; for the great power of the sun's heat is entering that life and making it expand, making it reach up- ward, as it were. I find myself imagining that I am shut in, as that life is shut in, in darkness. I imagine myself feeling my way and reaching desperately upward, struggling for freer air and light. Now I imagine that my prison-walls have sud- denly crumbled away, as the clod crumbles away from the life that is expanding within it, and that I find myself up in the light, a free life a soul! just as I see the triumphant life "in grass and flowers" which have reached the light. The above conceptions are commendable for many rea- sons, but most of all, perhaps, for the fact that the author of this paper did not spoil her work by referring to, or speaking about, the "lines" of anyone after she actually began to build her conceptions. She merely glanced at the words, in each phrase of Lowell's, long enough to find the exact thought he expressed, then she immediately lost sight of the fact that there were any "lines" under con- sideration. She surrounded herself, imaginatively, with the things which she felt would cause her to express that very thought, and then proceeded to build that thought. Unless the intending speaker pursues this plan, he will find himself merely following the words of the author of the selection he is studying, and repeating, parrot-like, the things the author says. The result will be that he will not have any true conceptions of the selection, but only a para- phrase of the author's words. This will do little toward making him a better thinker or a better reader. The student builds real conceptions of a piece of literature only when he finds what things would cause him to use the very words which the author of that piece used, and then allows those causes so to work upon him ANALYSIS OF LITERARY CONCEPTIONS 215 that he feels like saying those exact words, in the exact order in which the author said them. In a manner similar to the one followed in the paper quoted above (observing the laws stated on pp. 209-211) the conceptions of any piece of literature must be built before the selection can be read as it should be read. Whenever characters are introduced, in the selection you are trying to conceive, when you come to the quoted words, supposed to be spoken by a character, you should, of course, instantly conceive yourself as becoming that character. You should then as that character (not as yourself) con- ceive everything until you come to the end of the quoted words, when you should conceive yourself as again becom- ing the author of the selection. This same principle is found not only when characters are introduced, in the writing, but also when new situations arise. You will frequently find that the author (whose selection you are conceiving) is, one moment, describing something observed from one situation; and then, the next moment, is describing something that could be observed only from a very different situation or location. In such a case, you should, of course, instantly conceive yourself as taking the new situation. You should then conceive things from this new point of view until it is evident that the author has shifted to his former view-point or to still another new one. You should then conceive yourself as quickly changing situations as before. Experiments in Building Literary Conceptions As much time as you can afford to give to this phase of the work you should now devote to forming conceptions 2l6 CONCEPTIONS IN LITERATURE of short selections from literature. If you expect to spe- cialize in the interpretative form of public speaking, you can hardly spend too much time experimenting in this par- ticular part of your preparation. If you expect to do no public reading but only to make public addresses, you will find it greatly to your advantage to spend a few days, at least, in vigorously re-building the conceptions which the minds of noted writers have built. There is a three-fold benefit which the student of speaking who expects only to make speeches of his own, may get from these experiments. First, they enable him to get a fuller, broader and deeper knowledge of the literature he reads, than he can get in any other way. Secondly, they fix in mind, as no other method can do, the choice things he reads, and make them ready for future use in his speeches. Thirdly, these ex- periments cause the student unconsciously to adopt the method of conception- forming which the great minds have used. In this way, the experiments make the intending speaker a much stronger and more effective thinker. An excellent selection with which to begin, is a part of the prelude to part first of The Vision of Sir Launfal, by Lowell, beginning with the line "And what is so rare as a day in June?'* and ending with the line "That skies are clear and grass is growing." This may well be followed by a second experiment on the first few lines of the pre- lude to part second of The Vision of Sir Launfal, beginning with the first line and ending with the line "As the lashes of light that trim the stars." As a third selection for experiments in conception-building, few will be found better than Paul Revere' s Ride, by Longfellow. If this selection is used, it will be found advantageous to divide it into three BUILDING LITERARY CONCEPTIONS 21 7 experiments. (These selections should be in any library. They are in the poems of Lowell, and of Longfellow, pub- lished by Houghton Mifflin Co., Boston.) Whatever selections you use for the experiments, let the conceptions be. built in the thorough manner outlined on pages 209-215. Do not merely make a paraphrase, or a description, or an abstract of the selection studied. So thoroughly put yourself in the place of the one creating this selection, that your whole attention is directed to the things you sense, imagine, think, and feel which cause you to say each single phrase. Realize that the entire experi- ment is an effort to find what things it is necessary to sense, imagine, think, and feel, to cause you to say every single word of this selection as your own. To do this, you must, of course, consider only one short phrase at a time. When you have realized what things cause you to say the first phrase, tell aloud to an imaginary friend beside you, just what imaginative experiences you have, at this mo- ment, which cause you to say that phrase. Do the same with every phrase. Keep in mind that your object in mak- ing the experiment, is to become ready to stand before the class, and, imagining that you have taken the class with you to the scene where you build the selection, to describe to the class the process by which you have formed each conception out of the imaginary things which you see, hear, and otherwise experience. Be prepared to do this. Also submit a written description of this process, similar to the one quoted on pages 212-214, CHAPTER XI MEMORY Its Real Value in Life WILLIAM JAMES, probably the greatest psychologist of modern times, declares (Psych. I. 644) : "All the intel- lectual value for us of a state of mind depends on our after-memory of it." The same author says later (Psych. I. 650) : "In practical as in theoretical life, the man whose acquisitions stick is the man who is always^achieving and advancing, whilst his neighbors, spending most of their time in relearning what they once knew but have forgotten, simply hold their own." If this is true of life in general, how much more true is it of the life of one who would speak in public! Not only must he remember the im- portant events in his own life, he must also remember those of the community in which he speaks, and of the world at large. More than this, he must remember what he intended to say about these things. Otherwise, he will be but a child of circumstance. He may speak well, but lacking that control of memory, he is more likely to be an absolute failure. At least the chances are that he will not grow, that he will speak no better to-morrow than he did to-day probably not so well. 218 CAN MEMORY BE CULTIVATED? 21 9 Can Memory Be Cultivated? If this function of the mind plays so important a part in real success, the question naturally arises, can it be cultivated? Can we acquire it if we have it not? Can we improve it by training ? Many people hold to the belief that memory is a "gift," and think that those who possess it are personally favored of God. They believe that those who lack it are outside of the "chosen few." We de not deny that some persons have memories more retentive than others. Let us admit the fact that the training of memory is often difficult; that in some cases the effort to develop a ready memory seems almost useless. We say almost, for we have never yet found a case where some improvement could not be effected. One of the most remarkable in- stances of memory development we have ever known was that of a young man twenty-one years of age, a senior in college. He had been honored by his class with the dis- tinction of class-orator. He had tried to decline the honor, but, as he was brilliant in his studies and a great favorite with the student-body, his class would not let him off. He came to us in great distress. He had written an excellent speech, but declared that it was simply impossible for him to memorize it. Then, with an anguish in his face we shall never forget, he confessed that his life was a bitter disappointment to him; that it had been his ambition to become an orator, but that his failure of memory had made it impossible. We put him to the test he could not repeat from memory a single paragraph of his own speech. We had but 22O MEMORY two months in which to help him. Within that time, under careful guidance, not only did he memorize his oration and deliver it most forcefully, but he got that grip on himself that enabled him, from that time on, to memorize any speech at will. He has told us since that his memory has continued to be ready and sure. While this case was a more extreme one than is often en- countered, it is one of many cases where gratifying results have been accomplished under our personal observation. We will outline later in the chapter the methods which we have employed. Let us add here that experience has taught us that improvement of the memory can come only through the improvement of the method of memorizing. This be- lief is strongly supported by William James (Psych. 667), by M. H. Holbrook (How to Strengthen Memory, p. 39, seq. ; 100, seq.) and by many other authoritative students of the mind. What Acts of the Mind Constitute Memory Before we attempt to develop and. strengthen the memory, let us determine clearly what memory is. One's first thought may be that everyone knows what memory is. But memory is not a simple but a complex function of the mind. A careful investigation of the ideas people have of the mental acts necessary to remember anything, proves that the average conception of memory is very vague and indistinct. This, we believe, is one principal reason why people remember so poorly. Psychologists generally agree that memory includes four WHAT ACTS OF THE MIND CONSTITUTE MEMORY 221 different acts. These acts are: i. Retention; 2. Repro- duction; 3. Representation; 4. Recognition. When we seek the meaning of these terms, we find that Retention means the holding a thing in mind after we have ceased, for the time being, to be conscious of that thing. In other words, it means the holding of the impress of that thing during a period when we are conscious of other things, or (as in case of an accident or illness that makes us unconscious) during a period when we are conscious of nothing. For instance: Two persons are talking. Their conversation is interrupted by an unexpected occurrence that completely occupies their minds for some time. Later these two take up the subject of conversation just where they dropped it. They have retained that subject. Some- thing has caused that subject to stick. What the mind does that makes things stick, we shall consider later. Reproduction means the act of producing a thing again. To produce a thing is to build that thing or to cause it to grow, out of the elements or fundamental parts of which it is made. To re-p reduce a thing in mind, therefore, means to cause that thing again to grow out of the several parts which together go to make that thing up. In our study of the imagination, we found that this is exactly what the mind does in the act which we call reproductive imagina- tion. It recreates the various sensations which it formerly received from a certain thing. When it does this, we say the imagination has reproduced that thing. It is clear, then, that the second act of memory, the act of reproduction, is purely an act of reproductive imagination. Representation, which psychologists call the third act of memory, means showing or exhibiting a thing through its 222 MEMORY likeness. How does the mind happen to have a likeness of anything? Have we not learned that the mind holds a likeness, or image, of anything only when it has caused that thing to grow out of the various sensations received from that thing ? Does this not make it clear, that when the mind wishes to show to itself a likeness of anything, it must reproduce its image of that thing through an act of reproductive imagination? From these facts, we see that representation is the outgrowth, or rather the culmination, of reproduction. When reproductive imagination has put together again the various sensations which were once re- ceived from a thing, it holds these united sensations before the mind, as much as to say to the mind : "There you have it." So we find that Representation, as well as Reproduc- tion, is purely an act of reproductive imagination. When we come to the mental action which psychologists call the fourth act of memory, we seem to be meeting a friend we have met before in our study of public speaking. Did we not define Conception as the function by which we recognize a thing as the same as we have known before? When we investigate the peculiar kind of recognizing that is done when we remember a thing, we begin to see why Recognition has been called an act of memory as well as an act of conception. We find that: In memory we recognize a thing not only as the same as we have known before, but also as belonging to a former experience. In other words, we find that we may have a conception of a thing and yet not remember that thing. For instance, suppose that a year ago you met a certain person. Sup- pose that you had a very brief conversation with that person. WHAT ACTS OF THE MIND CONSTITUTE MEMORY 223 In those few moments, you formed a fairly distinct con- ception of that person's appearance. To-day you meet that person again. At once you say (mentally at least), "I recognize your face, but I don't seem to remember you." When you use those words, you speak an exact truth. You have a conception of that person, but you do not remember him. This act of your mind is one that happens often in the lives of all of us. It illustrates the difference between the two kinds of recognizing. Let us now suppose that after looking for a few moments into the face of this person, whom you recognize but do not remember, you sud- denly exclaim: "O yes, I remember you. I met you in the station at Albany, last July." What has your mind now recognized that it did not recognize before? It has recognized this person as a part of a certain place and time in your past life. In other words, your mind holds a compound conception, including the person remembered together with other things formerly associated with that person. This is the kind of recognizing that must take place to make the act of recognition a part of memory. We might say that if memory wishes a thing recognized, it employs conception to do the recognizing but insists that that thing must be recognized in connection with other things formerly associated with it in time or space. A thing is really remembered when, and only when, it is recognized as belonging to a certain place or time in the past life of the one remembering it. 224 MEMORY Where Memory Begins What we have said concerning the nature of memory should make the fact clear that memory depends almost wholly on the act of retaining. If we perform the acts necessary to make a thing stick in the mind, imagination and conception take care of the work of recalling that thing or bringing it up for future use. Therefore, the develop- ment of memory depends on the development of those activities of mind which store things away for future use. Have not the above observations given us some valuable hints as to what those activities of mind are which store things away for future use? We have found that when- ever a thing is remembered, the mind holds a compound conception, made up of the thing remembered together with other things which happened at the same time the thing remembered happened. Is it not obvious, then, that the act of mind which made that thing stick, was the forming of this compound conception which included with the thing to be remembered, other things associated with that thing at that moment? At least it should be clear that this con- ception was being formed at the moment when those acts of mind occurred, which caused the thing to stick in memory. And, since the forming of a strong compound conception occupies the entire mind, it is fairly proved that the act of mind upon which memory rests, is the forming of a compound conception including, with the thing to be remembered, other things associated with that thing. In this act memory begins. M. Ribot (Psych, of Emotion, p. 157) says: "The re- ATTENTION AND MEMORY 225 vivability of an impression is in direct relation to its com- plexity. William James (Talks to Teachers, p. 123) says: "The secret of good memory is the secret of forming di- verse and multiple associations with every fact we care to retain." Later he adds : "The one who thinks over his experiences most, and weaves them into the most systematic relations with each other, will be the one with the best memory." In other words, anything is retained, with cer- tainty, in memory, only when it is conceived as a part of other things which are associated with it and serve as a setting for it. Attention and Memory There is a very old saying: "Attention is the stuff of which memory is made." We now see the meaning and the significance of that saying. We have found, in our study of Sensation, that attention means holding the mind firmly on the thing thought about until something of the inner nature of that thing is realized. Whenever this is done, the thing thought about makes an impression some- where within the mind of the thinker, that is not easy to obliterate. It is easy to see that this is done by bringing the action of the different senses to bear on one point of the mind while a strong compound conception is being formed. If heavy artillery, from various directions, is turned upon one point, the impression is likely to be rather deep. Unlike the artillery, the action of the senses is not destructive. Like artillery focussed on one point : When the attention holds the mind before one certain 226 MEMORY thing and sets different senses to work firing their mes- sages concerning this one thing, into the brain, the im- pression is deep and lasting. The first reason why at- tention produces memory, is because it holds the mind in one place long enough to let the various senses act upon it and because it sets the various senses to acting vigorously on one point of the mind. There is another thing that attention does during the forming of a compound conception, that greatly strengthens memory. Sometimes it is not enough for the mind to be held before one thing while vigorous messages from that thing are being focussed upon the mind through the various senses. It is necessary also that attention stir the mind of the observer, to act vigorously upon the thing from which the messages are being received. To illustrate: A friend is explaining to me the peculiar characteristics of an automobile that stands a short distance before us. His story is interesting, and, while he tells it, I receive such strong sense-impressions from the car at which I look, that I feel I cannot forget what he says to me about this car. An hour later, we two are crossing a street in another part of the city. We are talking and do not notice that we are in danger. Suddenly we are startled by the loud "honk! honk!" of an automobile horn. I glance back and see, to my horror, that the very machine which an hour ago we had been examining, now at a high rate of speed, is almost upon us. I seize my friend by his arm, and, by a supreme effort, succeed in dragging him and myself out of the path of the car. The next day, I try to recall what my friend had said to me about the characteristics of that automobile, but I find that I have forgotten practically DEVELOPMENT OF MEMORY FOR SPEAKING '227 everything he said. In strong contrast to this, years after- ward I find the dangerous experience I had with that automobile, almost as fresh as ever in memory. The differ- ence in the strength of my memory in the two cases, was clearly due to the fact that in the latter experience my mind was stirred to act vigorously upon the thing from which the sense-impressions were received, while in the former experience my mind was comparatively quiet. The law of mind that is active here, is stated by M. Ribot (Psychology of the Emotions, p. 179), in these words: "When two or more states of consciousness have been ac- companied by the same emotional state, they tend to be associated with one another." Strong emotional states arise from strong attitudes of mind. Therefore, if we wish to bind things together in memory, we must do so by taking strong attitudes toward them when we are trying to fix them in memory. Attention makes memory strongest when it stirs the mind to strong attitudes while a compound conception is being formed. The Development of Memory for Speaking How do the laws of memory which we have just ob- served, apply when one wishes to memorize a speech? If we remember a thing because we have built a strong com- pound conception of that thing, together with other things associated with that thing at the moment when we memorize it, what associations are we to find for the words we may wish to memorize? It is clear that every word memorized 228 MEMORY should bring before the mind the thing for which that word stands. It is clear also that the thing which each word brings before the mind should then become so real in imagination, that the mind conceives it associated with other things, as it would be associated in ordinary life. Other important associations help the student of speech to memorize. With the things which the word brings before the mind, he may associate his own impulses, those of his body as well as those of his mind. He can make his think- ing, his feeling, his voice, his action a very part of the thing memorized. Not only can he do this, but, if he is to pre- pare his work correctly, he must do so. Each one of us who has memorized selections or speeches, and then presented them before a class or an audience, has probably wondered how it could be that when he knew the words so well in his own room, he could forget them so easily when he attempted to repeat them before others. There is a definite reason for this. When he memorized that speech, he probably did so in silence, that is, not aloud. Or if he vocalized it, he most likely did so in an undertone, or in a loud, careless, declamatory style, or in some other manner which he would not care to employ before an audi- ence. If his imagination was active and if he was in the spirit of the speech when he committed it, he allowed him- self complete freedom of action, and employed many ges- tures and other motions which he was either ashamed or afraid or too proud to use before his audience. He "crammed" the words, perhaps, with no thought of an audience or of anything else except to get those words "by heart." In any event, whatever the method he employed, there was some essential difference between his feeling. DEVELOPMENT OF MEMORY FOR SPEAKING 229 his attitude, toward the speech, toward himself, and toward his audience, when he was preparing the speech, and when he attempted to present it. Suppose that you are the one who has memorized in any one of these ways. Suppose there is a certain part of the speech that demands a strong voice calling to someone in the distance, and suppose that when you were practicing the speech, with nobody else present, you used such a voice freely and unconsciously, addressing the imaginary person to whom you called, but not thinking of the audience. When, in due time, you stand before the audience, and come to that part of the speech, you are afraid you may make a fool of yourself by calling out in that way. So you utter the words in a voice and manner not at all like the one you used before. Will you be surprised if you forget? You should rather be surprised if you did not forget. The attitude of your mind is so completely changed, that your attention is now taken absolutely away from all the associations you had before, and is now concerned with an all-absorbing aspect of the speech which did not exist in your former consciousness. A strong new sensation has crowded out the old and weaker ones. This new sensation you receive from the audience. It makes so deep, so new an impres- sion on the brain that the old ones are obliterated. We have spoken of these instances as if they were merely possible ones; but every situation we have depicted has been observed many times in classes in public speaking. Practically without exception, the results were such as we have stated. From these observations, we conclude that in speech, accuracy and readiness of memory are ac- quired in proportion as each thing to be spoken of is 23O MEMORY conceived in its proper setting and sequence; in propor- tion as all the attitudes of the speaker's mind, toward the message, toward the speaker's self, and toward the audience, are definitely associated with the speech at all times during its preparation; and in proportion as these attitudes are made so strong by frequent, careful re- hearsals, that they shall overcome all confusing attitudes which the occasion of the speech may present. To Memorize Mere Words Destroys Memory These facts show us how worse-than-useless it is to commit to memory mere words. And this should cause us to stop and think what results must follow the vicious habit of "cramming" lessons, which some students are guilty of, especially near the close of the session. It must now be clear that no possible intellectual benefit can come from that practice of stuffing the brain, within a few hours, full of meaningless points and facts. It must be seen that when this is done without sufficient attention, and without sufficient repetition to set up any habit in the nervous system or in the brain, the inevitable tendency must be to destroy one's ability to remember. For this reason, much of our educational system of to- day is extremely bad. The motto "Not how much, but how well" was employed by the most thoroughly educative teacher the writer ever knew. We are compelled to admit that that motto has little vogue in our schools and colleges to-day. The standard with many teachers seems to be to have the student read all that it is possible to read within CONCRETENESS TO DEVELOP MEMORY 23! a certain time. Volume after volume is hurried through in a mad rush that reminds one more of the way a thresh- ing-machine is "fed" than of the leading forth, or the educating of a human soul. Someone has said, "We should do as the threshing-machine does, select the wheat from the chaff and save the wheat." But do not forget that when so much separating must be done, you may become a mere separator. You are then the MACHINE. Will you grow stronger by that process? Can a machine grow stronger ? Or do you find the machine worn out in a short time by such pell-mell rushing? If selection, which is the essential function of the threshing-machine, were the end of education, then such a method would be excellent. If now and then such a practice is indulged merely to prepare material which is then to be slowly digested and re-digested and built into the personality of the student, day by day, then again we may say, well and good. But when such dashing work is made the end of education, too much can- not be said against it. On this point, we are glad to find the warm support of Dr. James (Psych. I, 663). The Value of Concreteness to Develop Memory Dr. Ebbinghaus, of Germany, by scientific and very heroic experiments (Ueber das Gedachtniss, Experimental Unter- suchungen, 1885, p. 64) has given us exact measurements of various forms of memory, and through these has proved the uselessness of abstract memory. He tells us that no amount of repetition spent on nonsense-verses, beyond a certain length, will enable one to retain them over twenty- 232 MEMORY four hours without error. Cases may be found where short snatches of abstract and even senseless matter have been retained through many years. I have in mind a woman who, in her youth, had been fascinated by the peculiar ab- breviations at the top of the pages in an encyclopaedia, so much so that she strung them together and memorized them. Now, many years later, she frequently repeats this jingling jargon to the great amusement of those who hear her. In all such cases, however, it will be found that definite, though peculiar, associations have been built up which impart a certain kind of concreteness. In the case cited, investigation revealed the fact that the child-mind had possessed a keen sense of humor that gave her an attitude toward imaginary persons to whom she might repeat these syllables. Soon her father heard her mumbling away to herself, learned what she was doing, was highly amused, and had her repeat the sounds to others. This, of course, set up at once a real concreteness, her attitude toward these real persons. Frequent repetitions through the years have reinforced this attitude until the one-time mere jargon has become what we might call perfect artificial concreteness. On this point of concreteness, some of the best authors make what appears to be a decided error. Among these are M. Ribot in his Les Maladies de la Memoir e, p. 133, and Kussmaul in his Storungen der Sprache. Ribot quotes Kussmaul to the effect that the concreter the conception is, the sooner is its name forgotten. These authors all de- clare that names, and especially proper names, are the first to be forgotten. Dr. James wisely points out the fact that such proper names as those of our immediate friends and relatives are remembered best of all. This makes clear the ACTION IN DEVELOPING MEMORY 233 fact, and experience has proved it in the present writer's own life many times, that the names of concrete things are remembered better and longer than any other words when they are definitely associated with those things and made to become concrete realities. These facts prove beyond a doubt that concreteness may and should be an aid to mem- ory, and that when the names of concrete things are for- gotten it is because those names have not been made a part of the concreteness. Previously we found that without concreteness it is prac- tically impossible to gain and hold the interest of the audi- ence. It should be highly gratifying, therefore, to the in- tending speaker, to find that concreteness may be a very great help to him in memory also. The speaker who would take advantage of this aid to memory, which concreteness may give, must remember the principle, that : Concreteness can aid memory only when such a like- ness is found between the concrete things and the words representing those things, that the words seem to be a very part of the things which they represent. The Value of Action in Developing Memory In establishing an active relationship between ourselves and all the words we may use in speaking, nothing is more helpful than bodily action. M. Ribot, after thoroughly ex- amining many persons to learn what things they can re- member best, says (Psychology of the Emotions, p. 152) : "There is a very marked predominance of motor elements. . . . The pleasures most frequently remembered are those 234 MEMORY of skating, swimming, the trot or gallop of a horse, and physical exercises." He concludes (p. 157) : "The re- vivability of an impression is in direct ratio to the motor elements included in it." The noted French author, Fouillee, finds "in the feelings the basis of all conservative memory, and the basis of all feeling in motion." It is a well-known fact that we all memorize much more successfully in good health than in poor, and in our more vigorous hours than in hours of fatigue. Is not the cause of this clear, in the light of what we have just said? When you are tired or ill, a part of your body has the same re- lation to the brain that your finger has to your heart when you tie a string around the finger it is deprived of free intercourse. Your nervous system is so constituted that your best success in any act in life comes when your whole being is given to the task of the moment. Do you not re- member how fatigue has been thrown of! many times when you suddenly became greatly interested in the things around you? These experiences should make it clear that being in tune with the things thought about puts one in tune with himself. What can put you in tune with anything thought about, more effectively, than for you to act as it acts, or to act upon it or be acted upon by it, without restraint. Then, since action not only will give you a better conception, and, hence, a better memory of any single thing, but will also preserve your vigor and, hence, leave you in better instead of worse condition for the next thing to be remembered, can you afford to slight the* study and practice of action in any of your speech-work? And since impulses to action are never stronger than when we are trying to show our ideas to someone else, can you afford to study any im- PRACTICE IN SPEAKING ON MEMORY 235 portant ideas without having imaginary hearers before you to whom to show your ideas by your action? Practice in Speaking on Memory Make a detailed outline of this chapter, after you have thoroughly studied its discussion of Memory. From this outline, practice speaking extempore until you are prepared to address the class on any one, two, or three divisions, or on the whole chapter. As far as possible, use your own illustrations, from things you have observed, and make your own personal application of each point discussed. Experiments to Develop Memory From what has been said above concerning the nature of memory and concerning its basis and growth, it is evi- dent that the best method of developing memory is the conception-forming method. In fact, if the student of speaking will put himself to the test, he will find that: It is impossible to memorize words and, at the same time, retain the ability to think the things for which those words stand, as they should be thought in speaking, unless the conception-forming method is followed in memorizing. Secondly, he will find that when conceptions have been carefully built in the manner outlined in the chapter on Conceptions in Literature, the words are already memorized MEMORY though no attempt has been made to commit them to memory. To make sure that the memory of words is strong enough to give the speaker the exact words at exactly the moment when he needs them in speaking, it is, of course, necessary that those very words be a part of the conceptions formed. That is, it is necessary that the speaker form the exact conceptions which those particular words require, while using those words. It is necessary also, as we have shown in the discussion of memory, that you build these concep- tions for an audience, or for an imaginary friend beside you, and that you use the voice and the action most helpful to show to the listener the things conceived. It is necessary that you do these things while you build the conceptions of the exact words you wish to use, and that you repeat these acts before your imaginary audience every time you re- build your conceptions. To begin the experiments to develop memory, turn again to the selections you used in building conceptions for liter- ature. If you did not memorize those selections, do not do so now until you have carefully rebuilt the conceptions in the manner we have just outlined. Repeat this experiment a few times, and you will find that the words are memorized and that they are memorized without your making a direct attempt to commit them to memory. Perform the same experiment with various short selec- tions from literature and also with short, original talks. The greatest help we have ever found for students, in these experiments in memory, is this little paraphrase of a scriptural thought: He that saveth his words shall lose them; but he that EXPERIMENTS TO DEVELOP MEMORY 237 loseth his words for the sake of showing to others the things spoken of, shall save his words and his powers of speaking also. Many scores of times the present writer has seen students forget because they were trying desperately to think what words ought to come next. At such times, the author has never found an instance when (provided the speaker had memorized his speech by the conception method), if the speaker would cease to search for words and would turn his mind, unreservedly, to rebuild (in silence), for the listener, the last conception he spoke be- fore he forgot, he would not instantly remember the words for which he had been vainly searching. CHAPTER XII BODILY ACTION AND ITS CAUSES The World's Estimate of Action THE keen observer has probably satisfied himself that the old adage is true, "action speaks louder than words," and is willing to let action speak for itself. There are many persons, however, who regard action as a detriment to thinking, and to effective speaking. Have you not heard such comments as these: "Oh, yes, he had a pretty good speech, but he spoiled it by so much action"; "He is an actor, not a thinker"; "I knew when I first saw him that I didn't care to hear him, he moved around too much much action, little thinking," etc.? The author has heard such criticisms and has heard them so often and from men of such prominence, that he is not willing to pass them by. As students of speaking we are trying to learn to speak in such a manner as to reach all sorts of men. If we decide to use action in our speaking, we do so because we feel that it will make us more effective speakers. If there are men, thinking men, upon whom speaking seems to have less effect because of action, we must find out why this is. Is it because any action is used, or because wrong kinds of action are sometimes employed? If it is the fault of action 238 THE WORLD S ESTIMATE OF ACTION 239 itself, then there is but one thing to be done. We must find out, if we can, what classes of hearers frown upon action. We must learn to speak with action, and to speak without action; and when addressing an audience in which those we most desire to influence are of the sort who dislike action, we must use little or no action. But if the fault lies in the kind of action that is used when action seems to make speech less effective, then we must pursue a different course. I. We must discover what kinds of action they are that offend our sensitive friends. 2. We must find the causes of these bad kinds of action. 3. We must remove these causes. Let us consider the first problem. Is action, even when we might call it faultless action, a bad thing in its effect on certain members of our audiences ? In other words, are some men so constituted that they get the message of the speaker better without action than with it? This is a diffi- cult question to answer. Even if we could get the testi- mony of large numbers of men who think they prefer speech without action, would this prove that these men are actually so constituted? We believe not. These men may have be- come prejudiced against all action because they have paid attention to action only when it was so bad that it was noticeable for its faults. They may have become so inter- ested in what was said by many a speaker who pleased them, that they were wholly unconscious of the part his action played in making his speech strong and effective. To an- swer this question satisfactorily, it would be necessary to make a study of the individuals who seem to dislike action. It would be necessary to study many of them, and under varying conditions, so as to discover the effects that differ- 240 BODILY ACTION AND ITS CAUSES ent speakers have upon them when much action is employed, and also when little action is used. For a number of years, we have made such a study when- ever opportunity permitted. We have made it a point to study men of different temperaments, and also men of different occupations and tastes. The results of these ob- servations have been virtually the same. Every man studied, who claims that he dislikes action in speech, when observed listening to a speech that appeals to him, seems to forget all his prejudice against action. We have seen some of these men actually "carried away" by the action of a speaker, and yet not know that the speaker was using action. We have seen them accept action, and without criticism, (merely because they were so pleased with what the speaker was saying) when the action was actually violent. When such men commend a speaker for not using action, we have observed that it is not the .absence of action that makes the speech seem good to them. We have proved this many times in this manner: We have gone with these same men to hear other speakers who did use action and use it freely, and whenever the message itself was pleasing to these men, they received it even more enthusiastically than they did the speeches of those speakers whom they had praised for not using action. We have gone with these men to hear speakers whom they criticised for using action, and, in every case, the action was bad in kind. The speaker either had little to say and was trying to substitute action for thought, or else his action was artificial, not a genuine reinforcement of the speaker's message. We have given this very brief statement of the tests which we have made during a number of years ; but we THE CAUSES OF BODILY ACTION 24! believe the student of speaking will accept the results of these tests as reasonable proof of several things: first, that no speech is really better for the lack of action; secondly, that the same speech which was accepted without action, would probably have been accepted even more enthusias- tically if the speaker's body, as well as his voice, had told his message; thirdly, that those persons who think they do not like action in speaking, think so because they have come to dislike certain kinds of action (bad in kind), and to think of all action as being like the action they dislike. Then, since action is offensive only when it is the wrong kind of action, our course is clear. We must find out what things produce the wrong kinds of action, and must learn to avoid those things. Secondly, we must find and de- velop those things which produce good action. This brings before us the subject: The Causes of Bodily Action What causes our bodies to move? Important as this question is, psychologists "have given it little attention. Because of this fact and because of the importance of action, the present writer has endeavored to discover the cause of all the forms of action which add to the effective- ness of speech. Practically all the kinds of action which speakers employ have been studied by the author under as many conditions as possible, special note having been taken of the temperaments of the speakers. These investi- gations seem to prove that every spontaneous action we make, if, at the same time, intelligent, is caused by a con- 242 BODILY ACTION AND ITS CAUSES ception which the mind holds of the thing toward which we act. We recognize in the thing toward which we act, something we have known before, something we have come to like or to dislike something that we feel will help or hinder us. Every intelligent, spontaneous movement we make, is (fundamentally) an effort of the body to get again, from the thing toward which we act, that something ivhich the mind recognizes as having been a former help or pleasure ; or it is an effort of the body to avoid, in the thing toward which we act, that other something which the mind recognises as a former displeasure or hindrance. The conclusion is obvious that if we wish our actions, when speaking, to be both spontaneous and intelligent, as they must be to prove truly effective, we must move only when we get so clear a conception of something, in the object toward which we move, that will help or hinder us, that we move because of that conception. Attitude and Bodily Action There are many things which check the bodily action even when we have a strong conception that the thing thought about may harm us, or help us. Who has not seen some person too badly scared to move, or too angry; or who has not been, perhaps, in that condition himself ? Who has not seen someone too jealous to move, or too full of hatred, or of envy? Many a young man can tell (if he would) of the time when even love made him unable to move, though he had a strong enough conception of the ability of the fair creature before him, to help him more ATTITUDE AND BODILY ACTION 243 than all the rest of the world could do. The very esteem which caused him to love so fondly, bred a respect that made him incapable of embracing the object of his devo- tion. It is very evident that there are times when neither the conception of help nor of hindrance, in the thing thought about, is sufficient to cause bodily action, if, at such times, we are ruled by any one of the strong emotions. Have we, then, but to avoid the strong feelings? If we suppress all strong emotion; if we content ourselves with recognizing, in the thing thought about, the ability to help or hinder us, will the needed bodily action follow? The question almost answers itself. It seems ridiculous to be- lieve that the absence of feeling will cause the body to move more spontaneously and more freely than will the presence of feeling. Does the indifferent man have more movement than the man of feeling? The doubting or negative man, more than the man of positive feeling? Are our muscles set in motion when we coldly calculate or analyze the thing before us? Someone retorts: "But are these fair questions? Is it possible for one to be indifferent or doubting or calculating or analytical when one has a clear and strong conception of the ability of the thing thought of, to help or to harm him? We have observed hundreds of such cases; and we have found that certain kinds of people almost always avoid strong feeling at such times, also that the more emotional natures oftentimes do the same, and that, of whatever nature the person may be, whether emotional or unemo- tional, it is possible for him to recognize, in the thing con- templated, an ability to help or to hinder him, and yet not be moved tc bodily action. 244 BODILY ACTION AND ITS CAUSES Then, since we have found that whenever we are moved to intelligent bodily action, that action is caused by our recognizing in the thing toward which we react, something that will help us or hinder us; and, since it is always pos- sible for us to recognize such a thing and yet not be moved by it to intelligent bodily action, we must find out what other things function as causes of action. Examine any one of the instances when you are moved to intelligent, purposeful action, and you will find that the thing which really started your action, was an active attitude. Before we move, we not only have a clear con- ception of something, in the object toward which we move, that we wish to get or desire to avoid; we also assume toward that thing an active attitude. What is an attitude? We can most clearly see its nature if we observe the process by which an attitude is produced. A man stands in front of a lion's cage. To his horror he discovers that the cage- door has been left unlocked and that the lion is coming out of the cage directly toward him. For a moment dread overpowers him and he cannot move. Now he catches sight of an ax lying a few feet frorr him. He conceives the great service the ax may render him ; he conceives also how he may get the ax, and determines to do so. He now has an active attitude. When we recognize something that can affect us, when we also recognize the process by which we may cope with that thing, and when we become filled with the desire and the determination to cope with that thing, we then assume toward that thing an intelligent, active attitude. This attitude we might call the birth of intelligent bodily action. In the attitude, action begins; and from the simple attitude all forms of action spring. ATTITUDE AND BODILY ACTION 245 Let the student not forget, however, that before he can have this intelligent, active attitude in which all action begins, he must first have both the primary and the sec- ondary cause of attitude as well as of action. He must clearly recognize something that can affect him and must clearly realize what it is he intends to do with respect to that thing. The student of speech has heard this term, attitude, used more often with reference to certain positions which the body assumes, than he has with reference to a certain state or activity of mind. What is the relation between an attitude of mind and an attitude of body? We have just noted the causes which produce an attitude in the mind. If we can discover the causes which produce an attitude of the body, we shall then see how alike and how unlike these two things are. What causes the body to get into such positions as are called attitudes? Before we can answer this question, it is necessary that we get a clear idea of what is meant when one speaks of an attitude of the body. We hear someone say: "He struck an attitude and pro- ceeded to display his wares"; "He assumed an attitude of defiance"; "He stood in an attitude of conscious supe- riority"; "He Pepped out in an attitude of eager ex- pectancy," etc. Attitude is evidently a position of unusual character or vigor. For years we have watched closely the causes which seem to produce all kinds of attitudes, conscious and unconscious. The moving cause has always been a desire to get nearer to or farther away from the thing contemplated. The only apparent exceptions to this law, are those cases where the person observed assumes one of the "negative" 246 BODILY ACTION AND ITS CAUSES attitudes, that is, an attitude of indifference, listlessness, etc. A little closer study reveals the fact that even these are not exceptions to the rule. For example, here is a man who has an indifferent attitude. When he exhibits that attitude, what is he contemplating? He is contem- plating the task of coping with the thing thought of. He has decided not to perform that task, which means that he is withdrawing from that task. He does not wish to put forth energy enough to make an active withdrawal, but it is a withdrawal, nevertheless. The same is true of all other "negative" attitudes. Whatever attitude the body may assume, it does so because of a desire to get nearer to or farther away from the thing toward which the attitude is taken. One assumes a bodily attitude only when he has a mental attitude; the bodily attitude is merely the physical evidence of a mental attitude. General Classes of Bodily Action and Their Relation to the Attitude We made the statement above, that all forms of action are only the outgrowth of the simple attitude. The truth of his statement may be more clear and its value to the speaker more apparent, if we examine the various forms of action which the speaker employs. Most of the text- books on this subject divide all actions which the speaker uses, into three general classes : Attitudes, Bodily Move- ments, and Gestures. The first class, Attitudes, we need not treat further. By Bodily Movements are meant the movements of the entire body from one piosition or attitude GENERAL CLASSES OF BODILY ACTION 247 to another. It is apparent that whenever a speaker moves, with worthy purpose, from one attitude to another, he moves either to get nearer to or farther away from the thing about which, at the moment, he is speaking. If this is not clear, make the test and it will soon become clear. When we examine the Gestures, do we find the same law ? Let us first determine what is meant by Gestures, then let us investigate their cause. If there are only three general classes of action, Attitudes, Bodily Movements, and Ges- tures, and if the only movements included in the other two classes, Attitudes and Bodily Movements, are the move- ments of the entire body from one attitude to another, then Gestures must include all the remaining movements. In other words, Gestures are the movements of certain parts of the body. This definition makes the term gesture cover all the movements of the hands, arms, and shoulders, those of the neck and head, and also the movements of the face commonly called "facial expression." Are all of these the outgrowth of the simple attitude? Let us first examine those movements which are commonly referred to when people speak of "gestures," namely, the movements of the hands and arms. If we observe ges- tures which are made by one person talking to another, ive find that these are of three classes. Let us see what these classes are. Here is a man who, while speaking, makes gestures as if he were actually handling things. Now he puts forth his fingers gently as if to touch something and find how it feels. Now he moves his hands as if he were tracing the outline of something to discover its exact shape. Now he seems to press his hands against something as if to 248 BODILY ACTION AND ITS CAUSES discover how hard it is, how much resistance it offers. Now he seems to move his hands as if to push something away from him, and now, as if to draw something to him. Now he strikes with his clenched hand as if to break or crush something. All these gestures, and many others like them, fall under one class. They arise from one com- mon cause, the desire of the speaker to get into closer touch with the thing spoken of or to put that thing away from him. Watch the speaker further and you will see other movements of his hands and arms. Now he steps toward the listener and unfolds his hand toward him as if to give a handful of something; now he extends his hand as if he expected the listener to give him something. Now he pushes the palm of his hand out as if to push the listener away from him; now the same palm seems to extend a caress to the listener. Clearly, all such movements of the hands and arms, and all others like them, are of a differ- ent class from the gestures considered above. These ges- tures evidently arise from a desire in the speaker to get nearer to or farther away from the person or persons to whom he speaks. Watch again and you will see the speaker making gestures of still another kind. Now the forefinger of the speaker comes up before the listener as if to catch his undivided attention, and then moves out as if to lead the eye and mind of the listener to some definite spot which it points out. Now the speaker's arm makes a wide, sweep- ing movement to the side as if to unfold and lay there a whole armful of things for the listener to inspect. Now the speaker glances to one side and then puts forth his hand as if to keep the listener back from the thing he sees. Clearly, all these gestures, and all similar ones, form a GENERAL CLASSES OF BODILY ACTION 249 third class, different from both the other two classes of hand gestures. It is clear also that such gestures as these arise from a desire in the speaker to get the listener nearer to or farther away from the thing contemplated. It is hardly necessary to point out the fact that in dis- covering the causes which divide the hand-gestures into three classes, we have, at the same time, demonstrated that all the gestures of the hand are the direct outgrowth of the simple attitude. When we examine the "gestures" of the head, shoulders, and face, we find it easy to prove that the same law holds true. In fact, many of the motions of the shoulders, head, and face are so closely connected with a mental attitude, that they seem a part of the attitude rather than an out- growth of it. For example, when we turn the "cold shoulder," what is it but striking an attitude of scorning or ignoring? When we toss the head, is not that very toss the principal part of the attitude of superiority, inde- pendence, etc? When we shrug the shoulders, it is clearly the outgrowth of the desire to rid ourselves of something. Even the "nod," and the "shake" of the head, are the direct outgrowth of a tendency to yield to or to repel the thing contemplated. Who can doubt that the rising of the corners of the mouth, is caused by approval of the thing con- templated? Approval means a desire to get into closer relationship with the thing contemplated. Who can doubt that the drawing down of the corners of the mouth, is caused by a disapproval, or a desire to get rid of the thing thought about? There is abundant evidence that all intelligent actions of the shoulders, head and face, are the direct out- growth of an attitude. 250 BODILY ACTION AND ITS CAUSES We have now briefly examined all classes of intelligent bodily action. This examination establishes the truth of the law stated above : Every intelligent, legitimate action which the speaker makes arises in a simple attitude of the speaker's mind, and this attitude, in turn, is caused by the speaker's recognizing, in the thing contemplated, something which will help or hinder the message he is presenting. Practical Speaking on Bodily Action and Its Causes To fix in mind the causes of action and to employ this knowledge in your immediate development in speaking, put what you have learned concerning action, to use in prac- tical speaking. Make a complete outline of this chapter, after you have thoroughly studied it; and, from this out- line, discuss each division of the chapter separately, and then the chapter as a whole, until you are prepared to do this before the class. Make the discussion as original as possible, using illustrations from your own experience, and making an application of each point, to speech- work as you are pursuing it for your own development. CHAPTER XIII UNDESIRABLE AND DESIRABLE ACTION Now that we have ascertained the causes of action in general, we should be able to discover the causes of unde- sirable action. Having done so, we should also be able to remove these causes, and thus, to avoid, in our speak- ing, all undesirable action. Let us, therefore, first turn our attention to the Kinds of Undesirable Action Any action that is bad is bad because it draws the at- tention of the audience to the action itself, and away from the message which the speaker is presenting. The action may be too awkward, or it may even be too graceful. There may be too much action, or too little. The action may call attention to itself because it is too well controlled or because it is not well enough controlled. What- ever the fault in a speaker's action, that fault belongs to one of the few fundamental classes of undesirable action. These classes are: i. Action that is predetermined, unless it be re-created at the moment of its presentation; 2. Ac- tion that is made for sel f -display ; 3. Action that merely relieves nervous pressure merely follows an impulse to move but does not connect the speaker more closely with 251 252 UNDESIRABLE AND DESIRABLE ACTION the object thought of or with the audience addressed; 4. Action that breeds self-consciousness; 5. Action that is awkward. I. Action That Is Predetermined A girl has been trained to make certain gestures at cer- tain places. Now she stands before an audience. See how blank her face is! And, horrors! What has happened to her now? Oh, she has forgotten one of her gestures and has gone back to "put it in." The audience is laughing at her instead of listening to her speech. Similar results are likely to mar our own efforts when- ever we attempt to pre-arrange our action. We must either abandon such a practice, or else we must find how to pre- vent such action from becoming so bad. When we look into this process of pre-arranging action, we find that the speaker's mind has acted after this fashion. As soon as the speaker began to feel that he had his gestures "prepared," he deemed himself ready to make them, regardless of the process of mind which should have been producing those gestures. The mind at once became, as it were, independent. It was then as if the mind said to the speaker: "Oh, you think you can do this alone, do you ? Very well ! Go on and do it." And right there the mind's action ceased, at least so far as creating the speaker's action was concerned. From that time on, the speaker's body acted as a machine might act when wound up and set going. In this fact lies the reason why such action is bad. When a person converses in our presence, and uses ACTION THAT IS PREDETERMINED 253 bodily action effectively, we are accustomed to seeing the action impart to the mind of the speaker a greater vigor and a certain magnetism. We see his face light up and we feel that he has grown "fuller of the truth." What effect, then, does it have on us to see a speaker employ action in the mechanical manner described above? We soon feel that the speaker has no real message to present. Such ac- tion is bad for two distinct reasons: (i) It does not help the speaker himself, as action can and should do; and (2) it destroys our respect for and confidence in the speaker. Are we to decide, then, that we should never attempt to prepare ourselves in the action of a speech ? Must we wait until we are in the presence of the audience, and trust to the inspiration of the moment to give us the action we may need? Such a decision would be fatal to the effectiveness of most beginners, and even to many speakers of more ex- perience. In almost all dramatic speech, for instance, it is practically necessary to "work out" the action before the time for presentation. While seldom so necessary as in dramatic speaking, it is often very valuable to the speaker to make definite preparation in action, for any form of speech he may have to present. If he wishes to make natural and effective the action he has prepared before hand, the one thing absolutely neces- sary, is that the speaker compel himself to re-create every action he makes every time he makes it. By this we mean that the speaker must never allow himself to make a gesture or a movement without first getting a clear conception of what he is to do and why he is to do it. He must re-create the action he has practiced by discovering again (actually or in imagination) 254 UNDESIRABLE AND DESIRABLE ACTION the thing that first caused the action, the thing upon which or toward which he had an impulse to act. More than this, he must again clearly conceive just what it is he wishes to do with this thing; and must again assume so strong and so definite an attitude toward that thing, that his action is the immediate outgrowth of that attitude. II. Action Made for Self-display The second class of undesirable action is the action that is bad because it is made for self -display. It seems so self- evident that such action is bad, that we are apt to exclaim "Who would be so vain as to stand before an audience and make a deliberate display of his action !" But alas, how few speakers there are free from this fault. As a teacher, the author, during many years, has carefully watched the action of many classes of students of speech. These observations have led to the conclusion that there is but one class of students who are not, at some time, guilty of this sin. Those are the students whose motions are so careless that their action is, perhaps, worse than it would be if it were made for display. The type of young speakers who most easily fall victim to this temptation to self-display is the type commonly known as the "Delsarte" girls. They are those fortunate (or unfortunate) young persons who know they are pretty or have been told they are graceful (or both) ; and who aspire to win some personal esteem from their audience by a display of their graceful and beautiful movements. We are not teaching moral philosophy here, else we should pause to warn such young persons that they are likely to ACTION MADE FOR SELF-DISPLAY 255 be accused of flirting with their audience. They have so far forgotten that their duty before an audience is to pre- sent a message, that they are bidding for personal esteem of their bodily charms. But now comes before us a very different type. Here is a boy who has no idea that he is handsome, and has never been told that he is graceful. His one claim is that he is strong. He makes all manner of fun of those persons who try to make pretty or graceful gestures. Who would expect to find him guilty of using action for self-display? Watch him. See how his every attitude betrays the fact that he counts on that strength of his to carry him through ! How his every movement betrays pride in his strength as plainly as the "Delsarte" girl betrayed her vanity. See how he mars the delicate and tender lines of his speech by striking them (in attitude or movement or gesture, or in all these) as he might strike the line in a foot-ball game! We cannot analyze his action without realizing that he is as guilty of self-display at the expense of the message, as that girl was whose display of "gracefulness" he loves to ridicule. Between these two extremely different types may be found all the other types of persons who attempt to speak, and practically every one of them is a victim of this fault at certain times. What causes speakers and readers to commit this almost unpardonable sin of resorting to action for self -display? A careful study of the various types of speakers, reveals the fact that the fundamental cause is the same in all types, namely, a failure to get a clear conception of the purpose of a speech. The speaker's purpose before an audience should always be, to present a message and to make that 256 UNDESIRABLE AND DESIRABLE ACTION message so clear that the audience will see it, and not the speaker. One cannot have desirable action in his speaking, if he tries to substitute mere action for the truth he should be presenting. The speaker's mind should be engaged, at all times, in an earnest effort to get the clearest view of the things about which he is speaking, and the clearest view of his purpose in presenting those things. His action should always be the immediate outgrowth of a fresh conception of the help or hindrance which each of the things spoken of, offers in accomplishing that purpose. If a speaker obeys this law, though he may have formed the bad habit of using action for self -display, he will soon be able to conquer the habit. III. Action That Is Only Impulsive The third kind of undesirable action, named above, is the action that merely relieves nervous pressure merely follows an impulse to move but does not connect the speaker more closely with the thing discussed or with the audience addressed. This is, perhaps, the most universal fault in action. Watch any speaker or reader who is alive with his subject, and you are almost sure to see illustra- tions of this worse-than-wasted energy. It is thrice-wasted energy, for it spends the speaker's power without bringing any worthy results, it distracts the attention of the audi- ence from the message presented, and it prevents the speaker from using action that would be effective, by caus- ing him to feel that enough action has been used. Because of the last-named characteristic, which leads the speaker ACTION THAT IS ONLY IMPULSIVE 257 to believe that he is using good action when he is not, it is a most deceiving fault. What are some of the ways in which this fault shows itself? Think a moment and you will answer the question for yourself. Have you not a clear mental picture of many speakers as they nervously shift back and forth on their feet, from one foot to the other ? Is it not clear that this is action that merely relieves nervous pressure without connecting the speaker more closely with his subject or his audience? Have you not seen speakers nervously walk from side to side of the platform without any apparent reason for so doing? And every time you have witnessed such movements have you not realized that something was wrong? Think how often you have seen speakers ner- vously raising the eyebrows, batting the eyes, etc., when such action only distracted your attention from the speech ! Have you not sat before speakers who so often put their hands behind the back and took them away, thrust them into the pockets and took them out, etc., that you felt the desire to tie their hands in one position and keep them there? No argument is needed to prove that such action lessens the effectiveness of a speech. How many times we have seen speakers nervously clench the hand, or extend it from the side, as if to start a gesture, and yet never really make the gesture ! Every time we have seen such a move- ment, have we not wondered what the speaker started to do, and why he did not complete what he began ? In other words, has it not always taken our attention away from the speech? Such are the proverbial ways in which this fault of impulsive action manifests itself. The outstanding cause of nervous false action, with all its 258 UNDESIRABLE AND DESIRABLE ACTION ill effects, is a lack of self-control. The lack of self-control, in turn, is caused by the fact that the speaker's desire to do something is greater than his conception of what it is he is trying to do. What should we think of a mechanic who, when it was necessary to get an important piece of work done in a few minutes, would begin to pace nervously to and fro, pick up a tool here and another there, and fling them away unused? We should see at once that he was incapable of performing that task, that he was incapable because he lacked self-control, and that he lacked self- control because he had formed no clear conception either of the thing to be done or of how to do it. Is this case not parallel to that of the uncontrolled speaker before an audience? The speaker has an important task, else he should not be addressing an audience. He realizes the im- portance of his task, else he would not be so nervous that he cannot control himself. His task also must be com- pleted in but a few minutes. If, during these pressing moments, the speaker falls to pacing aimlessly to and fro, if he flings his hands about in nervous impotence, he proves himself incapable of performing the important task before him, because his eagerness to do is greater than his con- ception of what to do. To remove this fault, the student must first get a clearer conception of his duty to himself, which is, to stand before his hearers as their leader; and, as such, to make his every movement count. He must make no false motions, else he will prove a false leader. His task is to lead his hearers closer to the things talked about, that they may see for themselves the truth of what he is saying. When the student of speech has thoroughly mastered this conception ACTION THAT BREEDS SELF-CONSCIOUSNESS 259 of a speaker, he will stand as immovable as the proverbial stone wall till there is something to be gained by his moving; yet, at the same time, he will hold his nervous energies poised, ready for instant and appropriate action at the proper moment. The next step to be taken by the speaker in order to overcome the fault discussed, is to hold the mind firmly on the thing that inclines him to action, until he clearly sees why he wishes to move, what his movement will do toward making his message clearer both to himself and to the audience. When he has realized this conception, his next step will be easy. All that remains is for him to move: Whenever he has this genuine reason for action and this clear conception of how his movement will give to him and his audience a fuller realization of the inner nature of the things discussed and of his purpose in dis- cussing them. If the student will school himself to act always in ac- cordance with this law, he will not only remove this fault but will also remove many other faults, and will go far toward acquiring perfect action in his speaking. IV. Action That Breeds Self-consciousness The fourth kind of undesirable action is action that breeds self -consciousness. Every student of speaking is anxious, above most things else, to free himself from that arch- enemy, self-consciousness. This desire is to be encouraged, for no speaker can hope to become truly accomplished 260 UNDESIRABLE AND DESIRABLE ACTION who has not conquered self-consciousness. The reason is a simple one. The mind cannot be in two places at once. If the mind of the speaker be occupied by thoughts of himself, it cannot be absorbed in the message to be pre- sented. If he is not thinking what he is saying, the speaker is but repeating words. He would better stop, and leave the platform at once. Let us try to find what there is in action that tends to make- one self-conscious, that we may learn how to avoid it. That fault in our action, which makes us self-conscious, does so because it makes us conscious of our action. The question is, therefore, when are we conscious of our action? To answer this question, imagine yourself before an audience. Recall some of the times when you were self-conscious. Impersonate yourself in those conditions. Do you not find that you were sometimes conscious of your action when you were not acting at all? Remember the times when you said to yourself : "Oh, if I only knew what to do with my hands !" If your hands were moving at such times, they were merely trying to hide somewhere, curling up one inside the other, slipping into your pockets, or behind your back. More often they were hanging, inac- tive, like weights at your side. Think now of those other times when you thought you would use your hands. We can see you now. You thrust a hand boldly forth, and then, in mid-air, that hand suddenly seems paralyzed. After what seems an age of agony, it retreats awkwardly to a place of safety behind your back. These experiences make it clear that we are conscious of our action both when we act and when we do not act. From these examples, it would seem that we are con- ACTION THAT BREEDS SELF-CONSCIOUSNESS 26 1 scious of our action sometimes because we act and some- times because we do not act. When we examine these cases more carefully, however, we discover a deeper cause. We find that: We are conscious of our action neither because we act nor because we do not act, but rather because the source of our action is not strong enough to make our action what it should be. Take the case when we are afraid to move from one position to another. Evidently the only thing that makes us think about such a movement at all, is the consciousness that we are not moving. We certainly have no sufficient reason for moving to another position. If we had any- thing definite to do, which thing could be done so much better in another position that we wanted to move simply to do that thing, then we should go ahead and do that thing, and think nothing about the movement. That is the way we are accustomed to do in every-day life. The actions of our minds and of our bodies, in these things we do in every-day life, are exactly the same as they are when we are before an audience, provided we have the same things to cause our bodies to act, and provided we assume toward those things the same attitude before an audience as we have assumed in private. It is clear, therefore, that: Whenever we are conscious of our action before an audience, it is because we lack the proper cause of action. We either do not keenly sense the thing that would cause us to act, or we do not have a clear conception of what we wish to accomplish by action, or we do not assume a strong enough attitude toward the thing caus- 262 UNDESIRABLE AND DESIRABLE ACTION ing our action, or we allow our minds to turn aside from that thing before the action is completed. To avoid any action that makes us self-conscious, it is necessary to apply the law stated above: "The mind can- not be in two places at the same time." Whenever we find ourselves conscious of our action, we must immediately compel ourselves to become intensely conscious of some- thing else, and that something else must be the thing to- ward which we wish to act, just as we would fix our minds on an apple that we might wish to get, and not on the action of getting that apple. V. Awkward Action Awkwardness is one of the greatest faults in action. Not only is it bad for the audience because it distracts their attention from the message, it is also bad for the student and for the teacher of speech. For the student it is bad both because it breeds self-consciousness and makes him ashamed to speak, and also because he often despairs of ever being able to overcome it. Awkwardness in a pupil often brings distress to the teacher, first because the teacher feels he can remove awkwardness only by wasting, for him- self and the pupil, long periods of time in superficial drills which in no way develop the thinking power of the student ; and, secondly, because many teachers, according to their own testimony, find it impossible to correct awkwardness in a pupil. Let us understand that there is a decided difference be- tween "clumsy" and "awkward." Clumsiness has to do with the way a thing is proportioned and put together. A AWKWARD ACTION 263 person with ill-proportioned, deformed, hands or feet or limbs, for example, is clumsy and can never cease to be so. But awkwardness has to do with the way a person physic- ally adapts himself to conditions. It has to do primarily with action. The Standard dictionary says: "The finest untrained colt is awkward ; a horse that is clumsy in build can never be trained out of its awkwardness." From this we see that a clumsy person is always awkward, but an awkward man may not be clumsy. Awkwardness is the result of training, or of the lack of it. We are now concerned with the student whose training has somehow made his action ill-adapted to speech-work. We are in a class in Public Speaking. A very awkward young man goes to the platform. Watch him! What is the matter with his action? He seems to have impulses to gesture at places where action might well be used. Yet mark how his arm rises from his side as stiffly as if it were a stick of wood tied on at the shoulder and raised by an unseen string. Not only do his arm and hand seem stiff, they also seem helpless. His hand seems to be sent to do something without knowing what it is to do. Watch his face, for the face betrays the state of mind. See how he looks in one direction and sends his hand off in another direction. He does this even when his action refers to something which he should be pointing out to his audience. This alone is enough to make his action bad ! His mind is not in the act, so how can the action be good? He feels an impulse to do something with his body and starts to do it, then immediately turns his mind to something else be- fore the action is performed. In this we have found one of the causes of awkwardness. 264 UNDESIRABLE AND DESIRABLE ACTION Is this turning the mind away from an action before the action is completed, the whole and unvarying cause of awkwardness? If so, then every time we find a man doing one thing with his mind and another thing with his body, we shall find the action of his body awkward. Let us see if this is true. There goes a man down town. He is holding his morning paper before him in both hands and is absolutely lost in the news he is reading. Yet watch his movement! He is as free and graceful in his general movement as if his whole mind were given to it. How can this be? It is simply a matter of oft-repeated asso- ciation. This man has so often given his whole mind to mastering his movements while walking these streets, that his body now makes the movements correctly from mere habit. Here comes a person of very different type. Note how the boys upon the street nudge one another as they see him coming and whisper, "Rube! Bumpkin!" His mind is not taken away from his walking by the news, for he has no paper. He seems as old as the man whom we have just been watching, hence, has had as many years in which to form the habit of good walking. Why, then, does he walk so awkwardly? Why does he lift his feet so slowly and why does he raise them so high, as if he were going up stairs? Why does he raise his hand as if it were lifting a weight, and why does he carry his body forward as if it were bearing a load? His mind started his body down this street, and then that mind immediately discovered so many things to which it was not accustomed, that the mind forgot the body, left it walking on in its accustomed manner just as the mind of the other man did. But mark! This AWKWARD ACTION 265 man's mind left his body to walk in its accustomed manner. As a result, he is now walking as he has trained his body to do over the clods in the field, hence the height to which he lifts his feet as if to raise them over the clods. His feet have been trained to bear the weight of heavy cow- hide boots and his hands have been used to lifting the handle of fork or shovel with a load at the end, hence the slow, heavy movement of legs and arms. But note! We said above, that awkwardness has to do with the way in which one physically adapts himself to conditions. This man seems awkward here on the street because his move- ment does not fit in with his present surroundings. This same action might not be awkward back in the harvest field. The chances are that we should find this man's movements very appropriate there, which is equivalent to saying that they would be graceful. The important thing before us is, that he is awkward here because his training has given his action a different Movement (as we shall use that term in the chapter on Vocal Movement) from the Movement which his present task requires. In this we have discovered the second and principal cause of awkwardness. We are all familiar with another kind of awkwardness, the kind we see when someone is bashful, or timid, or embarrassed, or confused, or guilty. A careful study of these manifestations of awkwardness, will show that they all come from the same fundamental cause. > The cause is uncertainty of mind. This is the third cause of awkward- ness, and the one with which students of speech have to contend most often. 266 UNDESIRABLE AND DESIRABLE ACTION When the mind is uncertain, the movements of the body tend to be awkward. What are we to do to remove awkwardness from the action of a student of speaking? First we must look to the first cause of awkwardness, stated above, the tendency of the mind of the speaker to turn away from the thing acted upon, before the action on (or toward) that thing is completed. The student must be schooled to locate as definitely the imaginative thing toward which he acts, as if he had to go to it and actually handle it. Furthermore, his mind must be trained to imagine that it is actually handling that thing as long as his action toward that thing continues. Next, the student of speech must be trained to time his action to speech-work. He must realize that his action can be effective in speaking, only by being light and free; for he must be ready, constantly, at any instant, to turn from one action to any other which the nature of his subject and the effect of his subject on his audience, may seem to require. When he has thoroughly grasped this conception of the speaker, it only remains for the student to put this conception into practice every time he attempts to speak, and to keep his mind certain, straightforward, and vigorous. If he does these things, his awkwardness will disappear with amazing rapidity. Kinds of Desirable Action In the treatment of Undesirable and Desirable Action, we have followed somewhat the same plan that our parents followed in our childhood. They found us so full of KINDS OF DESIRABLE ACTION 267 action of all kinds, that they first spent a considerable amount of time in showing us what we should not do. After that, when we had lopped off many of our tendencies to make poor use of our energies, they showed us some of the fundamental things which were good to do. Years of experience with students of speaking, have proved to us the wisdom of following this same plan in studying action for speech. We are fully conscious of the educational principle that it is better not to turn the mind to the thing not desired, but rather to turn it to the thing desired, and let the undesirable thing be forgotten. This is one of the best rules in the psychology of education. We are as deeply devoted to this principle as anyone, as we shall demon- strate throughout this work; but when anything becomes a habit, as deeply rooted as any form of undesirable action may become, we have found it far more practical first to find the mental cause of the bad action and remove that cause. A soldier is never enlisted for active service until he is found to be free from hindering physical defects. Active service in speaking demands the same care. For this reason, we have considered, first, the principal faults to be avoided in speech-action. We have now examined the five kinds of action that is fundamentally bad. Each of these kinds the speaker must' avoid if he would have his action give full aid to his speak- ing. A speaker may be free from all these, however, and yet derive no help from his bodily action. The fact that he has learned what not to do, is no proof that he knows what to do. So far as action is concerned, he may now be a mere negative. To put it in the form of an Irish bull, his action may all be inaction. 268 UNDESIRABLE AND DESIRABLE ACTION A man cannot lead in anything without feeling the necessity for action, physical as well as mental. Especially is this the case when a man attempts to speak. His very nature tells him that his time before the audience is so short, and the work expected of him so great, that he must employ every feasible means to give his speech the greatest possible effect in the shortest possible time. Since action is the most effective means he has, the speaker must learn not only what kinds of action to avoid, but also what kinds of action to use. To discover the kinds of Desirable Action, let us ex- amine the principal things which we should attempt to do in our action in speaking. (Let it be understood at the start, however, that we have no intention to attempt to show the student when or where, in a speech, action should be used. To do that would throw the student back into some of the bad habits of action which we have just been learning to avoid.) Careful investigation will show us that there are just three fundamental things which we attempt to do in our action in speaking, i. We try to symbolize the thing of which we think. That is, we at- tempt to make our action indicate the size or shape of that thing. 2. We attempt to do something with the thing of which we think. 3. We try to identify ourselves with the thing of which we think. That is, we tend to get our muscles into the same state that thing is in, or we tend to make the same motions that thing makes. Accordingly, as we attempt one or another of these things, does our action fall into one or another of the three general classes of action. The three classes of Desirable Action we call: PRACTICE IN SPEAKING 269 i. Action of Symbolism; 2. Action of Purpose; 3. Action of Identification, To each of these classes we shall devote a separate chapter. In the present discussion, we merely present these classes that the intending speaker may see more clearly what lies before him in the study of action. PRACTICE IN SPEAKING ON UNDESIRABLE AND DESIRABLE ACTION To get the clearest and most accurate understanding of Undesirable and Desirable Action, and the most immediate application to effective speaking, outline this chapter and then practice speaking extempore on the various divisions and on the whole outline, illustrating both faults and cures. EXPERIMENTS TO REMOVE FAULTS OF ACTION Great care should be exercised in efforts to remove faults of action. The speaker should let his mind dwell on his action only long enough to discover its faultiness, then should immediately turn his mind to the cure for the fault. Unless this practice is rigorously enforced, while the speaker is removing one fault he will be breeding another, perhaps a worse one. An earnest effort has been made to outline, above, a cure for each fault, that will help the speaker to turn the mind away from his action and to turn it toward the things 27O UNDESIRABLE AND DESIRABLE ACTION about which he should be thinking, to make his speaking more effective. The cures outlined should be carefully studied and practiced. If this is done, it will prove a successful series of experiments to remove faults of ac- tion; and it will, at the same time, keep the mind of the intending speaker so occupied with constructive work in speaking, that his general speech-growth will not be tem- porarily checked, as is too often the case when corrective work in action is attempted. If it seems desirable to devote a few days to these efforts before undertaking the development of desirable action, the subjects for speeches used in some of the former experi- ments may be used again here. CHAPTER XIV ACTION OF SYMBOLISM IN the last chapter, we learned that there are three gen- eral classes of Desirable Action in speaking, i. Action of Symbolism; 2. Action of Purpose; 3. Action of Identifi- cation. USES OF SYMBOLIC ACTION I. In Action of Symbolism, we attempt to show the size of the thing spoken of. One of the most familiar examples of this action is the thing we all do when we tell our experience in fishing. It is always the "biggest one" that gets back into the water. When we tell of our bitter dis- appointment when we saw the fish slip off the hook, we invariably place one hand at the imaginary head of the fish and the other hand at the imaginary tail and exclaim: "It was that long!" The fact that everyone who sees the action, is inclined to exclaim: "O, not that long!" is direct proof that the symbol has been complete and the action effective. The size of the fish has been clearly in- dicated. This intense effectiveness of such action, leads us to use it on many occasions. We employ action of symbolism to suggestion the height of a giant, a tree, a building, a 271 272 ACTION OF SYMBOLISM mountain. We use it to suggest the expanse of sky, of land, of water, of an army; or for picturing the thickness of a wall, the thinness of a blade, the circumference of a tree, etc. 2. We employ Action of Symbolism to convey an idea of the shape of the thing talked about. If we desire to place an imaginary globe before the audience, we place our hands on an imaginary surface of that globe and then move the hands so as to describe the imaginary cir- cumference of it. If we wish to suggest a square object, do we not move our hands along imaginary sides of that object? We find this the most effective means of describ- ing a straight line, a curved line, a level surface, an incline, a protruding surface, a receding surface. In fact, every shape can be effectively suggested by action of symbolism. Tyler (Early History of Mankind, p. 82) and Hirn (Origins of Art, p. 156) both emphasize the close relation between action-language and drawing. Speaking of the origin of drawing among primitive peoples, Hirn says: "Designs are only a projection, on a different surface, of the hand-movements with which, in their pantomimic language, they describe the outlines of objects, in the air." This testimony virtually proves Symbolic Action to be the origin of all pictorial art. It proves such action to be the origin of drawing, and all the structural arts that appeal to the eye, have their beginnings in drawing. Certain it is that Symbolic Action is the form of pictorial art that gets closest to nature. For this reason, it is very valuable in speech-work. When carefully used, it may take both speaker and listener closer to the nature of the thing dis- cussed than anything else may do. USES OF SYMBOLIC ACTION 273 Sometimes the outline of the thing we wish to symbolize is constantly moving. To symbolize such things, we seem to symbolize the motion that makes these outlines. For example, if we wish to describe the rise and fall of waves, the most effective way to do so, is to let the arm and hand show the various shapes of one of those waves. To do this, we find it necessary to let the arm and hand move, as nearly as may be, as that wave moves. When we do let the arm and hand move in this manner, it seems as if we were imitating or symbolizing the motion of that wave. This is not, however, or should not be, the motive that moves the speaker to action. The function of Action of Symbolism is not to give a representation of the action of things we are describing, but only of their sizes and shapes. The instant we begin to symbolize or imitate the movement of things described, with no stronger motive than just to show that we can imitate that movement, our action descends to the low grade of mimicry and is worse than useless. In this brief discussion, we learn that symbolic action is an effort on the part of the hands of the speaker to carve in the air, as it were, the shapes and sizes of things about which he is speaking, to help the audience to picture these sizes and shapes as the audience could not do from mere words. This is the simplest form of action for speech, yet, notwithstanding its simplicity, and notwith- standing the fact that it is so very expressive, a significant fact is that the average student of speech practically never uses such action, in his speaking, until he is given some special help in it. This seems to result from the general habit of inaction 274 ACTION OF SYMBOLISM into which the student has lapsed, in all his speech efforts. The average student of speech uses no kind of action until he has been shown the great value of action in his speaking. Then it is sometimes difficult to get him to control his action to any degree of temperance. THE FUNDAMENTAL PRINCIPLE OF EFFECTIVE ACTION IN SPEECH Before attempting to develop Bodily Action, let the in- tending speaker distinctly understand: The fundamental principle of effective action in speak- ing, namely, that it depends primarily on the handling of material things. Action in speech can be effective only token the speaker so distinctly imagines that he is handling material things, that he acts as if he were doing so This same principle is stated by Dr. James (Talks to Teachers, p. 38) in these words : "Every acquired reaction is, as a rule, either a complication grafted on a native reac- tion, or a substitute for a native reaction, which the same object originally tended to provoke." All action in public speaking is an "acquired reaction." If, while speaking, we have a tendency to act (or react) toward certain things when we think of them, we tend to do so according to the principle stated by Dr. James, namely, because previously we have been moved to action by these objects, or by objects closely related to these. This is why all Bodily Action for Speaking should be taught through actual con- tact with things. Professor Huey (Psychology and Pedagogy of Reading, pp. 189 et seq.) emphasizes the EXPERIMENTS TO DEVELOP SYMBOLIC ACTION 275 fact that primitive peoples and children are both proficient and effective in the use of action-language. The basic cause for this is, that primitive peoples and children handle Concrete Things; and when they talk, they talk about the things they have handled, hence, they come to have strong imaginative contact with things. In Chapters II and III we learned that it is always easiest to imagine a thing when we have recently experi- enced that thing through the actual senses. This makes it clear that: The natural method by which to develop Bodily Ac- tion, is to have the speaker first handle material things, and then to have him imagine himself handling them. This is the method we shall pursue in all the following experiments, not only in Action of Symbolism but also in Action of Purpose and Action of Identification. Experiments to Develop Symbolic Action To help the student begin his development in symbolic action, we have outlined the following experiments. In performing these experiments, the arm and wrist should be kept relaxed and free. The observer will more clearly see the outline of the object symbolized, if the hand of the speaker lag behind the rest of the arm, as if determined to keep on indicating that particular part of the outline until the arm draws it on to another part. (We might give the hint here that this is the psychological reason for the superficial rule given in some books on action, namely, that the wrist and arm should lead the hand in all gestures. ) 276 ACTION OF SYMBOLISM It will also aid the speaker greatly, in these experiments, if he will imagine a friend beside him and will determine to make this friend both see and feel the exact size and shape of the thing symbolized. i. Procure two pieces of card-board fifteen to twenty inches long and from a third to half as wide as they are long. (The top and bottom pieces of an ordinary shoe-box will do very well for these experiments.) Place your study-table against the wall, clear a space on the table adjacent to the wall, and place one piece of the card-board with one end resting on the table a few inches from the wall and the other end of the card-board leaning against the wall. You will see at once that this forms a very distinct right-angled triangle. Determine to fix in mind the exact outline of this triangle, by tracing it very care- fully with your hand. To do so, step to the end of the table where you can easily bring the palm of your hand against the wall. Place your hand against the wall at the point where the top end of the card-board meets the wall. Now pass the hand downward on the wall, to the table. As you do so, get a distinct conception of the exact move- ment the hand must make, to indicate this rigidly per- pendicular line. When the hand has reached the table, pass it over the surface of the table to the point where the lower end of the card-board meets the table, then pass the palm of the hand over the card-board, to the top of the triangle. Retrace the whole outline until you are sure that your hand can indicate these exact lines and angles. Step to the other end of the table and perform the entire ex- periment with the other hand. (These movements will be much more free and graceful if you will employ the EXPERIMENTS TO DEVELOP SYMBOLIC ACTION 277 hand farthest from the wall; for the palm of that hand is already turned toward the wall, whereas the back of the hand nearest the wall, is turned toward the wall.) As soon as this preliminary experiment has been com- pleted, step away from the table, imagine that a few yards before you stands a pole or tower, rising perpendicularly in the air, and that, from the top of this, a guy-wire ex- tends to a fastening in the ground some distance from the base of the pole (or tower), forming an immense right- angled triangle. Form a clear conception of the location and proportions of this triangle, and then symbolize it (carve it in the air), while you describe, aloud, its sides and the approximate length of each. When you have done this with one hand, imagine the triangle to be reversed in position, and symbolize it with the other hand. 2. In the second experiment, turn again to the piece of card-board leaning from the table against the wall. Place a heavy book against the lower end of the card-board, to pre- vent it from slipping. Now press the top of the card-board downward along the wall, while you cause its middle portion to bend outward. When it is well rounded outward, place a tack or a pin in the wall at the top of the card-board, to pre- vent it from slipping upward. Now pass the palm of the hand over this convex surface, formed by the outside of the card-board. Continue to pass the hand from top to bottom and from bottom to top of this convex surface, until you are sure that you can symbolize this exact contour. Step to the other end of the table and perform the entire experi- ment with the other hand. Now remove the tack that is holding the top of the card-board down, and let it straighten. Again press the top downward along the wall, but, this 278 ACTION OF SYMBOLISM time, press the middle portion inward, toward the wall. Replace the tack to hold it in this position. Now perform the same experiments with this concave surface as you did with the convex surface, formed by the outside of the card-board. Now imagine that, a short distance before you, you see the elevated track of a "shoot-the-chutes." (If this modern institution is not familiar to you, you may imagine the horizon formed by the rounded tops of a series of hills with concave valleys between.) If you think of this track, as it rises and falls, forming steep hills and deep valleys, as the top surface of something, you will realize that it is made up of many smaller surfaces which are convex then concave then convex again, and so on. Imagine that you are passing your hand over just such a surface, and, as you do so, symbolizing the track by your action, describe it. Symbolize it first with one hand and then with the other. In all action, such as this, where the hand moves from one thing to another, the hand should always move out- ward, to suggest increasing distance as well as progress and growth of freedom in the movement. Outward, the movement is graceful and climactic; inward, cramped and anticlimactic. Let the right hand move out to the right; the left hand, to the left. 3. For the third experiment, return to the table and take up the two pieces of card-board. Stand them on end, about four inches from each other on the table, and lean them to- gether, so that each supports the other. Now pass both hands, simultaneously, over the outside surface thus formed from top to bottom and from bottom to top until you are EXPERIMENTS TO DEVELOP SYMBOLIC ACTION 279 sure that you can symbolize this exact shape of spire. When you have done this, imagine that you see before you a tall church-spire of this same shape. Symbolize this spire with your hands, and, as you do so, describe its shape and size. Again turn to the card-boards as they form the out- line of a spire. This time, have someone press downward on the top ends of the card-boards until the sides curve inward, forming the outline of a concave-sided spire. Pass the hands over these concave sides, simultaneously, until you are sure that you can symbolize this exact shape ; then imagine a high spire of this shape rising before you, and symbolize it, as you did the straight-sided one, while you describe it. Now place the card-boards on end on the table, parallel to each other and about* a foot apart, with a heavy book outside each one to prevent the lower end from slipping outward. Bring the top ends together while you start the sides to curving outward. Now have someone press down- ward on the top ends until the boards form the outline of a dome. Pass your hands simultaneously over the sides until you are sure that you can, symbolize this shape; then, imagine that you see the immense dome of a large build- ing, and symbolize this while you describe its shape and proportions. 4. As the fourth experiment, with a heavy, blunt pencil and a piece of string, draw a circle, at least twenty inches in diameter, on a piece of paper. Pin this paper to the wall, step three or four feet away from it, and,with the forefinger, trace the outline of this circle. Let the finger start at a point on the inside of the circumference near the top, and begin its circuit by moving outward. Observe carefully the sugges- 28O ACTION OF SYMBOLISM tion regarding the freedom and use of the arm, wrist, and hand, given above (pp. 275-276). Do not do either of the ridiculous things students have been known to do, namely, to hold the arm still, trace the circle by a diminu- tive movement of the hand from the wrist only; and, the opposite to this, to hold the wrist stiff and trace the circle with the whole stiffened arm. Keep the whole arm as light and free as possible by suspending the weight of it very near the shoulder, and by feeling that the arm con- tains innumerable free joints. Continue the experiment by tracing the circumference of the circle before you twenty or thirty times, or at least until you are sure you can symbolize it perfectly in the air without the outline before you. Do this with first one hand and then the other, and then place the paper in a horizontal position on the table and repeat the whole ex- periment. Now imagine that before you are several Fer- ris-wheels, ranging in size from one that rises only a few yards in the air, to one several hundred feet high. Sym- bolize each of these, beginning with the smallest and end- ing with the largest. Do this with one hand and then with the other. Now imagine that you are standing beside a large race- track. You have, doubtless, observed that when a large circle, such as this, is observed on a level surface, it seems to cease to be a true circle and to become an ellipse. It seems to flatten out, as it were, and to extend farther to your right and left than it does straight before you. Get a clear conception of these proportions of the track, and then symbolize it by the action of your hand while you describe the track. Symbolize it with each hand separately. EXPERIMENTS TO DEVELOP SYMBOLIC ACTION 28 1 You have now symbolized both kinds of lines, the straight and the curved, and all kinds of surfaces, including the perpendicular, the horizontal, the incline, the triangu- lar, the rectangular, the protruding, the receding, the con- cave, the convex, the spire with straight sides, the spire with concave sides, the dome, the circle, and the ellipse. 5. As a fifth test, apply all these experiments to practical speaking, by preparing a three-minute talk in which you describe objects of all the shapes which you have symbolized in these experiments. Be prepared to perform all five ex- periments before the class. To get the greatest benefit from this work, the speaker should exercise the sense of location to keep the object he is attempting to symbolize near. All the imaginative senses should be stimulated to receive the keenest sensa- tions from these objects; and the mind of the speaker should constantly feel that the whole experiment is an effort to make the object symbolized clear and distinct to the imaginary friend beside him. CHAPTER XV ACTION OF PURPOSE THERE is necessarily some purpose exercised whenever a speaker uses any one of the three kinds of action. In neither of the other two classes, however, are we attempt- ing to take to us or put away from us or otherwise handle the thing thought of, as we do in the kind of action now to be discussed. For this reason we call this kind of action, Action of Purpose. We use action of this class when we are attempting to do one of the following things : I. To Re- ceive Impressions from the thing thought of; 2. To Repel the Undesirable things thought of; 3. To Conquer the Op- posing; 4. To Let the Audience Examine the thing dis- cussed; 5. To Emphasize the thing discussed. I. ACTION OF PURPOSE TO RECEIVE IMPRESSIONS When we desire to receive impressions from anything which we are considering, common-sense tells us that we can get the desired impressions only through the senses, and that we can get the best impressions by getting into close contact with that thing. See that man step forward, incline his body and his head, and turn his ear forward. We need not be told that he is trying to get the fullest 282 ACTION OF PURPOSE TO RECEIVE IMPRESSIONS 283 possible impressions of sound from something. A friend tries hard to show me some particular thing. Why do I step forward, bend my body and my head forward, and shade my eyes ? You know instantly that I do these things to aid my impressions of sight. You wish to know how a certain thing feels. No one need tell you that the natural way for you to find out is to step toward that thing and touch it with the sensitive part of your fingers. Can you remember the time when the sight of a beautiful rose did not make you want to bring the rose close to your nose that you might take great lung-fuls of its de- licious odor? Of all persons, a speaker needs to get the clearest, the quickest, the fullest impressions of things; for it is his business to get them for the benefit of the entire audience. He must get fresh knowledge from the things discussed. We get fresh knowledge from anything either through the senses directly, or through the imagination. In speaking, we get most of it through the imagination, by making the senses receive at long range, the impressions they are ac- customed to get at short range. If, in getting our im- pressions, we do not use the action we are accustomed to use, then one of the strongest associations which our senses know is lost. This means that one of the principal stimuli of the senses is lost. The result is, that the senses/ now acting only through the imagination, and getting, with diffi- culty, their impressions from absent things, cease to act. Under these conditions, the speaker receives no fresh im- pressions from the things talked of, and, largely, because he has not employed the action of purpose to get impres- sions. 284 ACTION OF PURPOSE Experiments in Action of Purpose to Receive Impressions The following experiments will help you to begin a right use of this form of action, and to realize how much it can do for you in aiding you to get the sense-impressions you need while speaking. 1. For the first experiment, partly open the door of a dimly lighted room. Open the door only a little way, so that the contents of the room beyond can be seen but dimly. Stand several feet from this door and make an earnest effort to see even small things within the room. Assume that, for some reason, you can go no nearer than you are to the things you are trying to see. Perform whatever acts are necessary to enable you to get the clear- est possible view of the things looked at, without changing your location such acts as stepping one foot forward, leaning the body forward, shading the eyes, etc. When these acts have given you some definite sensations of sight, then turn away from the door, imagine that you are again trying to see those small things within the dim enclosure beyond the door, perform the same acts as you did before when actually trying to see more clearly, and, as these things now become more distinctly seen in imagination, de- scribe your sense-impressions to an imaginary friend be- side you. 2. In the second experiment, listen to the low murmur of voices some distance from you. Make an earnest effort to distinguish the voices and to catch the peculiar character- istics of each voice. As you do so, perform whatever acts EXPERIMENTS IN ACTION OF PURPOSE 285 will aid you to hear more distinctly stepping nearer to the sound, leaning the body forward, turning the head, putting the hand to the ear, etc. After you have done one of these things, test the ear again to see if the sound has become any more distinct. Do the same after each of these auxiliary acts. Now turn away from the actual voices and imagine that you hear a sound at some distance from you. Perform the same experiment with the same actions as before, and, as you do so, describe to a friend supposed to be beside you the results of your efforts. 3. As a third experiment, place on the table before you two pieces of goods of decidedly different textures, for ex- ample, silk or velvet and coarse woollen goods, from which distinct sensations of touch may be received. Take a short step forward, incline the body eagerly toward these goods, and pass the hand over them as delicately as possible, de- termined to receive the keenest possible impression from touching first one and then the other. Realize that you are doing this to be able to tell to a friend beside you just how these goods feel to you. Tell your friend just how they feel. If it confuses you, at first, to have an actual person beside you, then have only an imaginary person there, but tell your impressions, tell them out loud. Now hang the goods in a perpendicular position. Step toward them, again incline the body eagerly forward, and perform the same experi- ment as you did a moment before when the things touched were in a horizontal position. Now remove the goods and stand in the middle of the room with only imaginary mate- rial before you. Feel the same desire you felt before, to sense the touch of the goods which you imagine to be be- fore you. Repeat the same two experiments performed 286 ACTION OF PURPOSE when the actual goods were first on the table, and then hanging before you. Again describe your sense-impressions to a friend beside you. Do not allow yourself to step near to the object on which you are experimenting and then drop into a nega- tive or relaxed position. Keep the entire body eagerly striving to get a strong sense-impression. 4. In the fourth experiment, place before you two flowers, or perfumes, of different odors. Step forward, in- cline the body eagerly toward one of these objects, lift it to- ward your nose, and breathe in its odor so slowly and sensi- tively, that you can describe that odor. Now do the same with the other object. Now step away from the objects, imagine that you again perform the experiment with each object, use the same action as you did when the objects were actually there, and, as you do so, describe the odor of each to an imaginary friend. Keep the entire body in a position of eager expectancy. 5. Now put the last four experiments into one. Imagine yourself in some such scene as a flower-garden. If you make your scene a flower-garden, step up to cer- tain flowers and sensitively touch the leaves and petals. As you do this, orally describe the impressions you get. Step toward some flowers, lean eagerly toward them, draw them toward you, and sensitively smell their odor, while you describe it orally to an imaginary friend beside you. Try to get a better view of certain things difficult to see back among the shrubs and bushes. Freely use whatever action will help you to get the desired sense-impressions and yet will enable you to maintain the commanding position of one who is courte- PURPOSE TO REPEL THE UNDESIRABLE 287 ously showing the things observed to a dignified visitor. Describe orally what you see half-hidden in the darker recesses. Imagine the fine, shrill, hardly audible sound of some insect back among the bushes, and use freely what- ever action will help you to catch this sound more dis- tinctly. Describe the sense-impressions you get through the sense of sound. Work this experiment up into a three- minute original description of the sense-impressions you receive. If you prefer some other scene than a flower-garden, use the one you prefer, only be careful to: Employ as many imaginative senses as possible, and to use, freely, all the action you would use to aid your senses if you were actually examining things and de- scribing them, in their presence, to a person before whom you must appear at your best. To influence an entire audience by this scene, you must be much more eager than you are accustomed to be when you examine things with no audience in mind. II. ACTION OF PURPOSE TO REPEL THE UNDESIRABLE THINGS DISCUSSED In every-day life, when we find anything that is re- pulsive or offensive to us, anything that we think may harm or hinder us, we know that there are but two ways to rid ourselves of that thing. We can either take our- selves away from it or put it away from us. All through our lives we have performed one or the other of these two acts whenever we really wished to be free from an unde- sirable thing. 288 ACTION OF PURPOSE What does this mean to the speaker? It means that, if he profits by his experience, as every wise man does, he will act in this same manner in his speaking. To illustrate : A speaker is before us who suddenly draws himself up and seems to push something away from him with his hand as he says: "That thing is abominable." Mark the effect his action has on us. We instantly feel greater con- fidence in the speaker for getting rid of the thing he dis- likes, and we also feel much more like getting rid of that thing ourselves; for the speaker's action has enabled us to feel the inner nature of that thing much more keenly than mere words could have done. Careful investigation will show the student of speech, that similar results always follow such action when it is caused by honest motives. If a speaker puts away from him the base or untrue thing talked about, in the same manner as he would put away from him an untrue person or thing in his private life, he makes his speech much more effective by the act. Experiments in Action to Repel the Undesirable I. For the first experiment, let someone stand to your right front. Feel that this person is insolently standing where you have a desire, and a right, to pass. Assume toward this person an attitude of offended dignity. Ap- proach him, and, in firm superiority, brush him aside with your right hand. Repeat this experiment several times, trying each time to use less and less effort and yet to put the person effectively away from you. Now step away from the person who has been opposing you, imagine him EXPERIMENTS IN ACTION TO REPEL 289 to be there, on your right front, as before, and perform the same experiment on the imaginary person. 2. Second experiment. Let someone stand before you and a little to your left. Assume toward this person the same attitude you assumed in the last experiment, and brush him away with your left hand. Repeat this experiment several times and then perform the experiment on an imaginary person whom you imagine to be standing just as the real person did. In the first and second experiments, in Action to Repel the Undesirable, the speaker has been asked to assume an aggressive attitude and to approach the undesirable thing or person thought of. Such action is frequently demanded in practical speaking; but there are also many times when the speaker should merely stand his ground and repel the undesirable thing that becomes more aggressive and ap- proaches him. The next two experiments are designed to start the speaker in such action. 3. Third experiment. Let someone approach you from your right front. Assume toward this person a strong, im- movable, superior attitude. When he has pressed almost against you, push him backward and aside, in a firm but dignified manner. Repeat this experiment several times, each time standing in a more and more firm position, so that less and less effort is required to keep a firm position and to put the person effectively away from you. Now perform the experiment with only an imaginary person ap- proaching you just as the real person did. Feel the same need of firmness and control in your action, as you found necessary when you brushed aside the real person. 4. Fourth experiment. Let a person approach you 290 ACTION OF PURPOSE from your left front. Assume toward this person the same attitude you assumed in Experiment 3, and brush the per- son aside with your left hand. Repeat this experiment until you: Stand so firmly that you neither seem to be jostled from your position nor to use all your strength in the effort. When you have acquired this firmness and ease and command, then perform the experiment with only an imaginary person approaching you. In all four of these experiments, be careful to push the person whom you wish to repel, before he is so close to you that it is necessary to claw him around to your side and back. To show mastery and power in the situation, requires that the person or thing which the speaker wishes to repel, should be put away to the side front. You are trying to give the impression that it requires no great effort for you to repel the person causing your action. This last point is of decided importance to the speaker. You have observed what a bad effect a singer produces if, in trying to sing a very high note, he causes his voice to "break," or causes the audience to feel that he has used absolutely all his power to sing that note. The same law is found effective both in the voice and the action of the speaker. To retain the respect and confidence of the audience, the speaker must always seem to have much more power than he is using and yet must seem to master the thing he undertakes. 5. Fifth experiment. Step up to hanging curtains. As- sume that someone has placed these curtains here to prevent you from seeing something beyond the curtains. Feel that EXPERIMENTS IN ACTION TO REPEL 29 1 you must see this thing quickly. That you may do so, brush the right curtain aside with your right hand, then the left curtain with your left hand, then brush them to right and left with both hands at once. Now turn away from the cur- tains, imagine that they are before you, assume the same attitude as before, and repeat the whole experiment. When these five experiments have been repeated until you can fully realize the presence of the imaginary objects upon which you act, and can use, upon these imaginary objects, action as spontaneous, as strong, and as free as you used on the actual objects, you are then ready to use these actions in practical speaking. 6. Sixth experiment. To apply these experiments in a practical speech, think of things you see as a student, which are most repellent to you, things which are base or cow- ardly or deceitful or dishonest or devoid of those ideals which you feel that a student should have. They may be such things a lack of true friendship, snobbishness, unkind- ness toward the less fortunate, laziness, loitering, gambling, drinking, dishonesty in voting, cheating in examinations. Make a brief outline of such undesirable practices as you have observed. With this outline before you, contemplate how the things you have placed in your outline are affecting your life and the lives of your associates, until you feel that you cannot speak of these things without having a strong desire to cast them from you, as vigorously as you cast away the persons and things in the former experiments. Now either imagine that you are conversing with some of the students who are guilty of promoting the ideas and practices which are so objectionable to you, and that you are telling them what you think of their schemes; or 292 ACTION OF PURPOSE imagine that you are before your class, proposing means by which to check these undesirable tendencies. In either case, feel that the undesirable things you discuss are so personally objectionable to you that you personally repel them whenever you mention them. Develop your ideas into a two-minute or a three-minute speech. Let your chief aim in this experiment, be to find as much opportunity as possible, to use, in a natural and unaffected way, action to repel the undesirable. And then see that you use such action wherever it is needed. III. ACTION OF PURPOSE TO CONQUER THE OPPOSING Sometimes an undesirable thing is of such a nature that we do not dare merely to repel it. We do not dare to brush it aside and leave it to bother us again. We prefer rather to lay hold on that thing and conquer it once for all. Whenever we have a strong and definite determination to accomplish something, we then feel like conquering and putting down everything that tries to oppose us in that effort. The stronger our purpose, the stronger is this desire. When a leader is leading masses of men in the accomplishment of a purpose, he feels called upon to bring all his forces to bear on anything that opposes him. A speaker is a leader, leading masses of men in the accom- plishment of a purpose. The speaker must conquer the thing that opposes his purpose. He must show his audience that he is con- quering for them, that he is showing them how to put down the things which would mar their happiness. He certainly cannot do this, if his body remain passive EXPERIMENTS PURPOSE TO CONQUER 293 ami inactive. He must either ( i ) push the opposing thing before him as he would push some material thing forward ; or (2) he must take up the opposing as a burden and bear it triumphantly forward; or (3) he must strike down the opposing thing. Such action, performed simply, sincerely, and in place, will make the speech vastly more effective and the speaker more worthy to be followed as a leader. To help the intending speaker to gain this attitude and to start the thorough freedom in this form of action, which effective speaking demands, we have outlined the following : Experiments in Action of Purpose to Conquer the Opposing In your attempt to develop skill and ability in this form of action, the fundamental principle stated above (pp. 274-275) will be found to have especial force. You will find it impossible to realize full success in such action, if you do not first bring your action to bear on actual, mate- rial things the opposition of which you attempt to master. I. For the first experiment, stand near to a large, heavy piece of furniture, or to a large, heavy box. Imagine that you are leading a company of people along a pathway, that the object before you opposes your progress, and that, for the sake of those who follow you, as well as for your own, you must remove the opposition of the thing before you by putting your hands against it and pushing it hurling it from the pathway. Repeat this experiment several times. Each time you push the heavy object before you, take greater pleasure in your ability to remove this thing from the path of those who follow you. Realize 294 ACTION OF PURPOSE how your strength grows with your delight in doing this for others, until you are finally able to send the oppos- ing thing before you with a mighty sweep. When you have gained this ease and power in the experiment, then step away from the object, imagine it to be before you, assume the same strong attitude toward it as you had before, and push it exactly as if it were there. Realize that, to make such action fully effective in speak- ing, you must make it suggest two things : (1) It must suggest that it requires great force to overcome the thing with which you are coping. (2) It must suggest that you have much more strength still in reserve. 2. Second experiment. Place before you a small table or bench loaded with books or other things of like weight. Imagine, as in the last experiment, that you are leading a company of people and that this object is in your way and must be removed. Imagine that, for some reason, this object cannot be pushed forward, hence you must place your arms under it, lift it, and carry it forward. Let it be so heavy that you must throw almost your whole power into the effort, yet feel the task growing easier and easier each time you perform the experiment, because you take greater delight in carrying this burden for those whom you are leading. When you have reached the point where you can scoop the article up and, with a powerful sweep, send it for- ward, then perform the same experiment upon an imaginary burden. Before the next experiment, that of striking down the opposing, the intending speaker should get a clear con- ception of the principle on which the strength of a blow EXPERIMENTS PURPOSE TO CONQUER 295 depends, (i) The strength of the arm resides almost wholly in the muscles of the shoulder and the upper arm. There- fore, to give a blow that will crush the opposing, raise the upper arm and elbow high, then bring them down quickly and strongly as the arm unfolds in the stroke. (2) To give the strongest possible stroke with the hand and, at the same time, to preserve the hand from injury, clench the hand firmly and bring the flat surface formed by the first joint of the clenched fingers, flat against the surface to be struck. If these two laws are not observed, the move- ment will be awkward or weak and effeminate (or all three) and the effect of conquering a strong force will be entirely lost. 3. Third experiment. When you have put these two laws, set forth in the last paragraph, into practice until you can make a strong, free, and effective stroke with the whole arm, set on end some large book (for example, an un- abridged dictionary) on something as high as your shoulder. Assume that this book is something, or someone, that in- solently opposes you and must be struck down. Step toward it and strike it a firm blow. Repeat this experiment until you can give the effect of striking a blow of great power and yet keep much of your strength in reserve. Now place the large book on the table where you can strike downward upon its top surface. Assume that it is a force that is insolently rising to oppose you and that it must be struck down crushed to the earth. Step toward it and strike it down. Repeat this experiment until your downward stroke is as free and strong as the one straight from the shoulder. Perform both these experiments with first one hand and then the pther until the hands can strike equally well, then repeat 296 ACTION OF PURPOSE both experiments with only imaginary objects to be struck, The alert student has already realized that the things he has been doing in the last three experiments, are the same kind of things he will be called upon to do in his practical speaking whenever he speaks of things which he actually wishes to see overcome. It should constantly be borne in mind, that: Such action is effective in speaking only when the speaker imagines himself actually handling material things which he would have to handle if he should lead his audience into actual contact with the things about which he is speaking. There is a rule for action, stated in several of the text- books : "Literal action should never be used for figurative language." From the foregoing discussions and experi- ments, the psychological meaning of this rule should now be clear. Neither the form of action we are now studying nor any other form, is ever demanded when we are speaking of merely figurative things, unless the figure causes the speaker to imagine himself in the actual presence of a single concrete thing, acting upon that thing. Furthermore, it is apparent that action as extremely strong as the form of action we are now considering, should be used seldom. 4. Fourth experiment. With these principles in mind, perform a fourth experiment, in which you apply experi- ments i, 2, and 3 to practical speaking. To do so, imagine . that you are leading and urging others to conquer the oppos- ing, as you speak the following words. The first words we TO LET THE AUDIENCE EXAMINE 2Q7 quote are those of Ulysses, as Tennyson has the wonderful old warrior speak, in his poem Ulysses (lines 56-70). Come, my friends, 'tis not too late to seek a newer world. Push off, and, sitting well in order, smite the sounding furrows ; for my purpose holds to sail beyond the sunset, and the baths of all the western stars, until I die. It may be that the gulfs will wash us down ; it may be we shall touch the Happy Isles, and see the great Achilles, whom we knew. Tho' much is taken, much abides; and tho' we are not now that strength which, in old days, moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are one equal temper of heroic hearts, made weak by time and fate, but strong in will to strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield. To impersonate Ulysses, you must realize that you and your companions are very old; but that your mind is so filled with thoughts of the great deeds of your youth, that you become strong again in your determination that you and your companions shall overcome old age and go forth to conquer unknown seas and unknown lands. Impersonate also the character of Markos Bozarris, the noted Greek patriot, as he speaks the following words to his soldiers as they make a surprise attack on the Turks at night (words taken from Marco Bozarris, by Fitz-Green Halleck) : Strike ! till the last arm'd foe expires ; Strike ! for your altars and your fires ; Strike ! for the green graves of your sires ; God and your native land 1 IV. ACTION OF PURPOSE TO LET THE AUDIENCE EXAMINE THE THING DISCUSSED Sometimes we can present a part of our message to an audience, best by simply letting the audience examine for 2Q8 ACTION OF PURPOSE themselves the things discussed. This is almost always the case when we wish those who hear us, simply to pass judgment on the thing or the fact which we present. At such times, what is more natural than for the one speaking to turn the eye of the listener, to the thing spoken of, as much as to say : "There it is. Judge for yourself." Care- ful observation of this kind of action reveals to us three distinct forms in which such action is made. 1. Notice that child talking to another. Suddenly he looks intently off to one side for a moment. Now he looks into the face of the other child and raises his fore- finger (with all the other fingers closed) almost to the eye of the other child, as if to make him look at his finger. Now he moves that finger slowly, as if to lead the eye of the other child, until it points straight at the spot he looked at so intently. Could anything be clearer than the cause of that action? The child was moved by a desire to have the other child examine one certain, definite spot. This action is the first of the three forms. It is called, in the books, the Index Gesture. We always use the Index Gesture when we are moved, as that child was moved, to let the audience examine one definite spot. 2. Here is a speaker before us who unfolds his hand toward the audience precisely as if he were giving to some- one a handful of buttons to let him examine them. Now he opens his whole arm and hand as if to unfold an arm- ful of roses and let them lie there for inspection. Now he opens his arm and hand with a wide sweep to the side, as if, by some magic, he were unfolding a whole landscape and calling the attention of the audience to it. When we TO LET THE AUDIENCE EXAMINE 2Q9 study these actions, we find that the first is caused by a desire to give something directly to the audience, to let them inspect it. The second is caused by a desire to unfold, to the audience, something nearby but occupying more space than a small definite spot. The third is caused by a desire to disclose something larger and at a greater distance, and to cause the eye and mind of the audience to sweep over the whole thing at once. These gestures represent the second form of this kind of action, and are called the Unfolding Gesture. 3. Now we see a speaker's eye glisten as it sweeps over a display of beautiful colors, which he imagines before him. Now the speaker turns his eye to the audience, and, as he does so, he raises his hand before the eyes of the audience and then moves it out over the scene before his mind, leading the eyes of the audience with it. This time, it is not one single finger leading to one small point, as we saw in the gesture of the child a while ago. The speaker's whole hand is open, with the sensitive part of the fingers toward the scene observed. It is a very effective gesture. It turns our eyes to the scene that we may judge for ourselves ; and, at the same time, seems to say : "You can't help feeling the fine touch of those beautiful colors." The speaker's whole expression is the same as he would have if he had just passsed his hand over the things before his mind, and had found their texture so pleasing that he now wishes us, the audience, to touch those things with him. This is the third form of the action to let the audience examine the thing discussed. It is called the Esthetic Gesture or the Gesture of Fine Feeling. It is caused by a desire to let the audience examine something beautiful 300 ACTION OF PURPOSE or delicate or tender, and to lead the listener in examining that thing. You will see that this kind of action, Action To Let the Audience Examine the Thing Discussed, in its three forms, is more frequently used in speaking than most of the other forms of action. It is the action a speaker employs whenever he locates anything for the audience, and when- ever he gives anything (actually or imaginatively) to the audience, and whenever he appeals to the audience to give him anything. To begin your preparation for employing this kind of action in its wide field of usefulness, thoroughly perform the following: Experiments in Action of Purpose to Let the Audience Examine the Thing Discussed The first experiments outlined are for the development of Action of Pointing Out a Small Object. In these experiments, an effort has been made to de- velop, simultaneously, in the speaker, three things: direct- ness, gracefulness, and climax. Directness will result from the speaker's fixing his mind on the thing pointed out and on the mind of the one to whom he points out that thing, and from the speaker's determination to bring the mind of the observer to bear on the thing pointed out. Gracefulness will result from the speaker's making free use of his own hand, first to come to the eye of the observer, to serve as a guide, and then to lead the eye of the observer to the thing pointed out. (There is a superficial rule in many EXPERIMENTS TO LET AUDIENCE EXAMINE 30 1 of the books on action, that, in such action as pointing out things, the hand should never rise, stiffly, straight out from the body, but should swing inward so as to form a curved line. From what we have just said, the psycholog- ical reason for this rule should appear.) To start the in- tending speaker in the work of making his action reach a climax, we have arranged each simple experiment, in pointing out objects, in a series of three actions. In Action of Symbolism (p. 278) we stated the principle that, when- ever the speaker uses a series of similar actions of the hand, the hand should move outward, to give the effect of expansion, growth, climax. i. For the first experiment in pointing out small objects, let someone stand before you and a little to your left. Select some very small object before and a little to your right. Fix that spot in mind. Realize how difficult it will be to cause the friend standing beside you to see that spot and to see no other. Determine to lead the eye of this friend to this exact spot. With this determination in mind, let the index finger of your right hand go up to the eye of your friend at your left, as a willing, kindly guide. Then let your finger move out slowly toward the spot you wish to point out, till it points directly at it. While you do this, describe the object pointed out, so that your words may aid your action and your action may aid your words, in leading your friend's eye and mind to that object. Now select another small object several feet farther to your right, and treat this object in exactly the same manner. When you have made your friend see it, select a third object at the extreme right side of the room, and treat it as you have done the other two. 3O2 ACTION OF PURPOSE In all these efforts to point out something for someone to examine: Keep a strong feeling that your mind is leading the mind of the observer even more than your finger is leading his eye. 2. Second experiment. Place the observer on your right front. Choose a small spot to your left front, and determine to point this out as definitely as you did the spots to your right. Let the index finger of your left hand come up before your friend's eye, and lead his eye as carefully and as directly as possible. While you do this, describe the object pointed out. When you are sure that your action and words have led the eye and mind of the observer to the exact spot, then point out in the same manner another spot farther to the left, and then a third at the extreme left of the room. 3. Third experiment. Now imagine yourself before an audience. See a small object, real or imaginary, some dis- tance before you and a little to your right, on the street or landscape. See something in this object which strikingly illustrates a point in your discussion, and, hence, which you wish to point out to your audience. Fix your mind on this object for a brief moment, then say quickly to your audi- ence : "Look at this !" As you say this, look into the eyes of your audience, bring the index finger of your right hand before their eyes, just as you did before the eyes of your friend in the last experiment, and lead their eyes straight to the thing to which you wish to turn their minds. While you are pointing it out, tell the audience just what it is you wish them to see. When you have done this, feel the gratification of discovering a still better illustration of your EXPERIMENTS TO LET AUDIENCE EXAMINE 303 subject, in another small object farther to your right. Treat it in the same manner. Then reach a climax in your action, by discovering the best illustration of all in a third small object on your extreme right. Now repeat this en- tire experiment, this time discovering the first object you wish to point out, on your left front, the second farther to your left, and the third on your extreme left. Repeat each of these experiments in pointing, until your action becomes a part of your thinking, and until your action reaches a true climax by growing quicker, more free, more strong, and more sweeping with each succeeding stroke in the series. Always desire, most of all, to show the thing pointed out, to those of your audience on the op- posite side of you from that thing. Unless you do this, you will seem to show that thing only to those of your audience who are nearest to it. If you follow this law, your guiding finger passes before every eye in the audience and leads all alike. The next experiments below, 4, 5, 6, and 7, are devoted to the second form of Action of Purpose to Let the Audi- ence Examine the Things Discussed, namely, Action of Unfolding Objects for the Audience to Examine. 4. Fourth experiment. Place a handful of small objects that can be quickly scooped up in the hand, for example, small beans, or round buttons, on the table before you. Take these up and hand them to some one standing to your right front. Replace them on the table, then take them up and hand them to someone to your left front. Once more place them on the table, take part of them in each hand, and 304 ACTION OF PURPOSE give part of them to a person standing to your right front and part of them to another person standing to your left front. Hand them to both these persons at once. When you have performed all three of these experiments until you can catch these small objects up in a twinkling, and hand them out for inspection, easily and gracefully, then step away from the table and repeat the experiments, imagining that the table is there, and handing out for inspection imaginary objects. Be prepared to perform all these experiments, both with and without the actual objects. 5. Fifth experiment. Stand before an imaginary audi- ence. Feel that you have just made a certain statement, when you pause a moment, and then say : "I give you this thought for your consideration." Note how you can say this indifferently and have no impulse to action. Note also, that the instant you really wish to give that thought to the audience and wish them to take it, you feel an impulse to unfold your hand toward your hearers, as if it contained the thought you wish to give to the audience, just as your hand contained the small objects in the last experiment. After letting your imaginary audience consider the 'thought for a few moments, ask them: "Isn't that true?" Note again here, how you can say this in a manner devoid of interest or feeling toward the audience, and have no impulse to use action. But note also, that the instant you are filled with interest and earnestly desire your audience to think as you do about the thing considered, that instant you feel an impulse to unfold your hand again to the audience, as if to lay the thing thought of, on your palm, before their eyes, to let them see and be convinced. The alert student will realize from this last, double ex- EXPERIMENTS TO LET AUDIENCE EXAMINE 305 periment, that this is one of the best possible tests of the relation between speaker and audience. If that relation is as close as it should be, then whenever the speaker has anything to which he wishes the audience to give its special and continued consideration, for a moment, (whether the speaker present that idea as a statement or a question), the speaker has an impulse to hand out, to the audience, that thing that they may inspect it. If the speaker does not have an impulse to "hand out," for the inspection of the audience, anything which he is urging them to consider, it means that the personal relation between him and his audience is not what it should be. It means, also, that the things about which the speaker is talking, are not real enough to him and that they do not mean enough to hint. For these reasons the student of speech should perform such experiments as the last one every day until such ac- tion becomes a veritable part of his thinking. 6. Sixth experiment. Take an armful of clothing, or similar articles, walk to the side of a large table or a bed, and, with one sweep of the arm, unfold all these and spread them out for the inspection of a friend before you. As you do so, say : "There they all are." Do this with first one arm then with the other. Then do it with both arms at once, un- folding two armfuls for inspection. Now step away from these things, imagine that you again have them, and unfold the imaginative things in the same manner. Be careful in this last effort, to imagine real things which you wish to dis- play, have a definite reason in mind for showing the things, and watch the imaginary friend to see if the dis- play has the effect on him that you wished it to have. Re- member also that your effort should be, not to cause the 3O6 ACTION OF PURPOSE observer to note this or that piece in the display, but to take it all in at one sweep of the mind and eye. Be pre- pared to perform these experiments before the class, both with real and with imaginary articles. 7. Seventh experiment. Stand before an imaginary audience. Talk to them, briefly, of some attractive display you have seen where the things exhibited covered a number of square yards. Imagine that you are now standing in the presence of this exhibit, and be moved by a desire to have your audience see it as you see it. Desire not to show them single or particular things in the display, but rather the full- ness, the completeness, or the richness of one whole section or unit of the exhibit at once. Notice how, the instant you become filled with a strong desire to have your audience "take in," at a glance, the whole section you have in mind, you have an impulse to unfold the arm in the direction of those things, as if you were actually laying them there for inspection. Notice, too, that the more real each unit becomes to you and the more earnest your desire to have the audience see and realize the whole unit, the stronger becomes this impulse. Let the imaginary exhibition which you describe be made up of a number of these units or groups of things. See one group on your right, another on your left, another spreading out before you both to right and left, and so on. Work up your description of these different sections and present your description in words and action before the class. The student will realize, from experiments 6 and 7, that whenever he wishes the audience to turn its attention to a general group of things, or to a section of a room or of ACTION OF PICTURING OBJECTS 307 a landscape, containing many things, he should have an impulse to act as if he were unfolding all that to the view of the audience. The next experiments below, 8 and 9, are devoted to the third form of Action of Purpose to Let the Audience Ex- amine the Things Discussed, namely, Action of Picturing Objects to the Audience 8. For the eighth experiment, repeat experiment 3 from page 285. This time pay more attention to the imaginative side of the experiment, and also make a greater effort to impress upon the mind of the observer the sense-impres- sions you receive. 9. Ninth experiment. Stand before an imaginary audi- ence. Imagine (or actually look at) a beautiful landscape or a beautiful sunset. Describe this scene before you, and as you do so, try to lead the "mind's eye" of your audience out over that scene. Notice how, when you hold your mind long enough on any one part of that scene, to get such a strong impression of its beauty that you are filled with a desire to have your audience see and feel that beauty with you, then you have an impulse to stretch forth the hand and try to feel the touch of that beauty while you describe it. When you have found this impulse, develop it and build your description out of it. Try to liken the colors which you imagine before you, in the scene described, to the touch of things you have known. Give this description before the class. From the last two experiments, it is easy to see that the Esthetic Gesture is demanded less often than many of 308 ACTION OF PURPOSE the other forms of action. We use it when we are either leading the mind of the listener over a scene and at the same time trying to get the listener to appreciate, with us, the feeling we get from imagining the touch of the things we describe ; or when we wish the listener's mind to follow moving objects, or to go out feelingfully to single objects. Under these conditions nothing can take its place. 10. Tenth experiment. You have now performed ex- periments in all three forms of Action to Let the Audience Examine Objects, namely, experiments in Pointing Out, in Unfolding, and in Picturing. Now employ, in practical speaking, all these nine experiments. To do so, prepare a description, two or three minutes in length, of some scene containing a series of small objects which you can point out, also objects of such extent that you must unfold them to the view of the audience, and objects of such beauty that you must picture them to the audience, as if your fingers were touching them and sensing their delicate beauty. As in all the other experiments in this kind of action, never allow yourself to start the action until you imagine yourself actually bringing the eye of the listener in contact with a definite object. Be prepared to present this oral description, with its three forms of Action to Let the Audience Examine Ob- jects, before the class. V. ACTION OF PURPOSE TO EMPHASIZE THE THINGS DISCUSSED To emphasize a thing, is to make that thing stand out in prominence. In the broadest meaning of the term "em- ACTION OF PURPOSE TO EMPHASIZE 309 phasize," every appropriate gesture or movement a speaker may make is made to emphasize the thing of which, at that moment, he is speaking. But the term has a much more restricted meaning, as it is commonly understood. To emphasize means about the same as to "drive home" a truth. A careful examination of the action of speakers when they are "driving home" what they are saying, re- veals the fact that the form of action they use, at such times, is the same as the form of action used to let the audience examine a thing for itself. The difference be- tween the two kinds of action, seems to be, that action used for particular emphasis has much more force put into it. For example, we see a speaker step toward his audience and unfold his hand toward them as he asks: "Isn't that true?" He seems merely to be holding the thing discussed, there in his hand, to let the audience de- cide whether it be true. The next instant, he raises that hand and unfolds it with much force, as if to throw the thing discussed, down before the audience, while he says: "You know it is true !" This is typical action of emphasis. The psychology of it is very simple. In life, whenever we have found any material thing of unusual size, unusual quality, or unusual importance, if we wished to tell some- one about this thing, we have always got that thing, if it were possible to do so, and laid it before the other person, with much satisfaction, as we said: "There! Now what do you think?" When we use such action in speak- ing, we simply follow the habit we have formed. We use it because we imagine ourselves bringing before the audi- ence a thing so important that we must make each listener look at it and be convinced. CHAPTER XVI ACTION OF IDENTIFICATION AND GENERAL ACTION ACTION of identification is not action of mimicry, as some persons seem to regard it. The difference between these two kinds of action may be shown by an illustration. A speaker is describing the movements of a base-ball player running bases. The speaker describes this player as being near first base, watching his opportunity to get to second base. He describes the various antics of the player, tells how he jumps about, how he throws out his arms and then slaps them against his sides, how he makes a lunge as if starting to run, etc. The speaker deems this a good op- portunity to "put in some action," so he mimics all the movements of the player while he describes them, with no other motive than to mimic. What is the result? We, who see the speaker do this, discern that his action has descended to mere mimicry, and that he is making the mistake of attracting attention to himself more than to the play he is describing. Let this same speaker try again. This time, let him have a strong desire to see the player succeed. Let the speaker fix in mind that the player should be attending closely to duty instead of making these antics. Now let the speaker mimic the antics, to show how far they are 310 ACTION OF IDENTIFICATION 311 from what the player should be doing. Immediately the speaker's effort has a very different effect. We, of the audience, now feel that the mimicry helps us to see the player and the relation of the player to the game. Again let the speaker describe these antics. This time, let him assume an attitude toward the player, different from either of the attitudes already taken. Let him now have so earnest a desire to see the player confuse the pitcher by these movements, that the speaker delights in these move- ments, feels that they are masterful work, wants to help the player make them. Now let him imitate the movements and we find them still more pleasing. We know that the speaker is now not only causing us to see the player and his relation to the game, but that he is also reflecting to us the spirit of the game. The illustrations in the last two paragraphs, show us the only causes which produce imitative action that is worthy of the name good action. In the first of the three attempts made by this speaker, he merely mimicked, to show us that he could mimic, and the result was bad. In the second attempt, he mimicked again. This time, the result was better, because the speaker had so strong a desire to see action different from the action he saw, that he mimicked the action of the player to show us how far it was from what he desired. In the third effort, this speaker identified himself in action, with the player he described, and the result was best because he had so strong a desire to see the player succeed, that he made the action with the player, as if to help him. These illustrations show us that mimicry and identifica- tion arise from different causes. They show us, further- 312 ACTION OF IDENTIFICATION more, that mere mimicry is a thing to be avoided, while action of identification may greatly add to the effectiveness of speech. Finally, these illustrations suggest that: Mimicry is justified in speaking only when the speaker is moved by so strong a desire to see action different from the action he describes, that he mimics the action merely to show how far it is from what it should be, that he may turn the minds of the audience to con- template the action desired. It is no justification of mimicry to say that we use it to introduce some humor. If a speaker mimics just to be funny, his efforts are likely to fall flat, and, if the audience does laugh, it laughs at the speaker and not at the thing he is mimicking. The Law of Identification We have found that: It requires something stronger than a desire to imi- tate, to identify us with the movement of anything we are discussing or describing. Let us look more closely into the real nature of identifi- cation. I stand before an audience, describing a scene in a great forest-fire in a pine forest. I see a young man and his sweetheart, fleeing before this fire. They are both almost exhausted and the fire is gaining on them, when the young woman falls in a swoon. I see the young man quickly stoop and lift the body of the girl. I see him staggering beneath the load, and then, with almost superhuman effort, I see him carry the dead weight of ACTION TO FOLLOW THE ALLURING 313 that limp form, while, by sheer strength, he pulls himself up over slippery crag and rocky steep. While I describe this heroic struggle, I find myself stooping when the young man stoops, straining when he strains, lifting and pulling when he lifts and pulls. Why is this? It is because I am so anxious to see him succeed in the effort he is making, that I feel as if I were making the effort myself. I am identified with him in his struggle. In this situation, we find the true law of this kind of action : We use action of identification when we are describing the effort of a person or thing, to accomplish something so worthy, something which we so earnestly wish to see accomplished, that we are moved by a desire to help that person or thing, a desire so strong that we unconsciously move with the movements of that person or thing. Action to Follow the Alluring An interesting use of action of identification is that which a speaker makes when he is moved to follow the alluring. The reason a speaker longs to lead his audi- ence to higher efforts, is that he himself is being led by a great ideal which rises before him and allures him. No- where in literature is this action of a speaker while he follows the alluring, better illustrated than in Hamlet. When the mind of the young and devoted prince has dwelt on the virtue of his departed father until he is willing to let that father's spirit lead and rule his life, he suddenly 314 ACTION OF IDENTIFICATION imagines that spirit before him as a real personage, and, with his whole soul following, he says to that spirit: "Go on, I'll follow thee!" Imagine an actor trying to read those lines and making no bodily movement ! His action (or rather his inaction) would belie his words. He would seem not even willing, much less eager, to follow the ideal life confronting him. That actor would fail utterly to lead his audience in any great feeling. But the actor who, while speaking those w r ords, gives his whole body, as well as mind and soul, to a devoted following of the spirit before him, has a tremendous effect on his audience. There are many situations, both in reading and speaking, where this kind of action of identification is demanded. For example, when we speak such sentences as "Great is Truth," if we have anything like a clear conception of the thing of which we speak, if we see Truth rising above all littleness and standing in majesty and strength, we find our own heads rising and our own chests expanding. We are then following the alluring. It is in speaking of strong emotional uplift, that this form of action of identification is demanded. It then has a great effect in causing the audience to follow the thing which allures the speaker. Identification and Impersonation Contrasted The speaker should be careful not to confuse action of identification with impersonation. When we use action of identification, we remain our- selves and watch the thing with whose action we identify our own. EXPERIMENTS IN ACTION OF IDENTIFICATION 315 When we impersonate, we cease to be ourselves, we take the view-point of the person impersonated, and then, from that view-point, use any one of the three general kinds of action (action of symbolism, action of purpose, or action of identification). In other words: When we impersonate, we can no longer see the per- son whose actions we have adopted, for we have be- come that person. We cannot see a person and at the same time be that person. From this it is clear that: We should never attempt to impersonate anyone when we are describing that person, for when we describe we are supposed to see the thing described. This, again, should make clear the rule found in some of the text books: "We should attempt to impersonate only when we speak the words of the person imperson- ated." To realize the great effectiveness of action of identifica- tion, the speaker must use it in strict conformity with the law of identification, stated above. To start this correct use, you will find help in the fol- lowing : Experiments in Action of Identification i. For the first experiment, describe a play in a foot- ball game, at the particular time when two opposing teams are massed against each other in a hard struggle. Imagine that the play is taking place only a few yards before you and that you are describing, to a friend who stands beside you, 316 ACTION OF IDENTIFICATION the fine work that is being done by your favorite team. Show the positions which are being taken and the efforts which are being made by several players. For example, see how one player at the back of all the others, braces himself against the others, crouches low, puts his extended arms under men to his right and left, and, lifting himself, fairly carries them all forward. As you describe this and other plays, become so determined to make the friend beside you see and realize the movements you describe, that your own body moves with each player as you describe him. Prac- tice this description many times. 2. Second experiment. Prepare an original narrative description of a scene in which there is much action, where one, two, or three persons take the lead, struggling hard to accomplish something against strongly opposing forces and circumstances (as in a scene of rescue from a burning building) . Imagine you see the leaders now struck aghast at the spectacle, now pressing forward to overcome the diffi- culty. See them first lifting something, then pressing down something else ; pushing up certain things, then pulling down others; pushing forward someone, then pulling back some- one ; pressing together, then scattering different things which oppose them. Be filled with so intense a desire to see these men succeed, be filled with such a desire to help them, that you move with them in their every movement. Develop this description, by repeating the experiment many times, until you have actually seemed to see your heroes of the scene, performing practically every kind of effective action, and until you have fully identified yourself with them in all these actions. Go through this description and action before the class. EXPERIMENTS IN ACTION OF IDENTIFICATION 317 The speaker is sometimes inclined to remain identified with a person whose action he has just been following, even when he has passed on to the description of other persons. For example, the present writer recalls the work of a student who was describing a western scene in which the hero was surrounded by several rough characters who were bent on doing him violence. The hero raised his gun to his shoulder. When the student reached this point in his description, he raised an imaginary gun to his own shoulder. While the hero stood there, with his gun raised and his eye fixed on those persons who stood before him, some of the hero's assailants slipped behind him and pro- ceeded to prepare a rope with which to bind him. While the student described the movements of these men with the rope, he still stood in the attitude of the hero, with the imaginary gun still raised to his shoulder. The effect was, of course, bad, not to say ridiculous. The error in such cases is a double one. In the first place, the speaker goes through the action of identification when he is not really identified with the person described. In the case just cited, the student's hero was not doing anything sufficiently difficult for the student to long to help his hero as he watched him. That is to say, there was no strong cause of identification, hence, no strong identification only a make-believe. In the second place, when a speaker's action identifies him with one person or thing while he describes another, it is because the speaker's mind fails to move on with the events he is de- scribing. The instant the speaker is done with his description of any one action, his body should come entirely out 3l8 ACTION OF IDENTIFICATION of that action (no matter how fully it may have been identified with that action), and should remain ready but passive until it is called into action by something' else. Pantomime as a Developer of General Action So far we have devoted our entire attention to one form of action at a time. Several benefits have resulted from this method. In the first place, we have avoided confusing, in our minds, the various forms of action. Next, we have spent enough time in the study of each form, to give us a lasting knowledge of all. Finally, we have now learned how to stimulate the causes of each form of action, in the few experiments we have performed, so that we should not only have a knowledge of each form, but should also be ready to make practical use of all the forms. When we think of the action we shall need for prac- tical speaking, however, we realize that we cannot follow the method we have been following. It is easy to see that any speech may call for all kinds of action. For this reason, it is evident that the student of speaking should perform many experiments in which all sorts of action are demanded. To meet these demands, we have discovered nothing that brings such good results, especially to beginners in speech, as experiments in Pantomime. There are distinct psychological reasons why Pantomime is so beneficial. We said, in the chapter on Action of Purpose, that the average student seems to shrink from using action of any kind, when he speaks, because he has formed the habit of speak- PANTOMIME AS A DEVELOPER 319 ing without action. But he shrinks much less from the use of pantomime, The reason seems to be, that he has formed no habit at all, in connection with pantomime, for he has never tried to speak in action without words, hence he has no habit of inaction to overcome. This alone is a strong recommendation for pantomime; but it has more to commend it. "Necessity is the mother of invention"; we find this principle active in the work of pantomime. As soon as a speaker becomes aware that he cannot (or must not) express his thoughts in words, if he has any thoughts to express, he begins to search for some way to convey those thoughts without words. What is the result? He soon perceives that he possesses a great language that he did not know he had, the language of action. He finds that he can express some shades of thought, and many shades of feeling, through this sign language, which he cannot convey in words. He finds that he can tell his whole story without the use of a word. When he has done this until his whole body speaks for him, if he then tells his story in words and action, and if he tries to make his action-language tell as much as it did when he used no words, and his word-language tell as much as it did when he used no action, he finds that his ability to interest and influence his audience has increased many fold. We too seldom realize that we possess, not one, but three languages : The language of action, the language of voice, and the language of words. The first two are natural languages, while the language of words is only an acquired, artificial language. Can we afford, then, as students of speaking, to try to 32O ACTION OF IDENTIFICATION express all our thoughts and feelings in the artificial language and allow the two great natural languages to lie unused ? Nothing is equal to pantomime in bringing us to realize how much of the power of the speaker is lost when the action-language is not used. To begin the effective use of all forms of action, perform the following: Experiments in General Action I. Imagine that you go to a railroad station, perform, in pantomime, the acts necessary to get through the crowd- Find the bulletin-board and discover whether your train is on time. Watch the train come in. Look for a friend who is to arrive on this train, until you find him. Greet this friend and take him through the crowd to a convey- ance, and ride with him. Show your friend certain things as you drive along. Let your action point out to him the small, definite objects; unfold the more general ones, and picture the more beautiful and those from which you wish him to get the more lasting impressions. Arrive with your friend at your home. Perform the acts necessary to take him into the house, courteously assist him with his luggage, and take him to his room. Examine certain things which he gives you to examine. Let these employ several of your senses. Think of certain things you wish to tell this friend about, the size and shape of which you wish to show him. Show these by action of symbolism. Describe to him, very briefly, some recent game or other vigorous scene in which you become identi- EXPERIMENTS IN GENERAL ACTION 321 fied, with one or more of the persons whom you describe. Let your action show this. Describe certain things which are repulsive to you, and let your action repel these things ; describe other things and let your action show that you overcome them, conquer them. Be sure that the definite things in your mind and your attitudes toward those things, cause your actions. This work will be made much easier and more beneficial if you will make a careful outline of the things which you can imagine and which you intend to imagine in telling your pantomime story. When you have made this outline, and have performed the whole experiment in pantomime four times, then go through the entire experience using words as well as action. Condense the whole story to three minutes and be prepared to tell it to the class in pantomime, or in words and action. 2. For the second experiment, imagine that a war is on and that your best friend is in the war. Receive word that he has been wounded. Prepare to leave and go to him. Find him unconscious. Consult the doctor and the nurse, and observe the various facilities for taking care of your wounded friend. Imagine that he finally returns to con- sciousness. Talk to him and care for him. Present this first in pantomime and then do it in action and words together ; but be sure that, when you use words, you lose none of the action you employed when you made your action tell all. Condense the story to three minutes. 3. As a third experiment, imagine that you are a miser, Approach your secret dwelling and show by your action that you are taking all the precautions necessary to avoid being noticed. Enter your abode, and make sure that no 322 ACTION OF IDENTIFICATION one sees you or what you do. Imagine that you have sev- eral places where your hoarded wealth can be effectually hidden. Go to the one place where you feel practically sure you hid the money, and find it gone ! Complete the scene from your own creative imagination. Let this also be a three-minute pantomime story. This experiment furnishes an excellent opportunity to test the student's ability to do original and telling work. Realize that it will show your ability or your inability, therefore put your best effort into it. Does the terrible surprise and disappointment kill the miser, and, if so, how does it kill him ? Does the loss throw him into such a frenzy that the heat of his passion kills him, or does it prey upon his mind until it pinches out his life? Does it drive him to despair and suicide? Does he pursue the thief? Choose the outcome of the scene which seems to you the most plausible, and then enact all the details of such an ending. Your ability will be shown largely by your invention and by the large number of plausible details you introduce in your three-minute pantomime story. 4. In the fourth experiment, let the student further de- velop his ability to use action, by pantomiming selections from literature. If selections have been committed to memory and used in this course, previously to this time, let the student first use those selections. If no pieces from lit- erature have been used, use such as "A Legend of Bregenz," by Proctor; or "Herve Riel," by Browning; or "The Charge of the Light Brigade," by Tennyson; or "Paul Revere's Ride," by Longfellow; "Boot and Saddle," by Browning ; or either of the soliloquies in "Hamlet," the one in Act I, Scene 2, beginning with line 1 29 ; or the one in Act EXPERIMENTS IN GENERAL ACTION 323 II, Scene 2, beginning with line 533 ; or the quarrel between Brutus and Cassius, in "Julius Caesar/' Act I, Scene 3. In preparing any selection for pantomime : Be careful to commit the selection to memory only by the conception-forming method, and into every con- ception build your own action full and free action. (Review the discussions on pages 209-215 and 225-237.) Present each selection first in pantomime. Speak no words aloud, but enter so fully into every situation which the selection presents, and determine to make so clear every thought that is in your mind, that you tell the story as well, every part of it, as if you were using words. When you have practiced a story several times in pantomime, then present it in words and action. When you first attempt to present the story in words and action, you may feel that, since you are now using the words, you no longer need the elaborate action which was necessary to present the story without words. You must conquer this feeling at once, or all real benefit from the pantomime work you have been doing, will be lost. Compel yourself to speak slowly enough to give yourself time to assume attitudes of mind and body, as strong as you had when you had to tell the entire story by your action. Keep before your mind the motto "Action speaks louder than words," and keep saying to yourself: "If I am to tell this story as it ought to be told, then the principal part of the telling must be done by my action," CHAPTER XVII THE FEELINGS AND THEIR SOURCES IF one possess an emotional temperament, should he allow himself to express his emotions or should he repress them ? If he is not emotional, shall he try to become so? These are questions which come to every person who thinks. They come with especial force to every student who desires to fit himself for a life of usefulness. If the inquirer asks the advice of others, he is likely to become more confused than before. One person will declare the emotions the greatest enemy to practical success in the world; another will assert with emphasis that all of life will be a failure unless one train himself to appreciate the emotional in life. One will say that emotion destroys thought and ability to reason ; another will say that all thought devoid of emotion is lifeless and useless. This person sees in the emotional man or woman only lack of control; that person sees no- where such lofty and noble power as he sees in those lives which are filled with feeling. In the face of this con- troversy, what shall the student conclude? Is emotion, for him, an asset or a liability? Where such a clash of opinion is found, touching one of our faculties, there is likely to be a misunderstanding somewhere. Perhaps different men have different things in mind when they speak of emotion. Let us find the cause of the controversy if we can. 324 THE THREE KINDS OF FEELINGS 325 KINDS OF FEELINGS . A thorough study into the nature and the causes of various feelings, shows us that they are of three general kinds or classes. First, we find those feelings which re- mind us of the physical existence of the many things around us. Someone says: "Why, that is just what the sensations do." True enough. Then are these feelings simply sensations, and are all sensations feelings? Let us see. A flash of light or color comes to your eye. It is an unquestioned sensation, isn't it ? Yet you had no par- ticular feeling did you? At another time a flash of light comes to your eye so quickly and with such force that a sharp pain darts through your eye. It was none the less a sensation than before, yet it gave you a decided feeling. So, we discover that we can have sensations of sight with and without feeling. As I sit here, my sense of sound tells me that my clock is ticking. I experience nothing that I could call a feeling. Suddenly some one near me claps his hands together so violently that my ear pains me for some moments. The sensation of sound may or may not produce appreciable feeling. I uncork a bottle of perfume and the odor comes to me in such peaceful quiet that I do not feel it; but when I draw the stopper from a bottle of strong ammonia and place the bottle under my nose, a spasm of pain shoots through my head. If I taste sugar, I may not be conscious of any feeling;- but red pepper is placed on my tongue, taste suddenly seems to have taken on feeling. In all the senses we find the same con- ditions. 326 THE FEELINGS AND THEIR SOURCES From these facts we conclude, first, that while a sensa- tion need not contain a "feeling," yet each sense is capable of giving us distinct feeling. Secondly, we conclude that: Whenever any one of the senses receives an impres- sion strong enough to set up a violent action in the nerves, that very action itself is to us a feeling, a feeling strong enough to be confused with emotion. We say "con- fused with" emotion, for we shall see later that it is very different from emotion. This class of feelings, set ap in us wholly by the physical influence of things in the outer world, we call sensational feelings. Now there are two conditions either of which may pro- duce strong sensational feelings. The motion-waves com- ing to a person from the thing giving him the sensation may be so strong (as in the case of a loud noise or a violent blow) that they would startle the nervous system of anyone; or the person affected by the motion- waves may have so little control of his nerves that many sensa- tions throw him into a commotion which have no such effect on more quiet and better controlled persons. You have often seen this illustrated. A score of people are in a room together when a door slams. One single person experiences such extreme feeling, because of the sound, that she screams and is thrown into a "nervous fit," while all the others remain quiet. Is this one person the only emotional one in the room? Is she even the most emotional one ? Quite the contrary. We have often found such an one far less emotional than those who had better control and less sensational shocks. At the time of this writing, the author has in his classes a young lady of whose THE THREE KINDS OF FEELINGS 327 emotions he has made a special study for a number of years. She is intensely subject to sensational shocks. A loud noise or a sudden movement or a flash of light or excite- ment of any kind, will cause her intense feeling. We have made every reasonable test of her emotions and find that she is almost devoid of emotion. At least she is much less capable of experiencing the emotions than others are, who have much less sensational feeling than she has. Further- more, she is least capable of real emotion when she is most subject to sensational shocks. We have seen others af- fected by joy when she was not; by sorrow, when she was not; by exultation, when she was not; by depression, when she was not; by courage, when she was not; and even by fear, when she was not. In many of these cases, her sensational feelings ran high at the very moment when other persons received the thrill of emotion. We know that she did not experience any such feelings as could rightly be called emotions we know it by the absence of all evidence of emotion, and by her own testimony that she had no such experience. This is one of many cases we have investigated. There has been practically no ex- ception to the results here recorded. These tests should leave no question, in the mind of any reasonable person, as to the fact that there is a difference between the feelings received from sensational impressions, and the feelings which we may, unhesitatingly, call emo- tions. It should also be clear that : If he wishes to know the value of emotion in his work, the intending speaker must first know the difference be- tween an emotion and a sensational feling. Since these two classes of feelings can exist, the one 328 THE FEELINGS AND THEIR SOURCES without the other, and since increase of the one often tends to decrease the other, it is evident that they come from different causes. But: Since sensational feelings are often, erroneously, re- garded as emotions, and, since the sensational feelings are so often found in persons who have little control of themselves, it is not surprising that many persons, er- roneously, look upon emotion as a weakness. Some of the psychologists have failed to give us any- thing helpful in their treatment of the emotions, largely because they have confused the sensational feelings with the emotions. One author, for example, has written a book of considerable size on 'Tain and Pleasure." Near the end of this book, the author admits that he is not able to account for the causes of our most important emotions. We do not wonder that he has failed to discover these most important causes, when we learn that he has not discovered the difference between mere physical pains and pleasures, and those feelings which we shall shortly dis- cuss under the name emotions. On the other hand, so notable an authority as M. Ribot, who has, probably, given more thorough study to the emotions than any other writer, shows, many times, in his remarkable book Psychology of the Emotions, that Sensational Feelings (though he does not give them this name) are distinctly different from Emotions. Sensational feelings may give us pain or they may give us pleasure. For example, we may get a sensational feel- ing that is decidedly pleasant, from hearing a strong, full chord of music; or we may get a sensational feeling that is decidedly painful, from hearing a terrific explosion. The THE THREE KINDS OF FEELINGS 329 thing we must now get clearly established in mind, is, that there is one large class of feelings which arise from the purely physical cause stated above. Now it requires but little thinking to enable us to realize that we have many feelings which do not arise from this cause which produces the sensational feelings. Gurney, the noted English psychologist (Mind, IX, 425), declares that he has "received as much emotion in the silent reading of music as when presented by the finest orchestra." You hear someone speak the name of a certain person. There is nothing in the sound of the name, as you hear it, that would give you either pain or pleasure, yet, the instant you hear that name, you have a strong feeling of displeasure. You hear the name of a certain other person and you instantly have a strong feeling of pleasure. You need not be told that those feelings did not arise from a physical cause. You know that they started in your mind. You know that each of these feelings was caused by a certain regard you had for the person whose name you heard. To all such feelings which arise from our thinking about something, we sometimes loosely apply the term "emotions." A careful investigation of these inner feelings, as we may call them, soon reveals the fact that they are not all of the same kind or class. Some of these inner feelings always seem to do us good; others always seem to do us harm. We are all familiar with the scriptural proverb: "A merry laugh doeth good like a medicine." We have also often heard the saying: "Worry wears worse than work." Since 'both mirth and worry start from our think- ing of something, these old sayings would suggest that there are at least two distinct kinds of feelings which arise 33 THE FEELINGS AND THEIR SOURCES within us. These proverbs suggest also that the feelings of one of these kinds are to be desired, and that the feel- ings of the other kind are to be avoided. If this is the case, it is very important that we come to know the differ- ence between these two kinds of feelings and the causes of each kind. As I sit here in my study, I see several boys at play. One strikes another a sounding whack upon the back. The boy struck turns quickly upon the other with his clenched fist raised as if to knock down the offender. He stops short, however, when he sees that the blow was struck in play by his best friend. "You rascal/' he says, and his fist falls with a playful thump on the arm of the play-mate. Both boys laugh and seem the happier and the stronger for the experience. Again the boy who was first struck is at play when another boy hits him upon the back. The one struck remembers the friendly blow. He smiles, and turns round but stops suddenly! He sees before him the angry face of his enemy. Instantly his anger is hot, and he deals a vicious blow. To look at him now is to realize that he is filled with a feeling that is doing him harm rather than good is destroying his abilities. This feeling has instantly made him weaker in ability to reason and to control himself. It has made him weaker in ability to enjoy himself. It has even made him weaker in physical ability. In other words, his three natures, life, mind and soul, are all impaired by the feeling that has been generated within him. There is certainly the greatest possible difference be- tween the feeling this boy had the first time he was struck and the feeling he had the second time, yet both these THE THREE KINDS OF FEELINGS 33! feelings arose in his mind and came from the regard this boy had for the boy who struck him. Let iis consider another example : Two sisters were con- stant companions. The love of the younger for the elder amounted to devotion. While the elder sister lived, the younger girl was hale, hearty and happy. Just to think of her sister made the younger completely happy. Re- cently the elder sister died. The intense love of the younger sister for the departed one, made her think day and night of the companionship she had had. It made her feel that she could not give up that companionship. In a short time she died from grief. Surely there could be no greater difference between two feelings than there was between the feeling that made this girl happy and the feeling that made her unhappy and finally caused her death. Yet it is obvious that both these feelings arose in the mind and that both were caused (in part, at least) by this girl's thinking about her sister. The cases just examined (both taken from the personal observations of the present writer) and many others which may be found on every hand, prove to us that the feelings which arise in the mind, and which are all, sometimes, loosely called "emotions," are of two distinct kinds. These observations also prove that one of these kinds of feelings is very desirable and that the other is very undesirable. The first kind we call CONSTRUCTIVE EMOTIONS. The sec- ond kind we call DESTRUCTIVE EMOTIONS. The significance of the names is clear when we consider that the feelings of one kind construct or build up all the powers of the person who has these feelings, while those of the other 332 THE FEELINGS AND THEIR SOURCES kind tear down or destroy the powers of the person in whom they arise. That we are more than warranted in calling the two kinds of emotion "constructive" and "destructive," is proved, not only by the original experiments and observa- tions we have made, but also by the testimony of some of the greatest thinkers. Professor Bain (Mind and Body, Ch. IV) declares that "states of pleasure are connected with an increase; states of pain, with a decrease, of some or all of the vital functions." Hobbes and Leibnitz hold the same view. Hoffding (Psych., p. 272, transl.) says: "Pleasure is the expression of heightened life; pain, the forerunner of death." Dagonet (Traite des Maladies Mental, pp. 360 et seq.) shows how persons nave lost their health through melancholia (destructive emotion in ex- treme form) and, later, have become exceedingly vigorous when they became megalomaniacs (constructive emotion in exaggerated form). Ribot (Psychology of the Emotions, p. 120) discovers that whenever the body experiences emo- tion, intense "chemical action is going on in the tissues and fluids of the organism." We all know that: When intense chemical action is going on in any or- ganism, that organism is either being built up or torn down; hence, real emotion is always constructive or destructive. Dr. Morton Prince (The Dissociation of a Personality, p. 22) says: "Particular emotional states, like fear or anxiety, or general mental distress, have the tendency to disintegrate the mental organization in such a way that the normal associations become severed or loosened." Un- THE THREE KINDS OF FEELINGS 333 questionably, some emotions are destructive; and just as certainly other emotions are strongly constructive. We have now found three kinds of feelings which we are capable of having. They are the Sensational Feelings, Constructive Emotions, and Destructive Emotions. We have also found the second and final reason why some persons think emotion a bad thing. (We noted the first reason on p. 328.) Whenever a person who loves control and hates weakness, sees anyone "beside himself" with grief or anger, or any other of the destructive emotions, what is the result? The observer is practically sure to decide that the person observed would be much better off if he would learn to suppress all emotion. Investigation has proved that this is how emotion has come to have the bad name it has with many people. They have failed to discover that there are good and bad emotions, and have, unjustly, and unwisely, con- demned the good with the bad. It goes without the saying that the destructive emotions are bad, and that all emotions of this class (fear, dread, horror, excitement, anger, hatred, revenge, envy, jealousy, sadness, grief, etc.) should be suppressed in our educa- tional development ; but : Let us not make the fatal error of attempting to sup- press those feelings which give us larger lives, larger thoughts, and larger souls. Such feelings are the emo- tions of faith, love, courage, gratitude, joy, happiness, etc. These are the best friends of the speaker, and these the student of speech must cultivate if he would do his best work. 334 THE FEELINGS AND THEIR SOURCES THE SOURCES OF THE EMOTIONS Since we desire to rid ourselves of our destructive emo- tions the first thing to do, is to find the cause of these feelings, and then remove the cause. Since we desire to develop our constructive emotions, the first thing, with them, is to find the cause of these feelings and then de- velop that cause. Let us, then, try to find the cause of each. Let us consider again the cases of the boys at play, cited above (pp. 330-331). The boy who was first struck, turned around with an attitude of bitter resentment, but, on seeing his friend, his attitude changed to one of friend- liness, and he became filled with constructive emotion. The next time this boy was struck, he turned around with an attitude of friendliness, but, on seeing his enemy, his atti- tude changed to one of bitter resentment, and he became filled with destructive emotion. It would appear, then, that each of these two kinds of emotion starts in a certain attitude of the mind. Ribot (Pshch. of the Emotions, 153) asks this question: "Does not the recollection of a foolish action make one blush?" This is a good example of the part that attitude of the mind plays, not only in forming, but also in reviving an emotional state an important thought for the speaker, for : He must constantly be performing both these acts, forming and reviving emotion. Then, if each of these two kinds of feelings, the com- structive and the destructive emotions, starts in a simple attitude of the mind, and if the vast difference between our feelings when they are best and when they are worst, is THE SOURCES OF THE EMOTIONS 335 the direct result of our taking one kind or another kind of attitude, then it is clear that : If we wish to control and develop our emotions, as we must do if we hope to do effective speaking, we must find what causes us to take different attitudes of mind. If we examine again the case of the boy who assumed the two very different attitudes, we easily discover (as we found in our study of Action and its Causes) that each attitude was caused by the thing which he, that moment, recognized. In the one case, he recognized a friend (some- thing that could help him), and he assumed an attitude from which grew constructive emotions. In the other case, he recognized an enemy (something that could harm him), and he assumed an attitude from which grew destructive emotions. The same principle will be found in every ex- ample of real emotion which we may examine. On this point we quote Ribot (Psych, of the Emotions t 214-215) : "The cause is in some event of a man's previous life, of which he retains a recollection.'* He may not be able to recall just what it was that gave him an attitude of at- traction or repulsion, or when it was that he experienced that thing, but his mind still holds a conception of some- thing like the thing that now affects him. The basic cause of an emotion is always a conception. When we have a constructive emotion, it is caused by our recognizing, in the thing contemplated, something that will help us; when we have a destructive emotion, it is caused by our recognizing, in the thing contem- plated, something that will harm or hinder us. It is easy to see, however, that while conception is the basic cause of every real emotion, it is not the whole cause. THE FEELINGS AND THEIR SOURCES Something must happen to a conception, something more than merely taking an attitude toward it, before it can produce an emotion, at least before it can produce an emotion strong enough to be effective in public speaking. This thought brings before us one of the most interesting and essential points in the study of the emotions for speak- ing, namely: THE RELATION OF BODILY ACTION TO EMOTION The Two Theories During the last thirty-five years, a great psychological battle has been fought on this question as to how much the actions of the body have to do with the production of emotion, and when they affect the growth of an emotion. Before 1885, men had always believed that emotion caused the body to act, but, in 1885, two of the greatest thinkers, Dr. James of Harvard University, and Dr. Lange, of Copenhagen, startled the thinking world by declaring that this is the very opposite to the truth. Both these men came forth, almost simultaneously, with the doctrine that bodily actions cause emotion. Since both Dr. James and Dr. Lange had proclaimed the doctrine, it is called the James-Lange theory. A few brief illustrations will show us just what this theory is. Dr. James (Psych. II, 449-450) says: Common sense says, we lose our fortune, are sorry and weep ; we meet a bear, are frightened and run ; we are insulted by a rival, are angry and strike. . . . My theory says that we THE RELATION OF BODILY ACTION TO EMOTION 337 feel sorry because we cry, we feel angry because we strike, we feel afraid because we tremble. Now we believe that both the old and the new theories are right and that both are wrong. Each one is right in part and each one is wrong in part. Let us first consider wherein the old theory is true. This theory claimed that our feelings cause our actions, that if we strike to hurt someone, we do so because we have first become angry at that person. Most of us are ready to testify that we have often felt intense feeling before we let ourselves act. We have been very angry many times just before we expressed our anger, either by striking, or by calling the other person names. We have sometimes been angry when we did not allow ourselves to strike, or otherwise express our anger when we compelled ourselves to remain quiet. We have been intensely amused before we allowed our feelings to burst forth in laughter. Sometimes we felt that things were so funny that we could scarcely contain our- selves, and yet did not allow ourselves to laugh. If we trace our experiences through all the emotions, we shall find the same things to be true. Then, since we often ex- perience intense feeling just before the bodily action takes place, it would seem that there is some ground for the notion that the feeling causes the action. But, since we sometimes experience the feeling and yet do not act, it is clear that there is some other cause of action, than our feelings. So the old theory is, at best, only partly true. We shall return to consider it later. Now let us find the truth in the James-Lange notion, that our actions cause our emotions. Most of us will admit that we have had intense feeling just after our bodies have 338 THE FEELINGS AND THEIR SOURCES acted on some thought. We have seen but little humor in a certain thing till we began to laugh, and then we became so completely filled with laughter that we almost went into hysterics. We have felt but slight resentment toward some one, till we struck the first blow ; but, when that blow was struck, our anger was doubled many times, and, with each succeeding blow, our anger rose to greater heat. In these and many other instances which we could call up from our own experiences, it seems that the new theory may be true, that the action does cause the emotion. But what shall we say of that experience when we struck a blow and then were immediately sorry? Surely, if we are consistent, we will admit that if the action causes the feeling, then the same kind of action will cause the same kind of feeling at one time as it caused at another time. A blow will not, at one time, produce anger and, at another time, produce sorrow which is the opposite to anger. Or what shall we say of that experience when we struck a blow and immedi- ately found our anger satisfied and abated? Surely action did not cause emotion in that case. It rather seems to have destroyed the emotion than to have caused it. So we find that the new theory, like the old one, is, at best, only partially true. The error in both these notions, lies in the fact that they do not go deep enough to find the real cause of emotion. The supporters of both these theories are just a little guilty of the ancient error of "post hoc ergo propter hoc," the belief that because a thing comes after another thing, there- fore it is caused by that other thing. Each of the two things, action and emotion, as we have just seen, may seem to cause the other. Each may, and often does, come after THE RELATION OF BODILY ACTION TO EMOTION 339 the other. Each, in turn, may be stronger because it comes after the other; but each one is the result of a deeper and more fundamental cause. The fundamental cause of emotion is Conception. Whenever we have a real emotion, it is caused by our recognising, in the thing toward which we have the emotion, the ability to help or harm us, or to help or harm the sub- ject of which we that moment think. (See pp. 334-335.) This act of recognizing, as we have learned, is Conception. In our study of Bodily Action, we found precisely the same cause. We learned that all intelligent, purposeful action is caused not only by a conception, but by the very same conception which we now find to be the fundamental cause of all true emotion, namely, a conception of some- thing that will help or hinder us. From these two discoveries, what are we to conclude? Are we warranted in deciding that action and emotion are one and the same thing, inasmuch as they arise from the same cause ? The thoughtful student of speech can see that this would be a fatal error. To admit that action and emotion are one and the same thing, would force us next to admit that whenever emotion is needed, all we have to do is to indulge some bodily action. Of all things which might happen to speech, that would be about the worst. The fun- damental reason why we must not confound action and emotion, is this: while both action and emotion arise in the same mental process, yet the bodily action may be re- produced by reflex action of the nerves, without the mental process which first produced them both, while emotion re- quires the mental process every time it is produced. This is so from the very nature of emotion. The instant 340 THE FEELINGS AND THEIR SOURCES the mental and the bodily processes are separated, the emotion dies. We may turn our minds to the thing that formerly caused any emotion and we may think about that thing as long as we please, but unless we assume again toward that thing such as attitude as will cause us again to act upon that thing or be acted upon by it, we will have no emotion. In other words, unless we again use our bodies, literally or in imagination, as they were used when the emotion was first produced, the emotion will not be reproduced. We have made the test hundreds of times and it has never failed to prove this a true law. Nor do we rely on our own experiments alone to prove this principle. Dr. James is strong in his adherence to this law of emotion. He says (Psychology II, 451) : "If we fancy some strong emotion, and then try to abstract from our consciousness of it all the feelings of its bodily symptoms, we find we have nothing left behind/' Let the student make the test and he will find that he can do any of the three following things: i. He can turn his mind to a conception which formerly produced an emotion and think about that con- ception without producing in himself either action or emotion. 2. He can voluntarily reproduce the action which formerly accompanied his emotion and yet not have the emotion. 3. He may so turn his mind to that conception and so hold his mind upon that conception as to reproduce both the mental and physical processes which he experi- enced when he had the emotion. When he does the latter, he will then have the emotion. Ribot (Psychology of the Emotions, p. 112) says: "Organic and motor manifestations are not accessories. They are part of the emotion." SQ they are, the physical part of emotion. THE RELATION OF BODILY ACTION TO EMOTION 34! Action is but the physical part of the process by which emotion is produced, when the mind and the body are acting simultaneously toward the object which causes the emotion. These observations also define constructive emotion: Constructive emotion is the immediate evidence of the union and co-operation of the mind and the body as they work together to gain something earnestly hoped for. Let us see how my theory conforms with the old and the new theories which we have considered. Is it not clear that it preserves them both? Neither the old nor the new theory would accept or admit the other; and therein lay the error of both. My theory accepts and preserves both, by showing how each needs the other. Emotion does start in the mind (as the old theory declared) and it does start in the body (as the James-Lange theory declared), but only when mind and body are simultaneously affected by the thing considered. The mind must start the emotion, and must continue to hold its definite attitude toward the thing causing the emotion, or the emotion instantly dies. But the body also starts the emotion, for only through the body do we feel. The mind finds the thing that can make us feel, but the body must let that thing affect it. Until it does so, there is no emotion. More than that, the body must continue to be affected (to be used, if you please) by the thing causing the emotion; for, even when a good emotion is started, that emotion dies the instant the body ceases to be affected by the thing thought about. Let the student make the test and he will find these to be the in- evitable results. 342 THE FEELINGS AND THEIR SOURCES From these facts it is clear that either of the two mooted theories, stated above, if it stand alone, is a false guide for the student of speaking, and cannot lead him into that true and full emotion which effective speaking demands. The old theory said the mind produces the feeling and that the feeling produces action. If a speaker follows this theory, what is the result? There are numerous examples all around us, which answer the question. Let the student make a study of any speaker who has decided to think himself into emotion, without the use of action, and he will find that speaker growing less and less emotional. More than this, you will find that the speaking of that man grows less and less effective. The James-Lange theory (see p. 336 above) says that bodily action causes emotion. What is the result if a speaker tries to produce feeling according to this recipe? We have tried this plan on hundreds of students of all kinds of temperaments. The result of these investigations has been this. We have found that whenever a speaker tries to work himself up into an emotional state by using bodily actions, the speaking is even worse than it is when the speaker tries to think himself into emotion without using action. The latter method starves the speech by giving it no emotion; but to try to work up emotion by performing certain actions, substitutes a false emotion for a real one, which is far worse in speaking than to have no emotion. It is almost impossible to believe how bad will be the results that can come from applying this James-Lange theory to speaking. This is shown in a striking manner in a recent publication. The book to which we refer explains this theory at some length, accepts it, and then proceeds to THE RELATION OF BODILY ACTION TO EMOTION 343 apply it to the work of the speaker. We quote from this book, the following: If the bodily symptoms of an emotion are the direct cause of it, what would happen if we should voluntarily produce these symptoms, though there were no logical reason for the emotion? The answer would of necessity follow that crying would produce sorrow and laughing would produce joy. . . . Let anyone attempt to produce within himself all the real symptoms of an emotion with which he is familiar, and he may be surprised, if the attempt be novel, to discover that the emotion is actually produced. When we first read these statements, we are apt to think that the author intended them as a joke. A more careful reading, however, shows us that he meant them in all seri- ousness, impossible as that may seem. It only shows how far we may be led astray in our efforts to produce natural and effective speaking, if we accept the James-Lange theory of the emotions. Even if real feeling could be produced in this way, it is one of the worst things a speaker can attempt, for it takes his mind away from his subject and sets him to performing elocutionary tricks. Let the student try to develop his feel- ings in the shallow, superficial manner suggested by the statements quoted in the second paragraph above, and his speaking will be nothing but an exhibition of face-making, of hollow laughter, or "crocodile tears," disgusting to all sound-minded people. It is just such attempts to substitute some artificial, mechanical method for nature's own way of producing effective speaking, which have given to "elocu- tion" and "oratory" the bad name they have so long had. Since it is clear that the action of the body must join the action of the mind to bring forth an emotion, the question arises : 344 THE FEELINGS AND THEIR SOURCES What causes the body to join its action with the action of the mind? We shall see that this is done through the PROCESS OF FAITHING OR THE PROCESS OF FEARING Whenever the body begins to feel some effect from any- thing thought about, it does so because we have begun to faith or to fear the thing" thought about. What is it to faith or to fear? Most of us have at least a general notion of what it is to fear, but very few have what could be called a working knowledge of the term "to faith/' St. Paul, one of the greatest psychologists the world has ever known, denned faith as "the substance of things hoped for." Probably no better definition could be given than this one when it is rightly understood. Notice where we have placed the emphasis. We have placed it on "the sub- stance" It is a significant fact that most persons, in in- terpreting this definition of St. Paul's, throw the emphasis on "hoped" making the definition read "Faith is the sub- stance of things hoped for." Such a reading destroys the value of the definition. St. Paul caught the vital truth that "to faith" means to catch, right now, on the instant, the substance of the thing we this moment hope for, or wish we had. To faith, then, is to begin to realize what it would be to have the thing we wish we had. This makes faith a very active thing. It is no longer a synonym for "trust," as many persons are inclined to re- gard it. Trust is a negative, yielding process; faith is an active, building process. To trust is to give one's self over PROCESS OF FAITHING OR FEARING 345 into the hands of the person or thing trusted, and wait for something wished for; to faith is to set about getting the thing hoped for. That most persons give to "faith" the same meaning as they do to "trust," is shown, not only by the fact that nearly every person asked to define faith will say "faith is trust/' but also by the fact that all the makers of dictionaries have failed to realize that faith is a verb as well as a noun. We have contended, for years, that it is one of the most active verbs in the language; yet, so far as we know, only one writer has been progressive enough to use the word "faith" as a verb. That writer is Dr. Isaac T. Headland, formerly of the University of Peking, whose writings show that the reason he does this, is that he realizes, as others have not done, the value and the power of faith. We believe that the time is soon coming when every dictionary will class "to faith" as an active verb. And why should they not? We speak of "imagining," of "reasoning," of "understanding," of "loving," "fearing," "trusting," etc. We think nothing of regarding all these as verbs, yet "to faith" is the most intense action of which the human make-up is capable, unless it be "to love." Let us, then, as students of speaking, where so much active faith- ing will be required of us, let us regard faith as'one of the most active of the verbs. Before we follow the study of faithirig any farther, we must clearly understand what it is to fear. Ask the aver- age child what it is to fear, and he will probably reply: "It means to get scared." The present writer knew a man who had grown old in body but was still a child in mind, who was always afraid to go alone in the dark. When asked what he was afraid of, he would always reply: "I'm 346 THE FEELINGS AND THEIR SOURCES afeared I'll get skeert." While this poor fellow had what is commonly regarded as a "feeble" mind, he gave us an unusually clear notion of the substance of fearing. Just as St. Paul defined faith as "the substance of things hoped for," so we may define fear as the substance of things not desired. This, as you will see, makes fear the very opposite to faith. Just as "to faith" means that we, at the moment, begin to realize what it would be to have the thing we that moment wish we had, so "to fear" means that we, at the moment, begin to realize what it would be to have the thing we that moment wish to avoid. Now let us see what these two processes have to do with the actions of our bodies. Did you ever learn to ride a bicycle? Can you forget how you saw that tree by the side of the road, and how you began to fear that you might strike that small tree instead of the large road? Can you forget that you did just exactly what you thought you would do? exactly what you feared you would do? You turned from the road and went almost directly into that tree. What caused you to do that? From the nature and the process of fearing, is it not clear that you struck the tree because you feared you would? The instant you saw the tree, you began to imagine what it would be to hit it. You fixed your mind upon the tree and upon the thought of striking it, until you began to get "the substance" of striking it that is, until you began to imagine yourself actually striking it. The moment you did that, you made it absolutely certain that you would hit the tree, if your mind continued to hold that conception and that atti- tude, for: PROCESS OF FAITHING OR FEARING 347 The instant the entire being becomes filled with "the substance" of anything thought of, if that substance is action, then the muscles can do nothing but perform that action. Again on this point, the great mind of St. Paul has given us the law of the mind: "That which I fear shall come upon me." Let the student perform as many experi- ments as he likes, and he will find this law true whenever the process of fearing is indulged. What fear has to do with bodily action, then, is clear. As long as we really fear a thing, our bodies will per- form (actually or imaginatively) whatever actions are re- quired to receive or experience the thing which we wish to avoid. A moment's careful thought will cause us to realize what Fear has to do with Action and with Emotion. .FEARING IS THE PROCESS WHICH JOINS THE ACTION OF THE BODY WITH THE ACTION OF THE MIND IN SUCH A WAY AS TO PRO- DUCE THE DESTRUCTIVE EMOTIONS. It is the process which develops a conception of something undesirable, into a destructive emotion. Is this not clear? What causes us to which to avoid anything ? Is it not that we have learned that that thing is an enemy, or, at least, a hindrance to us? Then, when our minds persist in contemplating that hin- drance so earnestly that we imagine ourselves actually ex- periencing it, what are we doing but inviting that hindrance and suffering it to do its worst with us? That "worst" will be, to fill us with destructive emotion. Examine any one of the long list of destructive emotions fright, terror, dread, horror, anger, hatred, envy, jealousy, sadness, grief, despair, despondency, etc. and you will find that it, and 34^ THE FEELINGS AND THEIR SOURCES all the bodily actions which support it, arise from the proc- ess of fearing. The mind first runs afoul of some- thing it wishes to avoid, then proceeds to contemplate how bad it would be to suffer that thing, until it has the whoJe being, body as well as mind, working together receiving and experiencing that thing. The instant we get "the substance" of anything we wish to avoid, that instant we invite disaster to our powers of leadership. Certainly it is worth while for the intending speaker, who looks forward to his work as leader, to train him- self to avoid the process of fearing, and its destructive consequences. These observations should also make clear the relation which Faith bears to Action and Emotion. Just as fear- ing is the process which develops destructive or undesirable emotions, so FAITHING is THE PROCESS WHICH JOINS THE ACTION OF THE BODY TO THE ACTION OF THE MIND IN SUCH A WAY AS TO PRODUCE THE CONSTRUCTIVE EMOTIONS. It is the process which develops a conception of something de- sirable into a constructive emotion. To illustrate, suppose that you are before an audience, pleading for a child-labor law. Naturally, you wish to have the audience conceive definitely the acts they must perform in order to obtain that law, and also the benefits the law would bring. What do you do? You set your mind to contemplating those things to which you believe your hearers must turn their minds for instance, the opposi- tion they must overcome. First, you clearly conceive that opposition and what is required to overcome it. You show these things to the audience, and, as you do so, you imagine PROCESS OF FAITHING OR FEARING 349 how you would feel if you were, this moment, meeting and overcoming that opposition. The immediate result is, that you become filled with the very emotion of courage which you wish to impart to the audience. As you imagine, in like manner, how you would feel, if, this moment, you had won the victory which you wish the audience to win, you become filled with the emotions of triumph and joy which you wish your hearers to anticipate, to spur them on. Finally, as you clearly conceive some of the actual benefits which such a law should bring, you imagine that you see those benefits now taking place. Soon you realize what it would be to be one .of those children whose lives are made freer and happier by the law contemplated. When you can do this, you can easily show the audience the happiness they will enjoy when they have done the thing for which you plead. When you have finished, you will realize that the success of your entire plea has depended on your being able, while speaking, to get "the substance" of the thing for which you plead. In other words, it depended on the proc- ess of faithing, by which you developed your constructive emotions. Examine any one of the many constructive emotions happiness, mirth, joy, confidence, courage, benevolence, love, devotion, and others and you will find that it is de- veloped, in this same way, through the process of faithing. The mind first discerns something which it wishes to re- ceive, then proceeds to contemplate how good it would be to have that thing, until it has the whole being (body as well as mind) working together to receive that thing. Out of this process, instantly springs some constructive emotion. What could be of greater value to the speaker or to the 350 THE FEELINGS AND THEIR SOURCES audience? The thing the speaker desires (or should desire) out of which a constructive emotion may arise, is some- thing that will bring a larger and better experience to his audience. The moment he has clearly conceived such a thing, and actively faiths it, until he is rilled with the con- structive emotion which it breeds, the speaker himself feels that larger experience which he wishes for his audience. He instantly sees with a larger vision, feels with a larger heart, acts with a larger body becomes a larger man. In short, he has become, through this very process, the leader which it is the speaker's duty to be. As long as the speaker or the reader continues actively to faith things sanely con- ceived, he will not only be a leader but a true leader. THE RELATION BETWEEN FAITHING AND COMMUNI- CATING Another important thing for the student of speaking, is that he realize the relation between the process of faithing and the act of communicating his ideas to others. One of the philosophers has said it is better that we should speak our good thoughts to a stone by the road-side than to let them lie unspoken. If that is true, it is worth thinking about. If it is true, why is it true? What makes it better for us, who do the speaking, to speak a good thought even if no one else hears it? Before we attempt to answer these questions, let us see if we can find more evidence than merely this man's testi- mony, on this interesting principle. Have you ever studied the child who plays only by himself? If you have not, do FAITHING AND COMMUNICATING 351 so at the first opportunity. If the child plays absolutely alone, as in two cases the author of this book has observed, with not even an interested parent to whom to talk about his games or his toys, you will find that, day by day, week by week, and month by month, that child's faithing power becomes less and less. Finally he comes to the condition where he scarcely seems able to get "the substance" of anything hoped for. Indeed, he seems hardly to hope. Observe another child, one who has been taught to share his toys, his "good things," and his pleasures with some of his little friends. If he' is a normally healthy boy, you will find his faithing process growing constantly, growing as rapidly as a canna in rich loose soil, in hot weather, after a good rain. You will find this boy constantly getting "the substance" of things hoped for, constantly telling his com- panions of some new fun they can have, some new game or new scheme he has thought out, some new beings they can imagine themselves, etc., etc. He has a better time than anybody else. He is literally bubbling over with good time which he pours out to his playmates. He faiths everything. Does the difference between these two boys lie in the fact that one of them has communicated his pleasures and the other has not ? When the second boy became filled with the desire to impart his first pleasure, what happened to him? Impersonate him and you will discover that when he be- comes engrossed with an intense hope that his friend will get as great pleasure as he gets, this causes him to live again his own pleasure at its highest, and, at the same time, to live in advance the pleasure he hopes for his friend to have. In other words, he has, at least doubled his own enjoyment. This makes clear the hidden meaning of the old saying: "A 352 THE FEELINGS AND THEIR SOURCES pleasure shared is a pleasure doubled." The child who has been taught to impart his pleasures to others, increases his faithing process by that very practice. Just as faith is required of the man who would speak well; so speaking well, imparting to others our best and largest thoughts and feelings, will develop the faithing ability which effective speaking requires. PRACTICAL SPEAKING ON THE FEELINGS AND THEIR SOURCES To fix in mind the laws governing the feelings, and, at the same time, to put your knowledge concerning the feel- ings, into practical use, prepare to speak on this subject. Outline this chapter and then practice speaking extempore on the various divisions of your outline and also on the whole chapter. Make your work as original as possible by using your own illustrations. Make an application of each point to your own needs in speaking. CHAPTER XVIII DEVELOPMENT OF THE EMOTIONS The Work of Reproducing the Emotions EMOTION in speaking is, of necessity, largely a reproduc- tive process. If a speaker hopes to have strong emotional feeling when actually before his audience, he must create that strong feeling beforehand, so that when before the audience he needs only to re-experience the feeling he formerly had. Some persons hold the false belief that a real emotion cannot be revived, hence, that true emotion in speaking, or in any art, is not possible. Ribot after hundreds of experi- ments, testifies (Psych, of the Emotions, 153) : It is a serious error to assert that only the conditions of the emotion can be revived, not the emotional state itself. The experiments of the present writer, performed on himself and many others, seem to prove that those who can- not revive "the emotional state itself," have lacked vigorous sensations and strong attitudes of mind in the original ex- perience. In other words, if a speaker cannot feel real emotion when before an audience, it is probably because that emotion was not as strong as it might have been when he previously experienced it. 353 354 DEVELOPMENT OF THE EMOTIONS For such speakers there is but one remedy, namely, to build stronger emotions in the preparation of their speeches. To do so, one must receive stronger sensations from the things which should produce emotion, and must assume toward those things stronger attitudes of mind, and must develop those attitudes by a stronger process of faithing. ( See discussion pp. 344-350. ) Marshall (Pain, Pleasure and Aesthetics, 72) says: If we wish to produce within ourselves a joyous frame of mind, we must change the scene to one where direct stimulation is had and must take up vigorous activities. This is true in producing not only joy but all the other constructive emotions. The intending speaker must re- ceive vigorous sensations and must strongly react to those sensations. Long experience in helping students to develop their emotions, has convinced us that some emotions are much easier for students to develop than others. We have ar- ranged the experiments with this thought in mind. We have outlined the first experiments in the emotion of delight, which seems to be the easiest of all to the average student. The next easiest emotion is attempted next and so on to the most difficult. I. Experiments in the Emotion of Delight I. For the first experiment, prepare a short descriptive narration of some event in which there was great delight. Do not write and commit to memory this narrative, but EXPERIMENTS IN THE EMOTION OF DELIGHT 355 make a brief outline of the principal happenings, and, from this outline, practice telling aloud your story. Let what you tell be either something that actually happened in your own life, or something that happened in the life of someone else, or something original which you build from your own creative imagination. Let it be an event in which things happen quickly and in which the persons you describe are so "carried away" with delight, that you can't help being filled with their feeling as you tell about it. An ideal theme for this experiment, is the delight of children, for children give themselves much more readily and freely to their delights than do older persons. Do not merely tell about the delight, but sense keenly everything which you think the person described senses, form all the conceptions which you imagine him to be forming, and assume the same attitudes which you imagine him to be assuming. Your success in this experiment will be most complete, if you become so interested in the delights of the persons you describe, that you introduce them as characters in your narrative. That is, cease, here and there, to describe them and actually impersonate them, using their words and telling others of your delight, while you imagine yourself to be the person whose feelings you are describing. When you have practiced telling your story aloud sev- eral times, and have fixed in mind the order of events, then practice telling it in pantomime. Give yourself up to every kind of action (action of symbolism, action of purpose, and action of identification) that will increase your own feel- ing of delight. When you have told your story in panto- mime several times, again tell it aloud, but enter as fully DEVELOPMENT OF THE EMOTIONS into the action as if you had to show your delight by action alone. Every time you perform this experiment, try to make your sensations quicker and keener, your conceptions clearer, your attitudes stronger, and your action freerer. // you do these things, your emotion of delight will grow stronger every time you tell the story. If you do not do them, you will soon be complaining that although you felt the emotion when you first began working on the experi- ment, you cannot feel it when you try it before the class. This is true not only of this experiment, but also of all the experiments in emotion. We must keep the faithing process, strong. Let this story, when finished, occupy about three minutes in telling before the class. 2. As a second experiment, build the emotions of de- light in the following short selection, "Blossom Time," by Ina Donno Coolbreth. "It's O, my heart ! my heart ! to be out in the sun and sing ; to sing and shout, in the fields about, in the balm and the blossoming. Sing loud, O bird in the tree; O bird, sing loud in the sky; and, honey-bees, blacken the clover seas. There's none of you glad as I. The leaves laugh, low, in the wind, laugh, low, in the wind at play; and the odorous call of the flowers, all, entices my soul away; for O but the world is fair, and O but the world is sweet. I will, out of the gold of the blossoming, mold, and sit at the Master's feet; and the love my heart would speak, I will fold in the lily's rim, that the lips of the blossom, more pure and meek, may offer it up to Him. Then sing, in the hedge-row green, O thrush. O skylark, sing in the blue. Sing loud, sing clear, that the King may hear; and my soul will sing with you." First read the selection through, in silence, to be sure that you get clearly in mind the author's central concep- THE EMOTION OF HUMOR 357 tion from which delight is found in everything spoken of in the selection. Then read it again, sensing everything which it seems to you the author must have sensed, building a clear conception of every single phrase, before you read it aloud, taking an attitude of delight toward everything spoken of, and giving your whole being up to this delight. When you have read the selection aloud in this manner, until you know it "by heart," perform the experiment in pantomime, repeating the words mentally but not aloud, and building such strong emotion of delight, for every phrase, that anyone knowing the selection and seeing your action and expression, could tell the very phrase you are thinking. Now repeat the experiment, saying the words aloud and retaining all the vigor of action you had when you told the story in pantomime. If it seems best to continue the interpretative work to further develop the emotion of delight, the following selec- tions will be found good: "Daffodils," by Wordsworth, or "Apple Blossoms," by William Wesley Martin. THE EMOTION OF HUMOR When we attempt to develop the emotion of Humor, we should keep in mind the thought expressed by "Bob" Bur- dette, one of the greatest of humorists. He said: "The basis of humor is the misfortune of somebody else that is, we laugh at the misfortunes of others." This seems to me a great truth expressed in rather an unfair way. To be sure, we do laugh when we see someone fall on the ice, for example. We laugh though the one who has fallen may 358 DEVELOPMENT OF THE EMOTIONS be badly hurt ; but do we laugh because he is hurt ? Do we laugh because we are thinking of his being hurt? Or do we laugh because we do not stop to think of that? Careful investigation proves to us that the latter is true. I had this truth deeply impressed on my mind years ago. I saw my father fall in a comical way. I laughed immoderately, when suddenly I saw by his pale face that he was badly hurt. Instantly the laughter died within me. / had not laughed at his misfortune. I had laughed "in spite" of it, because I did not think of it. The instant / did think of it, it was impossible for me to laugh. What caused me to laugh? I laughed because I saw my father in an inverted position which to me was comical. Someone says: "Well, then, you were laughing at his misfortune in falling." To this I reply that I was then a youth, and to a youth a mere fall is no misfortune. The youthful mind holds so many conceptions of falls it has witnessed and experienced when no harm was done, that when a youth sees anyone fall, he thinks only of the misfit, not of the misfortune. I laughed at the misfit position in which I saw my father. This, it seems to me, is what Mr. Burdette meant to say: "The basis of humor is the misfit of somebody else that is, we laugh at the misfits of others." Whenever anyone makes a slip, either in mind or body, so that his action of mind or body, is not such as we should regularly expect in such circum- stances, we laugh at him. The reason we feel so good over such a thing, seems to be that we are rejoiced not to find ourselves in the same state as the one at whom we laugh. We see still more clearly that it is the unusual rather than the unfortunate that is humorous to us, when we con- THE EMOTION OF HUMOR 359 sider the humor in witty things that are said. Imagine yourself in a small company of persons one of whom is a wit. The conversation is dragging, when suddenly this wit makes a brief remark and throws the whole company into an uproar of laughter. We know that we are not laughing at this man because of any misfortune, or because he did something he did not intend to do. We know that his mind, at this moment, is more alert and more capable than any other mind present. What causes us to laugh at what he says? Is it not clear that we laugh because what he says is so unusual, so unexpected? The basis of our humor here is a "misfit" only in the sense that it is an un- expected or unusual fit. The thing said fits in so oddly, so out of the ordinary, with other things said, that it gives us a sudden relief. We feel good over the relief, and we laugh. The emotion of humor is different from most of the other constructive emotions. Humor is not so much a struggle to get something hoped for as it is a quick yielding, or relaxing, of the body to receive and appreciate the unusual. It is none the less constructive, but it does its constructive work, its building, by relaxing and refreshing the body while the other con- structive emotions build through a struggle to acquire or to overcome. It is the faithing process that builds humor; but "the substance" which one must get in humor, is only a keen conception of the difference between the humorous thing and the thing with which he (consciously or uncon- sciously) compares it. 360 DEVELOPMENT OF THE EMOTIONS Experiments in the Emotion of Humor i. As the first experiment, prepare a short descriptive narrative of some incident so humorous that you cannot think about it without being consumed with a desire to laugh. Let the incident be something that happened in your own life, or something that you knew to happen to someone else, or something that you create in imagina- tion. Whatever you relate, keep in mind the fact just declared, that real humor is found in misfits, in unusual or unexpected fits. Let the thing you tell have one or more happenings in it, that are so unexpected that every time you conceive them in relation to the other things in your story, you yourself are filled with the humor of the situation. Do not forget that your emotion will grow only in proportion as you keep your sensations fresh and quick, your conceptions clear, your mental attitudes strong, and your bodily action spontaneous and free. To keep your bodily action what it should be, make the experiment in pantomime as well as in words. When you perform the experiment in pantomime, keep your mind so firmly fixed on the things about which you are mentally speaking, that your body enters into every kind of action (action of symbolism, action of purpose, and action of identification) that can help to make clear to anyone seeing your action, the humorous things you are seeing in the imaginary scene you are describing. When you repeat the experiment in words, after having done it in pantomime, be sure to make your body tell the story as clearly as it did in pantomime. Do not let your- EXPERIMENTS IN THE EMOTION OF HUMOR 361 self feel that your words can take the place of your action. If you do, your emotion of humor will soon die. Do not allow yourself to commit to memory definite words and then repeat them in this experiment; but make an outline of the things you wish to tell about, and then tell of them because you see and hear (and otherwise sense) the things that are happening in the imaginary scene before you. Remember that it is not sufficient that your story be humorous to others, when told. It must be humorous to you, the narrator, if it is to develop your emotion of humor. Be prepared to tell your story in about three minutes, either in pantomime or in words and action. 2. For the second experiment, in building the emo- tions of humor; use some short selections from litera- ture. When you begin your work on a selection, first, with your imaginative senses all keenly alert to catch everything unusual in the words, the feelings, the actions of the people described, read the selection in silence. As you do so, imagine that you are at the very place where the humorous event is happening, and that you have by your side a friend, who, for some reason, cannot see any- thing that is happening except as you tell it so well that he can see it all in imagination. Every time you come to one of the unexpected or unusual things which make the humor, be as much surprised as if you had not known what was coming. Imagine, each time, how you would feel if you should see this thing happen without having known what was coming. This is the secret of building humor for speech work. 362 DEVELOPMENT OF THE EMOTIONS This is the faithing process which is absolutely necessary, not only to make the emotion of humor grow as we tell a story over and over again, it is necessary even to keep the emotion alive. When you have performed the experiment several times while reading the selection silently, perform it several times while reading it aloud. Each time you do so, keep your- self alert to discover what sensations, conceptions, attitudes, and actions seem to increase your humor. The next time you read it, try to develop and make stronger these things which have given you the liveliest help. When you have told the story so often that you can tell it without the book before you, lay the book aside and repeat the experiment, throwing yourself into the telling with more vigorous action of mind and body. Then perform the experiment in panto- mime, to cause your body to take still livelier interest in the humor. When you have done this, tell it once more in words, making sure that you keep the same full and free action of the body that you had when you told the story without words. Be prepared to present the selection studied, before the class, either in pantomime or in action and words. For the first experiment in building the emotion of humor in selections, use the following selection: A Fair Field and No Favors. The train is gone. Mr. and Mrs. Mann look at each other in speechless disappointment, then Mr. Mann declares that they missed the train because it took Mrs. Mann so long to dress. Mrs. Mann declares that she spent all her time waiting on him. They postpone the trip until next week, and agree that next time, each one shall get ready and go, and the one who fails to get ready shall be left. EXPERIMENTS IN THE EMOTION OF HUMOR 363 The day for the proposed trip arrives. The train will leave at 10:30 and Mr. Mann, after attending to business, goes home at 9:45. He calls to his wife: "Now, then, only three-quarters of an hour. Fly around; a fair field and no favors." And away they fly. Mr. Mann chuckles to himself, to think how cheap Mrs. Mann will feel when he starts off alone. To save time, he pulls off his coat as he runs through the dining-room, and hangs it on a corner of the silver-closet; he jerks off his vest, as he rushes through the hall, and tosses it on the hat-rack; he pulls off his boots and leaves them on the stairs. As he reaches his room, he calls: "Eleanor, where are my shirts?" Mrs. Mann calmly replies: "In your bureau drawer." He pulls out the bureau drawer and begins to paw at the things like a Scotch terrier after a rat. When he has scattered everything from the drawer on the floor, his wife gently reminds him that those are all her things, and advises him to look in his own drawer. A moment later, he plunges into his shirt like a bull at a red flag, and then shouts : "No buttons !" Mrs. Mann stares at the fidgeting, impatient man, while she buttons her dress and puts eleven pins where they will do the most good, and then says sweetly: "Because you have got the shirt on wrong side out." When he slides out of the shirt, he begins to sweat. He drops the shirt three times before he gets it on, and when it is over his head, he hears the clock strike ten. He cries: "Where are my shirt studs?" Mrs. Mann quietly gets her hat and gloves, while he empties all the boxes he can find in and around the bureau, and then says: "In the shirt you just pulled off." Now he charges up and down the room, hunting for his cuff-buttons, and finally calls out: "Eleanor, I believe you must know where those cuff-buttons are." Calmly settling her hat, she replies : "Didn't you leave them on the window-sill in the sitting room last night?" Mr. Mann remembers and goes down stairs on the run. He steps on one of the boots he left on the stairs, and is imme- diately landed in the hall at the foot of the stairs. Mrs. Mann leans over the banister and asks sweetly : "Are you nearly ready, Algernon ?" Now Mr. Mann darts into this room and flies through that one, with inconceivable rapidity, while he shouts : "Where in the name of Sfoodness did you put my vest? Can't you get it for me?" With her hand on the door-knob, she calls: "You threw it on the hat-rack. A fair field and no favors, you know. Good-bye, dear." 364 DEVELOPMENT OF THE EMOTIONS Just as the train is pulling out of sight down in the yards, a flushed, enterprising man, with his hat on sideways, his vest unbuttoned and his necktie flying, his gripsack flapping open and shut, and a door-key in his hand, dashes wildly across the platform and halts in the middle of the track, glaring in dejected, impotent, wrathful mortification at a pretty woman who is throwing kisses at him from the rear platform of the last car of the departing train. If additional selections are desired for the development of the emotion of humor, the following will be found among the best: The Imaginary Invalid, by Jerome K. Jerome (found in Three Men in a Boat, and also in Standard Selec- tions, by Fulton & Trueblood) ; New England Weather, The Babies, and Woman, God Bless Her! all three by Samuel L. Clemens, and all found in his works (Mark Twain's Works'), and in Modern Eloquence, Vol. I; and such comedies as The Rivals, by Sheridan, and The Im- portance of Being Earnest, by Oscar Wilde. THE EMOTION OF COURAGE The average student seems to find the emotion of cour- age a little more difficult to develop than either of the two emotions in which we have now experimented. A few students, however, find courage a much easier emotion to realize than either delight or humor. You have probably dis- covered by this time, that the development of any emotion is easy or difficult for each of us according to our previous habits. In no emotion is this more strikingly true than in the emotion of courage. If we have frequently gone through experiences which have aroused in us strong feel- THE EMOTION OF COURAGE 365 ing of courage, then it will be easier for us to create this emotion in our speech work. If we have not been strongly courageous, we shall find it necessary to put forth greater effort. The reason this is more particularly true in courage than in either of the emotions we have attempted, is, that courage is a more thoroughly constructive feeling than either of the others. Both delight and humor are constructive, but each is constructive in a yielding way, while courage is con- structive in a conquering way. Each of the three is built through the faithing process; that is, in each of these feel- ings, the mind is contemplating something it desires and is getting the substance of that thing by imagining how it would feel to have that thing. When we are delighted at something, it is so easy to "get the substance of the thing hoped for." Examine any case where you have been de- lighted, and you will see that your delight begins when word comes to you that the thing you have been hoping for is now given you. A similar thing happens whenever any- thing is humorous to us. The substance of humor is created for us. To have the emotion of humor, all we have to do, is to conceive the situation, yield to it and laugh. But how different is the process of courage ! The mind again turns to something hoped for, but it does this in the presence of great opposition. The mind, just as it did in the other emotions, again begins to imagine what it would be to have the thing hoped for; but it does this in full consciousness of the great struggle that must be made to get that thing. The soldier, for example, is courageous only when he real- izes the awful danger he must face, and the struggle he must make, then, faithing the victory, faces the danger 366 DEVELOPMENT OF THE EMOTIONS and uses all his powers to win the victory. His courage constructs the victory. This should make it clear, that if you have not learned to win against great opposition, you must now do so, if you hope to experience the emotion of courage. It should also impress you with the fact that if you desire to be a speaker of power, you must develop your emotion of courage to a high degree. The so-called "power" of the speaker is nothing more nor less than the result of the speaker's effort to win against great opposition. The emotion of courage is demanded of the speaker almost constantly, for he must overcome the opposition of opposing ideas in the minds of his audience, as well as their indifference toward his message, toward their own good, etc. Only in propor- tion as a speaker clearly conceives the opposition his message is likely to encounter, and in proportion as he con- ceives what is necessary for him to do to overcome that opposition, and sets faithfully to work to accomplish that thing, can he hope to become a powerful speaker. Experiments in the Emotion of Courage I. As the first experiment to develop the emotion of courage, prepare an original narrative description of some event in which great courage is shown. Let it be a scene where the courage is not all manifested in one brief moment and then ceases ; but let the effort of the persons described, be repeated again and again before victory is attained. Let the dangers and difficulties, to be overcome, grow greater and greater, until the victory is finally won. EXPERIMENTS IN THE EMOTION OF COURAGE 367 Describe something you yourself have actually witnessed, or something a friend or acquaintance has witnessed, or describe something which you imagine to take place. Let it be such a scene as that of a burning building in which human lives are about to be lost, or the rescue of persons from a ship-wreck, or a brave charge in battle, or the fight- ing of forest-fire or prairie-fire. Whatever courageous deed you describe, imagine it is actually happening a very short distance before you as you describe it. Keep all your verbs in the present tense. Imagine that the persons to be rescued are your best friends, about to perish. Try to feel the deepest possible gratitude to the brave persons who are attempting to rescue those in danger. Conceive clearly the great danger through which the rescuers are passing. Conceive clearly the heroic struggles they must make to save your friends. Feel that you would be making the effort yourself if you could, and, since you cannot do this, feel that you must help the res- cuers in every way possible, by conceiving every danger they must avoid and every difficulty they must overcome, and also by fairly giving them the strength and the cour- age to carry them on to victory. Realize that, in the scene you are now describing, the conception from which your emotion must start, is the con- ception of your friends in danger of death. Realize, too, that: Your emotion of courage will not start until you con- ceive what you wish to have done, and feel as if you were doing that thing. In no other experiment, perhaps, will pantomime do as much for you as in this one. Perform the experiment in 368 DEVELOPMENT OF THE EMOTIONS pantomime several times and give your whole body up to action of identification as you try to help the rescuers, and to action of purpose and symbolism as you try to show to a friend beside you what the rescuers are doing. Always perform the experiment, describing the scene in words as well as in action, immediately after you have performed it in pantomime. Be prepared to perform the experiment both ways before the class, and try to make the class see and feel your emotion more in pantomime than when you use words. Let the story occupy about three minutes. 2. For the second experiment, build the emotions of courage required in the following selection, Columbus, by Joaquin Miller: Behind him lay the gray Azores, behind the gates of Her- cules; before him not the ghost of shores; before him only shoreless seas. The good mate said: "Now must we pray, for lo ! the very stars are gone. Brave AdmVl, speak ; what shall I say?" "Why, say: 'Sail on! sail on! and on!'" "My men grow muntinous day by day ; my men grow ghastly wan and weak." The stout mate thought of home; a spray of salt wave washed his swarthy cheek. "What shall I say, brave Adm'r'l, say, if we sight naught but seas at dawn?" "Why you shall say at break of day : 'Sail on ! sail on ! sail on ! and on !' " They sailed and sailed, as winds might blow, until at last the blanched mate said : "Why, now not even God would know should I and all my men fall dead. These very winds forget their way ; for God from these dread seas is gone. Now speak, brave Adm'r'l; speak and say " He said: " 'Sail on ! sail on ! and on!'" They sailed: they sailed. Then spake the mate: "This mad sea shows his teeth tonight, he curls his lip, he lies in wait, with lifted teeth, as if to bite! Brave Adm'r'l, say but one good word : what shall we do when hope is gone ?" The words leapt like a leaping sword : " 'Sail on ! sail on ! sail on ! and on !' " Then pale and worn, he kept his deck, and peered through EXPERIMENTS IN THE EMOTION OF COURAGE 369 darkness. Ah, that night of all dark nights! And then a speck a light? a light? a light! a light! It grew; a starlit flag unfurled! It grew to be Time's burst of dawn. He gained a world; he gave that world its grandest lesson: "On! sail on!" If additional selections are desired, through which to develop the emotion of courage, we suggest: The Charge of the Light Brigade, by Tennyson ; or How Did You Die, by Edmund Vance Cook; or To the Man Who Fails, by Alfred J. Waterhouse (the last named in Heart Throbs, published by Grosser & Dunlap, Nj. Y.). If the student will study carefully the principal attitudes he must assume in each of these four selections (the one quoted and the three suggested) he will learn that the attitude in each one is different from the attitudes required by the others. If you use "Columbus," quoted above, your principal emotion of courage will develop from your imper- sonation of Columbus. If you use "The Charge of the Light Brigade," you will build your emotion of courage while you watch, in imagination, a scene of great courage and describe that scene to an imaginary friend beside you. In one respect, the attitude in "How Did You Die?" and "To the Man Who Fails," is the same, namely, that in both selections you are speaking directly to someone to create courage within him. There is this essential difference be- tween these two messages, however, that one of them is designed to instil courage in the person spoken to by means of the attitude of pluck, while the other would impart courage through the attitude of sympathy. These are the four principal kinds of courage which will be required of you as a speaker. Therefore, prepare yourself, through experi- ment, to create courage from all these attitudes. For your 37 DEVELOPMENT OF THE EMOTIONS first efforts, however, it may be best for you to determine which attitude gives you the best results, and to develop your emotion of courage from that attitude until you have mastered this emotion. THE EMOTION OF PATHOS Before we attempt to develop this emotion, let us first get a clear conception of what pathos is. Understand defi- nitely that we are not trying to increase our ability to ex- perience either the felling of sadness or grief. We have found that both these feelings arise from a conception of something not desired and are, therefore, destructive emo- tions. We found also that any destructive emotion is an undesirable thing in speech-work until it is transformed into a constructive emotion. We learned that a destructive emotion can be transformed into a constructive emotion only when the mind is turned from the thing not desired, to something desired or hoped for. Let us see what these things mean to us when we attempt to develop pathos. You have usually thought of pathos and grief as almost the same thing, haven't you? You know that the things you have heard called "pathetic," have been situations in which there was deep sorrow, do you not? Then, if pathos is always so closely associated with grief or sorrow that we have been accustomed to con- sider them almost the same thing, how is it that grief and sorrow are considered destructive emotions, while pathos is considered a constructive, desirable emotion? Is it not clear that pathos is one or the other of these two unde- THE EMOTION OF PATHOS 371 sirable emotions transformed into a constructive, desirable emotion ? Pathos, as we use the term, is the thing into which sorrow is transformed when the mind, through its sor- row, sees something hoped for, and, faithing that thing, bravely bears what it cannot escape. To illustrate this transformation, suppose that a member of your family has died. To think of your loss, fills you with the destructive emotion, sorrow. As long as you let your mind dwell on that loss, your feeling of sorrow re- mains and grows. But, one day, you turn your mind to something you hope for. Perhaps you see your mother so deeply grieved that you long to see her happy again. You begin to faith her happiness, that is, you begin to realize what must be done to make her happy. You begin to do those things which you believe will bring her happiness. Instantly your sorrow begins to be transformed into some other emotion. If your mind is now so filled with thoughts of the cheer you hope to bring to your mother, that you do not think of your own loss, your sorrow ceases alto- gether, and you have, in its stead, one of the more buoyant emotions happiness, perhaps. But if you remain con- scious of the fact that you can never have your departed relative again, if you still feel this great loss, and if you bear your loss more bravely because you are struggling so hard to help your mother to be happy again, then your sorrow becomes pathos. It should now be clear that pathos is courage in sorrow. This is the only kind of sorrow that has any place in speech-work. The speaker or reader should bring before the audience a sorrowful scene only to help those who 372 DEVELOPMENT OF THE EMOTIONS hear him, to bear their sorrows. It is plain that the best way for a speaker to help others to bear their sorrows, is by setting the example of bearing sorrow bravely. There- fore, whenever a speaker "gives way" to sadness or sorrow or grief, he is perverting his art, slighting his duty, and losing his opportunity to influence and to help his audience. The student of speech should be cautioned, however, against the evil of going to the other extreme by avoiding all pathos in his work, and also against the habit of "choking" all his tender and sympathetic emotions by assuming the attitude of pluck or determination in their stead. A speaker must feel sorrow, else a large part of his influence with his audi- ence is lost. The mistake comes when the speaker yields to his sorrow and becomes weak instead of strong. Pathos has an important part in speech-work, and must not be neglected. How can you hope to help others out of their sorrows unless you first realize their sorrows? Experiments in the Emotion of Pathos I. As the first experiment in the development of pathos in your speech-work, tell briefly a pathetic story. Select, for this experiment, some pathetic experience from your own life, or something that you know to have hap- pened, or something which you imagine to happen. Since pathos, as we have just defined it, is courage in sor- row, you will realize that the first thing for you to do in this experiment, is to experience a deep feeling of sorrow ; the second thing is to: Be brave in the sorrow which you feel. The more EXPERIMENTS IN THE EMOTION OF PATHOS 373 nearly you are overcome by the sorrow you feel, the greater is your opportunity for courage in sorrow. For these reasons, let the incident you describe, be one in which you can easily imagine yourself. Let it be one in which some tender-hearted or big-hearted person is making a brave struggle. Realize how sorry you would feel for yourself if you were in his place. Feel that you must help this person and that you must cause those who hear you, to wish to help him. Repeat this experiment many times. If you find your emotion of pathos growing weaker, know that you are slighting some causes. Know also that this is your best op- portunity for growth. Determine, at once, to discover what causes you have slighted. Find whether you have failed to imagine the incident as happening at the present moment, or whether you have failed to imagine it as happening so near to you that you can enter into the sorrows and struggles, or whether you have failed to get a clear con- ception of the sorrows, or whether you have not been filled with a strong enough desire to help those struggling "against odds." Correct these errors and your pathos will again become strong. 2. Perform the experiment of building the emotion of pathos in the selection quoted below. First read it through carefully, to get the general conception and the purpose of the author. Then determine to forget that there is an author. Forget that it is a selection you are experimenting with, and try to conceive the whole incident as something through which you are passing now while you tell it. Imagine that the man who has gone into the war is a close friend of yours. Imagine that you have just come 374 DEVELOPMENT OF THE EMOTIONS from his home with a message from his wife and child. Imagine that you go to the place where his regiment is stationed, when you learn that his regiment has been called into active battle. Imagine that you hasten to "the front" and arrive there just after the battle. Hope intensely that your friend has returned from the battle unhurt, but discover that he has not returned. Imagine that you now go upon the battle-field, hoping that you may, at least, find him conscious and able to receive the message of love and cheer which you have brought from his home, when you suddenly come upon him dead! If you will work these thoughts up into a short introduction to your story, both you and the listener will be much better pre- pared to feel the sudden and intense pathos that follows. You will realize that a full conception of the story de- mands that you be such a friend as we have suggested, who strongly resents the sacrifice of such a noble life as that of his friend, and who resents it the more because of the loving dependence of the devoted wife and child, upon that life. It will deepen your emotion of pathos if you will feel that you must take the sad news back to your friend's two dear ones, and if you will determine that, somehow, you must shield them and lighten the blow to them by bear- ing it in part yourself. The selection Before Sedan, by Henry Austin Dobson, follows : Here, in this leafy place, quiet he lies, cold, with his sightless face turned to the skies; 'tis but another dead; all you can say is said. Carry his body hence kings must have slaves; kings climb to eminence over men's graves: so this man's eye is dim; throw the earth over him. What was the white you touched, there, at his side? Paper his hand had clutched, tight, BREATHING AND THE EMOTION OF PATHOS 375 ere he died message or wish, may be. Smooth the folds out and see. . . . Only the tremulous words of a child prattle, that has for stops just a few ruddy drops ! Look ! She is sad to miss, morning and night, his her dead father's kiss! Tries to be bright, good to mamma, and sweet. That is all. "Marguerite " Ah, if beside the dead slumbered the pain ! Ah, if the hearts that bled slept with the slain! If the grief died but no death will not have it so. This is one of the best examples of pathos in the lan- guage. Any student of speech will get strong emotion of pathos from this selection, if he will perform the experi- ment faithfully and will persist in it until it is his own story. If other selections are desired for experiments in the emotion of pathos, we suggest Little Boy Blue (found among the poems of Eugene Field), and His Old Father Satisfied (published in Chicago Advance and also in the excellent collection called Heart Throbs, by Grosset & Dun- lap, N. Y.). BREATHING AND THE EMOTION OF PATHOS In the experiments in pathos, the student has probably discovered that great help sometimes comes from a sudden and firm control of the breath. This may seem a mechan- ical thing to suggest, yet breath-control need not and should not be a mechanical act. Intense breathing is so closely bound up with intense thinking that the two acts some- times seem to be almost identical. This is shown, in a striking way, by the fact that the ancient Romans used the same word, "inspiro," to indicate the taking in of a breath or the taking in of a thought or spiritual influence. It is DEVELOPMENT OF THE EMOTIONS further shown by the fact that we have adopted that word in our own language, and to-day use the word "inspiration" to denote either the breath we take into our bodies or the higher thoughts we take into our minds. The student of speaking, then, if he desires to acquire subconscious control of breath, that will aid him in building natural and strong emotion, must learn what there is in his thinking process, that causes this sudden control of breath. If you will look carefully into the process, you will find that you take in a quick, full breath and hold it firmly, and that you do this subconsciously, when you get a sudden con- ception of something about to overcome you. For example, we do this when we jump into cold water and it comes up around our chests, or when we see someone about to strike us, or when we see ourselves about to fall a great distance. This seems to be nature's way of protecting herself. The mental process in such cases seems to be this: The in- stant we see ourselves about to be overcome by something, we have a quick conception of the size or power of the thing attacking us. This, at once, starts the faithing proc- ess within us. That is, to think of the size or power of the opposing thing arouses a quick desire to have power suffi- cient to withstand the attack. Our breathing is so closely associated with our thinking, that when the mind suddenly expands to attain this great power hoped for, the lungs expand, in the same proportion, so as to have ready the physical power to aid the mind. It is of supreme im- portance to the student of speaking, therefore, that in any situation demanding great pathos, he persistently conceive himself about to be overcome by the great sorrow of which he thinks. BASIC CONSTRUCTIVE EMOTIONS 377 DEVELOPMENT OF OTHER EMOTIONS . We have experimented with but four constructive emo- tions. These four, however, are basic to all the others. If the intending speaker has formed, from these brief experi- ments, the habit of sensing keenly, imagining vividly, con- ceiving clearly, and acting freely, in his thinking processes, until some one or more of these four emotions (delight, humor, courage, or pathos) is aroused whenever he thinks of things that should produce them, he will soon be able to master the other emotions. That is, he will have this ability if he continues the practice of developing and edu- cating his emotions on all appropriate occasions. CHAPTER XIX SIZE OF VOICE THAT many public speakers who have made good preparation in almost all other points, have failed to appre- ciate the value of the voice, is shown by the way they slight the voice. How often we listen to prominent speakers whose voices tell by their weakness, their harshness, etc., that they are being rapidly worn out when they should be growing stronger and richer! These facts should im- press the student of speech with the thought that if he is to do his best work and enjoy the best success as a speaker, he must set a high value upon the voice, and learn to de- velop it and to preserve it. THE VOICE A WONDERFUL INSTRUMENT Consider how marvellous a thing is the human voice! Do you realize that the most perfect instrument man has been able to devise, cannot approach the ability of the voice to express delicate shades of meaning? The violin, of all musical instruments, perhaps, most nearly rivals the voice: yet what is the highest compliment that can be paid the violin ? Is it not to compare it to the human voice ? When we have heard the violin played in a manner that moved 378 WHY SPEAKERS NEGLECT THE VOICE 379 us to raptures, if we try to tell someone about it, how do we do it ? Do we not say : "You could fairly hear the sob- bing of a human voice," or "So clear and distinct was the plaintive pleading, that it seemed someone must be speaking his thought to us ?" From these things, the speaker should realize with supreme pride, that the voice is the standard, and that mechanical instruments are mere attempts to imitate. Even a hasty examination of the things the voice can do, will convince us that it ever will remain the standard in the expression of thought and feeling. What is such expression but the speaking out of our experiences ? And is the voice not a part of our very selves our mental, our nervous, and our muscular selves, which have had those experiences? How, then, shall wood and metal the materials from which all other instruments are made how shall these things be able to tell life's story as the human voice can do? WHY SPEAKERS NEGLECT THE VOICE It will be of interest as well as of value to the student of speech, to learn why it is that many public speakers neglect the voice. For years the author of this book has been interested in this question and has secured the per- sonal testimony of many speakers. From these testimonies he has learned that practically every man who neglects his voice in speaking, does so because he has a false notion of voice-training for speaking. The testimony is of two gen- eral classes. The men in one class declare that the voice should be left to take care of itself, and that, if this be 380 SIZE OF VOICE done, a better voice will result than can be had from any special training of the voice. By "special training" these men mean some training that is not a part of the thinking process necessary to present a message. The men in the other class virtually admitted that they think of voice- training as something quite apart from the process of think- ing, when they said that if, when speaking, they thought about using the voice correctly, they couldn't concentrate on what they were trying to say. All this is an erroneous con- ception of what good voice-training is. Since the voice is so intimate an agent of our thinking and feeling selves, the best training of the voice can be realized only through our thinking and feeling processes. For this reason, too, the best vocal training for speaking can be accomplished only through our thinking and feeling processes while we are speaking. Little wonder, then, that practical men should dislike and discard any training of the voice which they think is apart from and interferes with the process of thinking. With one opinion of the speakers questioned, we heartily agree. Any training of the voice for speaking, that takes the mind away from the subject-matter about which the speaker should be thinking, is worse than no training. In the other opinion, namely, that all voice-training necessarily takes the mind away from the subject, we heartily disagree. Experience has thoroughly convinced us that the speaking voice can be so trained as to make the speaker a better thinker and not a worse one. It has also convinced us that when the voice is trained through the thinking process, the development of the voice is in direct proportion to the de- velopment of the mind. THE FUNDAMENTAL QUALITIES OF VOICE 381 When such training is found by the speaker, he no longer needs to be urged to train his voice. We have never known a student of speech who found that he could increase his ability to think and at the same time acquire a good voice, who did not enter upon this training with the greatest zeal. Such a course, we have endeavored to outline in this and the following chapters. THE FUNDAMENTAL QUALITIES OF VOICE AND THEIR SOURCES We cannot determine the needs of any individual voice, with accuracy, till we are familiar with the principal char- acteristics or qualities of the voice. A careful analysis shows that there are five principal qualities. These are: i. Size of Voice; 2. Strength of Voice; 3. Endurance of Voice ; 4. Purity of Voice ; 5. Flexibility of Voice. Every tone we utter contains all these qualities in greater or less degree of perfection. If these five qualities are perfect, then the voice is perfect; if any one of the qualities is de- fective, then the voice is defective to that degree. There- fore, if we wish to train the voice through the processes of thinking and feeling, we must first discover the particular acts of thinking and fetling which produce each of these qualities. When he has done this, if the student of speech finds his voice deficient in any quality, he will know what to do. He will turn his attention to the particular acts of thinking and feeling which produce that quality in this voice, and stimulate those acts till his voice is improved. 382 SIZE OF VOICE Let us, therefore, give separate attention to each of these five qualities and the sources of each. CAUSE OF SIZE OF VOICE There are two distinct uses of the term "size of voice." In one of these uses we refer to the general largeness or smallness of any individual voice, as when we say of a person that he has a large voice and of another person that he has a small voice. In the other use of the term "size of voice," we mean not that permanent size which characterizes the voice of the individual, but rather the size of the voice in proportion to the thought expressed, the place in which that thought is expressed, and the pur- pose for which that thought should be expressed. If we examine the two meanings of the term, we shall discover that a voice may have a good size according to the first meaning and a bad size according to the second meaning. To illustrate: We are talking with a speaker who is about to address a large audience. We are impressed with his voice, and as we are leaving the room behind the platform, one of us exclaims : "Hasn't he a fine big voice." A minute later we are seated in the large auditorium. The speaker begins, and we are amazed to find how very small his voice now seems in comparison with that same voice in conversation. We listen attentively as the speaker pro- ceeds, and we soon note that though he speaks of many material things of many sizes, his voice retains the same size. We notice that though he expresses ideas of various "sizes" of importance, yet his voice retains the same size. CAUSE OF SIZE OF VOICE 383 When the speaker has finished, we come away and con- sider what we have discovered. We have learned that while we thought this man had a very large voice, yet when he came to speak, his voice was neither large in proportion to the things spoken of, nor in proportion to the room in which he spoke, nor in proportion to the purposes for which he was speaking. A closer investigation proves to us that the thing we heard in this man's conversation, and which we called a largeness of voice, is a quite different thing from the size of voice which we expected in his speaking to the audience. This illustration is from a case which actually occurred. Many similar ones have been observed, and they all tend to prove that the term "size of voice" has two different and distinct meanings. The one meaning, as previously intimated, refers to the largeness or smallness of one's voice resulting from one's physical conditions which are per- manent. The other meaning of "size" refers to the adjust- ment of size which comes from the process of thinking and feeling which adapts the voice to the demand of the moment. Accordingly, in our efforts to train the voice through the process of thinking, we have little to do with the first meaning of the term. Through the mind, we can develop the size of the voice only by searching out the things which cause the size and then developing those causes. In the first meaning of the term, the size of the voice is caused by something over which we have no direct control. If the student's voice is large or small because nature has made his voice-box, throat, lungs, and mouth large or small, we cannot hope to change those conditions to any great 384 SIZE OF VOICE degree; but we can hope to improve the student's size of voice in the second meaning of the term. That rs, we can help the student to use the voice which nature has given him, in such a manner as to suit it to the things about which he speaks, the room in which he speaks, and the purposes for which he speaks. First let us inquire what peculiar acts in our thinking are affected by the subject, by the place of speaking and the purpose of speaking, in such manner as to change the size of the voice. Two persons are hunting for something. I come upon them and ask : "What have you lost ?" One of them replies: "A needle." I notice that the voice in which this is said, is almost expressionless. It is neither large nor small. The other person replies: "It is a tiny needle!" I instantly observe that this voice is noticeably different from the other. This one is full of expression, so full that it makes me wish to help find the lost needle. The strange part of it is, that this voice is full of expres- sion because it is a small, fine voice. I investigate the cause of the difference between these two voices, and find that the person who spoke first had no clear conception of the size of the needle, w r hile the other person conceived size as the most important part of the thing spoken of, namely, the needle. This clear conception of the size of the needle caused the mind of the second speaker to get vivid im- aginative sensations impressing the speaker with the very small size of the needle. Naturally, then, when this per- son tried to tell me about the needle, the mind started the faithing process at once. That is, the mind at once be- came filled with a desire to cause me to realize the size CAUSE OF SIZE OF VOICE 385 of the needle as the speaker realized it, and began to imagine what it would be to have me realize it. WHEN THE MIND OF THE SPEAKER ONCE BECOMES FIXED UPON THE PURPOSE AND DETERMINATION TO GIVE TO THE LISTENER THE SPEAKER'S SENSATIONS AND CONCEPTION OF SIZE OF THE THING SPOKEN OF, THE VOICE CANNOT HELP ASSUMING AN APPROPRIATE SIZE. This is the law of size of voice in proportion to the subject spoken of. In the study of Emotion, we learned that the faithing process joins the action of the body to the action of the mind in such manner as to give us the desirable emotions. So now we see: It is the faithing process which joins the action of the voice (which is, after all, only a part of the bodily action) to the action of the mind in such manner as to give to the voice the size it should have when we are speaking of things whose size is of importance. This suggests the process by which a speaker's voice assumes a size appropriate also to the place in which he speaks. The present writer had this experience: Three of us were standing beside a river talking. One of the men took a boat and rowed to the other side. The two of us who remained, continued to converse, in voices of ordinary size, when we suddenly remembered that we had forgotten to tell the other man something important. He was just leaving his boat on the opposite bank. I called the message across to him. He heard it, acknowledged it, and departed. I suddenly realized that my voice had undergone a notable change of size, The voice in which I had called 386 SIZE OF VOICE across the river, was several times as large as the voice in which I had been speaking to the friend beside me but a moment before. More than this, I had been speaking of the same thing in both cases. What caused my voice to grow so large ? The instant I saw that the man to whom I wished to speak was on the opposite bank of the river, my mind quickly conceived the distance between him and myself. The same instant, I began to desire to have a voice as large as the space between us, and began, also, to imagine what it would be to have such a voice. This was the faith- ing process by which I began to get "the substance of things hoped for." My lungs, my throat, and my mouth cavity (the whole space in which the voice functions) in- stantly expanded in proportion to the space I had conceived between myself and the listener. My conception of the extent of this space, affected me in the same way that a clear conception of the size of anything talked about affects me. The same holds true in any room in which we may be required to speak. To make his voice spontaneously fit the size of the room in which he speaks, the speaker must first get a clear conception of the distance between himself and the most remote part of the room. He must then become filled with so intense a desire to have a voice of that size, that everything about which he speaks assumes a size proportionate to the size of the room. That is, each thing spoken of will appear, to the speaker, as much larger or smaller than it ordinarily does, as the room in which he is speaking is larger or smaller than the space in which the speaker has been ac- CAUSE OF SIZE OF VOICE 387 customed to speak. When this takes place, the size of the speaker's voice should be appropriate to the size of the room. Note that we have said that his voice should be appro- priate to the size of the room. If his previous vocal train- ing has been what it should be, then the size of his voice will be appropriate to the room. As the "previous vocal training" is the main thing with which the student of speaking is concerned, we must add a word of help here. If the speaker has not repeatedly put himself through the process of creating a voice proportioned to the size of the space in which he speaks, he may find himself failing to modify the size of his voice even when he thinks he is going through the proper process for creating the correct size of voice. A certain student had formed a clear con- ception of the process by which the voice must adapt itself to the size of the room, but had stopped right there. He thought that if he knew just what should be done, he would forthwith be able to do it. In the weeks which had passed since we had first started the class upon this par- ticular vocal training, this student had done his practicing in one room of small size. His body was frail. One day we took him into a very large auditorium to test his voice. Not only could he not fill the room with his voice, but though he had a clear conception of the process by which he should adapt his voice to various spaces, he had but one general size of voice. He failed in the large room be- cause his body had not learned to do its part in the faith- ing process required to build a voice for large rooms. He was but one of hundreds who have had this experience. There is another experience closely related to this one. 388 SIZE OF VOICE Students often realize that the body as well as the mind must be put through the process of creating a voice for rooms of different sizes. They adapt their voices to the size of the room, but when that is done, they maintain that size for everything said. They fail to adapt the voice to the various sizes of the things spoken of. The effect is poor monotonous. If the intending speaker wishes to avoid such experiences as these, he must train his voice in auditoriums of as wide a range of sizes as possible, and must also go through the same process while he imagines himself in rooms as large as any he will ever have to use. In each effort he must also apply the law of size of voice in proportion to the sizes of things discussed. We have now seen how the voice acquires size propor- tioned to the size of the things about which we speak, and the size of the room in which we speak. How does the purpose for which we speak affect the voice so as to change its size? We enter a room where a mother is holding a pretty but very small baby. We approach them and say of the child : "Isn't she a dainty, little thing." This we say in a small voice. A moment later, we notice that another lady in the room is preparing to do some "fancy work" and is opening a package of fine needles. We exclaim: "Why, how can you work with needles so fine as those?" This also we speak in a very small voice. But presently the mother puts the baby on the floor while she turns her attention to something else. Her friend thoughtlessly puts down her "work," needles and all, near the child. The child is attracted by the things, and reaches for them. I am standing some distance away when I see this. You are near the child but do not see it. I call to you: "Quick! CAUSE OF SIZE OF VOICE 389 The baby has the needles!" This I say in a very large voice. Why? The room is not large enough to cause the change from the very small voice I had but a moment ago. Furthermore, I spoke of the same two things which before caused me to use a small voice, namely the small child and the small needles. You reply: "Why, your excite- ment did it." No, I was not excited. If I had been, my voice would probably have been very high-pitched, but instead of growing larger would have grown smaller and more strained. I have observed this result many times when mere excitement ruled the speaker. A careful ex- amination of my own state of mind when I spoke in the large voice, proves to me that it was the purpose for which I spoke that made my voice grow large. The instant I saw the small child taking the small needles, I ceased to think of either of these things. I thought then only of the ter- rible suffering perhaps death that would follow if the baby should swallow those needles. I realized that this disaster could be prevented only by the extremely quick action of the one to whom I spoke. My purpose in speak- ing was to arouse the hearer to that large effort. When this large purpose filled my mind I could speak in none other than a large voice. I have used this particular case in which neither the things spoken of nor the space in which I spoke could cause the size of voice, to get clearly before us the law by which purpose governs the size of voice. The law is this: When the speaker says what he says for the purpose of rousing the listener to action, if the speaker clearly conceives the size or import of that action, and if he 39 * SIZE OF VOICE becomes filled with an intense desire to make the listener realize this, the voice will take on a size pro- portioned to the size of that action, no matter what the size of the things spoken of may be or the size of the room in which he speaks. The importance of this law can hardly be overestimated. When the speaker does, in this manner, stimulate the listener to a full realization of the effort he should put forth, the speaker has used one of the most powerful agents at his command to influence the listener to do the thing desired. Practice in Speaking on the Size of Voice Make a detailed outline of the above discussion of Size of Voice, and, from this outline, practice speaking extem- pore until you are ready to make a convincing and per- suasive talk on any one of the divisions of your outline or on the whole chapter. Experiments to Develop Size of Voice In all the following experiments, the student should ex- ercise great care not to make his voice deliberately do cer- tain things, but to put his mind through the process outlined in the experiment he is performing. Unless this is done, the voice will not develop to any extent, and, worse than that, the student will progressively make himself a worse instead of a better and stronger thinker. Dr. Muckey, in his interesting and helpful book, The Natural Method of EXPERIMENTS TO DEVELOP SIZE OF VOICE 391 Voice Production, repeatedly emphasizes the fact that the fundamental thing the voice needs, to make it pleasing and enduring, is size and freedom of resonance in the throat and mouth cavities. He also emphasizes the fact that practically all the faults of the voice are due, fundamentally, to a lack of size and freedom of resonance in the throat. He then shows that: The freedom of throat which the voice re- quires, to produce good tones, cannot be perfected through any deliberate act; for the vocal muscles concerned are in- voluntary, and any attempt to use them voluntarily destroys the freedom of the voice. We Rave found this to be abso- lutely true. Therefore: To develop the voice naturally, we must create the qualities of vocal excellence out of the conception the mind holds of the thing discussed, and out of the mind's attitude toward that thing. A moment's thought will make clear the reason why any attempt to make the voice do certain things, will injure the thinking of the speaker as well as his voice. If the stu- dent makes his voice perform certain acts, by mere will power, he, for the time being, drops the thinking process necessary to a full realization of his subject. Then, when he returns to the theme which he is to present, and again begins to think it out, he finds that the vocal exercises he has been going through are only a bother to him. What is the result ? He will either commit his message to memory and deliver it in a mechanical way without thinking (hence, without real effect) in order to perform again the vocal acts he has been performing, or he will discard those vocal acts entirely, and, hence, get no good from the experiments. 39 2 SIZE OF VOICE I. Experiments to Develop Size of Voice Through the Size of the Things Discussed I. As the first experiment, imagine that you see, operating a short distance before you, a powerful hydraulic press. Imagine that the sides of this machine approach each other from right and left. Imagine that when you first look at the machine, its sides are kept apart sixty- four inches, by the air that is to be compressed within the chamber between the sides. Fix your mind on the size of the space. Realize that sixty-four inches is a huge capacity for the machine, more than four thousand times the space presently to be seen. Imagine how much your own voice would have to expand from its ordinary size, to assume a proportionate size. With your mind fixed on the immense expanse of the ma- chine before you, tell a friend beside you that the machine is expanded sixty-four inches. As you do so, determine to make this person realize this space, and its relative im- mensity by strongly faithing it yourself. Now imagine that the sides of the press begin to approach each other. See the space reduced to thirty-two inches, and tell your friend so. Now see it reduced to sixteen inches, and tell him so. Each time you speak, imagine that the space is just half what it was a moment before. Sense each change so keenly that you feel as if you yourself were contracting as you see the machine contract. Tell your friend that the sides of the press are now only eight inches apart, now only four inches, now only two inches, now only one inch, now only half an inch, now EXPERIMENTS TO DEVELOP SIZE OF VOICE 393 only a quarter of an inch, now only an eighth of an inch, now only a sixteenth of an inch, now only a thirty- second of an inch, and now only a sixty-fourth of an inch apart. As you imagine that you see each of these changes, imagine also how much you yourself would have to con- tract to change that much from what you were a moment before. Determine to make your friend realize this as he hears your voice, just half as large as it was the last time you spoke. 2. In the second experiment, reverse the process which you followed in the last experiment. Again see the same machine. See the sides separated by the exceedingly small space of only a sixty-fourth of an inch. Now see the power of the machine reversed so that it expands the chamber very rapidly. Imagine that you feel just how that power is expanding that chamber. Now see the sides of the machine pushed apart to a thirty-second of an inch, and tell your friend so. Now tell him they are a sixteenth of an inch apart, now an eighth of an inch, now a quarter of an inch, now half an inch, now an inch, now two inches, now four inches, now eight inches, now sixteen inches, now thirty-two inches; and now they are sixty- four inches apart. Be very careful not to speak of any one of these sizes until you take time to imagine that you actually see and feel what it would be for the space between those compressing plates to expand to twice the space of the moment before. Take time also to be sure that you are sympathetically expanding with that increasing space. If you do this, you can keep your mind absolutely fixed on the space about which you are speaking and yet your voice will change its size more perfectly than it could do if you 394 SIZE OF VOICE thought of nothing but the voice and your effort to make it change its size. 3. For the third experiment, let the size of voice change through the conceptions which you form of various heights. Tell an imaginary friend beside you to look at an object a short distance before you, that is only a foot in height. Now call his attention to something that is ten feet in height ; now, to something that is a hundred feet high ; now, to a mountain that is a thousand feet high ; and, now, to a mountain that is ten thousand feet high. Take time before speaking of any one of these objects, to let your mind ex- pand as the last object observed would have to expand to become as tall as the one you next imagine. Use the last object observed, as a standard of measurement, and see it increase ten times. Have so strong a desire to impart to the listener this increase that your lungs expand and fill with air, and the voice-part of you grows larger in proportion to the greater height. 4. In the fourth experiment, tell, as in experiment 3, of various-sized bodies of water which you imagine before you. First see before you a very small pond or pool, only ten feet wide. Next imagine one a hundred feet wide; then, a body of water a thousand feet wide; then, one a mile wide; then, one ten miles wide; then, one a hundred miles wide; and, finally, try to let your mind expand enough to conceive a thousand miles of nothing but water before you. Exercise the same care as in the last experiment, to make yourself fully realize and feel the size of which you are about to speak, before you speak of it. Keep in mind the all-important fact that your voice will assume the proper size if you let yourself keenly EXPERIMENTS TO DEVELOP SIZE OF VOICE 395 imagine what it would be to expand to the size of the thing contemplated. II. Experiments to Develop Size of Voice Through the Size of the Room in Which You Speak i. Read carefully the speech called "On Affairs in Amer- ica," delivered by Lord Chatham, in the House of Lords, November 18, 1777. Then prepare the following words from that speech : "But, my lords, who is the man who, in addition to the disgrace and mischiefs of the war, has dared to authorize and associate to our arms the tomahawk and scalping-knife of the savage; to call into civilized alli- ance the wild and inhuman inhabitants of the woods; to delegate to the merciless Indian the defense of disputed rights, and to wage the horrors of his barbarous warfare against our brethren ? My lords, these enormities cry aloud for redress and punishment." Read these words over many times in the spirit in which you imagine Chatham said them. Assume his mighty vigor of mind and nobility of soul, and feel keenly his offended dignity. Allow yourself to say no phrase of these words until you have conceived clearly and imagined vividly the things of which you are about to speak. When you have pursued this process until you are thinking all the words as your own, lay the book aside and speak these words in a small room. Imagine that you are before a small committee of lords. Feel that while you are moved by these strong and large thoughts, you are so close to those to whom you speak, that you must compress your large feelings not decrease them into a voice appropriate to the room. 396 SIZE OF VOICE When you have repeated this part of the experiment until you can give full expression to every word, in the very small room, then go to a room ten times as large, a room that will seat about -a hundred. Get a clear con- ception of just how much larger this room is than the small one in which you spoke. Conceive every object of which you speak, as having increased in size to the de- gree that this room is larger than the last one in which you spoke. Have so strong a desire to cause the listener to conceive this increased size in everything spoken of, that your voice becomes larger to the same degree. Repeat the experiment until you are sure that you have expanded your message to the size of this room. When you have done this, then perform the experiment in a room that will seat about five hundred. When you have thoroughly adjusted your mind and voice to that auditorium, go, if possible, to a room that will seat about a thousand persons, and repeat the ex- periment many times. If there are rooms accessible which will seat three thou- sand and five thousand persons, respectively, then, by all means, perform the experiment in these rooms. In every case, be sure to get a clear conception of just how far from you the most distant part of the room is, before you begin to speak. Be sure, also, to make yourself realize just how much larger this space is than the room in which you last spoke. Conceive a propor- tionate increase in the size of everything spoken of, and imagine just how much your own powers of think- ing and feeling and breathing must enlarge in order to EXPERIMENTS TO DEVELOP SIZE OF VOICE 397 make the things about which you speak, spontaneously expand your voice in proportion to the size of the room. In case you cannot actually use rooms of the various sizes suggested, then imagine yourself speaking in rooms of all these sizes, and perform the experiment with even greater care. Be prepared to perform all these experiments before the class, imagining that you are actually speaking in all the various-sized auditoriums suggested above. This is one of the most thorough and practical developers of the voice to be found, and the speaker who desires the highest pos- sible development of his voice, will continue these experi- ments long after he has left the class-room. III. Experiments to Develop Size of Voice Through the Size of the Purpose for Which You Speak Prepare a short speech in which you plead with an imaginary audience, to do a certain thing. Let it be a speech to your classmates, calling on them for class or college spirit or loyalty, or a speech to citizens, pleading for protection to the community's interests, or any other situation into which you can quickly throw yourself and in which you can speak with a spirit of earnestness. You will soon see that if you are to develop size of voice through size of purpose, it must be done at the end of your paragraphs. You must first set before your audience the things upon which and for which they should act. This you do in the first part of the paragraph. Then, when this is done, if you would make a successful plea, you must 398 SIZE OF VOICE suddenly realize how much energy it would take to accom- plish all the things about which you have been talking. You must also become filled with an intense desire to make your audience realize this, and also to make them reaHze that their best good calls on them to put forth this energy. This you can accomplish only by imagining, each time you come to one of your "summing up" or pleading passages, that you become large enough, in your own energies, of mind and soul and body, to overcome all that you ask the audience to overcome. Repeat the experiment until your voice shows, in its size, that you have done this. Be prepared to do this before the class in three minutes. The conditions in which the size of voice is most largely affected by the size of the purpose for which the speaker speaks, are those in which, to accomplish his purpose, the speaker reaches a larger climax by piling one minor climax on another. Especially does this increase the size of the voice when, to reach each minor climax, the speaker places each new thing mentioned in a series, on top, so to speak, of the things mentioned just before, and conceives the size of the accumulation thus realized. This is well illustrated in the following speech taken from the play of "Julius Czesar." 2. With a clear conception of the thought expressed in the last paragraph above, perform the experiment of build- ing size of voice in the speech of Marullus which we quote from "Julius Caesar," Act I, Sc. I. Citizen: "Indeed, sir we make holiday to see Caesar, and to rejoice in his tri- umph." Marullus: "Wherefore rejoice? What conquest brings he home? What tributaries follow him to Rome, EXPERIMENTS TO DEVELOP SIZE OF VOICE 399 to grace, in captive bonds, his chariot wheels ? You blocks, you stones, you worse than senseless things! O, you hard hearts, you cruel men of Rome, knew you not Pompey? Many a time and oft have you climbed up to walls and battlements, to towers and windows, yea, to chimney-tops, your infants in your arms, and there have sat the livelong day, with patient expectation, to see great Pompey pass the streets of Rome ; and, when you saw his chariot but appear, have you not made an universal shout, that Tiber trembled underneath her banks, to hear the replication of your sounds made in her concave shores ? And do you now put on your best attire? And do you now cull out a holiday? And do you now strew flowers in his way, that comes in triumph over Pompey's blood? Be gone! Run to your houses, fall upon your knees, pray to the gods to intermit the plague that needs must light on this ingratitude." CHAPTER XX STRENGTH OF VOICE WHAT are the sources of vocal strength? We hear the voice of a friend. It sounds weak, and we say: "Are you ill? I notice that your voice is weak." Or a friend has been ill, we hear his voice and instantly say : "Oh, he is better ; his voice is stronger." Undoubtedly the com- mon belief is, that strength of voice depends on strength of body. With certain important exceptions, this conclu- sion is justified. We shall treat these exceptions later. For the present, let us accept this principle. This principle accepted, the student of speech sees clearly the first step he must take to secure the requisite strength of voice. If the body is weak in any part, the speaker should put forth the effort necessary to strengthen it. If the health is deficient, even to a slight degree, the speaker should use every reasonable means to build up a buoyant health. If he is healthy and strong, he should so live as to preserve and increase his strength. This he can do only by sane and regular habits. The speaker should eat only wholesome food and should eat regularly and in moderate quantities. He should exercise and bathe every day, and his hours of rest should be regular. Only by these means can the public speaker have and preserve the strength of voice that will be demanded of him. 400 SOURCES OF VOCAL STRENGTH 401 Let us now examine the exceptions to the rule that strength of body will insure strength of voice. Does every man with a strong body have a strong voice? Have you not often heard a weak, thin, small voice issuing from some large, strong man? The present writer found so many of such cases, that it started him to investigating the vocal strength of those persons who have developed great bodily strength. The result of these investigations is interesting and valuable. Several prominent athletes and physical directors, whose bodily strength is superb, have been found to have com- paratively weak voices. Some of these men have very weak voices. The author took physical training under the direction of a man, who, for years, had been a teacher of what is known as "health gymnastics." His system of exercises was of the very best. The daily practice of these exercises had given to the director a magnificent physique; yet his voice was so weak that he could hardly make himself distinctly heard when he gave his vocal orders in the gymnasium. Such cases, numerous as they are, es- tablish a notable exception to the rule that strength of body implies strength of voice. They prove that general vigor of body, essential as it is, is not enough to insure the strength of voice the public speaker needs. We made a closer investigation of some of these cases of men with strong bodies but weak voices. We found that the weakness of voice was not due to a diseased condition of the throat or lungs, or of the resonant chambers of the mouth or nose. The vocal apparatus was all healthy, and ready for the voice to be made strong. The evidence com- pelled the conclusion that the strength of the voice depends 402 STRENGTH OF VOICE on mental control as well as on the strength of the body; and confirms the thesis stated in the chapter on Size of Voice (p. 380). We there declared that since the voice is so intimate a part of our thinking and feeling selves, when we are attempting to communicate our thoughts to others, therefore, the best training of the voice can be found only in our thinking and feeling processes while we are speaking. In what way are the processes of thought and feeling so affected by the things of which we speak, the place in which we speak, and the purposes for which we speak, as to strengthen the voice? Recall the work you did to de- velop the size of your voice. Does there seem to be a very close relationship between size of voice and strength of voice? Does it seem to you that anything that will so affect your thinking and feeling as to increase the size of your voice will also increase your strength of voice? We are apt to reach this hasty conclusion ; but careful investiga- tion proves such a conclusion unwarranted. The thing that makes the voice large is not the same thing that makes it strong. The very largeness of the thing contemplated often lessens, and sometimes destroys, the strength of the voice. For example, three of us have gone into the mountains. One of the party has advanced some distance ahead of the other two, when we who are behind suddenly see an ava- lanche crashing down toward the very spot where the man in advance now is. It seems to us that the avalanche is too wide for him possibly to escape it. We are horror-struck at its vastness. I turn to the man with me and exclaim: "Look ! The avalanche !" The voice in which I say these SOURCES OF VOCAL STRENGTH 403 words is extremely large, so large that it suggests the size of the avalanche, yet it is as weak as it is large. My tone is large but hollow and breathy. It is the tone of horror. Professor Trueblood, of the University of Michigan, used to say: "The tone of horror is the tone of courage with the middle punched out." This is a very good description of it. It suggests a large thing with no solidity, no strength to it. All cases of horror, dread, amazement, sublimity, etc., affect the voice in this same manner. They make the voice large, but hollow, and weak for its size. They prove that to develop strength of voice we must go to other sources than those of mere largeness. Let us return to the scene in the mountains. Let us sup- pose that we again see our friend in the path of the ava- lanche that is descending upon him. We are just as dread- fully impressed with the enormous size of the avalanche as before, but now we suddenly hope that our friend may escape if he moves quickly enough and fast enough. We call to him : "Run ! Run ! Run with all your might !" What a difference in the voice now ! The size of the voice is about the same as before, but instead of being weak and hollow the voice is now as strong as it is large. What caused this great vocal change? In the former case, our minds were filled with the size of the thing contemplated, but we felt utterly helpless to cope with that thing. In the latter case, our minds were again filled with the size of the thing contemplated, but we instantly imagined the supreme effort our friend would have to put forth to cope with that thing. We also became filled with the determina- tion to help him put forth that supreme effort. The result was that our voices became filled with strength in proper- 404 STRENGTH OF VOICE tion to the task conceived. Here, then, we have the first law governing the strength of the voice: When the things about which we speak suggest to us a task for those to whom we speak, if we thoroughly con- ceive the energy our hearers will have to put forth to cope with that task, if we become filled with a determi- nation to help our hearers to have the power needed, and if we feel as if we were performing that task with them as we speak, our voices will be strong in proportion to the task conceived. It will be seen that in accordance with this law we have strength of voice not only in proportion to the things about which we speak but also in proportion to the strength of the purposes for which we speak. This should be obvious, for whenever we are so affected by the things about which we speak, that we speak in order to move our hearers to do something, are we not gaining strength of voice from the strength of the purpose for which we speak as well as from contemplating the things about which we speak? The above law does not, however, provide for the strength of voice that may be demanded by the space in which we speak. How is the speaker to realize the strength of voice this may require how is he to create it out of his think- ing processes? Let us see if we cannot gain some help on this point, from the work we have already done in building size of voice in proportion to the size of the room in which we speak. There we found that the first thing the speaker must do, is to get a clear conception of the distance be- tween himself and the most remote part of the room in which he is to speak. He must clearly conceive how much larger this space is than the space between himself and a SECOND LAW OF STRENGTH OF VOICE 405 companion in ordinary conversation. He must then imagine how it would seem to have his voice expand from its ordi- nary size to a size corresponding to the space contemplated. He must continue to imagine that his voice is doing this until his lungs and throat do so expand. When the speaker has done this, he has made a good start toward creating the strength of voice which that larger room requires. Then there remains one thing for him to do to realize the strength needed. The speaker must conceive that the energy demanded of himself and his hearers, to enable them to cope with the tasks suggested by the things talked about, is as much greater than the ordinary energy those tasks might require as this room in which he speaks is larger than the ordinary room. This is the second law governing the strength of voice. This will not only leave the speaker's mind free to con- centrate upon the things of which he is speaking (instead of the troublesome size of the room), it will also expand everything about which he speaks, in size and importance. He will receive stronger imaginative .sensations from the things spoken of and will have a stronger purpose to have his audience increase their energy to meet the larger prob- lems which now engage his mind. We have now considered the things which happen in our thinking and feeling processes, to make the voice strong when there are great or unusual demands for strength of voice. There is another distinct demand for vocal strength. A large number of speeches in public seem to require no special strength of voice either because of the things talked about or because of the size of the auditoriums in which 4O6 STRENGTH OF VOICE they are presented. But it is an error fatal to good speak- ing, to conclude from this fact that it is, therefore, not neces- sary to pay attention to strength of voice. How often in every-day life does the average man find himself called upon to perform a task that requires a special amount of bodily strength ? If he be a professional or a business man, there may not be one day in a thousand when such a de- mand will be made of him. But what would we think of this man if, because of this fact, he reasoned that his bodily strength would take care of itself, and if, therefore, he never took any exercise to strengthen his body? We should think him unwise. Shall the speaker expect to escape this principle? If he argues that, because he will seldom need great strength of voice, he will let his strength of voice take care of itself, how can he expect full success in any of his speech efforts. In any kind of speaking, the fullest success can come only when the speaker's stock of vocal energy is so great that whatever he says issues from a reserve, an overflow, so to speak, of that energy. There is yet another reason why even the speaker who expects to do no speaking that will require great vocal power, should make Sure that he has strength of voice. Any speech-theme that is brought before the public is, by that very act, raised above an ordinary subject. The audience expects, and has a right to expect, the speaker to lead it into some fuller realization of life, no matter how ordinary he may deem the subject which he presents. Recently one of the prominent college presidents delivered an address in which one excellent thought followed another throughout the hour, yet President seemed to regard his own mes- sage as so ordinary that he never once employed that NORMAL STRENGTH OF VOICE 407 strength of voice that would even suggest that he was a leader. The result was, that the audience was bored and tired before he was half through. Such results occur too frequently, and they impress the thoughtful student of speech with the fact that as soon as a speaker comes before an audience, no matter what his subject may be, it is his duty to lift that subject out of the ordinary by tapping those sources of vocal strength which will make him a true leader of his audience. This brings us to the question, what are the sources of vocal strength to be found in quiet, unimpassioned speech. Here is a speaker who has nothing but a little story to tell, interesting enough, but not impressing the speaker as hav- ing any particular strength. Before him is a small audience of only a hundred people. Yet this speaker is keenly alive and sensitive to situations (as every speaker should be), and the instant he sees these hundred people before him, he feels a hundred minds centered on his mind, waiting for him to move them. He feels, in a sense, as if these hun- dred people were opposing him. It turns his mind to think- ing of this opposition and the strength requisite to over- come it. The effect of such a situation upon the speaker, should be like the effect we often feel from a sudden physical shock. (See p. 376.) When shocking or greatly sur- prising news is brought to us, if we are alert to the import of that news, what is the first thing we do? The common expression for the act we perform at such a time, is, that we "gasp," the body filling itself with breath that it may be strong to resist the attack. It is the same when we make an attack as when we resist one. If a large bulk of 408 STRENGTH OF VOICE any kind lies in our way and we go at it to move it, we instinctively take a deep breath. So, when the speaker sud- denly "takes in" the thought that, though he has only a simple story to tell, there are a hundred minds before him which he must affect by this story, that thought greatly affects his strength of voice. Whether he conceives these hundred minds as so much active mental opposition that must be resisted or whether he conceives them as so much mental bulk to be set in motion, if his conception be quick and full and strong, it will cause him instantly to fill his lungs, by a quick, full and strong breath, before he speaks his first sentence. This will start a decided increase in his strength of voice. While this conception of the number of minds before him, will start the vocal strength the speaker may desire, it will not preserve that strength throughout his speech. As soon as he has conceived, in the number of minds before him, so much force that he must cope with or so much bulk that he must move, the speaker must instantly recognize in his message the strength needed to perform the task before him. This means that he must conceive the strength of his story, however simple, as being multiplied, as it were, by the number of the minds confronting Lim. Whatever has been ordinarily interesting to him in the things about which he is to talk, must now become largely interesting to him. Before he speaks each single thought, the speaker must conceive in that thought, so great an ability to interest or to please or to persuade, that he believes it cannot fail to move the number of minds ad- dressed. This surprise at the strength of each thought, as it comes to him, will quickly cause the speaker's lungs to THIRD LAW OF STRENGTH OF VOICE 409 fill, thus enabling that strength of voice needed to make the thought move the audience. From these observations, we derive the third law of strength of voice. It is this: When the speaker so sensitively realizes the number of minds before him, that he recognizes in them so much mental force to be coped with or so much mental inertia to be set in motion, if he will conceive a proportionate strength in each thought he speaks, he will have the vocal strength needed to express that thought. Or, to put it more tersely, To have the strength of voice needed for the utterance of each thought, the speaker must multiply his ordinary conception of the strength of that thought, by the num- ber of minds in his audience. It will be seen that, according to this law, the speaker has an appropriate strength of voice for the smallest and least impassioned thing he has to say as well as for the largest and most impassioned. Of course, the phrase "number of his hearers," must not be taken too literally. It hardly needs to be said that if one were to stop actually to count the number in his audience, that very act would so com- pletely divert his interest from his subject, that he would fail to apply the law. An excellent rule for the speaker, in attempting to follow this law, is to address his speech a number of times to an imaginary audience, imagining at least as many persons as he will have in the audience when he faces it. Then, when he comes before the audi- ence itself, let him again imagine as many persons before him as he has previously imagined. If the audience should happen to be small, this act of mind, established in his prac- 4IO STRENGTH OF VOICE tice, will render him less conscious of the smallness of the audience, and less depressed by it. If the audience should be large, this practice will fortify him for it as nothing else could. It is sometimes objected that this law is not universal be- cause not competent to give a speaker the vocal strength needed when very large numbers of persons confront him. For instance, it is said that if the audience numbers, say, forty thousand persons, he would not have the vocal strength necessary to convey his thoughts to all. But this objection really confirms the law instead of disproving it. The law states that if the speaker "multiply his ordinary conception of the strength of each thought he speaks, by the number of his hearers," he will get the desired result. The speaker will find it practically impossible to multiply his conception forty thousand times, or to increase his sur- prise at a new thought, or his in-take of breath, anything like forty thousand times. These are the basic reasons why he has not enough vocal strength to carry his thoughts to that many persons. Practice in Speaking on Strength of Voice The speaker will make clearer to himself the laws of vocal strength, and will, at the same time, prepare himself to remember and practice those laws, if he will put them into immediate use in speaking. To do this, make an outline of this chapter, and, from this outline, discuss, extempore, before imaginary hearers, the various divisions and the entire subject, and be prepared to repeat these dis- EXPERIMENTS TO DEVELOP STRENGTH OF VOICE 4! I cussions in an interesting and persuasive way before the class. Experiments to Develop Strength of Voice Since we have found that, whether the vocal strength we use is to be sought in the things about which we speak, or in the purposes for which we speak, or in the size of the room in which we speak, it always is contingent upon the speaker's getting a clear conception of some opposition he has to meet, and from his faithing the strength ade- quate to overcome that opposition, let us take advantage of these two discoveries in performing the following ex- periments. Let the student of speech keep in mind that the only speaker who succeeds in strength of voice, is the one who realizes that every moment the speaker is before an audi- ence he is meeting keen opposition; the passive opposition of all those minds against his one mind, waiting for him to move and help them; the opposition of every new idea in his speech, challenging him and demanding to be fully appraised; and the opposition of the room in which he speaks, demanding of him that he realize how everything of which he speaks has grown large in proportion to the size of the room. Let the student also remember: The strength needed comes into the voice of the speaker only when he so suddenly and completely senses some opposition, that he involuntarily packs his lungs with breath. Inasmuch as the average student at first finds it difficult to imagine opposition of any kind strong enough to bring 412 STRENGTH OF VOICE the desired result while speaking, it is generally found best to begin with simple experiments which require no talking. Another important reason for such a beginning, is the fact that so many students have formed bad habits of breathing. These must be corrected before the body will respond and take in a full breath as quickly as strength of voice demands. 1. First perform an experiment to see how quickly you can fill the lungs with air. Understand first that effective strength of voice comes only when the upper chest is held high and steady, and the breathing is done in the lower chest and the abdominal region. To make sure that this is the way you breathe, stand erect with the chest held high. Now place the right hand on the chest, to see that it does not move. Place the left hand on the wall of the stomach, to see that it does move. If the chest is held as high as it should be, the left hand will find the stomach-wall flat and drawn in. When you have secured this position, take as deep and full a breath as you can. As you do so, see that the upper chest remains high and immovable, and that the breath fills the lower chest until the wall of the stomach pushes your left hand forward. When you ex- hale, still keep your upper chest firm and stationary and let the breath be sent out of your body by the stomach- wall as it moves inward toward the back-bone. Repeat this experiment twelve times, each time trying to see how much more air you can get into the lungs and how much more quickly you can do it. 2. As a second experiment, drop both hands to the sides and perform the whole of experiment I again. To make sure that your chest remains high and stationary, EXPERIMENTS TO DEVELOP STRENGTH OF VOICE 413 try to imagine that you are again pushing it up against your hand; and, to realize that the abdominal wall is moving outward when you inhale and inward when you exhale, again imagine your hand there, moving with it. Each time you repeat the experiment, try harder to pack the lungs full of air in an instant of time. It is, of course, clearly seen that the last two experiments both call for voluntary acts of breathing. We have given these only to make sure that the student breathe as he should for voice-building. The breathing must become involun- tary before it can be of any direct value in speech. It is necessary, therefore, that the student now set his mind to those tasks which it must perform in speaking, and which will involuntarily fill the lungs. The following experiments will help you in those tasks. 3. In the third experiment, imagine some persons trying to coerce you to do something, the thought of which vio- lently offends you; for example, to betray a friend. Con- ceive clearly that both the determination and the strength of these persons are great, and that they mean to use, to the utmost, both their influence and their strength, to coerce you. Get a clear conception of the strength and determination you must have this moment, to resist the attack. When you have realized this, say to the imaginary persons who are confronting you : "I won't !" Imagine that, when you have said this, they press nearer to you. Conceive how their de- termination increases. As you do so, feel a like increase in your own power, and determine to make these persons feel your power as you say again : "I won't!" Hear their threats and see their muscles tense, as they prepare to lay hold of you. Realize that the moment has come when you must 414 STRENGTH OF VOICE make these persons fear you. To do so, convince the strength necessary to throw them back and away from you, and fling this acme of your power at them in a final "I won't!!!" 4. For the fourth experiment, imagine that a friend comes rushing up to you and tells you four things, each one more surprising and more joyful than the last. Let it be some such glad tidings as that one of your best friends has just had four rapid and splendid successes, each one requir- ing great strength and effort. Vigorously imagine your friend, at the present moment, putting forth the effort necessary to win each success reported. Hear all these reports in such quick succession, that each one makes you catch a fuller breath before you have had time to lose the last one. Repeat the experiment until the four things come upon you with such quick and accumulating force, that, when you have heard the last one, you so keenly feel the strength it required to achieve all those four things, that you become filled with that strength as if you yourself were performing the tasks. Let this strength ring out in your joy as you say. "Fine ! Great ! Great ! !" 5. In the fifth experiment, imagine that you are coach- ing a contest in a "tug of war." Feel that your side can win if you can only make them realize just how much energy to use as exactly the right moment. Get a clear and full con- ception yourself, of just how large and strong a pull it will take to win. Get into the rhythm of the team's motion, and now determine to make your words impart to each man the energy he needs, as you call: "Pull! Pull! Pulll Once more! Now you have it!!" EXPERIMENTS TO DEVELOP STRENGTH OF VOICE 415 In this experiment it is especially important that the speaker avoid speaking from mere excitement. To in- crease the excitement will but strain the voice and will not develop it. The purpose to arouse the listeners to put forth a certain amount of energy, must come from the speaker's clear conception of just how much energy is needed, and from his realizing just how it would feel to be using all that energy this moment, to win the contest. 6. For further experiments in developing your vocal strength, prepare the following short excerpts from litera- ture. Thoroughly conceive the strength which must have imbued the mind of the speaker, to cause him to utter the words quoted. Conceive yourself as becoming each of these speakers, and conceive yourself as imbued with and using the great strength you have conceived, to cope with the present force. First use these lines from "Virginia: A Lady of Ancient Rome," by Macaulay: "Now, by your children's cradles, now, by your father's graves, be men to-day, Quirites, or be forever slaves ! Shall the vile fox- earth awe the race that storm'd the lion's den? Shall we, who could not brook one lord, crouch to the wicked Ten? O, for that ancient spirit which curb'd the Senate's will! O, for the tents which, in old time, whiten'd the Sacred Hill! In those brave days, our fathers stood firmly side by side; they faced the Marcian fury, they tamed the Fabian pride." Next use the following words from 'The Lady of the Lake," by Scott, in which the speaker, with drawn sword, places his back against a rock and dares a whole band to attack him: "Come one, come all! This rock shall 41 6 STRENGTH OF VOICE fly from its firm base as soon as I." Then use the follow- ing words (from "Pibroch," Scott) spoken under similar circumstances: "Come as the winds come when forests are rended! Come as the waves come when navies are stranded!" CHAPTER XXI ENDURANCE OF VOICE THE RELATION OF VOCAL ENDURANCE TO SIZE AND STRENGTH OF VOICE IT may seem reasonable to suppose that when the speaker has attained adequate size and strength of voice, these will also impart vocal endurance. Yet a closer investigation shows the opposite to be true. The more completely the speaker is filled with the energy of his subject and the occasion, the more likely he is to let his energy "run away with him/' and impair his endurance of voice. In this experience, is he not subject to the law of life as we find it everywhere? Anyone who has raised horses will testify that it is the colt that is the fullest of life and "spirit," that is most likely to exhaust its strength and destroy its best usefulness. Who is it requires the more control and careful directing, the quiet boy or the boy who is ever on the go? The voice of the speaker obeys this law of life. A speaker takes the floor whose alert face quickly shows us that he is intensely "alive to the situa- tion." He begins to speak. We listen with eager interest ; for we expect a great speech from a man who has "risen to the occasion" as he seems to have done. At the first sound of his voice, we know that his subject is expanded 41 8 ENDURANCE OF VOICE as it should be for this room and this audience. The size of his voice tells us that. The strength of his voice tells us that he fully conceives all the energy demanded by each single thing about which he speaks; but it tells us more. It tells us all too plainly that the speaker is giving all his strength to us in every thought he utters. He is wasting his energy in two ways. He has put so much strength into the smaller things, that he lacks the greater energy for the larger things, hence, emphasis is lost; and he is putting so much strength into the first part of his speech, that, as we presently discover, he has little left for the last part. The experience of this man is the experience of every speaker who has not developed vocal endurance, and who makes the mistake of assuming that if he has size and strength of voice, endurance will take care of itself. The relation of these three characteristics of voice, is clearly this, that size and strength create an immediate and un- usual demand for such control of voice as will insure endurance. SOURCES OF VOCAL ENDURANCE From the use we have made of the word "endurance," it is evident that we employ it in about the same sense as "sustaining power" of voice. It is that thing in the voice which prevents it from using more energy than is needed at any one moment, and saves the rest for future use. To discover the basic source of this control, the author of this book made hundreds of tests of his own voice SOURCES OF VOCAL ENDURANCE 419 and the voices of others, under all sorts of conditions. He believed it would be highly valuable to every speaker, to know how to preserve the full vigor of his voice without dividing his attention between his subject-matter and the problem of saving his voice. The first interesting dis- covery was that there is a peculiar physical source of endurance in the voice. Whenever the voice was found to be retaining a stock of reserve-power, while the mind was acting normally and freely upon the things discussed, it was also discovered that a distinctive kind of breathing was done by the speaker. At these times, the speaker took very full breaths into the lower chest, but always con- tinued to inhale after the chest seemed to be full, until his back, to the right and left from the vertebral column, seemed to be pushed out as if the breath were backing up as an over-full stream backs up. We were much interested to find that the dorsal muscles along the line where the diaphragm joins the back, were actually pulling backward as if to make room for the reserve breath that was being stored up in that region of the lungs. We made many experiments to discover whether this dorsal method of breathing, as we soon came to call it, could be used voluntarily, and if so, whether, when so used, it would impart the desired endurance to the voice. We found that we can use this method whenever we wish to, not by itself but as a climax to the lower-chest and abdominal breathing. We were gratified to find that this method alone, even when deliberately used, does impart the desired endurance to the voice. Let the student test it for himself. Place the back of the hand against the back at the lower part of the chest. Now inhale until the abdominal 420 ENDURANCE OF VOICE wall is pushed forward and the back is pushed backward against your hand. Repeat this act of inhalation until you are sure that your dorsal muscles are pulling back vigorously. Now take as much breath as you possibly can into the dorsal region, determine that your dorsal muscles shall keep that extra breath there as a reserve, and begin to talk. You will be surprised to find that you can talk on and on and on, almost indefinitely, and yet your supply of breath will not be exhausted. These experiments have proved that the direct source of vocal endurance is the dorsal method of breathing. We had found the physical source of endurance of voice, but we were not content to stop there. We knew that the speaker cannot do the kind of thinking he should do before an audience, and at the same time give direct atten- tion to the kind of breathing be is doing. We determined to discover, if possible, the answer to this question : What conception of his subject must the speaker get, and what attitude must he take toward that conception, to cause him to use dorsal breathing without conscious effort? At this point, some excellent help was received from experimenting with athletes. It was discovered that when- ever an athlete is poising for such an effort as a running broad jump, where his mind takes in a whole, large move- ment made up of many smaller movements, he uses the dorsal breathing. On the other hand, when the mind of the athlete prepares for only one act into which he expects to throw all his strength, as in the shot-put or the hammer- throw, the dorsal breathing is seldom done. The reason for this difference became clear. When the mind was SOURCES OF VOCAL ENDURANCE 42! conceiving the running broad jump, requiring many short, vigorous strides and one last mighty leap, it quickly re- coiled from expending all its energy in the first strides. The jumper's mind reached forward, so to speak, to measure the whole effort, and the energy he must save for the finish. In proportion to the distance the mind reached forward, the dorsal muscles seemed to draw backward to save the extra energy to cover that distance. This seemed to suggest the law by which the speaker's mind acts, but to make sure whether this were true, we returned to our experiments with speakers. We found that: Just in proportion as the speaker's mind reaches for- ward to contemplate the task found in a whole division of the speech he is presenting, and the energy he will need to finish that task, in that proportion do his dorsal muscles store up the breath he will need at the end of that division. This is the law of endurance of voice. How large the division of the speech shall be, which the speaker must measure before he begins to present any part of it, cannot be determined arbitrarily. Each speaker must find this out for himself. He should determine to grasp a clear conception of as large a division of his speech as he can, not to confuse his mind. Sometimes it is only one long complex sentence; sometimes it is a paragraph; sometimes, more than one paragraph. At least it must be a division large enough to comprise a number of small thoughts to be joined together in a conclusion or climax. Of course, the speaker will understand that this process is to be repeated for every division of his speech. In other words, he must grasp as large a division as possible 422 ENDURANCE OF VOICE at the very beginning of his speech, and, as soon as that division has been presented, he must do the same with the next part of his speech, and so on. It should not be as- sumed, however, that because he has stored up the vocal reserve that will enable him to finish a division of his speech with a fresh voice, therefore he has all the breath he will need to deliver that entire division. What he has stored up is reserve voice, not to be used but to be kept to insure his vocal strength even after he has finished. In business, it is considered bad policy not to keep a re- serve fund ; it is bad policy also in the voice business. The law which we have just discovered, is nature's means for keeping the reserve which the voice should have. If the speaker is to avoid "using up" this reserve, he must profit by what he has already learned about the effect on him, which every new thought should have. In our study of strength of voice, we found that every thought that comes before the speaker's mind, should come with such fresh- ness of interest that the lungs unconsciously fill as the mind fills with the in- rush of the "news" the thought brings. This law of strength of voice must be followed just as constantly when you follow the law of endurance as when you do not. The two laws help one another. There have been remarkable illustrations of the way in which these two laws, for strength and endurance of voice, work together to accomplish vocal wonders. One of the most memorable instances is set forth in a story which the famous actress, Clara Morris, tells about herself. When she was still a young girl, playing small parts, she had to go on the stage one evening, unexpectedly, in a scene where she had to give an alarm. It was not a short, impulsive SOURCES OF VOCAL ENDURANCE 423 alarm consisting of one, two, or three words. There were several lines of this cry to be spoken. She must not only make the outcry strong and sustained, she must make it grow stronger and stronger until everyone who heard it would be roused to action. Finally, as if to make the task impossible for her, she must make her cries heard above the awful clanging of an alarm-bell. The thought of the task appalled her, yet she felt she must conquer! As the moments drew nearer and the enormity of the task grew upon her, she felt as if her lungs would burst with the fullness of breath she had taken. As if to protect herself against the scene that seemed about to overpower her, she unconsciously held this enormous breath she had taken, and, rushing upon the stage, shouted her first cry. Instantly the great bell struck. As its tone startled her, Miss Morris realized that her next cry must be stronger. At this con- ception, her lungs filled fuller than before, and her next cry was stronger. So with the next and the next and the next stroke of the bell, until the last cry was given in far larger and stronger voice than the first. The scene ended in wild applause; and, when the little actress went Behind the scene, she found everyone amazed at the voice she had had. She had so fully conceived the whole task before her, that she had given herself a great reserve of breath before she uttered a word. Then, in- stead of using up that reserve in a useless wrangling with the bells, she paused each time the bell struck. As she paused, she let the task of the next moment rush upon her with such freshness that it brought its own supply of breath. It was an ideal conception of the two laws, one of which gives size and strength and the other of which gives 424 ENDURANCE OF VOICE endurance of voice. In no other way could she have had the wonderful success in this scene. In every instance like the one just cited, where the speaker's voice must be unusually strong and must sustain and increase its strength, the co-operation of the two laws which provide for strength and endurance of voice, is ab- solutely necessary. Nothing else will save the voice, at such a time, if the mind does not so act as to cause a great storing of re- serve breath at the beginning of such a task, and a re- filling of the lungs to their utmost capacity as each small thought entering into that task, comes before the mind of the speaker. But let the student of speech not suppose that the only time he will need endurance of voice, is when the voice must perform, some great feat of strength and endurance. Endurance of voice must be cultivated every day, in all our speaking, if we would have it when the great need for it comes. This characteristic of the voice is very much like manners. There is an old saying that he who does not practice his manners in his every-day life, will find them wanting when he needs them most. The reason this is true both of manners and of endurance of voice, is that when the time comes which demands either of these, the mind of the person needing either is then too much occu- pied with other things to create the thing desired. He must have it beforehand. If the speaker would have vocal en- durance worthy the name, he must make it a habit, even in his ordinary conversation, to look ahead of the single phrase or sentence he is about to utter. He must see so large an import in what he is going to say, and must take PRACTICE IN SPEAKING ON ENDURANCE 425 so live an attitude toward it, as to cause his dorsal muscles to store up the reserve breath necessary to render the effort progressively stronger to the very end. The student who forms this habit in conversation, is repaid very richly. He soon has not only good vocal endurance for public speaking, but also becomes a better conversationalist. His mind is quicker and more receptive; his voice is more pleasing and effective; and, best of all, he enjoys every- thing about which he talks, for he has come to see how everything leads up to something worth while, hence he feels it worth while to say it. The student at first usually finds it difficult to bestir himself to so large a conception of the smaller and more ordinary things thought about, that he will store up a reserve of breath for telling about those things. For this reason it is best to begin the development of endurance of voice, by performing experiments where greater vocal strength must be exerted. It is best also to experiment in situations as simple as possible, that one's mind may have little else to do till it has mastered the process by which the lungs involuntarily store up the reserve breath needed for vocal endurance. Practice in Speaking on Endurance of Voice To gain the greatest possible benefit from the ideas presented on Endurance of Voice, employ them at once in practical speaking. Make an outline of the above discus- sion; and, from this outline, speak extempore on each division and also on the entire discussion. Be prepared to 426 ENDURANCE OF VOICE make any part of the subject interesting and persuasive to the class. Experiments to Develop Endurance of Voice I. For the first experiment, repeat the experiment of coaching a "tug of war," found on page 414. This time, imagine that your chief purpose in talking to the "team," is to inspire them with the thought that their success lies in their ability to hold back their strength just enough to make each succeeding pull stronger, and the last one far the strongest of all. Imagine that you have arranged with your team to make twenty pulls, and that you are to give one call for every pull, calling "one," "two," "three," etc., to twenty. With this arrangement made, visualize the team as if before you, keenly ready for the signal to start. As you w r atch them, try to imagine how much strength the entire effort will take, and how much must be stored in reserve for that final, gigantic pull. Realize that you must tell your team, by the strength of your voice, just how much energy to put into each stroke one man's strength multiplied by the number in the team and how much to hold back. Realize that, to do this, your voice must grow stronger with each call. Conceive how much power you will need in those last five or six calls, and determine to have a re- serve breath great enough to make those progressively stronger than the others. Repeat this experiment until your vocal endurance increases so much that you feel as if you fairly win the "tug" by the accumulating power of your voice. EXPERIMENTS TO DEVELOP ENDURANCE 427 2. In the second experiment, build endurance of voice in the following lines (from Act V, Scene 3, of "Richard the Third," by Shakespeare) : 'Fight, gentlemen of England ! Fight, bold yeomen ! Draw, archers, draw your arrows to the head ! Spur your proud horses hard and ride in blood ; amaze the welkin with your broken staves!" Imagine the various divisions of your army, to which you speak, im- mediately before you. The "gentlemen" are one division; the "yeomen," the second; and the "archers," the third. Realize that the success of your words, in sending them forth to do this work, depends largely on the great up-lift you will give them at the end of your speech. Think on this, until you feel that you have as much power in you, ready to sound forth in your voice, as you ask all these men to have. Now stir them with your speech! Give your first, short utterance to the "Gentlemen," all the strength you can, not to use up the "reserve" you will need to make the next exhortation, to the "yeomen" stronger still. Stop long enough after each short speech, to conceive clearly the kind of men to whom you speak next and the kind of energy and action you expect them to exert. Repeat the experiment till the size and strength of your voice are several times greater at the close of the speech than at the beginning. 3. As a third experiment, repeat the effort of speaking in various sized rooms (found on p. 395). This time per- form the entire experiment in one room of small or medium size. Before you begin the speech, consider that as soon as you have presented it in this small room, you must immedi- ately give it again in this same room, but imagine yourself in a room at least three times as large as this one. Consider 428 ENDURANCE OF VOICE that as soon as you have made the speech the second time, you must give it a third time in this same room, but imagine yourself in a room at least five times as large. Finally, realize that you must immediately follow this third effort by presenting the speech the fourth time in an imaginary room ten times as large as the present room. Get a full and clear conception of just how much power of voice you will have to put into that final effort, and how much reserve you will have to store up, in order to have the endurance of voice necessary to make the last of the speech as strong as it should be, and yet not exhaust your voice. If you realize this, as you must to make the experiment a success, your dorsal breathing will fill you with the greatest breath-reserve you have ever had. When you have done this, begin the experiment. Make your imaginative change from one room to another as quickly as possible, taking only time enough to make sure that you conceive not only how must energy you will need to "conquer" that next-sized room, but also how much you must still keep back for that last effort. This experiment will show you how much help endur- ance of voice receives from size of voice. It also shows that size of voice cannot be what it should be until en- durance of voice is developed. 4. For the fourth effort, repeat the experiment of mak- ing a short original speech (found on p. 397). If the speech you made before is not satisfactory, make another, consist- ing of two or more paragraphs, each succeeding one stronger than the preceding one. Let the speech be one that you put decided vigor into at the very start, yet one that grows so much stronger at the end of each paragraph, and pro- EXPERIMENTS TO DEVELOP ENDURANCE 429 gressively to the end of the whole speech, that it requires great breath-reserve. Each time you perform the experi- ment, before beginning to present the speech, be sure to realize so fully how much vocal energy your whole speech will require, to make it what it should be, and how much greater you must make the last of the speech than the first, that, your dorsal breathing shall be strong and full. Realize that it is for this experiment that all the other experiments in vocal endurance have been a preparation; for only in proportion as you experiment while doing your own original thinking, can you be sure that you are gaining the vocal endurance which you will need in the very event. CHAPTER XXII PURITY OF VOICE To make clear what we mean when we speak of the purity of a voice, let us first examine those things which seem to make the voice impure. We hear someone say of a certain speaker: "I couldn't enjoy his speech be- cause he seemed to talk through his nose." In this case the voice is impaired by something which we might call nasality. Another speaker's voice is so harsh that it rasps our nerves. Something that we might call throatiness is interfering with this man's purity of voice. The voice of another speaker diverts our attentfon from his speech be- cause there seems to be much breath that is not vocalized. The purity of this man's voice is destroyed by something we shall call breathiness. Still another speaker is displeas- ing because some constraint in his mouth seems to check and muffle his words. In this case vocal purity is lessened by a thing we call mouthiness. These four examples em- brace all the fundamental forms of impurity of voice. We have examined hundreds of cases and have never found a voice that was regarded as impure, whose fault did not prove to be one or more of the four imperfections just named. When we say a voice is pure, we mean that that voice is free from nasality, throatiness, breathiness, and mouthiness. 430 NASALITY IN THE VOICE 43! CAUSES OF VOCAL IMPURITIES, AND THEIR REMEDIES Experience has taught us that there is practically no voice that is entirely free from these imperfections. It has taught us, also, that when these imperfections become deep-seated in the voice, it is sometimes impossible to re- move them by merely developing those processes which tend to make the voice pure. It is first necessary to find the causes of the impurities and to remove these causes. The conditions are found to be closely parallel to those governing our health. We know that the principal sources of good health are wholesome food, fresh air, and ex- ercise. Yet who would attempt to cure a man of a dis- located hip by these three means? His hip must first be set right, then the sources of good health will do their work. So it is with a "dislocated" voice. If something is interfering with the normal working of the vocal ap- paratus, the first thing to be done is to overcome that in- terference. When this has been done, then will be the time to turn the attention to the sources of vocal purity, and let them sustain the purity of the voice as the sources of health sustain the purity of the body. I. NASALITY IN THE VOICE Let us first inquire what are the causes of nasality. The common understanding of nasality seems to be, that the person who has it is "talking through the nose." Careful investigation of many cases, however, has convinced us 432 PURITY OF VOICE that this is never the real condition. The person who has nasality in his voice does not talk through his nose. He fails to talk through his nose. This very failure to talk through the nose is the direct, physical cause of nasality. This physical cause often has a mental cause, but we be- lieve the case of nasality cannot be found whose immediate cause is not the stoppage of a part of the resonance which the voice should have in the nose. The student of speech can easily demonstrate to himself how such a stoppage causes nasality. I. Place the thumb across the opening of one of your nostrils in such a way as to close the nostril. Now speak. Try to speak in a pure tone, free from nasality you cannot do it. 2. Close both nostrils in this same manner; your voice will be still more nasal. 3. Now place the finger and thumb on the sides of the nose, just below the "bridge," and pinch the sides of the nose together. If you speak now, you will discern a different kind of nasality. 4. The muscular cur- tain that separates the nasal passages from the throat, is called the soft palate. If you are able to do so, contract the soft palate, draw it up hard and high, and then try to speak without nasality. You will find it impossible to do so. 5. Now impersonate someone who has a cold in the head that has made the soft palate thick, and you will find that you speak with nasality. 6. Place the finger and thumb of one hand on the soft parts of the throat be- tween the lower jaw and the voice-box, and press the upper part of the throat together, and you will find it impossible to speak without nasality. Make this same test by contracting the inner muscles of the throat, without the use of the finger and thumb. You will probably find NASALITY IN THE VOICE 433 that a very slight contraction there causes your voice to be nasal. 7. Now keep the throat and lower jaw immov- able while you talk. Remove all restraint on the tongue so that the "root" of the tongue is allowed to rise as high as it will when at rest. If you now speak without lowering the tongue or the voice-box, your tones will be nasal. In these seven tests, you have listened to all the forms of nasality, every one caused by stoppage or partial stop- page of the resonance which the voice should have in the nasal passages. To make sure that we get at the very base of the trouble, let us examine each of these seven conditions, to learn, if we can, what causes each undesirable condition. The stoppage of the nostrils is due to a temporary cold or to some foreign growth within the nasal passage, either of which should be removed by medical attention as soon as possible. The same is true of the thickening of the soft palate. The rigid tightening of the soft palate, as found in the fourth test above, occurs so seldom that we need give it no attention. When the upper part of the throat is contracted, this condition is almost always caused by an abnormal nervous tension, and can best be removed by mental processes which we shall consider later. The last condition which we found producing nasality, was that of the tongue's being placed so high in the throat as partly to lessen the nasal resonance. This is generally due to a state of mind and body commonly known as "laziness." The speaker whose tones are nasal from this cause, does not put vigor enough into his speaking to open the throat and mouth as they should be opened. This last discovery suggests a possible and direct remedy 434 PURITY OF VOICE for all forms of nasality. If opening the throat more will remove this one kind of nasality, may it not at least help in all other kinds ? Make the test and you will be gratified to find that it does so. You can stop the freedom of resonance in the nose, in any of the ways suggested above ; then, with the resonance still impeded, if you drop the tongue very low and open the throat very wide, you can talk with scarcely any nasality in your voice. The simple, physical principle at work here seems to be this : Nature demands that there be just about so much resonance above the voice-box. If some bad physical or mental condition has cut off a part of the resonance in the nasal passages, then nature demands of the speaker that he increase the resonance in the throat enough to overcome the lack of nasal resonance. When the speaker does this, the voice seems to abandon its nasality and to assume its normal purity. This raises the vital question, how can a speaker get his throat to do this involuntarily? What attitudes of mind, toward subject or audience, can he learn to emphasize, which will cause his throat to open in the desired manner? To discover this, we began a close observation of persons with nasal voices, to learn when they unconsciously speak with the throat so open as to overcome the nasality. The first thing we noticed was that when such persons yawn and try to speak while yawning, their nasality disappears. At first we could not make much use of this knowledge. We could hardly advise speakers to yawn all through their speeches. They might, in this manner, lose their nasality; but they would also lose their audiences. We began to ask, what is nature trying to do, that causes a person to NASALITY IN THE VOICE 435 yawn ? We soon discovered that one of the principal things nature is attempting, is to fill the lungs quickly with air, for one who starts to yawn never gets what he calls "a good one" if the yawn does not continue till the diaphragm contracts vigorously and effectively, and packs the lungs with air. This knowledge began to be interesting; for we know some of the acts of mind which involuntarily cause one to take a quick, full breath. We know that when a person is suddenly attacked, either physically or mentally, in pro- portion as his mind opens to conceive the amount of energy necessary to resist the attack, in the same proportion do his throat and lungs open to take in the breath necessary to enable him to resist the attack. It occurred to us that when- ever a person whose voice is nasal, is so attacked, as when he hears startling news, his nasality should disappear, or, at least, that it should be much lessened. It seemed that such a result would necessarily follow; for, at such times, the throat is thrown wide open. We began to observe nasal speakers under these conditions. In most cases, the result was just what we expected the nasality disappeared. In some cases, it did not entirely disappear but was materially lessened. In a few cases, there seemed to be little change. We gave special attention to these persons whose voices remained nasal during surprise and like states of mind, and found that some of them had malformation or disease of the nose, which could be removed only by medical aid. The others who did not seem subject to the law stated above, were found to be persons who have remained in a half-lifeless attitude of mind and body so long, that they seem to be unable to observe the above law-tunable to 436 PURITY OF VOICE conceive the amount of energy necessary to resist an attack. Such persons will receive the most startling news and be greatly surprised at it, out will remain worried and helpless while they utter, in a high-pitched drawl, such expressions as "For the land's sake !" They do not disprove the law ; they only prove themselves habitual breakers of the law by which nature removes nasality. These investigations show us clearly what is to be done to remove from the voice the impurity of nasality. The nasal passages should be examined by a competent special- ist, to determine whether the unpleasant tones are caused by a condition of the nose which only an operation can remove. If not caused by disease or malformation of the nasal passages, or if, after treatment for this, the nasality still remains, the speaker must cure himself through his own mental processes. He must cure himself by careful and persistent ob- servance of the laws of size of voice, of strength of voice, and of endurance of voice, for all these laws re- quire the speaker to open his lungs and throat for quick and frequent and full inhalation of breath. Those acts of mind which produce dorsal breathing (see p. 421) will be found especially helpful, for they cause the throat and lungs to open their widest and give the speaker the most solid and ready strength. II. THROATINESS IN THE VOICE Sometimes throatiness is a harsh, firm, rasping tone; sometimes, a loose, rattling tone; sometimes, a third form, THROATINESS IN THE VOICE 437 a cracking tone, one that seems to break in the throat and drop unexpectedly and unpleasantly from a high pitch to a low one. Whatever form it may assume, when we speak of throatiness in the voice, we refer to an unpleasant im- purity that calls attention to the throat of the speaker and seems to originate there. To begin our search for the causes of throatiness, let us turn again to one of the tests for nasality. We found that contraction of the upper part of the throat induces nasality. We next found that if we lower the tongue far down in the throat, with the upper part of the throat still contracted, the nasality disappears. Make this test again and you will find that wherever the tongue is placed, so long as the upper part of the throat is contracted, there will be throati- ness in the voice. This proves that one, direct, physical cause of throatiness is an undue tension on the upper throat, that lessens the resonance that should take place there. Now make a test that is quite the opposite to this one. Relax all the throat so that the tongue drops far back and down. Now speak without lifting the tongue and your tones will be throaty. The same principle is found in both tests. In the first case, the resonance of the throat was lessened by the drawing in of the walls of the throat. In the second case, the resonance of the throat was again lessened, this time not by the contraction of the walls of the throat, but by dropping something (the tongue) back into the resonance chamber of the throat and partly fill- ing it. Now make a test that is, in a sense, a combination of the two just made. Relax the throat and drop the tongue 438 PURITY OF VOICE as in the last test. Now, with the throat in this position, make the walls of the throat very firm, and speak. You will find that this produces the most extreme throatiness you have heard, the most extreme we ever hear. These three simple tests bring before us the following facts. First, the throat may be contracted and produce throatiness. Second, the throat may be entirely relaxed and produce throatiness. Third, the throat may be partly re- laxed and partly contracted and produce throatiness. Fourth, whether the throat be relaxed or contracted, or both, the physical cause of throatiness is a lack of openness and freedom in the throat. Dr. Muckey, in his book "The Natural Method of Voice Production," shows these interesting facts concerning the throat: i. There are two distinct sets of muscles in the throat; 2. The action of each of these two sets of muscles, is directly opposed to the action of the other set; 3. One set of these muscles is concerned with the act of swallow- ing, the other with the act of vocalizing; 4. To produce pure voice, the swallowing muscles must be wholly re- laxed. The above tests show why this is true. We have examined many cases to discover what causes throatiness. It is always partly caused, and almost always wholly caused by some defect in the mental attitude of the speaker. In very rare cases, some foreign growth is found, or the tonsils are so enlarged by disease as to interfere with the resonance. In such cases surgical aid may be necessary. In practically all cases, however, the mental state of the speaker will be found to have much to do with throatiness. If the throatiness is caused by a contraction of the throat, the speaker is on some unnecessary mental THROATINESS IN THE VOICE 439 strain. He has not full confidence in himself or in his subject. Sometimes such a speaker has not a clear con- ception of his subject or of the purpose for which he speaks. Sometimes he has not learned to take an active enough attitude toward everything about which he speaks, to cause him to "let go" and open his entire being to receive the truth quickly and fully. The speaker whose voice is throaty because the throat is too much relaxed, has a careless regard for himself, his subject, or his audi- ence sometimes for all three. This causes him to drop into a comfortable indifference in his speaking, which, in turn, causes the tongue to drop into the throat. This is the voice of the easy-going "Hoosier" type, for example. When the throatiness is caused by the dropping of the tongue into the throat and the contracting of the throat in that position, the mental attitude of the speaker is what we might call intensified indifference. The speaker has so long allowed himself to be indifferent toward things of which he speaks that he is now unsympathetic, and harsh toward those things. We hear an ideal example of this form of throatiness, when an irritable person snarls out: "Take that thing away!" in what is known as a "gut- tural" tone. Another well-known example is the arrogant, egotistical speaker. This kind of person seems not only to drop the tongue but to force it down into the throat, farther and farther, in proportion as his arrogance rises higher. As he does this, his voice grows more and more throaty So, whatever form of stoppage the throat of the speaker may have, we find that the mental cause is a lack of alert openmindedness to receive the truth and a lack of openheartedness to give out the truth to others. 44 PURITY OF VOICE From this it is clear that the remedy for throatiness is practically the same as for nasality. The speaker who is troubled with this form of vocal impurity, may possibly find it advisable to consult a specialist, to ascertain whether the throat needs medical attention. Whether he does this or not, he will find it necessary to change his mental atti- tudes. The speaker troubled with throatiness must form quicker and larger conceptions of everything about which he speaks, and must become as alert and open to receive each thought as if it were a startling piece of news, so that a large new breath is taken with each new thought. Above all he must observe the laws of endurance of voice until he has developed a good, strong dorsal method of breathing, and must become filled with such a strong desire to help his hearers, that he forgets himself. III. BREATHINESS IN THE VOICE Breathiness is that condition of the voice in which there seems to be too much breath and too little voice more breath than the speaker can vocalize or turn into clear voice. To find the causes of breathiness, let us first inquire under what conditions people speak in such a voice. Care- ful investigation has shown the following to be the principal occasions when persons speak in breathy tones: I. When secret; 2. When very cautious; 3. When scared; 4. When awe-struck ; 5. When exhausted ; 6. When weak or feeble ; 7. When too fat. BREATHINESS IN THE VOICE 44! It will be observed that conditions i, 2, 3, and 4 are mental, while 5, 6, and 7 are physical. We :hall first analyze these mental states, to find what there is in the mind of a speaker to cause his voice to be breathy, then turn our attention to the physical conditions. When a person is telling a secret, we say he whispers. By this we mean that his utterance is all breath and no voice. What has caused this speaker to lose his voice and to try to send his message to the listener, by voiceless breath alone? Assume this state yourself and you will find that your principal concern is for the person who might hear. You contemplate how bad it would be if this undesired person should hear your secret, till you begin to fear that he may hear it. In proportion as your mind becomes more and more absorbed in this fear, does your voice become more and more absorbed till only the breathy whisper remains. When we analyze the state of mind of a speaker who is exercising extreme caution, we find it very much the same. He is not fearing that someone may hear, but he is turning his mind to contemplate a thing which he does not desire and from which he is trying to save the listener. As soon as he begins to think of this thing not desired, he begins to imagine how bad it would be to experience that thing. In other words, he starts the fearing process. In proportion as his mind becomes absorbed in this process, does his voice become absorbed in breathiness. When the voice becomes breathy through the speaker's being scared, it is evident that the mental process is the same. He is contemplating something that he fears may overcome him. He keeps on contemplating this thing till 442 PURITY OF VOICE he begins to "get the substance of the thing not desired"; in other words, till he begins to be overcome. In the same degree in which this takes place, will his voice be overcome and only breathiness remain. When the speaker is awe-struck, we find the mental process which produces breathiness is virtually the same. Such a speaker is not contemplating something that he really fears ; but he is conceiving something so large, so immense, or so vast, that he feels his own utter helpless- ness in the presence of this thing. In proportion as his mind dwells on his helplessness, will his voice become helpless and lost in breathiness. So we find that whatever degree of breathiness the speaker may have, if it arises from a mental cause, then THE MENTAL PROCESS CAUSING BREATHINESS IS THE CON- CEIVING OF SOMETHING NOT DESIRED AND THE PROCESS OF FEARING, OR "GETTING THE SUBSTANCE OF SOMETHING NOT DESIRED." Let us now analyze those cases of breathiness which seem to come from physical causes. Here comes a messenger running. He has evidently run a long distance; and when he tries to speak his message to us, we can hardly under- stand him, his tones are so breathy. We say he is ex- hausted. What do we mean by that? Someone replies: "We mean that he is out of breath." Out of breath? If he is out of breath, then how can his voice be breathy? Have we not found that breathiness means that the speaker has more breath than he can vocalize? A momentary ex- amination shows us that this expression "out of breath" is out of place in such cases. This person is rapidly in- haling and exhaling great draughts of breath. We BREATHINESS IN THE VOICE 443 might as well say of a man who is making and spending ten thousand a dollars a day, that he is out of money, as to say of this messenger that he is out of breath. This man is rich in breath. It is not lack of breath but lack of control of breathing. While his lungs are being rapidly flooded with breath, he retains little of it. What is the cause of this? Put yourself through the experience and you will realize that this man was so con- cerned about getting the next breath that he let each breath go almost before he had completed it, to catch the next one. In other words, his sole conception was of the next step and the energy it would require. He had lost his conception of the great task ahead and the strength that must be retained to make that part of his running stronger than the first. This makes us wonder if the breathiness of this man is directly caused by his violation of the law of endurance of voice. Now we listen to the voice of one who has been ill for weeks. We notice that his condition is, in a sense, similar to that of the exhausted person,, yet very different. The careless person would say of him also that he has no breath, yet we discern that he has much more breath than he can vocalize, for his voice is very breathy. The ex- hausted man was taking in and breathing out great draughts of breath, but this man's breaths are exceedingly small. How is it that he cannot vocalize this small amount of breath? As we watch him more closely, we catch the im- portant point that this man lets each breath go, the instant he has received it, just as the exhausted man did. He also is so concerned about getting the next breath, that he retains 444 PURITY OF VOICE little of the breath he has. It would seem that perhaps the breathiness in the voice of the weak person, also, is directly caused by his violation of the law of vocal endurance, and the consequent lack of dorsal breathing. We listen to the voice of a man whose breathiness seems to come from his being too fat, and we find the same conditions. We find this man letting each breath go the instant he has taken it. We question him and find that he has so much difficulty in taking a deep breath, that he is constantly concerned about the next breath. He also seems unable to observe the law of vocal endurance, and his breathiness seems to come from his violation of that law and the consequent lack of dorsal breathing. You will notice that in all these cases of breathiness where the speakers were in some depleted physical condi- tion, we said the breathiness seemed to come from a viola- tion of the law of vocal endurance. When, through the laryngoscope, we examine the act of vocalizing, we find that a tone free from breathiness is made only when the vocal cords are held firmly. It is easy to see that when the speaker is so vitally concerned about the next breath, that he is always relaxing and opening his throat to re- ceive that breath, the instant each exhalation starts, such a speaker never holds his vocal cords firmly. From this it is evident that whatever causes him to be constantly gasping after the next breath, causes his breathiness. Since we have proved that the speaker's failure to observe the law of vocal endurance causes this gasping, we may con- sider it proved that it also causes the breathiness in his voice. We have proved this point effectively in another way. MOUTHINESS IN THE VOICE 445 We have tested voices which were breathy from one of the physical conditions, and whenever we could get such a speaker to observe the law of vocal endurance till he would start a good dorsal breathing, the breathiness dis- appeared. A careful review of what we have said concerning this impurity of the voice, will show that there is one basic remedy for all forms of breathiness, The cure for breathiness, whether it seems to come from a mental or from a physical source, is a strong, active process of faithing, manifesting itself in the law stated in the chapter on Endurance of Voice (see p. 421). IV. MOUTHINESS IN THE VOICE Mouthiness includes all the defects in the mouth action which interfere with the purity, the clearness, and the dis- tinctness of the voice. The voice may be free from nasality, throatiness, and breathiness, and yet be far from clearness and distinctness. A careful examination of cases where such a condition as this obtained, has proved that all impurities of the voice not due to nasality, throatiness, or breathiness, are caused by some misuse of the mouth. The principal things which cause mouthiness are things which the mouth fails to do rather than things which it does. The mouth fails to open as much as it should do to effect its share of the resonance; the result is that the tones are either muffled or flat. The tongue, teeth and lips fail to act as much or 446 PURITY OF VOICE as freely as they should; the result is that the words are neither articulated nor enunciated as they should be. In our study of mouthiness, therefore, our attention is directed to these respects in which the mouth fails to act as it should do to produce a pure voice. What is it that causes the mouth to fail to open as it should? Possibly, the cause is a stiffness in the joints of the jaw; but since there is hardly such a case in ten thou- sand, and since, even in such cases, the voice can be greatly improved by the right mental processes, it is evident that we should search for the mental cause. We should naturally ex- pect to find that the same attitude of mind that causes the throat not to open as it should, also causes the mouth not to open as it should. Let us see if this supposition is correct. Observation of the various persons who speak with the mouth half -closed, shows us that they are usually the in- different or lazy, the bashful or timid, the sulky or sullen, the selfish or stingy. In each of these characteristics there is a decided lack of openness of mind in the speaker. Not one of these speakers ha n > a large enough conception of the things about which he speaks, to cause him to expand his mind to receive large things. Not one of them has a sufficiently keen conception of the force of the things about which he speaks, and the energy he must have to resist that force, to cause him to receive each thought as he would receive a great surprise. Not one of them is sufficiently interested in those to whom he speaks, to cause him to conceive the large amount of pleasure or help he can give to those persons. In other words, speakers who speak with the mouth half-closed are neither open-minded enough to receive large truth, nor open-hearted enough to give out MOUTHINESS IN THE VOICE 447 large truth to others. The above supposition that the same mental cause which contracts the throat also contracts the mouth, is proved to be correct. . A speaker is before us whose large conception of the things about which he speaks and whose large conception of the purpose for which he speaks, have given him great en- thusiasm and a very open throat and mouth. His tones are large, round and free ; yet half the words he says are diffi- cult to understand. The author has listened to so many speakers who speak in this manner, that, at times, it has almost seemed the rule rather than the exception, espe- cially among certain types of "self-made" public speakers. When we hear this kind of speaking, we say the speaker does not articulate well. What do we mean by "articulate" ? In this case it is clear that we mean the speaker does not separate his words and syllables so that each one is distinct. When we examine the means by which we separate words and syllables from one another, we find that this is done by the tongue, the teeth, and the lips. When we say a speaker does not articulate well, it is evident that he is not using his tongue, teeth, and lips as he must do to give distinct form to his syllables and words. Since speakers like the one just cited are often free from the fault of speaking with half-closed mouth, and yet do not articulate well, it is evident that the action of the mind that merely opens the mouth is different from the mental action that so moves the tongue, teeth, and lips, as to give clear articu- lation. To ascertain just what the mental defect is, that causes a speaker to articulate poorly, we have made a vast number of tests. These tests have made it clear that: 44-8 PURITY OF VOICE Whenever a speaker fails to make his words distinct, he does so because he is not forming distinct conceptions of the single things about which he speaks. He may be conceiving groups of ideas very clearly, but he is absolutely failing to bring clearly before his mind those things for which his poorly articulated words stand. His conception of the sentence he is uttering may be clear enough; but how can he expect that general conception to make absolutely distinct all the single things entering into that sentence? We say, in grammatical terms, that a sentence may con- tain nouns, verbs, adjectives, adverbs, prepositions and con- junctions. When we examine these words, we realize that when we speak a noun, we are supposed to have before the mind a certain thing; when we speak a verb, we are supposed to have before the mind a certain action; when we speak an adjective, we should see clearly a certain characteristic of a thing; when we speak an adverb, we should see clearly a certain characteristic of an action; when we speak a preposition or a conjunction, we should fully realize a certain relation between things or between actions which are, that moment, before our minds. Re- duced to simple terms, this means that every single word of a sentence should bring before the mind of the speaker, clearly and distinctly, either a thing or an action, or some characteristic of a thing or of an- action, or some relation between things or between actions. Sweet (Primer of Phonetics) makes the helpful physio- logical observation: "Consonants are the result of audible friction or stopping of the breath in some part of the mouth MOUTHINESS IN THE VOICE 449 or throat; ... the narrowing or stopping of the mouth- passage is the foundation of the sound." The mental cause of this stopping of the outflow of the voice, is the stopping of the mind to conceive the single thing represented by the word that is being spoken. We have all noticed how much use children make of their mouths when telling of some- thing that has greatly interested them, and how very dis- tinct their articulation often is at such a time. The mental cause seems to be, that each thing, of which the child speaks, stands out so decidedly alone that the words repre- senting those things stand equally alone and distinct. It is clear that the speaker should have a distinct image of the thing for which each word in a sentence stands. When a speaker gives his undivided attention to that for which the word which he is about to speak stands, his mind runs a boundary, so to speak, around that thing and makes it stand out by itself, a distinct thing. While the speaker's mind is doing this : If the speaker has a desire to cause the mind of the listener to see distinctly what he sees, then the tcngue, teeth, and lips of the speaker are running a boundary around the word representing what the speaker sees, to make that word stand out by itself. When a speaker does not give definite enough attention to that for which a word stands, to give it a distinct "boundary," or when he does not have a strong desire to cause the listener to see the thing for which the word stands, as clearly as he sees it, then the word representing what he should see loses its "boundary" and becomes 450 PURITY OF VOICE mingled in the indistinct sounds of other words in the sentence. THE RELATION OF ARTICULATION TO ENUNCIATION The last form of mouthiness we have to consider is poor enunciation. Most persons seem to regard articulation and enunciation as the same thing. Some of the dictionaries, indeed, call the two words synonyms. Careful investigation, however, proves that these two acts are separate and dis- tinct. To articulate, as we have just found, is to give distinct form and individuality to a word. To enunciate is to send forth the word when formed. This is the mean- ing the Romans, from whom we took the word, gave it. It comes from the Latin "e," from, and "nuntius," a mes- senger. With the Romans, a word was enunciated when it was sent forth from the messenger. The word "enuncia- tion" should have precisely this meaning with us. The difference between the two acts of articulating and enunciating may be fairly illustrated by the minting of coins. Let us imagine that we are standing before a peculiar type of machine that is minting gold coins. Let us suppose that the only means we have of judging whether those coins are pure, is to listen to the ring of each coin as it is tossed out from the machine. Let us further sup- pose that, as we watch the machine work, we see each coin given its distinct form, but, instead of being tossed out from the machine, so as to have its distinct ring, each coin is slowly pushed out, and we hear no ringing sound. Under these exact circumstances, how much would we be im- pressed with the genuineness of the minted coins? They RELATION OF ARTICULATION TO ENUNCIATION 451 would impress us no more than gilded lead coins would do. The machine "articulated" well but it did not "enun- ciate." The parallel between this act and the act of form- ing and sending forth words, is closer than we may realize. The only way the listener may judge the value of words we utter in speaking, is to listen to their ring as they are tossed forth from the mouth. Speakers are often heard who articulate well, but who do not send forth their words in such a way as to let them ring with their true value. The result is likely to be that the listener will take them for "lead," even though the speaker has put "gold" into them. If we investigate the action of the mouth when good enunciation is taking place, we see that the tongue, teeth, and lips seem to be trying to jump quickly out of the way and let the new word spring forth in its own vigor. Clearly the mental cause for such action of the mouth (when it is involuntary, as it always should be) is a distinct concep- tion, in the speaker's mind, of the clear ring each word must have, if it strikes the ear of the listener with its true worth, and an earnest desire, on the speaker's part, to have each word do this. Professor Huey (Psychology and Pedagogy of Reading, p. 139) makes an interesting comparison of the various acts concerned in reading or speaking, with the several acts of a base-ball pitcher in de- livering the ball. He says that, just as the several acts of throwing the ball, namely, grasping the ball in a definite way, raising and poising the arm, and the final complicated act of throwing, are all controlled by the meaning of the total. Accordingly : The many acts which make up the speaking of a 452 PURITY OF VOICE sentence are all controlled by the thought of what you mean to make that sentence do to the listener. To enunciate well, the speaker must t-ecognize the worth of his subject and of each word in his subject, and must also recognize the life with which each word must go forth to give the hearer a lively interest in his subject. THE FUNDAMENTAL NEED IN ALL EFFORTS TO SECURE VOCAL PURITY Let us notice for a moment an observation made in the second paragraph above. We found that, in enunciation, each word must spring forth with a snap of vigor; but we found also, that the only thing the organs of enunciation seem to do, is to jump out of the way and let the vigorous word go. This suggests that, when enunciation is good, it is good because the breath of the speaker is so full of the life of each word, that it only needs to be let go. This means that, even in enunciation, the principal effort of the speaker must not be to send out but to take in the breath. This thought causes us to realize that for all four of the vocal impurities there is one, common, fundamental help. Whether we wish to remove nasality, or throatiness, or breathiness, or mouthiness, the fundamental physical need is, to have the lungs packed with breath. The fundamental mental need is, for such a vigorous concep- tion of every thing spoken of, that the throat and lungs are thrown open so that the lungs quickly and involun- tarily fill themselves, .according to the laws of Size, PRACTICE IN SPEAKING ON PURITY OF VOICE 453 Strength, and Endurance of Voice, found in the chapter on Size of Voice, pp. 385, 386, 389-390; the chapter on Strength of Voice, pp. 404, 405, 409; the chapter on En- durance of Voice, p. 421. Dr. Hartwell, director of physical training in the schools of Boston, finds that successful cure for stuttering begins in gymnastic exercises for the breathing muscles, and that this must be followed by the development of "phonation," and after this articulation. Expressed in the terms we have used in discussing the development of the voice, this means that this fault of voice, stuttering, can be removed best by first developing Size and Strength of Voice and then by developing Purity of Voice. The same is true of prac- tically all vocal faults. Practice in Speaking on Purity of Voice Since there are four distinct phases of vocal purity, namely, freedom from nasality, freedom from throatiness, freedom from mouthiness, and freedom from breathiness, this subject is, at first, somewhat more complicated than some of the other subjects we have discussed. For this reason, it is all the more desirable that the intending speaker prepare to discuss the various phases of the chapter and that he practice speaking on them until he can make them clear and interesting to others. To do this, make a careful outline of the chapter, and, from this outline, prepare to make a separate speech on each phase of the chapter and also to discuss it as a whole. Weave into your talks as much of your own experiences 454 PURITY OF VOICE as possible and apply the laws laid down, to your own vocal needs. Experiments to Develop Vocal Purity We have found, in the fourth paragraph above, that there is one fundamental need in the speaker's efforts to remove any of the four vocal impurities, nasality, throatiness, mouthiness, or breathiness; yet experience has proved that it is difficult for the student of speech to remove all his im- purities of voice at one stroke. To think on such large and free and open ideas, that the mouth and throat and lungs are all thrown open, relieves the voice from nasality, mouthiness, and throatiness; but the beginner sometimes finds that such thoughts tend to increase his breathiness. This, as we found in the chapter on Size of Voice, is a psychological result, for, when the mind contemplates any- thing with which it does not feel able to cope, the help- lessness of the speaker relaxes his throat, and breathiness is the result. For these reasons, we have found it advisable, first to perform those experiments which so open the mouth, throat, and lungs, that they remove all the impurities except breathiness; and then to experiment for the removal of breathiness. The following experiments are so arranged. I. First experiment in presenting the following perora- tion to the famous Columbian Oration, by Chauncey Depew: "All hail, Columbus, discoverer, dreamer, hero, and apostle? We, here, of every race and country, recognize the horizon which bounded his vision and the infinite scope of his genius. EXPERIMENTS TO DEVELOP VOCAL PURITY 455 The voice of gratitude and praise for all the blessings which have been showered upon mankind by his adventure, is limited to no language, but is uttered in every tongue. Neither marble nor brass can fitly form his statue. Continents are his monu- ments, and unnumbered millions, past, present, and to come, who enjoy, in their liberties and their happiness, the fruits of his faith, will reverently guard and preserve, from century, to century, his name and fame." In this short speech, let your constant effort be, to con- ceive the almost immeasurable size of the things spoken of, so quickly, that you must instantly expand your mind to its fullest extent, to encompass each thing thought of. To cause the listener to conceive these vast things, you must take in great breaths proportionate to their size. To cause the listener to conceive the power and endurance of these things, you must contemplate the strength and en- durance you need, to cope with such thoughts, till your great reserve of breath fills your voice with power and endurance. If you would have each word ring out with its true worth, in clear articulation and enunciation, it can do so only when your conception of the thing for which that word stands, is so clear and so full, that your mouth only has to jump out of the way, so to speak, and let that word spring forth. 2. For the second experiment, treat, as in experiment I, the following selections: "An Apostrophe to the Ocean," by Byron ; the last part of "The Building of the Ship," by Longfellow; and the last two stanzas of "The Chambered Nautilus," by Holmes. When the above experiments have been repeated until it has begun to be a habit for you to speak with an open- ness and freedom of your whole vocal apparatus, you are 456 PURITY OF VOICE then ready to perform such experiments as require a firmer, smaller and more compact use of the voice. Experiments of this nature will enable you to remove the breathiness that may have remained in your voice through the fore- going tests. For this purpose, we submit the experiments below. 3. Perform the experiment of reading selections from literature which require the mind to form clear and definite pictures, and also call for vigorous and precise action. In each selection used for this experiment, there should be open good cheer and all the conceptions should come in such quick and vigorous fashion, that the speaker, to re- ceive them, throws his mind open as much as if they were much larger things conceived. For this experiment, we suggest that you first use the selection, Blossom Time, given on page 356. When you have mastered all your vocal impurities in this poem, next use the following lines, Boot and Saddle, by Browning : "Boot, saddle, to horse, and away ! Rescue my castle before the hot day brightens to blue from its silvery gray. Boot, saddle, to horse, and away ! Ride past the suburbs, asleep as you'd say; many's the friend there, will listen and pray 'God's luck to the gallants that strike up the lay "Boot, saddle, to horse, and away !" ' Forty miles off, like a roebuck at bay, flouts Castle Brancepeth the Roundheads' array: who laughs, "Good fellows ere this, by my fay, boot, saddle, to horse, and away!" Who? My wife, Gertrude, that, honest and gay, laughs when you talk of surrendering, "Nay ! I've better coun- sellors ; what counsel they ? 'Boot, saddle, to horse, and away !' " A Legend of Bregenz, by Adelaide Proctor; How They Brought the Good News from Ghent to Aix, by Browning, EXPERIMENTS TO DEVELOP VOCAL PURITY 457 and Paul Revere' s Ride, by Longfellow, are all good mate- rial for developing purity of voice. When you have thoroughly experimented to develop purity of voice through the use of the above selections, you will find it invaluable to find a connecting link between this interpretative work and the work you will do in original speaking. You will also profit by combining the two kinds of experiments we have just been performing, namely, those for throwing the whole vocal apparatus so open as to remove nasality, throatiness, and mouthiness; and those experiments which require so firm and exact a use of the vocal apparatus as to remove breathiness. To accomplish these ends: 4. Perform the following experiment: Form ten sen- tences each one of which causes the mind to open wide to conceive the things spoken of, and, hence, causes the mind spontaneously to open the throat and mouth wide to say these things. Let each sentence contain some action so vigorous that you cannot conceive it without observing the laws of strength and endurance, and, hence, filling the lungs quickly and full. Let the action also be quick, that the mind may conceive it with keenness and distinctness, and, hence, cause the articulation to be keen and distinct. We suggest the use of such verbs as to catch, to cut, to flash, to glisten, to dash, to break, to tear, to strike, to crush, to conquer. When the sentences have been formed, experiment with each of them many times, to discover how much more quickly you can conceive the exact nature, the exact size, the exact shape, and the exact strength of everything spoken of, each time you speak the sentence. Try each time to 458 PURITY OF VOICE have a livelier interest in those to whom you speak, a kindlier disposition toward them, and a stronger desire to make each thing you say so distinct that your hearers can- not fail to realize it. CHAPTER XXIII PAUSE One of the Modes of Emphasis THERE are seven fundamental modes of emphasis seven basic acts of voice which cause certain parts of a speech to stand out in prominence. These are: Pause, Change of Pitch, Inflection, Subordination, Vocal Movement, Tone- texture and Touch. A separate chapter will be devoted to each of these modes. PAUSES IN READING, SPEAKING, AND CONVERSATION To hear the same person converse and then to hear him make a speech or read, often seems like hearing different individuals, so unlike are the respective modes of emphasis. One of the prominent points of difference between reading and conversation, and between speaking and conversation, is that of the pause. In conversation, pauses are much more numerous, much more free, and come, almost always, at the right places. In reading, and often in speaking, the pauses are apt to come in a haphazard, monotonous, mechanical way. They are often omitted when needed and used when not needed. 459 460 PAUSE To improve this mode of emphasis, the Pause, in oui reading and speaking, we must seek out the sources of pausing and then develop those sources. THE PRIMARY SOURCE OF THE PAUSE Careful observation of the various places where the mind pauses in conversation, has disclosed the fact that the primary source of a pause is the effort of the mind to re-fill itself. The process of filling and emptying is con- stantly going on. When the attention is turned to any object of thought, sensations from that thing rush in to fill the mind. If the person is speaking at the time, as soon as the mind is replenished, it pours out its contents to the listener. A little time is then required to fill the mind again. We observe that this filling time occurs in conversation, not only when a new thing is thought about, but also whenever the smallest new conception is formed of the thing already spoken of. Sometimes a whole sentence has been uttered, sometimes, only a clause, a phrase, or a single word, when the pause occurs. But, whenever or wherever it occurs, if it is a natural and effective pause, the voice bears evidence, in the words spoken immediately afterward, that the mind has been re- filled by a new conception. Professor Stout (Analytical Psych., Chap, on Implicit Apprehension) makes use of the fact propounded by the early English and Scotch philosophers: "A flow of words is, for the most part, unattended by a parallel flow of mental imagery." This is the vital point. If a speaker SECONDARY SOURCE OF PAUSING 461 does not pause long enough before each new thought about to be spoken, to let himself receive real and live sense- impressions, through his imaginative senses, from the thing concerning which he is about to speak, he cannot hope that that thing will be very emphatic either to himself or to the listener. THE SECONDARY SOURCE OF PAUSING Another fact to be observed in conversation is, that the speaker's mind soon begins to pay attention, not only to the thing thought about and talked about, but also to the mind of the listener. This attention to the listening mind often becomes the source of a pause. The mind of the speaker has formed a strong and satisfying conception. The voice has carried this conception to the mind of the listener. The mind of the speaker then stops and turns to the listener to note whether he has caught the con- ception. While it watches the listener, it holds before him, in silence, the conception just delivered and thinks on this conception so intently that it forces the conception, as it were, into the listener's mind. This kind of pause is more directly emphatic than the pause that is employed to refill the speaker's own mind more emphatic both physically and psychically. Physically, it emphasizes by breaking up the monotonous continuity of the voice. If one stand watching a freight-train go by, and see twenty box-cars, one after another, the scene be- comes monotonous. No emphasis! But if a few box- cars come, and pass, then a flat-car or two, and, after 462 PAUSE these, more box-cars, both kinds of cars are emphasized in eye and mind. So, on the ear of the listener, when the speaker pauses, the last vocal utterance of the speaker is emphasized by the physical change, the vocal break, even if there by no psychic change in the speaker's mind. The psychic emphasis is even stronger than the physical. Consider again the thought quoted above : "A flow of words is, for the most part, unattended by a parallel flow of mental imagery." This was said, of course, concerning the person from whom the flow of words issues; but, if it is true of the one who speaks, how much more true is it of the one who listens! If the speaker who has, pre- sumably, thought out his subject beforehand, requires time to form his "mental imagery," how can the listener, who has not prepared the subject, form his mental images if the speaker gives him no time. This is the main reason why a mere flow of words so palls upon the mind of the listener and finally tires him out; for he can be kept refreshed only by fresh sense-impressions from concrete things. Thus it is clear that the secondary use of the pause, this stopping to think over the thing just spoken, imparts to it its due prominence and, thereby, becomes an effective mode of emphasis. DISTINCTION BETWEEN PAUSE AND HESITATION The mind is more active during the pause than at any other time. If we make the primary use of the pause to refill the mind the activity of the mind must be greater PAUSE AND HESITATION 463 during this time of filling than when it merely lets go or speaks out what it has collected. The action here may be illustrated by the act of loading and firing a spring-gun. I take the gun in my hands and find the spring sprung. It requires quite an effort to compress that spring back to the firing point. But, when it is set, little effort is re- quired to touch the trigger that sets that compressed force free and fires the gun. So, when the mind is "loading" itself is the time of intense action. If we make the sec- ondary use of the pause, to re-think the thought just spoken, the mind must be active enough to make that thought stronger, or the pause is useless. To make the same thought stronger, certainly requires that the mind think harder on that thought than if did before. The pause that is worthy of the name, shows the mind in its most active state. Sometimes we note that a speaker stops when his mind seems to be doing no thinking whatever. At other times, though his mind seems to be thinking during the interval of silence, it is evident that it has wandered away from the subject. These observations would suggest that there are two kinds of pauses, the good and the bad. The one, we call pause; the other, hesitation. The difference be- tween a pause and a hesitation, then, is that: In a pause the mind is immediately receiving a new impression from the thing talked about (either the thing just spoken of or the thing about to be spoken of), but in a hesitation the mind loses connection with the thing talked about. This connection may be lost in any one of several ways. The mind may indolently stop to rest. It may wander 464 PAUSE away to some kindred thought that is not closely enough connected with the main subject to be made a part of the discourse. The subject may have been so poorly pre- pared that the speaker has to stop because the right word does not come to him. In any event, the hesitation is a dissipated pause. The mind is not acting quickly enough. There is a lack of concentration. A pause may become a hesitation if the imagination and the attention become lax and careless. On the other hand: Hesitation may always be transformed into a pause by quickening the mind, stimulating the imaginative senses to keener activity, and holding the attention more firmly on the thing talked about. Sometimes most remarkable effects on an audience are accomplished through the act of transforming a hesitation into a pause. The author saw one instance of this kind in an oratorical contest. One of the contestants was de- livering his oration in a commanding manner when he suddenly forgot. Fortunately for him, he had learned how to change a hesitation to a pause. The instant the next word to be spoken escaped him, he fixed his mind in- tently on the thing he had just said. As he did so, he fixed his eyes upon a certain part of the audience, and, walking slowly and deliberately toward those on whom his eyes were fastened; he raised his hand as if about to give strong emphasis to the next thought. The audience, of course, was startled by the sudden pantomime. Then fol- lowed one of the most impressive moments the author has ever witnessed in speaking, everyone sitting breathless, thinking with the speaker the last thought he had uttered. Presently down came the uplifted hand and out came the RULES ONLY DETRIMENTAL 465 next thought with far greater force and effect than any other thought had had. The contestant's mastery of him- self in that moment won the esteem of the audience and the decision of the judges. The present writer, who knew the speaker's mind well and knew that he had forgotten for the moment, was much amused to hear the judges go down the street after the contest, debating warmly whether this contestant had forgotten at all. He had changed a hesitation into a pause. RULES ONLY DETRIMENTAL Most of the books on the subject of public speaking give some attention to the pause. Almost every author, how- ever, considers the pause as something that can be planned and fixed beforehand. Authors have discovered that there are certain places in a sentence where pauses almost always occur. They have carefully noted these places, classified them, and then have written them down as places where pauses must be- made. This has given rise to an elaborate set of rules for paus- ing. We are told that we must pause before prepositional phrases, before infinitive phrases, before co-ordinate and subordinate clauses, before modifiers following the words they modify, before and after very emphatic words and words of a series reaching a climax, etc., etc. Some of us remember those precious rules with which our minds were stuffed in the public schools that we should pause long enough to count one at a comma, two at a semicolon, three at a colon, and four at a period. 466 PAUSE Now all such arbitrary rules are fatal to good thinking. In the first place, the mind cannot give direct attention to more than one thing at once. If we learn a rule that tells us that a pause must occur at a certain place, we try to give our attention to the rule itself and also to the mechanical structure of the sentence, to find out where the rule applies. Then, since we are already trying to think of two things when the mind is capable of giving its attention to one only, what possible attention have we left for the subject discussed? Obviously, no attention worthy the name ! In the second place, even if the mind might master these rules and come to use them in such a manner as. to leave the mind free to think about the things discussed, the rules themselves are bad. From hundreds of observations made when minds were acting in a free, natural, unconscious way, we conclude that though the mind may pause at places indicated by the rules often does so pause this fact is merely coincidental. That there is a certain part of a sentence at that particular point, is in no wise the cause of the pause. Both the structure of the sentence and the pause arise from the process of thinking. Some- times the thinking causes the pause without causing a change in the sentence structure. Again we find that the thinking develops a new phase of sentence without causing the pause. This certainly proves that the rules built on the structure of the sentence cannot be a safe guide in our efforts to produce natural and effective pauses. We must turn our attention to the process of thought, and must develop this in some such manner as outlined above. HOW PAUSES VARY 467 HOW PAUSES VARY A speaker is apt to feel that if, to develop his own process of pausing, it is necessary only that he think correctly, then, when a speech is once well prepared and the process of thought well established, the pauses will take care of themselves? Is this so? Do we always think as clearly at one time as at another? Do we always think as rapidly at one time as at another? And is the thinking done by the audience to have no influence on one's pausing? The folly of this conclusion is easily to be seen. We cannot "cut and dry" our pausing. We must continue to think our subject, to think it hard, and to think the audience into it, as a very part of it. We must not only think hard before the audience, we must think the subject as if we had never thought it be- fore. This is necessary not only for our own best con- dition as speakers, it is also a duty of courtesy we owe to the audience. Someone has well said: "An audience is always an extemporaneous thinker on the subject presented if the subject is worth the hearing." This is an important truth. If the speaker has something worth the time of the audience, it means that he has thought it out and that the audience has not. Then, to be fair and courteous to that audience, is it not clear that the speaker should "re-build from the ground up" his entire subject? How else shall the listeners have time and opportunity to think the subject with him, which they certainly must do if they are to have any lasting good from his efforts. Two things more govern the length and frequency of the 468 PAUSE pauses a speaker should use. These are, the nature of the subject and the nature of the audience. The more com- plicated the subject, the greater should be the length and the number of pauses used in presenting that subject to others. It surely requires no proof to establish the fact that if one read lines from Mother Goose, the audience can follow him much more rapidly than they can if he read some of Browning's deepest thoughts. So in speaking his own words, if the speaker has previously put much thought into few sentences, it required many long pauses to accomplish that condensation of the ideas. Shall it not, then, require many and long pauses for the audience, less familiar with the subject, to condense those same ideas? The nature of the audience often controls the pausing of the speaker more than does the nature of the subject. Three aspects enter into this "nature of the audience" : the structure and size of the auditorium, the size of the audi- ence in proportion to the auditorium, and the mental state of the listeners. If a speaker steps upon a platform and sees before him a large room with the back wall far from him and the ceiling very high, he will soon discover that he must pause longer and more frequently than he would have to in a smaller room. The reason is a physical one. The sound-waves are larger and require a larger interval between them. If few and short pauses are used, the large volume of air is not set so actively in motion as to carry the sound to the farthest listener. The author one day saw this point well illustrated by two persons in the water. They were in a large swimming- tank. Each one was trying to set the water in motion by jumping up and down in it. One was a nervous little HOW PAUSES VARY 469 fellow who came down almost before he had jumped up. The result was that he set but a small part of the water near him into a choppy motion that had little effect on the entire tank. The other man was big and fat and moved with a large slow movement up and down. There was quite a pause between the time he rose above the water and the time he struck it again. He soon not only had the entire tankful of water in motion but was splashing the waves far outside. Decided echo in an auditorium calls for the same treatment. Echo and reverberation are made up of small, choppy waves of sound that are reflected from various hard surfaces in the room. If the speaker speak so rapidly that the sound-waves he sends forth are of about the same size as the reflected waves, there is only a confusion of sounds. But if he pause long enough and speak with sufficient distinctness and size of voice, the large sound-waves he projects will drown out the smaller waves of echo. If a small audience sits far back in a large auditorium with many vacant seats between audience and speaker, there is both a physical and a psychic demand for longer and more intense pauses. These vacant seats reflect many small sound-waves which interfere with the progress of the speaker's voice. He must create waves of sufficient size and with large enough intervals of silence, to overcome these small waves. But more than this, the mind of the audience is affected by this gulf between speaker and listener. The audience at once feels itself cut off from the speaker and settles back into a state of indifference which the speaker must overcome. This he can do only by paus- ing to think over again with them every important thought 470 PAUSE as soon as he has spoken it, and by pausing to fill his mind intensely full of every important thought he is about to utter. Lastly, the mental state of the audience should control the speaker's pausing. If the minds of the listeners are evidently poorly trained in rapid thinking, then the speaker's duty is to help them think. This he can do only by frequent and intense pauses. If the speaker find before him a well- educated audience, he should quickly discover whether his listeners wish primarily to be entertained or whether they wish to do their own thinking. If entertainment be their first desire, the pauses must be shorter but even more vigorous than for "judicial" minds. At all events: The pause is, first, the speaker's opportunity to dis- cover whether he is reaching his audience and accom- plishing his purpose, and, secondly, the pause becomes his first effective means for accomplishing that purpose. Practice in Speaking on Pause Outline the discussion on Pause, put into this outline illustrations from your own experience and observation in the use of the pause, and, from your outline, speak ex- tempore on the various divisions of the subject, and also on the whole chapter. In your speech, employ Pause in its different uses. Experiments to Develop Pause i. For the first experiment, prepare a short, original talk on some subject in which you feel your student audience is, EXPERIMENTS TO DEVELOP PAUSE 471 or should be, most deeply interested. Let it be something about which you believe the members of the class will think with you while you address them; for example, the theme "Why am I in college ?" or "What do I hope to accomplish in life?" Do not allow yourself to write and commit to memory what you have to say, but make an outline of the few points you wish to enforce, think these over carefully until you have the sequence of them well in mind, then speak extempore from your outline. An ideal beginning to this experiment is to address to your hearers such pointed thoughts as these: "Think who you are. Think where you are. Are you here through some sacrifice? If so, contemplate that sacrifice this mo- ment. Consider what you most desire in life. Is that desire worthy of those who sent you here? Is it worthy of your best self?" If you begin by saying things like these to your audience, your reward will be that you and they will pause after each thought you utter, to think in- tently upon that thought. When you have said an important thing and have paused to think that thing over with the audience, swiftly, (during that same interval of silence) your mind will turn from the thing just spoken to the thing about to be spoken, and begin to fill itself with a clear conception of that thing. You will perceive that there is but an imaginary line divid- ing the two uses of this same interval of silence ; also, that the pause is emphatic in both its uses. The principal em- phasis is, of course, effected when you think over with the audience what you have just said; but if you pause long enough to form a clear conception of what you are about to say, and if you conceive it through its likeness to what you 472 PAUSE have just said, you are giving your audience, in that moment^ an opportunity to conceive the new idea with you. In this way, you emphasize each idea before you speak it and after you speak it. 2. As a second experiment, prepare a short, original talk on the subject in which you believe the people of your state to be most deeply interested at the present time. Imagine that you are to deliver your speech before a small audience of the representative citizens of your state. Imagine that everyone present is thinking vigorously and earnestly on every point you mention. Follow the same plan in this talk as you did in experiment I. Take advantage of every oppor- tunity to employ both the primary and secondary uses of the pause. 3. In the third experiment, let the class be divided into different sections, and let each section prepare short, origi- nal talks, similar to those in experiments I and 2, for differ- ent occasions. Let the members of one section imagine themselves addressing a fraternity convention. Let the members of another section imagine themselves addressing a convention of teachers, or a Sunday-school convention, or a convention of mechanics, or a convention of farmers, etc. Discuss only those topics which are worth thinking about, and which you are so anxious to have che audience think that you make every possible use of the pause. 4. For a fourth test, repeat any of the above experiments before an imaginary audience that is serious and desires to think, but has had little education. Determine to make your speech so simple that they cannot fail to understand it. Next imagine yourself addressing the same speech to a highly educated audience, and change the length, frequency, EXPERIMENTS TO DEVELOP PAUSE 473 and intensity of your pauses to suit the minds addressed. Finally, make the test of trying your address before an imaginary audience eager to be entertained, and see if you can adapt your pausing to the demands of such an occa- sion. You will soon realize that the thought you voice must be somewhat changed to meet this new demand. You will also realize something more important than this, namely : It is during the pauses that the speaker discovers the particular things to say to reach the particular minds now confronting him. Do not misunderstand this point. We are not advising that the speaker wait until he is on the platform to de- termine what he is going to say. What we mean is : During the pauses made in the preparation of a speech, the speaker must so clearly imagine the particular type of minds he is addressing, that out of this realization arise the particular thoughts to be voiced. You are now experimenting in the preparation of a speech. Therefore, in such experiments as this one, is your best opportunity to learn to think your audience into your subject while you prepare your speech. When Robert Browning had visited that most impres- sive place in Paris, where those unfortunates who have been drowned in the river Seine and are unknown, are kept, in life-like postures, to be identified by any who may have known them, he wrote his wonderful poem, Apparent Failure. 5. As a fifth experiment, use Pause to its full value in reading and reciting the following short cutting from this poem. 474 PAUSE ". . . Only the Doric little Morgue! the dead-house where you show your drowned! . . . First came the silent gazers; next, a screen of glass, we're thankful for; last, the sight's self, the sermon's text, the three men who did most abhor their life in Paris yesterday, so killed themselves: and now, enthroned, each on his copper couch, they lay fronting me, waiting to be owned. I thought, and think, their sin's atoned. Poor men, God made, and all for that ! . . . It's wiser being good than bad; it's safer being meek than fierce; it's fitter being sane than mad. My own hope is, a sun will pierce the thickest cloud earth ever stretched; that, after Last, returns the First, though a wide compass round be fetched; that what began best, can't end worst, nor what God blessed once, prove 6. Further develop your ability to use the Pause in em- phasis, by rebuilding the great thoughts in the following lines. First use these lines from "Morte D'Arthur," by Tennyson : "Pray for my soul. More things are wrought by prayer than this world dreams of. Wherefore, let thy voice rise like a fountain for me night and day. For what are men better than sheep or goats that nourish a blind life within the brain, if, knowing God, they lift not hands of prayer both for them- selves and those who call them friend? For so the whole round earth is every way bound by gold chains about the feet of God." Next use the last part of Herve Riel, beginning with che line, "That he asked and that he got, nothing more"; the first part of Evelyn Hope, and One Way of Love all three by Browning; the Gettysburg Speech, by Lincoln; and Wendell Phillips' oration Toussaint L'Ouuerture, as abridged in most collections of readings. CHAPTER XXIV CHANGE OF PITCH IN the last chapter we observed that pauses are often much less natural in reading aloud and in speaking, than in conversation. There is as great a difference between the changes of pitch most persons make in conversation and those they make when reading or speaking, as there is between the pauses. The author of this book once heard the very small daughter of a minister speak out in church service and say: "Papa preaching. Papa never talk like that." She was right. Her father, at that moment, was using very few changes of pitch. Those he did make were strained. How often is one bored by the monotonous, droning voice of someone reading, a short distance away. In such cases, not only the pauses are slighted but also the changes of pitch. To remedy this fault, to make our reading and speaking as natural and refreshing as agreeable conversation is, we must find what spontaneous act of the mind causes a change in the pitch of the voice. We must then train ourselves so to think while we are speaking or reading, that this cause will be active. If we do this, Nature will produce her own changes of pitch, which are always pleasing. 475 47 6 CHANGE OF PITCH THE CAUSE OF CHANGE IN PITCH When the voice changes pitch, there has been a change in the mind of the speaker. His mental attitude has changed; and the new attitude of mind causes the change in pitch. Place on the table a handful of buttons of the same size, shape, and color; or let it be any other articles of uniform appearance. Begin to count them as you pick them up, one by one, and lay them in another place. Count aloud. You will soon notice that you utter every count in the same pitch. You will continue to do this as long as you retain the same attitude of mind toward the articles counted. But grow impatient at the number of articles to be counted, yet count on. Note how each utterance is now given in a higher pitch. Now become sullenly in- different and note how your voice drops to a lower pitch. Should you discover among the uniform objects, something you did not expect to find (especially should it be some- thing you prize but thought you had lost) the voice will jump to a much higher plane of pitch. Now continue to count the uniform articles but think all the while of your joy in finding the lost treasure. Note how the voice has retained the high plane of pitch to which it jumped when the lost article was found. In all these cases, it should be clear that the change in the pitch of the voice is directly caused by the change in the attitude of the speaker's mind. Another illustration : Suppose you are watching a horse that is running away with a boy who is riding it. The frantic boy is swaying from side to side. Suddenly he falls. As suddenly you change your whole attitude of body CAUSE OF CHANGE IN PITCH 477 as well as of mind. If you have been leaning intensely forward before the boy fell, you will either rush forward toward him when you see him fall, or you will recoil back- ward. What will cause you to go forward, and what will cause you to fall backward? If you are leaning for- ward in an eager desire to help the boy, though you knew you could not help him while he was still on the running horse, the instant he leaves the horse your mind leaps to a determination to help him, which it did not have before. This new attitude of mind sends your body toward him. But if you were leaning forward with a feeling that you must somehow help the boy to hold fast, then the instant you see him fall, you feel that it is all over. Your mind assumes an attitude of horror at the thought of the boy's condition, and this attitude of mind sends your body back- ward, away from the boy. What would happen if you were leaning backward when the boy fell ? You might instantly lean forward or you might recoil still farther. If your mind suddenly assumed an attitude of determination to help the boy, or even an attitude of curiosity to know his condition, you would move forward even though you had been shrinking backward in dread. But if your dread should suddenly be turned into horror at seeing the boy's lifeless form, you would shrink still farther backward. We have dwelt on this situation at some length, to analyze it completely and leave no room for doubt that whatever attitude the mind may be in, if it suddenly change to any other attitude the change will effect the entire body. What is true of the body as a whole is true of the muscles which control the voice, which are a part of the body. If while watching the boy ride and fall, you vyere talking 47$ CHANGE OF PITCH to someone, the change in the pitch of your voice came at the same moment you changed attitude of body. Not only these changes of voice and body follow changes in the attitude of the mind, but: It is impossible for the mind to change quickly from one decided attitude to another, while the thinker is speaking, without the voice changing pitch. Careful tests have proved this to be a law of the mind in speaking. (Possible exceptions to this law are the cases of voices which have been injured by accident or disease and are, therefore, physically incapable of responding to the action of the mind.) DISTINCTION BETWEEN CHANGE OF PITCH AND INFLECTION So far we have considered change of pitch as if there were but one kind of change. Close observation, however, will show two very different movements of the voice from one plane of pitch to another. One of these movements is made in silence; the other, in sound. One is an easy slide of the voice up or down the musical scale; the other is an abrupt jump of the voice up or down. One move- ment is constantly taking place whenever the voice is speaking in a natural way, while the other movement occurs only at certain intervals. One of these movements, we call Change of Pitch. The other, we call Inflection. Change of Pitch is an abrupt jump of the voice from one point on the musical scale to another point lower or higher on the scale, and is made in silence between vocal sounds. RELATION OF CHANGE OF PITCH TO PAUSE 479 Inflection is a slide of the voice from one point on the musical scale to another point lower or higher on the scale, and occurs during the utterance of a vocal sound. The difference may be made clearer by the illustration of a person walking up stairs and keeping his hand on the railing. His feet move as the voice does in change of pitch. His hand moves as the voice does in inflection. Each foot mounts the next step to take the "pitch" the body is soon to have. The foot does this while the progress of the body is stopped does it in silence, as it were ; so, in change of pitch, the voice jumps to a new plane of pitch ready to be used there in the next utterance. The hand on the railing moves only during the progress of the body and then it slides easily to the next "pitch" ; inflection also takes place only during the progress of the voice and then the voice slides and does not jump. THE RELATION OF CHANGE OF PITCH TO PAUSE Since change of pitch, as we now know it, occurs only during an interval of silence, and since it is caused by a change in the attitude of the mind, is it not demonstrated that change of pitch is the outgrowth of pause? If the speaker make the primary use of pause, to refill his mind, that very refilling gives him the new attitude of mind which, in turn, causes, creates the change of pitch. If the speaker make the secondary use of pause, namely to think over again, with the listeners, what he has just said, then that very attention which he devotes to his hearers' attitude toward his subject, creates a new attitude of mind, which, 480 CHANGE OF PITCH of course, causes a change of pitch. A vigorous pause produces a changevof pitch. This fact makes change of pitch subject to all the con- ditions which govern pause. Change of pitch will also vary just as pause varies. Whenever one finds it necessary to make his pauses longer and more frequent, he will find a corresponding demand for more change of pitch. (See discussion of How Pauses Vary in the chapter on Pause.) If a speaker is presenting a deep or complicated subject or one in which a great deal of thought has been con- densed into a few words, then, in order to make those few words carry the full force of his message, he must assume toward every phrase of his subject a new and vigorous attitude. Each of these new attitudes of mind will give his voice a new pitch. So, if the speaker find the auditorium in which he is speaking, a difficult one to speak in, or if he find the audience a difficult one to in- terest in his subject, he should increase the changes of his pitch of voice by taking a new and strong attitude of mind toward every important thought he utters. If this new attitude is to be strong enough to cause the changes of pitch which the listeners should hear in his voice, the attitude must be toward the listeners as well as toward the thing talked about. We mean that in taking each new attitude toward the things talked about the speaker must be intensely conscious of the effort needed to bring the thing that is before his own mind clearly before the minds of his listeners. Nothing is more fatal to his own effective thinking and to his free and emphatic use of change of pitch, than for him to turn his attention away from the ARBITRARY RULES ARE ONLY DETRIMENTAL 481 things talked about, and determine to make the audience hear by will power and physical effort. ARBITRARY RULES ARE ONLY DETRIMENTAL If it be necessary that the speaker pay attention to the audience and to the room in which he speaks, obviously he should not try to fix upon definite changes of pitch before he comes to speak. For this reason, all rules which dictate where the speaker should use low pitch, where he should use high pitch, etc., are worse than useless. Some authors have worked out elaborate schemes for the pitch of the voice. Some of these authors tell us the very pitch that is required for every sentiment and emo- tion. For example, they declare that sorrow should be expressed in low pitch; joy, in high pitch. Now neither of these is a law. Neither is an universal rule of ex- pression. Sorrow may be spoken in low pitch, but it may also be expressed in very high pitch. If the sorrow over- come the speaker so that his loss seems very great, and if he feel, at the same time, that it is utterly useless to struggle against it, under these conditions, if he should speak of his sorrow, he would probably do so in a low pitch of voice. If, however, he feel this same sorrow and if he feel, at the same time, a spirit of resentment at the fate which brings him the sorrow, he will probably express his sorrow in very high pitch. So it is with the expression of joy. If the feeling of joy arouse in the speaker an intensely active attitude of mind toward the thing which has caused the joy, he will use high pitch of voice in speak^ 482 CHANGE OF PITCH ing out that joy. But if the satisfaction the joy brings to him be so great that his mind assumes an attitude of joyful contentment, then he will express a very full joy but he will do it in a very low voice. As in these cases, so in all cases, it will be found that the attitude of mind growing out of the emotion felt will govern the pitch of the voice as it expresses that emotion. This is a law of mind worth observing. It removes the necessity for rules to tell us when and where we must change pitch, and what plane of pitch we must use for certain feelings. This law leaves us free to develop and to use this great mode of emphasis, Change of Pitch, as a part of our thinking process. To acquire mastery of change of pitch, the speaker has but one thing to do, namely : Train the mind to assume on the instant, while speak- ing, a strong, imaginative, and sympathetic attitude toward everything of which he speaks and toward every audience to which he speaks. THE VALUE OF CHANGE OF PITCH Change of pitch brings decided benefit both to the speaker and to the audience. For the speaker, it is the means nature has provided for resting the voice. Every one knows how wearing it is to continue to make any one muscular motion for a great number of times. To extend the empty hand straight above the shoulder as high as one can reach seems a simple and easy motion to make; but let the average person do this five hundred times, and he THE VALUE OF CHANGE OF PITCH 483 will become exhausted. The same conditions are found in using the voice. To utter any one tone seems to require no effort at all. In only five minutes' use of the voice, however, several thousand tones are spoken. If the speaker make but little change of pitch during five minutes of speaking, it is clear that he is compelling the delicate muscles which control the changes of pitch, to make the same motion many thousands of times. The result is evident. The voice is being worn out. If the study of change of pitch did nothing more than preserve the voice and keep it fresh and rested, such study would prove itself of inestimable value to the speaker. Mastery of change of pitch brings great benefit also to the audience. There are delicate nerves catching the pitch in the ear just as there are delicate muscles which control the pitch of the voice. If the ear is compelled to listen to one tone repeated a great number of times the ear be- comes as tired as does the voice that is compelled to repeat that tone. The author has listened to speakers whose pitch was so monotonous that it seemed impossible to endure the strain to the end of the speech. He has felt sometimes that if the speaker did not vary his pitch he himself would shout aloud just for the sake of hearing a change. Many others have had similar experiences. Let someone go to the piano and continue, for some time, to strike the same key. Will you enjoy listening to the one insistent note? Surely no proof is needed that the audience is kept rested and alert to listen to the message of the speaker, through a natural use of change of pitch. To keep the ear and the nerves of the listener un- wearied is a good thing, but there is a greater help than 484 CHANGE OF PITCH this physical one. Change of pitch works upon the minds of the listeners as well as upon their ears. It brings them psychic as well as physical help. "We are creatures of habit" is a very old saying. It means that we are the children the outgrowth of associations. We have learned to estimate everything by the principal things with which each thing is associated. Note how this principle applies here. Every listener has been accustomed, all his life, to hear a change of pitch in the voice of anyone conversing with him whenever the person speaking wishes to show the importance of a thought. In other words, each listener has always heard the converser's voice change whenever he took a new attitude toward the thing talked about. This means that everyone in the audience has come to estimate the importance of the thing spoken, by the change of pitch associated with that thing. If the speaker does not assume new attitudes, his voice will not have the changes of pitch and, as a result, the audience will unconsciously decide that nothing important is being said, and will settle back to wait for something worth while. It is apparent, then, that chance of pitch is a most important mode of emphasis. How Change of Pitch May Be Developed Shall the student of public speaking decide that he can do nothing to develop this faculty that it must take care of itself ? Or shall he infer that, if he learn to think well, his thinking process will produce all the changes of pitch his voice needs. A moment's thought will show that HOW CHANGE OF PITCH MAY BE DEVELOPED 485 either of these conclusions is unwise. If the voice could take care of itself in respect of this faculty we should not find it undeveloped in nearly every speaker whose voice has not been trained. If good thinking only were required to accomplish changes of pitch, every good thinker would have good change of pitch. Do we find this to be the case? If the reader thinks so, let him listen to the public utterance of men who are known as keen or deep thinkers but who have had no training in speech. He will find that, as a general rule, the deeper the thinker the more monotonous his voice in public speech, unless he has applied his think- ing successfully to vocal development. The problem before the student who wishes to be emphatic yet agreeable in his public utterances, is the problem of turning his thinking into voice production. The particular act of thinking which produces change of pitch we have found to be the change of the mind's attitude. How may one train his mind to make this necessary change of attitude while and whenever he is speaking? In this, as we have found in all other efforts to train the thought process, we must begin with the imagination. The speaker pauses, as we found in the last chapter, to fill his mind with thoughts of the next thing to be spoken of. What do we mean by that expression? What are the "thoughts'* with which he fills his mind"? These thoughts should be, first, discoveries of the inner nature of the thing about to be spoken of, and secondly, discoveries of what that thing is capable of doing for the audience. To illustrate: A strong political speaker stands before an audience to nominate his favorite candidate who hap- 486 CHANGE OF PITCH pens to be a man of sterling worth and large abilities. He has just given a few moments' consideration to each of the other men seeking the same nomination. He has acknowledged their good traits and their abilities, but we noticed that whenever he spoke of these qualities, his voice was not emphatic. He displayed little change of pitch. Presently he exclaims: "But, gentlemen, above all these stands a man " A change has come over the speaker! At the very thought of the hero whom he wishes to nominate, his voice leaped to a much higher pitch, and now, as he recounts the virtues of his candidate, one by one, we observe that a great change of pitch marks every new utterance. But note another thing ! See how his face lights up as he dwells upon the clear vision of his favorite ; how dark his countenance becomes in telling of that man's stern resistance to the forces of evil. Observe, too, how the speaker makes us sit up straighter as he himself grows taller and mightier in telling how this man will be our champion and will lead us out of our perplexities and on to victory! Do not miss the valuable lesson that this man is giving us the lesson in voice. We have observed this speaker under such conditions as caused him to speak more freely, more naturally, and more emphatically than he ever did before. We see the cause of that success. He centered his imagination upon each thing before he spoke it. Secondly, he so intensely realized the inner nature the very life-force of the thing about to be spoken of, that that force entered his own being and aroused in him a strong, quick attitude toward that thing and toward his audience. EXPERIMENTS IN CHANGE OF PITCH 487 Let the intending speaker get such imaginative realities as those suggested in the last paragraph, get them from each new thing about to be broached in his speaking, and he will soon have those free and clear changes of pitch which will add immeasurably to the effectiveness of his delivery. Practice in Speaking on Change of Pitch Make your own plan or outline for a speech on this chapter. Make it your speech, that you may be able to assume the quickest and strongest possible attitudes toward everything of which you speak. To do this, use the principles set forth in this chapter, only as a basis for your talk. Let your speech consist of an application of these principles to things you have experienced and observed con- cerning change of pitch. Be prepared to make a short extempore speech on any one division of the subject or on the entire chapter. Experiments in Change of Pitch i. In the first experiment, repeat the first and second experiments from the chapter on Pause. This time, make the strongest possible primary use of the pause, namely, to refill the mind, realizing that it is while the mind is refilling itself that it makes the decided change in attitude that pro- duces good change of pitch. Therefore, while you are gain- ing the fullest possible conception of the next thing to be CHANGE OF PITCH spoken, make the change of your mental attitude so great that the listener cannot fail to sense the decided change in your voice. Try to feel that your emphasis depends wholly on your change of pitch, and that the pauses you make are useless unless they bring forth the decided changes in your mind which show themselves in change of pitch. To make your pauses do this, you will find it necessary to keep your audience constantly in mind. While you think each new thought, you must determine to cause the mental attitude of the listener to change as much as your own attitude changes. 2. As a second experiment, stimulate, in your mind and voice, all the sources of Change of Pitch, by building all the conceptions and then reading and reciting the follow- ing lines from Wordsworth's Table Turned: Up! up! my friend, and quit your books; or surely you'll grow double. Up! up! my friend, and clear your looks; why all this toil and trouble? The sun, above the mountain's head, a freshening lustre mellow, through all the long, green fields has spread his first sweet evening yellow. Books ! 'tis a dull and endless strife ! Come, hear the wood- land linnet, how sweet his music ! On my life there's more of wisdom in it. And hark ! how blithe the throstle sings ! He, too, is no mean preacher ! Come forth into the light of things, let Nature be your teacher. She has a world of ready wealth, our minds and hearts to bless spontaneous wisdom breathed by health, truth breathed by cheerfulness. One impulse from a vernal wood may teach you more of man, of moral evil and of good, than all the sages can. Sweet is the lore which Nature brings; our meddling intellect mis- shapes the beauteous form of things: we murder to dissect. Enough of Science and of Art; close up those barren leaves; come forth, and bring with you a heart that watches and receives. 3. For the third experiment, conceive the many and in- tense changes from one attitude to another, which the mind EXPERIMENTS IN CHANGE OF PITCH 489 makes in thinking the following lines from Shakespeare ( Sonnet XXIX) . Imagine yourself going through these ex- periences first, desperately unhappy ones, then, buoyantly happy experiences and letting the mind change quickly and vigorously from one thing contemplated to the next. When, in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes, I, all alone, beweep my outcast state, and trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries, and look upon myself and curse my fate; wishing me like to one more rich in hope, featured like him, like him with friends possest, desiring this man's art, and that man's scope, with what I most enjoy contented least; yet in these thoughts myself almost despising, haply I think on Thee and then my state, like to the lark at break of day arising from sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate; for thy sweet love remembered, such wealth brings, that then I scorn to change my state with kings. 4. Fourth experiment. Further develop your change of pitch through thoroughly building all the conceptions and then reading and reciting the following short selections from Scott. The first is from Wild Huntsman: The Wildgrave winds his bugle horn, to horse, to horse ! halloo, halloo ! His fiery courser snuffs the morn, and thronging serfs their lords pursue. The eager pack, from couples freed, dash through the brush, the brier, the brake; while answering hound, and horn, and steed, the mountain echoes startling wake. The second excerpt is from Redgauntlet, p. 232: Cock up your beaver, and cock it full sprush (spruce) ; we'll over the border and give them a brush. There's somebody there we'll teach better behavior. Hey, Johnnie lad, cock up your beaver. Away to the hills, to the caves, to the rocks ere I own a usurper, I'll couch with the fox; and tremble, false Whigs, in the midst of your glee, you have not seen the last of my bonnet and me! (From Dundee.} 49O CHANGE OF PITCH The following stirring lines are from The Monastery, p. 231 : Come from the hills where your hirsels are grazing, come from the glen of the buck and the roe; come to the crag where the beacon is blazing, come with the buckler, the lance, and the bow. Trumpets are sounding, war-steeds are bounding. Stand to your arms, and march in good order; England shall many a day tell of the bloody fray, when the Blue Bonnets came over the Border. If still other selections are desired for the development of change of pitch, the first part of Herve Riel, by Brown- ing, and Canto CVI of In Memoriam, by Tennyson, re- quire unusual changes of mental attitudes and consequent changes of pitch. If the latter is used, it will be found advantageous to begin with the line, "Ring out wild bells to the wild sky," and end with the line "Ring in the Christ that is to be." CHAPTER XXV INFLECTION INFLECTION is based on that quality of voice known as Flexibility. Instead of devoting a separate chapter to Flexibility we have chosen to treat it in connection with Inflection for two reasons: because they are so closely related and because Flexibility of voice can best be de- veloped by developing and using Inflection. Flexibility means the ability to bend. We pick up a piece of wood or metal and exclaim : "Why, that is quite flexible !" We mean that we can bend it decidedly and readily back and forth. When we say that a certain voice is flexible, we mean that voice frequently moves up and down the musical scale when it is speaking. Flexibility is principally a yield- ing process. The voice yields and allows itself to be bent up and down the musical scale when certain causes are active. We shall find what these causes are in our study of Inflection. THE POWER OF INFLECTION AS A MODE OF EMPHASIS No other mode of emphasis, perhaps, is so capable of producing good or bad results as inflection. This is so from its very nature. In the act of inflection, the voice is 49i 492 INFLECTION easily bent this way or that. Anything that is easily bent is easily bent wrong. We are passing a beautiful lawn, and note how well it is kept watered. Presently we see a small child sprinkling the grass. She is so small she can barely lift the hose, yet so easily is the hose >ent from side to side that even so tiny a tot can make it do effective work. But suddenly our admiration is checked we are drenched. The child was not master of the "inflection" of the hose, and the same characteristic that made it turn so easily in the right direction made it turn as easily in the wrong direction. The same is true of the voice. We shall find that every slightest inflection of the voice makes a certain impression on the ear of the listener gives him a certain meaning for our message which we may or may not intend. If we are masters both of our thinking and of our voices, so that our minds keep to the subject every moment we speak, and so that our voices respond to our thinking, then inflection becomes a force in "driving home" what we mean to convey. But if, as with the child, the hose wobbles in our hands (if the voice wobbles away from the subject or away from our purpose), then every moment of inflection is so much force turned in the wrong direction, and lessens the meaning we intend. To speak with sure effect, it is necessary that we cultivate inflection with the utmost care. THE ELEMENTS OF INFLECTION The general movement of the voice which we call in- flection, is made up of four parts or elements. Each of DIRECTION OF INFLECTION 493 these has its own mental cause and each delivers its own mental message to the listeners. These elements are: Direction of Inflection, Length of Inflection, Abruptness of Inflection and Straightness of Infection. Each of these can best be developed separately by stimulating the causes which produce that element of inflection. We shall first consider DIRECTION OF INFLECTION Since inflection is the sliding of the voice up or down the musical scale, it is clear that the voice must be moving either up or down the scale every moment that inflection is taking place. It may be interesting in this connection to note the difference between a note of speech and a note of song. A true note of song never changes pitch; a true note of speech always changes pitch. A note of song is struck at a certain pitch on the musical scale and continues on that same plane of pitch until it dies away in silence. A note of speech begins at some point on the scale and continues to change its plane of pitch every moment of its existence as a sound. The cause of this difference is important to the student of speech. What causes the voice to move up or down the scale while it is uttering a sound? Someone speaks the simple word "no." His voice moves down the scale during that utterance. In every-day terms, his voice falls. What do we feel is this person's attitude toward the thing talked about ? We feel that his mind has deliberately broken connection with all things else which might be said on the subject has stopped right where it is. He speaks the 494 INFLECTION word "no" again; and this time his voice moves up the scale instead of down. What meaning do we get now? We know that his mind has not broken connection with the thing discussed. We know, furthermore, that his mind is rapidly going forward in search of other thoughts about that thing. In these two simple utterances of the same word, we have the whole philosophy of direction of in- flection. If the mind of the speaker is already looking forward and thinking of something else to say while his voice is speaking a word, he will speak that word with a rising inflection. If the mind ceases to go forward and stops to reconsider what has been spoken, the voice falls. This seems a simple act, so simple that it would hardly demand special attention. A noteworthy fact, however, is that the average student of speech has little, if any, control over his mind or his voice in this simple act when speaking before an audience. A good test of this is, to let the student memorize and prepare for delivery some short selection let him speak it. Then ask him to repeat a line or two of it and change his attitudes of mind as he speaks it again. Let him understand clearly that he is asked to make his mind look forward at certain places where it was observed to stop before, or to make the mind conclude in certain places where it looked forward before. Even go so far as to tell him to let his voice fall at certain places where it did not fall before. Many students will be found who cannot do this simple thing; and many others, who can do it only with great effort. Certainly all such persons need not be told that they must master themselves in this before they can become free and natural in emphasis. LENGTH OF INFLECTION 495 Those students, too, who find that they can easily turr their inflection up or down at will, may find much benefit from careful training in this act, because, while they may easily turn the voice this way and that when they determine to do so, when before an audience they are very apt to slight this act or to perform it wrongly and lose its aid as a means of emphasis. LENGTH OF INFLECTION The length of an inflection is the distance the voice travels up or down the musical scale during the utterance of any one tone. It has absolutely nothing to do with the amount of time consumed in speaking the word or syllable. A long inflection may be spoken quickly or a short inflection may be spoken slowly. The length of an inflection is also independent of the direction of that same inflection. We mean that whether the voice rises or falls, the inflection may be just as long or just as short as if the voice had moved in the opposite direction. The easiest way to discover the cause of length of in- flection is, to find what makes one inflection long and another short. For this purpose, let us make our minds our laboratories for a few minutes. Let us suppose that we have before us a pile of apples which we are counting one by one. We count aloud in friendly fashion. For a time, there is no marked difference between one apple and another, and we find our voices using the same length of 496 INFLECTION inflection for every tone spoken. Suddenly we come upon an apple that is both larger and brighter in color than any of the others, and we find ourselves pronouncing its number in a longer inflection. In this simple act we have found one cause of length of inflection. It is the difference in the nature of things talked about. We count on till one of us finds an apple which he recog- nizes as his favorite of all kinds of apples. As the number of that apple is pronounced, the inflection of the voice is decidedly longer. What has caused this ? The speaker has discovered something not only very different from other things observed, but a thing which has meant something to him personally. Here we have the second cause of length of inflection. It is the personal interest of the speaker in the thing spoken of. But mark! The speaker turns to his friend and says. "Have you never eaten a 'belle-flower'? Taste it!" On these words, the inflections are extremely long. What caused this change in the voice? The speaker has a strong desire to impress the listener's mind with the thing which impresses himself. This is the third and last cause of length of inflection. In general terms, one does not speak in very long in- flections till he is moved by the last of these causes. How- ever much difference there may be between the thing spoken of and other things, that difference will probably not give the speaker's voice great length of inflection unless it is of decided interest to the speaker; and even if it is of great importance to the speaker, he may still not speak in a very long inflection of voice if he does not feel the value, to the listener, of the thing spoken of. The greatest length ABRUPTNESS OF INFLECTION 497 of inflection is reached when the speaker is moved by all three causes. ABRUPTNESS OF INFLECTION Abruptness of inflection consists in the degree of rapidity with which a tone is inflected. It has nothing to do with the length or with the direction of the inflection. That is, the tone may be a rising one or a falling one, and the voice may move a short distance or a long distance up or down the scale, without making the tones more abrupt or less so; and a word may be spoken with any degree of abruptness from a slow drawl to a snap or an explosion of the voice, and yet have the same direction and the same length of inflection all the time. The cause of abruptness is easy to determine when we understand clearly the nature of abruptness. Let us first observe that an abrupt inflection is not necessarily a violent one. We are apt to think that when the voice breaks or bursts forth, it then becomes abrupt and that all lesser degrees of rapidity in the voice are something quite differ- ent. A closer study reveals this fact: Whether the voice drawl or whether it explode it does both from the same cause. The difference comes from the fact that in the drawl there is very little of the cause acting while in the explosion of the voice the cause has become very strong. In the drawl the mind has a very low degree of vigor; in the explosion, the vigor of the mind is of high degree. Here we have the philosophy of abruptness of inflection. 498 INFLECTION Degrees of abruptness of inflection arise from the de- grees of vigor in the mind of the speaker. This one cause may assume many forms. Because of this the student may think he has found many causes for this element of inflection. He may hear some person utter the word "no" when impatience seems to be the real cause of the quickness or abruptness of the inflection. He may hear it again when anger seems to be the cause; or again, when excitement, or horror, or joy apparently produces it. A moment's thought will show us, however, that any one of these (or a hundred other impulses) which may seem to cause abruptness, is only the form which the vigor assumes and that the real cause, active in all forms, is the vigor of thinking. STRAIGHTNESS OF INFLECTION Just as in length and abruptness of inflection there are many degrees, so there are in Straightness of Inflection. Straightness of inflection means the directness with which the voice moves from any one point to another point lower or higher on the musical scale. The voice may make these moves with absolute straight- ness or it may travel a crooked and indirect road from one point to another on the scale. When, for example, a person says "no" his voice may fall, or slide down the scale, in this manner: Nfc. Presently, we may hear the same word spoken when the voice seems to travel a road like STRAIGHTNESS OF INFLECTION 499 this: \6 xy^ ^ v '/ Could 3,ny two simple expres- sions be more unlike? It hardly seems the same word spoken both times. Whatever it is the voice does that can so completely change the sound of a word, no argument is needed to prove that act of the voice a great power as a means of emphasis. We should be very unwise, in our efforts to become effective speakers, if we did not discover the cause of straightness of inflection and develop that cause. What causes the voice to wander both up and down the scale in sounding a single tone? Why does it not always make a single, direct movement, either up or down ? Listen ! That boy has just said, with much emphasis: "I want my knife, not my book!" The word "knife" was in- flected thus : ^ ^ "^^^ . and the word " book " thus : What was the boy's mind trying to do? It was trying to cause the listener to fix his mind upon the thing called "knife." To accomplish this, he, felt the necessity of turning the listener's mind away from the thing called "book." When he spoke each of these words, his mind was trying* to make a sharp distinction between the two things, book and knife. In other words, his mind had to travel rapidly back and forth, back and forth, be- tween the two things spoken of, while his voice was pro- nouncing the name of either oi those things. What could the voice do but go along with the mind? 500 INFLECTION The cause of these crooked inflections is very clear. They simply mark the crooked pathway the mind pur- sues while the voice is uttering a single tone. The crooked inflection is called the circumflex. This same cause may always be found whenever the voice makes a circumflex or unstraight inflection. The reason the speaker's mind wanders back and forth on one word, is not always a conscious desire to make a sharp distinction between two things, as it was when the boy spoke of his knife and book. Hear that other boy say: ^o ^/~^P -^ s m ^ n( ^ ' ls certainly not trying hard to do anything. The boy's one thought is, to be let alone. His mind seems too lazy to travel in any kind of path, straight or crooked; yet, if we put ourselves into his attitude and speak that word, we readily discover that this very laziness of the mind, this desire to be let alone and to do nothing, causes the mind to travel. It pushes slowly outward, as if to repel the intruder, then draws back and pushes forth again, while the voice is speaking the one word "don't." Listen! That was a fine example of circumflex in- flection when that child said, with a curl of the lip : "You think you are <^/^ "^- * f we i m P ersonate child, we find that her imagination passes rapidly from a high and mighty person, to a small and insignificant one while she speaks the word "smart." It is as if she said to the STRAIGHTNESS OF INFLECTION 50 1 person spoken to: "There is the picture you would draw of you and me!" Very much the same kind of circumflex is heard when anyone exclaims : W ^^^^ When we \^tr ^*C hear that, we say the mind of the speaker is surprised. If we put ourselves into the situation of the speaker and per- form the act of mind slowly, we find that the mind is going back and forth, back and forth, between the thing causing the surprise and the thing the mind expected to find. We might pile example upon example, but we have con- sidered enough, perhaps, to prove the universal law of mind, that no matter what the mood of the speaker may be when he speaks in a crooked or circumflex inflection, The action of the mind which causes a circumflex in- flection is the passing of the mind back and forth be- tween two objects of thought while one tone is being uttered. The keen thinker is apt to ask: "Is it advisable to allow the mind to wander away from the one thing thought of while the voice is speaking of that one thing?" We answer emphatically that it is not advisable unless there is a particular reason for the mind's wandering from the thing spoken of. There is but one good reason for such an act and that is the desire to contrast the thing spoken of with something else, for the purpose of making the thing spoken of stand out clear and emphatic. This act of contrasting is called "Antithesis." The one legitimate use of the circumflex inflection, then, is in effecting some form of antithesis. 502 INFLECTION As we have found, in the examples above, not always are both the objects contrasted mentioned. Oftentimes only one is mentioned and the other is implied, as when the child said, "You think you are smart!" Scorn, irony, and sarcasm are usually spoken in this form. Sometimes neither of the things contrasted is mentioned, as when we merely exclaim "Ah!" But whatever form the antithesis may assume, it is one of the very best and strongest means we have for giving our ideas emphasis. Dr. S. S. Curry (Lessons in Vocal Expression, p. 152) declares that "antithesis is the very soul of oratory." This means that speech attains its strongest, deepest force when one thing is set in such sharp contrast to another thing that the whole mind and soul of the speaker are imbued with the nature of this one thing. For this reason, the speaker should never attempt to use antithesis except when a de- cided contrast of things is sensed. If we use it over much, then we bring ideas which should remain unemphatic, up to the same level of emphasis with the more important, thereby destroying emphasis. Practice in Speaking on Inflection Since Inflection comprises several component parts, all parts equally important, the subject is, naturally, some- what complicated to the mind of the beginner when he first approaches it. Since it is the effective means of emphasis that we have found it to be, the intending speaker has, therefore, a double reason for putting forth a special effort EXPERIMENTS TO DEVELOP DIRECTION 503 to make clear and "workable" all his ideas concerning In- flection before he begins the experiments in Inflection. Nothing will help the student of speech more in this effort than to determine to make the subject perfectly clear to someone else. Therefore, outline the chapter in detail, put into the outline as many as possible of apt illustra- tions and applications from your own work, and prepare to discuss extempore before the class, any one of the four elements of Inflection or the entire subject as a whole. Experiments to Develop Direction of Inflection I. First experiment. Imagine that you have lost ten valuable articles, in some litter that lies before you, and that you are searching for them. Perform the action of pick- ing each one up, as you find it, and of laying it in another place. Announce the number of each one aloud as you lay it down. First, be so eager to search out the next one, that, while you speak the number of the one you have just found, your mind has already gone back to its search. Con- tinue this same action of mind until you have found all ten of the lost articles. If you have performed the experi- ment successfully, your voice has had a rising inflection on every number as spoken. It is well in this experiment, and in all the others in Direction of Inflection, to have someone present who can tell, by watching your facial expression, whether you are really imagining yourself trying to find the next article, while you speak each number, or whether you are merely making your voice rise deliberately. Of course, you can 504 INFLECTION do this; but you will get no benefit for your speech-work unless you compel your mind actually to anticipate the next act while each tone is being spoken. Repeat the experiment. This time, feel such complete satisfaction each time you discover one of your imaginary treasures, that when you lay it down and announce its number, your mind thinks of nothing but it, as if you said to it: "I've found you!" If you have done this success- fully, you have had a decided falling inflection on every tone spoken. Repeat the experiment again. This time, imagine that half the things you seek are much more valuable than the others. Imagine that the first one you find is one of the less valuable ones. As you lay it down and announce its number, let your mind be already searching for the next one. Imagine that the second one you find is one of the more valuable ones. As you lay it down and announce its number, let your mind be thinking only of the triumph of finding it. Continue in this manner through the whole ten, finding first a thing less prized, and then one more prized, and letting your mind anticipate as it announces the former, and stop completely on the latter when its number is announced. If the mind does these things, you speak first in a rising and then in a falling inflection. Repeat the experiment once more. Again imagine that half the things for which you seek are much more valuable than the rest. This time, imagine that you find first one of the more valued ones and then one of the others, and so on throughout the entire ten. As before, when the number of a favorite is announced, let the mind rest on that thing, and, as you speak the number of a thing less esteemed, EXPERIMENTS TO DEVELOP DIRECTION 505 let the mind run forward to find another. If the mind acts in these ways, you first have a falling inflection and then a rising one. In the four forms of this experiment, you have not only required the mind to take decided and independent atti- tudes, which make your inflections spontaneous, you have also changed the attitudes of your mind in different ways and, thus, have kept your inflections spontaneous. 2. For the second experiment, take very distinct and very different attitudes toward each single idea in the following lines: "We are perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not forsaken ; cast down, but not destroyed." First let the mind refuse to give attention to anything except the idea back of the word "we," as if it said "the only thing I am considering now is that it is we of whom I speak." Then let the mind give its exclusive attention to the idea back of the one word "are," thinking only of the fact that we are, that is, we exist. When the words "we" and "are" have been pronounced, each receiving, in turn, the mind's whole attention, then treat, in like manner, the word "perplexed," and so on throughout the sentence. If this is done correctly, it will give the voice a positive falling inflection on every word. Repeat the experiment of reading the quoted sentence. Again pronounce each word independently, as if the mind were considering nothing but the idea back of that word, but, while the voice is pronouncing each word, let the mind be running forward as if in search of the next thing to be said. If this is correctly done, the voice will have a distinct rising inflection on every single word in the sentence. 506 INFLECTION Repeat the experiment again. This time make the mind stop and think over the first idea that is spoken, anticipate as the second is spoken, be conclusive on the third idea, and so on. This, of course, should cause alternating fall- ing and rising inflections. When the sentence has been read through in this manner, read it again, making the attitudes of your mind exactly opposite to what they were in the last reading of these lines. That is, make the mind go forward while the first idea is being spoken, stop con- clusively on the second idea, anticipate on the third, and so on. If this is well done, it will cause the voice to make alternating inflections, first rising and then falling, on all the words in the sentence. Repeat once more the experiment of reading the quoted sentence. This time, throw the ideas into phrases, as we ordinarily do. At the end of the first phrase, let the mind stop conclusively, as if it intended to say nothing more; then, at the end of the second phrase, while the voice is pronouncing the last word in that phrase, let the mind go forward to consider other things which might be said. In this same manner read the whole sentence. When this has been done, immediately read it again, reversing the attitudes of your mind, anticipating at the end of the first phrase, and concluding at the end of the second phrase, and so on. 3. Third experiment. Now perform the experiment of speaking sentences which not only may be read or spoken with vigorous anticipation of mind as every idea is ex- pressed, but which demand such attitudes. Nothing better exemplifies this state of mind than a thorough interroga- tion, where the speaker's mind seems to be anticipating the answer of the listener as he utters every word. This sen- EXPERIMENTS IN LENGTH OF INFLECTION 507 tence, spoken by Brutus (Julius Casar, Act III, Sc. 2, lines 21-22), is typical. "Had you rather Caesar were living, and die all slaves, than that Caesar were dead, to live all free men?" Speak it with the strongest possible anticipation of mind. Form and read other sentences like it. 4. Fourth experiment. Finally experiment in speaking sentences which demand the concluding attitude of mind on every word. One of the best examples of this is the firm, direct, and noble command. Speak Longfellow's lines (from The Building of the Ship) : 'Thou, too, sail on, O Ship of State! sail on, O Union, strong and great!" and other sentences of like directness. Experiments to Develop Length of Inflection In our study of Length of Inflection, we found that inflection has its best length when the mind of the speaker finds such decided distinction in the things spoken of, and those things mean so much to the speaker, that he is de- termined to make them mean as much to the listener. I. For the first experiment to develop Length of Inflec- tion, use any talk you have used for any previous ex- periment, in which the things spoken of were of such importance to yourself that you were determined to make your audience realize their importance. As you now present this talk to an imaginary audience, try to feel that your whole success in the effort depends on the length of your inflections. Realize that, to be effective, the in- flections must be spontaneous, and that they can be spon- taneous only when your conceptions of the things dis- 5O8 INFLECTION cussed are so clear and full and your attitudes toward those things so strong, that your own feelings are stirred as you hope to stir those of your audience. To accom- plish these results, you must make the pauses long enough and vigorous enough to give your mind great changes in its attitudes (and consequent changes in pitch) so that great length of inflection is merely the letting go of your pent-up energy. 2. Experiment in like manner in reading and reciting these words of Brutus (from Julius Casar, Act IV, Sc. 3, by Shakespeare) : Must I give way and room to your rash choler? Shall I be frighted when a madman stares? . . . Must I budge? Must I observe you? Must I stand and crouch under your testy humor? By the gods, you shall digest the venom of your spleen, though it do split you; for, from this day forth, I'll use you for my mirth, yea for my laughter, when you are waspish. The whole of this famous quarrel between Brutus and his brother Cassius, from which these lines come, may well be used. Use also these lines (from Give a Rouse, by Browning) : King Charles, and who'll do him right now? King Charles, and who's ripe for fight now? Give a rouse: here's in hell's despite now, King Charles! Also these lines (from The Rising of '76, by T. B. Read) : Who dares this was the patriot's cry, as striding from his desk he came Come out with me in Freedom's name, for her to live, for her to die! A hundred hands flung up reply, a hundred voices answered "I" ! EXPERIMENTS IN ABRUPTNESS OF INFLECTION 509 If other examples are desired on which to experiment in Length of Inflection, use the first stanza from The Broom- stick Train, by Holmes ; the four lines beginning with line 159, from King Robert of Sicily in Tales of a Wayside Inn, by Longfellow; The Call to Arms, by Patrick Henry; The Supposed Speech of John Adams, by Daniel Webster; and the soliloquy of Hamlet (Hamlet, Act I, Sc. 2, be- ginning with line 129). Experiments to Develop Abruptness of Inflection Since the degree of abruptness is proportionate to the degree of vigor in the mind of the speaker, experiments to develop this mode of emphasis, will bring the best results if they are performed with the mind at its highest degree of vigor and quickness. I. First experiment. Imagine yourself coaching a player in a game of baseball. Imagine that it is the last half of the ninth inning, that the score is tied, that two players are already out, and that two men are now on bases. Imagine that these men are on first and second bases, and that you are at third base, coaching the man at second base. Let this man be a favorite of yours and realize how much he is depending on the quickness and certainty of your judgment, to help him win the game. Feel that it means more to you, to have him win this game, than anything has meant for years. Realize that every word you say to him must reach him instantly and must carry the vigor to make him act on the instant. Repeat this experiment until your every word is spoken with an intense and telling abruptness of inflection. 510 INFLECTION 2. Second experiment. Further develop your ability to use the abrupt inflection as a strong means of emphasis, by reading and reciting the following: (The first excerpt is from Hamlet, Act I, Sc. 4, lines 84-86, inclusive) : "Still am I called. Unhand me, gentlemen ! By heaven, I'll make a ghost of him that lets me! I say, away!" (The second excerpt is from King Lear, Act III, Sc. 2) : Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks ! rage ! blow ! You cataracts and hurricanoes, spout till you have drench'd our steeples, drown'd the cocks ! You sulphurous and thought- executing fires, vaunt-couriers of oak-cleaving thunderbolts, singe my white head! And thou, all-shaking thunder, strike flat the thick rotundity o' the world ! Woe to the hands that shed this costly blood ! Over thy wounds now do I prophesy, which like dumb mouths do ope their ruby lips to beg the voice and utterance of my tongue: a curse shall light upon the limbs of men; domestic fury and fierce civil strife shall cumber all the parts of Italy . . . and Caesar's spirit, ranging for revenge, with Ate by his side, come hot from hell, shall, in these confines, with a monarch's voice, cry "Havoc!" and let slip the dogs of war; that this foul deed shall smell above the earth with carrion men groaning for burial. (Julius Caesar, Act III, Sc. I.) Awake, awake! Ring the alarum-bell. Murther and trea- son! Banquo and Donalbain ! Malcolm! awake! Shake off this downy sleep, death's counterfeit, and look on death itself ! up, up, and see the great doom's image ! Malcolm ! Banquo ! as from your graves rise up, and walk like sprites, to coun- tenance this horror! Ring the bell! (Macbeth, Act II, Sc. 3). Another good selection for developing this mode of em- phasis, is found in The Courtship of Miles Standish, by Longfellow, lines 413-423, inclusive. EXPERIMENTS IN STRAIGHTNESS OF INFLECTION 511 Experiments to Develop Straightness of inflection We have found that a circumflex is, in a sense, the very opposite from a straight inflection. The fundamental cause of each is the degree of Straightness with which the mind moves during the utterance of a tone. A straight in- flection is produced when the mind thinks of nothing but the thing that moment spoken of, while a circumflex in- flection is produced when the mind travels back and forth between the thing that moment spoken of, and something else. It is clear, therefore, that separate experiments are needed to develop these two extremes of Straightness of Inflection. Experiments i and 2 are designed to develop a straight inflection. Remember that a straight inflection is always desirable except where some form of antithesis is expressed. 1. First experiment. Prepare a short talk on some sim- ple theme into which you can throw your vigor of mind. Let your treatment of the theme be of such a nature, that you present one single, brief point to the audience at a time, and "drive home" that point. Keep in mind the motto of St. Paul : "This one thing I do." Remember that the best means you have for keeping the mind of the audience abso- lutely fixed on each point as you present it, is an absolutely straight inflection of your voice. Realize that you can have such Straightness of inflection only when you keep your own mind firmly fixed on each thought as you present it. 2. Second experiment. Vigorous narrative description, simply and directly told, offers one of the best opportunities for an emphatic use of the straight inflection. Experi- 512 INFLECTION ment in reading and reciting the following translation of Belshazzar, by Heine: Midnight comes slowly sweeping on ; in silent rest lies Baby- lon ; but in the royal castle high, red torches gleam and courtiers cry. Belshazzar there, in kingly hall, is holding kingly festival. The vassals sit in glittering line, and empty the goblets with glowing wine. The goblets rattle, the choruses swell; and it pleases the stiff-necked monarch well. And he brazenly boasts, blaspheming the while the servile courtiers cheer and smile. Belshazzar drains the sacred cup, and foaming cries, as he drinks it up, "Jehovah, eternal scorn I own to thee. I am monarch of Babylon." Scarce has the terrible blasphemy rolled from his lips, ere the monarch at heart is cold. The yelling laughter is hushed, and all is still as death in the royal hall. And see ! and see ! on the white wall high, the form of a hand goes slowly by, and writes and writes, on the broad wall white, letters of fire, and departs from sight. Pale as death, with a steady stare, and with trembling knees', the king sits there. The horde of slaves sit, shuddering chill ; no word they speak, but are death- like and still. The Magians come, but of them all, not one can read the script on the wall. But that same night, in all his pride, by the hand of his servants, Belshazzar died. Also use such vigorous passages as the one from Julius Casar, Act III, Scene I, quoted on page 510. The next experiments are designed to develop tht circumflex inflection. i. Perform the experiment of describing orally the char- acteristics of two persons, one of whom you like very much, and the other you dislike very much. Name an admirable trait of the one, and immediately contrast it with a de- testable trait of the other, and so on. Imagine that you are now watching the characteristics of dress and move- ment and expression of face and voice which seem to make you admire the one and dislike the other. Imagine that EXPERIMENTS IN STRAIGHTNESS OF INFLECTION 513 now, while you watch them, you again see each one doing some of those things which have formerly excited in you so strong a feeling toward him. Form such clear con- ceptions and take such strong attitudes toward each point, that you feel you must cause the one who hears you to realize how unusual each characteristic is. Feel as if you were piling up material things and were determined to make the hearer realize how each pile is mounting higher and higher. Each time you turn again to either of the persons described, think again of the things you have already said about him, and say: "He is not only this and this" (nam- ing the points previously named and taking time to realize how each point adds to the character), "but he is also this," (naming your new point). 2. Second experiment. Describe orally a scene in which there are many objects of different sizes, shapes, colors and values. Imagine that you are in a contest to determine who can describe the greatest number and the greatest variety of things. Feel that, to win this contest, you must make the judges realize two things every time you speak of a new object. First, you must make them realize that you have added one more to your list; and, secondly you must make them realize that this last thing described is remarkably different from other things you have men- tioned. Realize that the only means you have by which to cause the judges to feel these things, is to enlarge your own conceptions of the difference, so much, and give yourself up so fully to feeling the difference between different things described, that your inflection will show the difference. 3. Third experiment. To further develop the ability to use circumflex inflection in your speaking and reading, ex- periment in reading and reciting the following: 514 INFLECTION Give thy thoughts no tongue, not any unproportioned thought his act. Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar. Those friends thou hast, and their adoption tried, grapple them to thy soul with hoops of steel; but do not dull thy palm with entertainment of each new-hatched, unfleg'd comrade. Beware of entrance to a quarrel, but, being in, bear it that the opposed may beware of thee. Give every man thy ear, but few thy voice; take each man's censure, but reserve thy judgment. Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy, but not expressed in fancy; rich, not gaudy; for the apparel oft proclaims the man, and they in France, of the best rank and station, are most select and generous, chief in that. Neither a borrower nor a lender be; for loan oft loses both itself and friend, and borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry. This above all: to thine own self be true, and it must follow as the night the day, thou canst not then be false to any man. (Hamlet, Act I, Sc. 3). If there be any of this assembly, any dear friend of Caesar's, to him I say that Brutus' love to Caesar was no less than his. If then that friend demand why Brutus rose against Caesar, this is my answer not that I loved Caesar less, but that I loved Rome more. Had you rather Caesar were living, and die all slaves, than that Caesar were dead, to live all freemen? As Caesar loved me, I weep for him; as he was fortunate, I rejoice at it; as he was valiant, I honor him; but as he was ambitious, I slew him. There is tears for his love, joy for his fortune, honor for his valour, and death for his ambition. (Julius Caesar, Act. Ill, Sc. 2). You were assembly clerk, I was a speaker; you acted third parts, I heard you; you broke down, and I hissed; you have worked as a statesman for the enemy, I for my country. (From On the Crown, by Demosthenes.) Kings will be tyrants from policy when subjects are rebels from principle. (Burke.) It can never be necessary to do what is not honorable. . . . Why should it be ? What gain would you get ? Money ? Money that comes from a tainted source is a degradation. (From An Ideal Husband, by Wilde.) This last excerpt represents what is called Implied Anti- thesis, in which a part of the things contrasted are not STRAIGHTNESS OF INFLECTION 515 mentioned but left to be inferred and filled in by the mind of the listener. This requires the very strongest use of the circumflex; for, on the few words spoken, the speaker must throw sufficient emphasis to make up for the words not spoken. Additional material for developing the circumflex may be found in the last eight stanzas of The C our tin* from the Biglow Papers, by Lowell, and stanzas 5 to 10, in- clusive, from Contentment, by Holmes. CHAPTER XXVI SUBORDINATION The Outgrowth of Former Modes Studied WE have now discovered the sources of three important modes of emphasis, Pause, Change of Pitch, and Inflec- tion. We have learned that Change of Pitch is the natural outgrowth of good pausing, and that Inflection grows out of Change of Pitch as naturally as Change of Pitch grows out of Pause. There are other modes of emphasis to slight which is to mar the effect of the three already studied. Prominent among these is Subordination. Subordination, in a sense, may be said to be a combination of Change of Pitch and Inflection. In a truer sense, it is an outgrowth of these two modes of emphasis, just as they in turn are the out- growth of pausing. SUBORDINATION, NOT SUBJUGATION We shall better understand the nature of this mode of emphasis by finding first what it is not. It is not sub- jugation. Students of Latin recall the origin of the word "subjugation." When Roman soldiers conquered in battle, SUBORDINATION, NOT SUBJUGATION 517 they set up two spears crossing each other. They called the pointed arch thus formed, jugum, a yoke. They then compelled those they had conquered; to pass sub-jugum, under the yoke, as an acknowledgment of the fact that they were subject to the will of theii Roman conquerors. From this fact, we have derived the word subjugation which implies the act of placing something under some- thing else for the purpose of keeping the subjugated thing down. If we depend on dictionary definition alone, we shall find a very similar meaning for the word subordination. It does mean the act of placing a thing in a lower rank or order. But if we investigate the usage of this word in the world about us, we find that a person or thing is well subordinated when that person or thing is so placed that all work performed in that position leads up to and pre- pares for the work to be done by the person or thing next higher up. For example, take the subordinated system of labor employed on a railroad. The section hand is at the bottom of the scale. But he is not placed there merely to keep him down. Those in charge of the road have a very different thought in mind when they place him there. Every section hand must so prepare his little piece of road that it is ready for the section-boss. Every section-boss must so prepare his section of the road that it is ready for the road inspector. Every inspector must "hand over" a good road to the superintendent, who in turn must deliver the road and equipment in his charge, to the president. The entire plan is a building up, each part growing into something larger and higher, each part reaching up to support the part above it. 5l8 SUBORDINATION This is the meaning the word subordination should have in speech. The less important parts are not to be pushed into the background as children are sent out of the way. The smaller things talked about are rather to be placed one on another that the heights may be reached. If the speaker's mind ana voice be trained to subordinate in this manner, two large faults of emphasis will be avoided which are always present when a speaker is content merely to push into the background all minor things discussed. These two faults are a jerkiness and a parenthetical manner of speaking. We have all been tortured many times by having to listen to the jerky speaker. He is the man who has caught the idea that a few emphatic words are to be pushed up into great prominence and all the rest are to be put down almost out of hearing. If such a man speak the simple sentence: "I say I will not," he will probably mumble the first four words in a low pitch. When he comes to the last word, his voice will take the wild leap of a whole octave upward and "not" will be spoken with an explosion that almost bursts the ears of the audience. This method of subordinating or rather subjugating gives a speech a monotony that is almost unbearable. The parenthetical fault is less tiresome than jerkiness, but is also monotonous. The speaker who employs this method, seems to divide his ideas into two distinct classes, which we might call the serving class and the aristocracy. Between these two classes he has as wide a "gulf" as the man with the jerky style has between his emphatic words and the rest. The principal difference between these two speakers is that the man who places all less important ideas in parentheses, seems to subordinate, after a fashion, THE SOURCES OF SUBORDINATION 519 each of his two classes of ideas. In other words, he seems to have two different systems of subordination on two different planes of pitch. His speech is more smooth than that of the jerky speaker, but he is "carrying water on both shoulders." He is performing two tasks neither of which helps the other. He feels no great central force in his subject to which all his smaller ideas must contribute. As a result the listeners are not led through the smaller ideas up to great heights of thought and feeling. To accomplish this leading up through the lesser to the greater is the func- tion of subordination. THE SOURCES OF SUBORDINATION Subordination is different from both Change of Pitch and Inflection. It is something more than a combination of these two. A speaker may employ changes of pitch and inflections throughout his speech, yet, if the changes of pitch and inflections are not aided by the thing we now call Subordination, they will all be more or less on the same plane of pitch and monotony will be the result. In other words, both these modes of emphasis, necessary as they are, are very apt to become useless and unemphatic unless they culminate in Subordination and are controlled by it. What, then, is the source of this great means of em- phasis? The first thing necessary is to build a clear and large conception of the whole theme to be presented, that the speaker's mind may comprehend the final height to which it is to climb. The second necessary step is for the 520 SUBORDINATION mind of the speaker to form a clear and large conception of each paragraph of his theme (if his speech have para- graphs), that he may realize how far toward the final height his first main thought leads him. The third neces- sary step is a clear and large conception of each sentence in the first paragraph, that the speaker may realize how far toward the final height of the first paragraph, the thought in the first sentence leads him. When the speaker has taken these three steps, he has laid the foundation and is now ready to begin the actual building of subordination. The mind now begins a vigorous analysis of the prin- cipal thing to be spoken of in the first sentence, and, as il discovers one characteristic after another of that object, it feels a fuller sense of mastery of the thing con- templated. With this feeling comes the kindred one of delight in "handing over" to the listener more and more of the thing contemplated. This last conception is the one that actually builds subordination in the speaker's voice. It is as if the speaker had caught the idea of picking up, piece by piece, the thing before his mind and putting it together again in the listener's hands. As piece rises upon piece, the speaker's mind and voice mount higher and higher, till the central and concluding piece, the central idea of the sentence, is delivered to the listener, when the speaker's mind and voice climax the effort in one emphatic stroke. THE PHYSICAL FORM OF SUBORDINATION If every phrase has its own center toward which all preceding words rise and from which all following words PHYSICAL FORM OF SUBORDINATION 521 of that same phrase descend, then Subordination must turn a speech into a series of hills and valleys. This is what it may be said to do. If we attempt to put on paper the action of the voice in subordinating phrases, it will appear thus: /\/\ The sentence, of course, has its own highest point just as the phrase has, and the paragraph has its great height of importance just as each sentence has. As the mind of the speaker approaches the highest thought in a paragraph, it begins to rise as much higher than the small "hill-top" of phrases and sentences as these are higher than the "valley" between them. If we represent on paper the subordination of a paragraph, the vocal movements will be like this: It will be seen that the outline resembles a cross-section map of a mountain-chain. The small foot-hills begin at our left and grow higher and higher till they end in the highest ridge of the range. The speaker will find this figure of hills and mountains a helpful one. If, at the beginning of every pagaraph, he feels as if he were starting on a splendid mountain climb, if he feels that every phrase is a hill which he must o'er-top, if he feels that from each hill he must descend into a valley before he can reach the next hill, and if he then feels that 522 SUBORDINATION each succeeding hill lifts him to a larger, finer view till finally he stands upon the highest point, he is sure to be lifted to a more and more lively interest in what he has to say and is sure to lift his audience with him. HOW SUBORDINATION AIDS THE AUDIENCE It is interesting to note how Subordination acts upon the minds and feelings of an audience. The first effect is an indirect one accomplished through language itself. Of the four modes of emphasis thus far studied, it is Subordina- tion that gives beauty to spoken language. Each of the other three modes, Pause, Change of Pitch, and Inflection, gives vigor to spoken language, but Subordination gives beauty as well as force. It does this, first, by producing the best possible variety of sounds. But this is not enough to give speech a lasting beauty. There is a common belief that variety itself is satisfying. This is not true. Who is less happy, who sees less beauty in anything and everything than the person who has traveled everywhere and seen everything, if he has done this with no purpose in view except to seek variety. To be satisfying, to lend real beauty, variety must link things together in such manner that each thing con- templated will prepare the mind of the observer to desire and even to seek and receive the next thing to be con- sidered. This is just the kind of "linking together" which true subordination does. Dr. S. S. Curry (Lessons in Vocal Expression, p. 20) says that through subordination "the listening mind is awakened to respond creatively to the HOW SUBORDINATION AIDS THE AUDIENCE 523 successive scenes and situations" Think what that means ! If subordination can cause the listener to think creatively, then, first, it can insure the speaker the perfect attention of the audience to what he is at that moment saying; secondly, it causes the minds of the audience to anticipate the next thing about to be said by the speaker, hence, makes them ready to welcome it when said. This act of causing the audience to anticipate is per- formed in two ways at once. Subordination acts upon the ear as well as upon the mind of the audience. The effect upon the ear you have probably noted most often when listening to music. Who has not often, when listening to music he had never before heard, found himself fancying what the next "run" would be? And who has not been gratified to discover that the "run" sounded just as he had fancied it would? Someone says: "Oh, but that is because music has a melody which speech has not." Be not deceived. Speech has melody as truly as music has, and one no less powerful to influence the listener. Recall some speeches which have pleased you. Do you not re- member certain places in those speeches where you found your mind running on ahead of the speaker, thinking things which the speaker presently said, things which pleased you more than anything else he did say? You found yourself saying, "He is right. That's the very thing I was thinking myself," didn't you? These were not mere accidents. Subordination includes the logical way ideas are put together as well as the melody of speech. The logical way in which the speaker had subordinated his thoughts, making the small ones lead up to larger ones, 524 SUBORDINATION together with the melody of words which this process created, had made for you as well as for the speaker, a straight road to the coming thought. You traveled the same road with the speaker and saw the road before you, a thing absolutely necessary if a speech is to reach its highest efficiency. LIMITATIONS OF SUBORDINATION In a lecture to a class the writer had one day just ex- pressed the last thought, stated above, when a mature stu- dent showed how badly the thought may be misunderstood. He said : "Well, this seeing the road ahead of the speaker, is possible or even desirable only to a very limited extent, isn't it? The speaker must have new thoughts for the audience or he will not interest them, will he? And if he is about to utter a thought that is new to the audience, how can they perceive that thought before it is uttered?" That sounds reasonable, doesn't it ? The student's difficulty arose from the fact that he did not understand what is meant by "seeing the road" ahead of the speaker. It re- quired but a moment to satisfy that student that the physical form of subordination may easily be anticipated by the listener. From examples put before him, he saw that when a speaker subordinates well, the sounds of his voice form a pleasing melody. He saw furthermore that in this melody certain combinations of rise and fall recur with such regularity that the ear of the listener soon learns to build them. A part of the difficulty which confronted the student was now removed. LIMITATIONS OF SUBORDINATION 525 We had also declared that the thoughts of the speaker might be anticipated. We had proved by the testimony of the class that such anticipating is often done. The student who had challenged this claim admitted that he had occa- sionally had such an experience, but could not believe that such results could be depended upon. His second diffi- culty lay in the ambiguous use of the word "thought." That word may mean the attitude of the speaker's mind toward anything about which he is speaking or it may mean the thing itself about which he is speaking. If we use the word "thought" in the latter sense, then certainly the speaker cannot so subordinate as to cause the audience to anticipate his thoughts. The listener can- not be expected to foretell the next illustration the speaker will use, yet that is just what such a claim for subordina- tion would mean. But it certainly requires no proof to establish the fact that, when the speaker is subordinating well, the listener can know beforehand the attitude the speaker's mind will have toward the next thing to be spoken of. It is also evident that when the small thoughts of the speaker are all pointing toward and leading up to the main, central thought, then the nature of the next thought to be uttered may be foreseen by the audience. The relation of that thought to the thoughts just preceding may also be anticipated by the listeners. Then, if subor- dinating can enable the audience to foretell the nature of the coming thought, its relation to what has already been said, the speaker's attitude toward the coming thought, and even the melody of voice that thought will produce when spoken, surely the act of subordinating is a powerful means of bringing the audience into harmony with the 526 SUBORDINATION speaker. Surely the claim is justified, that subordination does cause the audience to think creatively, or to re-create the theme with the speaker while he is speaking. DEVELOPMENT OF SUBORDINATION The student of speech should undertake the development of subordination with great care. A thorough mastery of it will show more artistic strength than most anything else to which the speaker or reader may turn his attention. Neglect of it is likely to leave him a very ordinary speaker, with no real command over his audience, no matter how much attention he has paid to other details. That we may begin this development with a clear understanding of the task before us, let us observe the following points for our guidance. 1. To develop a good power cf subordination, the speaker must train himself to hold the main conception of his theme so clearly in mind that he feels instantly and constantly the relation to this conception which every small conception bears. 2. The speaker must feel a strong desire to cause the audience to feel and to see this relationship. 3. He must train his voice to build this relationship by feeling the vocal uplift as one idea leads up to another. 4. Lastly, he must so train mind, ear, and voice to- gether, that he cannot think a thought without hearing the melody that thought should produce, without feel- ing his voice "take the journey" over hills and into PRACTICE IN SPEAKING ON SUBORDINATION 527 valleys and up higher hills, as he leads an imaginary (or real) audience with him. For this training, let the intending speaker give descrip- tions of personal experiences he has had, let him tell con- densed stories, let him present to the class short oratorical and argumentative paragraphs and short poems. In all these exercises, let him be cautioned against allowing his mind to lose for one instant the keen consciousness of the relationship between all small things spoken of and the main thought presented. Let him never utter a word until he has felt how that word leads up to something higher. If his voice does not respond, does not rise to the hill- tops and descend into the valleys, then he should work on his imagination in some such way as that suggested by the mountain-climbing trip (p. 520) until his whole body feels the mounting up of ideas to a central thought, and the easy descent from a central thought. When the whole body has come to respond to the situation and has come to feel that it is not only climbing but is also helping the audience to climb the heights, the voice will soon respond with the body, and, in a reasonable time, with vigorous training, will come to do the work for the entire body. Practice in Speaking on Subordination Put your ideas, gained through the study of this chapter, to the test and to immediate use, by outlining the chapter and speaking extempore on its various divisions and on the whole subject. 528 SUBORDINATION Experiments to Develop Subordination 1. First experiment. Outline a descriptive narrative of some personal experience you have had, in which the events accumulated till a climax was reached. When your outline is completed and you have taken the four preliminary steps, suggested in the fourth paragraph above, as a foundation for the building of subordination, experiment in telling your story to an imaginary class. Remember that the success of the story depends on your keeping the interest of the audi- ence fresh throughout the entire effort. Realize that this can be done only by increasing that interest as your story progresses. Remember that you can do this, only by be- coming more interested yourself and by feeling how each small incident leads up to a larger and more important one. Repeat the experiment of telling your story to the imaginary audience, till you can see before you the vocal hills and valleys in the pathway over which you are going to take the audience, and the final height you hope to reach. Repeat it till these small ascents and descents, all forming one large ascent, are a real part of your thinking. Repeat the experiment until you come to hear the melody and to feel the lift of each phrase and each sentence before you speak it, and until these seem to be a part of the things about which you speak. 2. Second experiment. Outline a short, argumentative speech and experiment in presenting it as you did in pre- senting your story in experiment I. 3. Third experiment. To further develop your ability to subordinate, experiment, as in I and 2 above, in speaking EXPERIMENT TO DEVELOP SUBORDINATION 529 the words quoted below. Few, if any, have ever been more able in causing each single thing spoken of, to join with its fellows in building up one strong, central meaning and spirit, than was the great orator of the South, Henry W. Grady. Seldom, if ever, did he accomplish this masterful act of subordinating ideas, better than he did in his descrip- tion of the return of the defeated Army of the Confederacy, in his famous speech, The New South. This description follows : Dr. Talmadge has drawn for you, with a master hand, the picture of your returning armies. He has told you how, in the pomp and circumstance of war, they came back to you, marching with proud and victorious tread, reading their glory in a nation's eyes ! Will you bear with me while I tell you of another army that sought its home at the close of the late war? An army that marched home in defeat and not in victory in pathos and not in splendor, but in glory that equaled yours, and to hearts as loving as ever welcomed heroes home. Let me picture to you the foot-sore Confederate soldier, as, buttoning up in his faded gray jacket the parole which was to bear testimony to his children of his fidelity and faith, he turned his face southward from Appomattox in April, 1865. Think of him, as, ragged, half-starved, heavy-hearted, enfeebled by want and wounds, having fought to exhaustion, he surrenders his gun, wrings the hands of his comrades in silence, and, lifting his tear-stained and pallid face for the last time to the graves that dot the old Virginia hills, pulls his gray cap over his brow, and begins the slow and painful journey. What does he find ? let me ask you who went to your homes eager to find, in the welcome you had justly earned, full pay- ment for four years' sacrifice what does he find when, having followed the battle-stained cross against overwhelming odds, dreading death not half so much as surrender, he reaches the home he left so prosperous and beautiful? He finds his house in ruins, his farm devastated, his slaves free, his stock killed, his barn empty, his trade destroyed, his money worthless; his social system, feudal in its magnificence, swept away; his people without law or legal status; his comrades slain, and the burdens of others heavy on his shoulders. Crushed by 53O SUBORDINATION defeat, his very traditions gone ; without money, credit, employ- ment, material training; and besides all this, confronted with the gravest problem that ever met human intelligence the establishing of a status for the vast body of his liberated slaves. What does he do this hero in gray, with a heart of gold? Does he sit down in sullenness and despair? Not for a day. Surely God, who had stripped him of his prosperity, inspired him in his adversity. As ruin was never before so overwhelm- ing, never was restoration swifter. The soldier stepped from the trenches into the furrow; horses that had charged Federal guns marched before the plow, and the fields that ran red with human blood in April were green with the harvest in June; women reared in luxury cut up their dresses and made breeches for their husbands, and, with a patience and heroism that fit women always as a garment, gave their hands to work. There was little bitterness in all this. Cheerfulness and frank- ness prevailed. I want to say to General Sherman who is considered an able man in our parts, though some people think he is kind of careless about fire that from the ashes he left us in 1864 we have raised a brave and beautiful city; that somehow or other we have caught the sunshine in the bricks and mortar of our homes, and have builded therein not one ignoble prejudice or memory. But in all this what have we accomplished? What is the sum of our work? We have found that, in the general sum- mary, the free negro counts more than he did as a slave. We have planted the schoolhouse on the hilltop and made it free to white and black. We have sowed towns and cities in the place of theories, and put business above politics. Above all, we know that we have achieved, in these "piping times of peace/' a fuller independence for the South than that which our fathers sought to win in the forum by their eloquence, or compel on the field by their swords. If additional selections from literature are desired, on which to experiment for the development of subordination, the following will be found excellent material: the speech of Mark Antony over the body of Caesar, in Julius Casar, by Shakespeare, Act III, Sc. 2, beginning in the scene at line 71 and ending at line 260; the comparison of Massa- EXPERIMENT TO DEVELOP SUBORDINATION 531 chusetts with South Carolina, from The Reply to Hayne, by Daniel Webster, the speech of King Henry, from Act III, Sc. i of King Henry the Fifth, by Shakespeare, the last paragraph of the speech on NeckeSs Financial Plan, by Mirabeau, the Dare, Dare Again, Always Dare speech of Danton (the last two many be found in The World's Famous Orations, by W. J. Bryan, published by Funk & Wagnalls Co.) ; and the Give Me Liberty or Give Me Death speech of Patrick Henry. CHAPTER XXVII VOCAL MOVEMENT WHEN we use the term "movement" in this way: "The music had a movement slow and heavy," we speak of, not one motion, but a series of motions continued through some period of time. It is with this meaning that we shall speak of the movements of the voice. The voice will be said to have a certain movement when through all its motions, during that particular utterance, there seems to run one general, characteristic attitude of the mind. For example, a speaker is said to have a "light" movement when he regards lightly the things spoken of, when he finds the things of which he is speaking, a light and easy load for the mind to carry. MOVEMENT AND TEMPO Tempo is a musical term used to indicate the rapidity or slowness with which a musical expression is to be uttered. This word is also quite generally used to describe the same thing in speech. We do not wish to criticise the application of this term to speech, but the student of public speaking should understand clearly that tempo refers to the rapidity with which a thing is uttered and to nothing else. In this 532 THE SOURCE OF MOVEMENT 533 it is quite different from movement. These two words are often used as if they were synonyms, but movement has a broader meaning than tempo. The former word means all that the latter word does and much more. When we speak of a "movement/ 5 we mean something more than speaking slowly or rapidly; how much more, will appear when we study the various kinds of movement. THE SOURCE OF MOVEMENT In our study of movement let us examine first its cause. We can the more readily find the cause of movement in the voice by studying the movements of physical bodies. Students of physics remember a thing called "momentum/* They will recall that it is the power a moving body has to overcome resistance. It is the ability of a thing in motion, to crush or to penetrate or to move anything it encounters. Two distinct elements combine to constitute momentum. These elements are the weight of the moving body and the speed with which it travels. "Momentum is the product of weight and velocity" is the way it is stated in physics. According to this law, a small rifle-ball may have more momentum than a cannon-ball many times larger. To il- lustrate: Place the rifle-ball in a rifle and fire the gun. The ball now travels at a great velocity and will pass through a "board set up in its course, as if it were nothing. Place the same board on the floor. Roll the cannon-ball slowly against it. The board, which apparently had no power to check the speed of the small rifle-ball, not only checks but stops the large cannon-ball. But place the cannon-ball in 534 VOCAL MOVEMENT a cannon and fire it. How does its momentum now com- pare with the momentum of the rifle-ball? It will now pass through bodies of steel upon which the rifle-ball could not even make a dent. The obvious conclusion is that neither weight nor speed, acting alone, can constitute great momentum, but when great weight is combined with great speed, a powerful momentum results. If this same law may be applied to the mind, and hence to the voice, what is there in speech that would correspond to weight in a moving body, and what would correspond to the speed of the moving body? The importance of the things spoken of would be the weight ; the speed may be said to come from the "ammunition" within the speaker. Accordingly, if we should find the law of momentum operative in the mind and voice of the speaker, the result should be obvious. Then, as we have found in moving bodies, so in the voice, a small and light thing thought about by the speaker could be so spoken of as to give the utterance a greater momentum than the speaker's voice would have at another time in speaking of something much more weighty. But, when the speaker's mind carries a weighty thought, and when the speed of his mind is pro- portionately great, his voice will then have a far greater momentum than it could possibly have when carrying a light thought no matter how much "speed" of mind he might employ in uttering the light thought. That we do find these very conditions, needs little proof. The same thing uttered by two different persons, or the same thing said by the same person at different times in different moods, will have at one time little "carrying" power while at another time it will "sweep us off our feet" VARIOUS KINDS OF MOVEMENT 535 How familiar are such remarks as these: "It wasn't so much what he said as the way he said it," and "He had weighty thoughts, but he put little force into them." In the first of these sayings we are evidently thinking of an utterance which had a momentum like that of a small rifle-ball moving at great speed because a great force has been placed behind it. In the latter saying, we have in mind an utterance with no more momentum than a cannon- ball rolled slowly across the floor. So, the law of mo- mentum may be said to be the same in the voice as in moving bodies. These observations lead us to conclude that the source of vocal movement is twofold. The speaker contemplates the thing about which he is speaking and loads his mind, as it were, with the weight of that thing. Naturally each thing has its own weight, hence its own effect on the speaker's mind, its own ability to check the speed of his utterance. Against this weight the speaker throws the force of his personality. These two, The weight of the thing spoken of and the person- ality of the speaker, are the sources of vocal movement. VARIOUS KINDS OF MOVEMENT These two sources, acting as they do in the utterance of every thought, produce several kinds of movement. We hear someone speak the words: "Pick it up quickly, Jack." It is a mother with her small son who has dropped a toy. They had just started across the room to go out into the garden. The mother's mind is full of thoughts 536 VOCAL MOVEMENT of the pleasing things she is about to show to the child. She is not concerned about the toy, only she sees that the child wishes to take it with him. His plump little form is having a hard time bending over while his chubby fingers are laboring hard to grasp the plaything he has dropped. Her heart is so full of mother-love that she wishes nothing at this moment so much as to lighten the child's mind and free it from worry over the toy. She speaks the words "Pick it up quickly, Jack" in a move- ment which we would certainly call light movement. Her utterance is neither particularly slow nor rapid, it is just light. Again we see her in the same situation, only this time it is necessary for her to hurry on to something else. She has just as kindly a desire to lighten the child's mind as in the other instance, but she now wishes to give him such good cheer that it will stimulate him to hurry and to enjoy hurrying. When she says: "Pick it up quickly, Jack," the movement of her voice is as light as before, but now it is as rapid as it is light. We could, therefore, properly name this movement a light, rapid movement. The boy has now dropped something which the mother knows to be heavy but not too heavy for him to pick up quickly if he shows himself to be the little man she knows him to be. Between the words, her mind seems to be saying to him: "There is the size of that and here is the amount of your strength required to move it. Now lift. See, it is done." As she says : "Pick it up quickly, Jack," her voice is large and its movement is heavy, but it is neither slow nor rapid. We could properly call it a heavy move- ment. VARIOUS KINDS OF MOVEMENT 537 Now the boy has dropped something and is so annoyed that tears of anger and worry begin to flow. When the mother says: "Pick it up quickly, Jack," the movement of her voice is both slow and light. Her mind seems to regard his load of trouble as an imaginary load. Her movement is saying to him: "Why, it is so easy you can do it without knowing it." Now we hear the mother speak those words so as to shock us with their weight. Several years have passed and she has come to depend on the strength of her son. A great weight has fallen upon the mother and is crushing her. She is unable to throw off the weight. Her mind is staggered as it contemplates the great task. Her body shrinks, and her voice seems hardly able to speak as she calls in the same words as before: "Pick it up quickly, Jack." This time the movement of her voice is both slow and heavy. Let us observe but one more situation. These two, mother and son, are standing watching a child of whom they are very fond when a heavy object falls upon the child. The mind of the mother conceives clearly the very great strength necessary to remove the object, but she sees, too, that her son must remove it at once to save the child's life. When she speaks the words: "Pick it up quickly, Jack," the movement of her voice seems as heavy as if it had no speed and as rapid as if it had no' weight to carry. It is a voice of irresistible momentum. The movement is certainly to be called a heavy rapid movement. From the above illustration, we discover that the same words may be spoken by the same person to the same person in all six of the different movements. Not only VOCAL MOVEMENT may these words be so spoken, they should be so spoken under such circumstances. In life they would be so spoken. We chose a mother speaking to her child merely to have actual persons involved. Any two persons would cer- tainly experience and use as wide a range of movement as we found above if they entered sympathetically into the circumstances. It should furthermore be noted that we chose a sentence which the careless observer would in- variably declare capable of but one movement. He would say that those words should always be spoken in a rapid movement. This shows that words, in and of themselves, have nothing to do with the formation of the movement. Movement arises from the nature of the thing con- templated and from the state of the personality which is contemplating that thing. .Let us inquire more closely into the meaning of this last statement. What is it that determines whether a movement shall be light or heavy, slow or rapid, and whether it shall be some combination of these? Let us first consider the light movement. Careful analysis of the illustration above will show us that: When the principal characteristic of the movement of the voice is its lightness, it is because at that moment the mind of the speaker is considering something light, is feeling how easy it is to move the thing contemplated, and, at the same moment, is trying to impart lightness to the life of the listener. A similar analysis will prove that a light slow movement of the voice results when the mind of the speaker is con- sidering something light and at the same moment is trying to deter the mind of the listener from thinking of some- VARIOUS KINDS OF MOVEMENT 539 thing heavier or harder to bear or move (as when the mother tries to turn the child's mind from worry over the loss of the toy to the joy of having it again), or when the speaker is trying to hold his own mind back from speeding on to something else. This is usually done that both speaker and listener may continue to contemplate the lightness of the thing viewed, e.g., when one lover strolls and talks to another, as Lorenzo says to Jessica: "How soft the moonlight sleeps upon this bank." The light slow movement is produced also when the speaker contemplates something light toward which he is so indifferent, or lazy, that, though he knows that something would be easy to move, he does not wish to bother with it. In all these cases, we encounter the common law of mind that: A light slow movement of the voice is produced when the mind of the speaker is considering an object light and easy to move but to move which the personality of the speaker is making no attempt. To state the law another way, light slow movement arises when a light thing is contemplated by the speaker and when the moving power of the speaker's personality is lighter (less active) than the thing contemplated. An analysis of the conditions which produce light rapid movement, shows us that : This movement is used by the speaker who is speak- ing of light things and whose personality is so much more light and buoyant, at that moment, that it carries both object and listener lightly along. Let us now investigate the heavy movement. When the mother spoke in this movement to the child, it was because she was thinking of something heavy, but felt 540 VOCAL MOVEMENT herself able to cope with the thing thought about. More than this, she felt that she must induce in the child a per- sonality strong enough to master the heavy thing thought about. This one case puts the law as clearly as many illustrations might do. The heavy movement arises when the speaker's mind realizes that the weight of the thing spoken of is great, realizes the strength of personality required to move that thing, and is trying to cause the listener to realize the same things. What causes the heavy movement to change into the heavy slow movement ? In the illustration above, the change took place when the mind of the speaker was thinking of something so heavy that it felt unable to move that thing. At another time, we might hear this movement in the voice of a person who feels capable of moving the heavy thing spoken of, but who does not wish to exert himself, as when the lazy boy drawls : "Aw, what's the use ? I don't want to carry it." We may also hear this movement in the voice of a person who wishes to deter the listener from moving a heavy thing spoken of. An example of this cause is found in such words as these from the Bible: "Touch not, taste not, handle not the andean thing." In speaking these words, if the speaker fully senses the strength it will require, of the listener, to overcome the "unclean thing," the thought becomes a mighty weight tot him, as he tries to save the listener from that terrible task. In all cases, we find that : The heavy slow movement arises when the mind of the speaker contemplates a heavy thing which the per- MOVEMENT AND SUBORDINATION 54! sonality of the speaker feels unable or disinclined to move. What causes a movement to be both heavy and rapid? Careful thought will reveal the fact that: Such a movement results only when great power is applied to great weight, and then only when the power applied is enough greater than the weight to overcome it quickly and sweep it along. In the case cited above, very heavy movement of the voice became rapid from the speaker's sensing that the heavy thing thought of must be moved at once. This element of time plays a large part in this movement. Heavy rapid voice corresponds to cannon-shots in moving bodies. Such a voice can come naturally only when the mind of the speaker conceives a power great enough to overcome all opposition on the instant. MOVEMENT AND SUBORDINATION The pioneer speakers of this country loved to quote this interesting precept regarding movement: "Begin low, go slow; rise higher, strike fire." It was a superficial ob- servation, hence, not a safe guide in building natural and effective speech. There is something back of it, however, that is worth our consideration, something that may dis- close the very relation we are looking for, the relation between subordination and movement. What was there in the make-up of a speech that caused those sturdy minds to realize the general desirability of a movement more rapid and of greater momentum, as the speech progressed toward its conclusion? 542 VOCAL MOVEMENT To answer this question more readily, return for a moment to the chapter on Subordination. There we learned that the speaker never attains a high degree of subor- dination until he finds delight in showing his audience so close a relation between all small thoughts and the one central thought presented, that each new thought becomes a new height on which he and his audience may stand to view the more clearly the central thought. Now the pioneer speakers of our country were pioneer settlers. They knew what it was to overcome real opposition. The things about which they spoke, were often obstacles which they knew they would have to conquer or to control the next day or the next week or the next year. As they told of these in a speech, as they marshalled more and more of them before the audience, there naturally arose within the speakers a stronger and stronger feeling of resistance to the things about which they were speaking. In this very conception lies the additional work of the mind in producing movement when subordination is real- ized. When the mind of the speaker has discerned the relation of any small idea to the central idea of the main theme, his mind must then be quick to sense how much it "weighs" (how much opposition it offers to his purpose or how much moving power it will have if set hi motion). According to its weight, should the speaker exert himself to "carry" this new idea. Yet this "carrying" process of the speaker has so peculiar an effect upon his strength, that the student should note it carefully. It is not a burden which tires out. It is like the load of coal and water which the locomotive carries. If the engineer has used wisdom in loading his MOVEMENT, BODILY ACTION AND EMOTION 543 engine with these things, and if he uses them in propor- tion to the burden to be carried and the speed to be made, he finds the coal and the water no burden but the very substance of his power. Likewise when a speaker assumes the burdens which his theme presents and undertakes to carry them for the audience, by showing his hearers how to carry them, this very act so increases his own carrying power that he is less burdened than before. As a para- graph or a stanza of his theme grows, he thus finds power added to power until the momentum of his own personality is so great that he easily "carries his audience along with him." From these observations, it appears that movement is a higher and more powerful means of emphasis than sub- ordination, that it grows out of subordination, but that subordination is not complete until it has culminated in movement. MOVEMENT, BODILY ACTION AND EMOTION The reader who is a keen observer has already noted that Vocal Movement is the most emotional of all the modes of emphasis so far studied. Movement never becomes a strong feature of a speaker's utterance until he has assumed an active atti- tude toward everything spoken of. In our study of the emotions, we found that emotion begins when the speaker assumes an active attitude toward the thing spoken of. Furthermore, we learned that the constructive or destructive process which immediately takes 544 VOCAL MOVEMENT place throughout the entire being when the speaker assumes an active attitude toward a thing contemplated, is the emotion. We may fairly assume, then, that: The Vocal Movement is an evidence in the voice of the emotion that moment experienced by the speaker. Let the speaker depend upon his imagination and his conception alone to build vocal movement, without putting himself into bodily action, and note the result. The voice lacks both strength and certainty. Its movement is light, and even slow, where it should be heavy and rapid. We need no better evidence that the emotion of the speaker is being starved because he is not "feeding" it by bodily action. The demand for action as a supporter of move- ment, then, becomes quite clear. Movement as a means of emphasis avails nothing if it does not evince the speaker's ability to lead the audience and to carry their burdens for them. We have seen that the vocal movement of a speaker de- pends on the strength of the emotion generated within him. We have seen, furthermore, that the emotion, in turn, depends for its strength on the bodily action of the speaker. Accordingly : If movement is to be an effective mode of emphasis if it is to be strong enough to present the truth in its strongest light it must be accompanied and supported by free and vigorous bodily action. TTE DEVELOPMENT OF MOVEMENT 545 THE DEVELOPMENT OF MOVEMENT The development of movement is usually found to be most rapid and, at the same time, most pleasant for the student, if, at the beginning, he is required to describe the movements of various material things. The teacher should be careful to see that the intending speaker enters fully and sympathetically into the movements of everything described, so that his voice and his bodily action manifest the weight and speed of all movements. Probably the best second step in the development of movement, is the presentation of short, vigorous argu- ments. The student should argue against such things as he strongly feels should be moved and cleared away, or for such things as he feels will have a great power to move affairs in the right direction. He should be careful to feel the movements of these immaterial things as clearly and as intensely as he felt the movements of the material things described before. This work should usually be fol- lowed by the presentation of vigorous lyrical passages such as those found below. Practice in Speaking on Movement To fix in mind the principles treated in this chapter, and, at the same time, to make them your own, ready to serve you in practical speech, at once put these principles to use in speech. Outline the chapter, and, from your outlire, make a separate extempore speech on each division of the 546 VOCAL MOVEMENT subject and on the whole chapter. Try to conceive your own need of Movement, and, from your need, draw illustra- tions and make your applications of the principles set forth. Experiments to Develop Vocal Movement i. For the first experiment in Movement, go to some point where you can watch the movements of railroad trains, both passenger and freight. Watch them starting, stopping, and running with some speed. Observe the move- ments of the trains under all possible conditions, when they are loaded so heavily that they can hardly move, when they are loaded heavily but move with some speed, when they are empty and yet move slowly, when they are empty and move swiftly, etc. Enter sympathetically into every move- ment studied. Imagine how you would feel if you were making that movement yourself. If you are so situated that you can talk to a present or an imaginary friend, while you watch the movements, describe to this friend, as graphically as possible, each movement while you study it. Return to your room. Imagine the class, to which you will present your description of the movements, is now before you. Imagine that one of the trains is again near you, and that you have taken the members of the class with you to describe to them the movements you witness. Enter so sympathetically into the rhythm of the movement you describe, and imagine so distinctly how it would feel to be moving as the thing described is moving, that the movement of your voice reflects, even more plainly than your words, the movement of the train. Describe, in this manner, each train you studied. TO DEVELOP VOCAL MOVEMENT 547 2. For the second experiment, either repeat some short, vigorous argument you have previously given or construct a new one. As suggested above, let this speech be an argument against something which you feel should be moved and cleared away, or let it be an argument for something which you feel will have a great power to move things in the right direction. Build such clear conceptions of every thing spoken of and imagine those things so near you, that you cannot fail to enter as sympathetically into the move- ments of each of those things, while you watch them in imagination, as you would do if they were actually moving before you. Realize that the success of this argument de- pends almost wholly on your ability to take your audience with you in the various imaginary movements necessary to attack the things you attack and defend the things you defend. Realize, too, that the best means you have by which to lead the audience into these movements, is the movement of your own voice. 3. Third experiment. To further develop your ability to use Movement as an effective means of emphasis, thor- oughly conceive the various causes of Vocal Movement in each of the following selections from literature, then read and recite them, trying, as you do so, to give each message principally through Movement. And there was mounting in hot haste : the steed, the muster- ing squadron, and the clattering car, went pouring forward with impetuous speed, and swiftly forming in the ranks of war; and the deep thunder, peal on peal, afar; and near, the beat of the alarming drum roused up the soldier ere the morning star; while thronged the citizens, with terror dumb, or whisper- ing with white lips, "The foe ! They come ! They come !" From The Battle of Waterloo, by Byron. 548 VOCAL MOVEMENT Kentish Sir Byng stood for his King, bidding the crop-headed Parliament swing: and, pressing a troop unable to stoop and see the rogues flourish and honest folk droop, marched them along, fifty-score strong, great-hearted gentlemen, singing this song. God for King Charles! Pym and such carles to the Devil that prompts 'em their treasonous paries ! Cavaliers up ! Lips from the cup, hands from the pasty, nor bite take nor sup till you're Marching along, fifty-score strong, great-hearted gen- tlemen, singing this song. Hampden to hell, and his obsequies knell. Serve Hazelrig, Fiennes, and young Harry as well ! England, good cheer ! Rupert is near! Kentish and loyalists, keep we not here Marching along fifty-score strong, great-hearted gentlemen, singing this song. Then, God for King Charles! Pym and his snarls to the Devil that pricks on such pestilent carles! Hold by the right, you double your might; so, onward to Nottingham, fresh for the fight, march we along, fifty-score strong, great-hearted gentlemen, singing this song. From Marching Along, by Browning. With slouch and swing around the ring we trod the Fools' Parade! We did not care: we knew we were the Devil's Own Brigade: and shaven head and feet of lead make a merry masquerade. We tore the tarry rope to shreds with blunt and bleeding nails ; we rubbed the doors, and scrubbed the floors, and cleaned the shining rails: and, rank by rank, we soaped the plank, and clattered with the pails. We sewed the sacks, we broke the stones, we turned the dusty drill : we banged the tins, and bawled the hymns, and sweated on the mill : but in the heart of every man terror was lying still. So still it lay that every day crawled like a weed-clogged wave: and we forgot the bitter lot that waits for fool and knave. From The Ballad of Reading Gaol, by Oscar Wilde. She loosed the strong white charger, that fed from out her hand, she mounted, and she turned his head toward her native land. Out out into the darkness faster, and still more fast; the smooth grass files behind her, the chestnut wood is passed; TO DEVELOP VOCAL MOVEMENT 549 she looks up; clouds are heavy: why is her steed so slow? Scarcely the wind beside them can pass them as they go. "Faster!" she cries, "oh, faster!" Eleven the church bells chime; "O God," she cries, "help Bregenz, and bring me there in time S" But louder than bells ringing, or lowing of the kine, grows nearer in the midnight the rushing of the Rhine. Shall not the roaring waters their headlong gallop check? The steed draws back in terror ; she leans upon his neck to watch the flowing darkness ; the bank is high and steep ; one pause he staggers forward, and plunges in the deep. She strives to pierce the darkness, and looser throws the rein; her steed must breast the waters that dash above his mane. How gallantly, how nobly, he struggles through the foam ! And see ! in the far distance, shine out the lights of home ! Up the steep bank he bears her, and now they rush again toward the heights of Bregenz, that tower above the plain. They reach the gate of Bregenz, just as the midnight rings, and out come serf and soldier to meet the news she brings. From A Legend of Bregenz, by Adelaide A. Proctor. If additional selections are desired, the following will be found good for developing Movement : Tennyson's A Wel- come to Alexandra, and Lady of Shalott, from line 154 to the close ; The Victor of Marengo, by Joel T. Headley ( found in The School Speaker and Reader, by William DeWitt Hyde, published by Ginn & Co., N. Y.) ; and The Daffodils, by Wordsworth. CHAPTER XXVIII TONE-TEXTURE AND TOUCH NOTHING more quickly impresses the ear of the sensitive listener than the texture of the human voice. In whatever we say before an audience, tone-texture is present and it influences those who hear us either in such a manner as to make our task easier and our success greater, or in such a manner as to make our task greater and full success in our speaking impossible. THE SOURCES OF TONE-TEXTURE Two characters of the "Leatherstocking" type are walk- ing along together. One of them is searching for a small flint for his flint-lock rifle. The other is aiding him in an indifferent way. He doesn't care much. He will gain nothing from rinding the stone. Its nature or its usefulness mean little to him. He wants to find it only to show his companion that he can do so. Presently he sees the stone desired, when he drawls out the words: "There is your flint." The texture of his voice, as he says this, is not different from the texture he used this morning when he spoke about the mush. Mush and flint produce in him the same tone-texture! Surely he is not building tone-texture 55o THE SOURCE OF TONE-TEXTURE 55! from the nature of the thing of which he speaks. But hear the texture of another voice that says: "Don't strike that ; you will break your hand. That is as hard as flint !" This speaker refers to the flint only indirectly, through the simile, yet so fully has the nature of the flint been sensed by the speaker, that merely to think of it is to cause his voice to become hard and firm like the flint. These two illustrations suffice to bring before our minds two facts; first: Tone-texture may be derived from the texture of the things spoken of; secondly: Tone-texture is derived from the nature of the things spoken of only when the speaker's mind holds, at that moment, a strong and active conception of the peculiar texture of the thing contemplated. Are we to conclude from this principle that the texture of the speaker's voice should always manifest the texture of the things about which he is speaking, and that his thinking and his conception-building are faulty whenever his voice does not do this? Such a conclusion will lead us into instant trouble. Before the author lies a rubber eraser. He picks it up and says to a friend sitting by: "What a wide use is being made of rubber to-day." Is there any occasion for the speaker to try to make his voice take on the texture of rubber when he speaks the word "rubber"? The very thought of it is ridiculous. The nature of the thing spoken of, rubber, is not the principal thought in the speaker's mind. He is not concerned with the nature of that thing but with its usefulness. Though the speaker holds in his hand a material thing, he is not trying to direct the mind of the listener to analyze that 552 TONE-TEXTURE AND TOUCH thing. He is trying rather to direct the listener's mind away from that small object to some of the many uses to which rubber is put. What, then, does cause the tone-texture in such a sentence as the one quoted, and what kind of texture would the voice have in that sentence? A close examination proves that the texture is determined by the speaker's con- ception of the word "use. ' That word is a kind of active noun. If it suggests to the speaker merely the wide extent to which the traffic in rubber has gone, the voice will assume whatever texture that expanse seems to the speaker to have. If, however, the words "wide use" suggest to the speaker an increased activity, if they bring to him the great energy which is being put into this traffic, or the power this traffic has become in the business world, the voice will probably be as large as the voice caused by the other conception and will certainly be much more solid. It will now be filled with the solid energy that is conceived to be back of such a great activity in the world. How, then, is the student to determine from what source to draw the texture in order that his voice may present the best possible message? When will it be proper for the speaker to pay attention to the texture of the concrete things about which he is speaking? When, too, should he turn his attention to the things said about those concrete things or to other things suggested by those concrete things? There can be but one answer to these questions. The thing to which the speaker's mind should be so closely directed that his voice will take on the texture of that thing, will always be determined by what the speaker Ts trying to do. The speaker who would have his voice THE SOURCE OF TONE-TEXTURE 553 always alive with the keenest message must constantly ask himself the question: "Why am I speaking of these things? "Am I trying to hold the minds of my hearers on these things, that they may sense more keenly the inner nature of these things, or am I trying to direct their minds, through the concrete things spoken of, to something else?" When the speaker is ready to answer these questions, he is then ready to build tone-texture that will strengthen his message. From these observations, it should appear that: The purpose of the speaker is as important in building tone-texture as are the things talked about. Let us examine the purpose of the speaker a little more closely. It is a subject to which little psychological atten- tion has been paid. Writers on the subject of speaking seem to have regarded purpose as something not capable of analysis or development. Experience has taught the author that neither of these conclusions is warranted. It is possible to find out what enters into the make-up of a purpose, hence, it is possible to train the mind to form a purpose in speech-work, quickly and well, as we shall presently try to show. The wide-awake student has no sooner been told that tone-texture, one of the important modes of emphasis, is determined as much by his purpose as it is by the things spoken of, than he begins to inquire : "How am I to know that I am speaking from the right purpose? Am I to form a purpose arbitrarily, just say I will do this or that with the theme I am presenting? And will a purpose thus formed be sure to turn my mind to those things to pay attention to which will give my speech the best possible 554 TONE-TEXTURE AND TOUCH tone-texture ?" The answer to these questions is not diffi- cult. It is not wise for the speaker arbitrarily to form his purpose in presenting a theme. If he does so, he is likely to present every theme from much the same narrow and monotonous purpose. This rigid attitude, formed by an arbitrary purpose, naturally makes the mind less sus- ceptible. The speaker ceases to receive impressions from many things which would give his tone-texture vigor and variety. The speaker's purpose should come from a combina- tion of two things, from his conception of the main theme, the central phase of life he is presenting, and from his conception of the need of his audience for that theme. A purpose so formed will turn the attention of the speaker to the best sources of tone-texture. If the speaker has so clear a conception of the theme he is presenting, if he senses its inner nature so keenly, that its very life be- comes his life, and if he senses keenly the feeling his hearers will have when they receive the impressions he is receiving, surely his purpose will at once be formed and will be a right purpose. It will be a right purpose because it constantly demands of the speaker that he "take his own medicine" before he tries it on the audience. That is: A purpose thus formed causes the speaker to receive each and every impression which he would give to his hearers. This demand turns his mind instantly to see only those things which endue his theme with life, those things which contain what he most desires his audience to have. We might, then, define a speaker's purpose thus: RELATION OF TONE-TEXTURE 555 The purpose of a speaker should arise from an intense desire within him, to have his audience sense those things which he at that moment senses. From the above observations, we may fairly conclude that: The source of tone-texture is the texture of the things talked about and the texture of the speaker's purpose in presenting those things to others. RELATION OF TONE-TEXTURE TO BODILY ACTION, \ AND EMOTION We have just spoken of the purpose of the speaker as something that may have a texture of its own. Let us see what that means. When we studied the emotions, we found that any emotion arises from an attitude of mind. Next we found that an emotion develops from an attitude of mind in proportion as that attitude of mind affects the physical being of the person whose mind has taken the attitude. When the body of the speaker is thus affected, it is found that his muscles have taken on a certain texture. We need not be reminded that If the speaker speak at this moment his voice will have the same texture as his muscles have. Everyone has seen this illustrated. If the speaker's muscles relax in response to a kindly attitude of the speaker's mind, the voice becomes soft and tender. If his muscles grow hard in response to a severe or hard attitude of his mind, the voice becomes hard, etc. Ac- cordingly, if the texture of the speaker's voice is determined by the texture of his muscles at the moment, and if the 556 TONE-TEXTURE AND TOUCH texture of his muscles, at that moment, is determined by his purpose toward the thing contemplated, it is reasonable to say that the purpose of the speaker has a texture of its own. These observations demonstrate the fact that between emotion and tone-texture there is an intimate relationship. We perceive that tone-texture of practical value cannot be said to exist until the speaker's mind has assumed a decided attitude; also that the growth of the tone-texture is in proportion as the impulses of the speaker's body support the attitude of his mind. Now these are the very condi- tions which create and develop emotion. From all which we derive the conclusion: Tone-texture is a manifestation in the speaker's voice, of the emotion which he at that moment experiences. It might even be called one of the voices of emotion, one of the few impressive ways in which the emotion of the speaker can go out to the listener. Since the results of a speaker's effort will be determined largely by the degree to which he stirs and directs the emotions of his hearers, surely tone-texture is too important to be neglected in his work. The relationship of tone-texture to emotion exemplifies the relationship of tone-texture to bodily action. Since emotion grows strong in proportion as bodily action sup- ports the attitude of the mind, and since tone-texture is an evidence, in the voice, of the emotion felt, we deduce that : Tone-texture cannot be what it should be until the whole physical being of the speaker comes to support his emotions in free unaffected bodily action. RELATION OF TONE-TEXTURE 557 RELATION OF TONE-TEXTURE TO " THE QUALITIES " OF THE VOICE Most writers have treated tone-texture under the name of "quality." Much effort has been made to discover how many of these "qualities" of the voice there are, and the eight qualities (the number generally agreed upon) have received much attention, devoted mostly, however, to a consideration of the physical make-up of the qualities. The chief concern has been to discover what peculiar function the breath has in producing any or all of the eight quali- ties. Students have been required to learn that the qualities are the pectoral, the orotund, the guttural, the falsetto, the aspirate, the normal, the oral, and the nasal. It has been taught that each quality is caused by a peculiar resonance. By resonance is meant the principal volume of air set in motion within the vocal apparatus which extends from the bottom of the lungs to the lips and the tip of the nose. It has been shown that the pectoral quality, the "sepulchral" tone, for example, is produced when the resonance of the voice is in the lower chest; the orotund, the "round, strong" tone, when the resonance is in the upper chest; the oral, the "effeminate" tone, when the resonance is in the front part of the mouth, etc. Each of the eight quali- ties has been accounted for in a similar manner. The location of resonance has been considered the cause of quality of the voice, whatever that quality may be. Authors who have advocated this, have hardly realized how bad would be the effect of that principle, on students of speech. Such a principle virtually acknowledges that 558 TONE-TEXTURE AND TOUCH the thinking process of the speaker has nothing to do in forming the texture or "quality" of the speaker's voice. Worse than that, it virtually declares to the student that when he wishes to develop or to use any particular texture of his voice, he must deliberately interrupt the trend of his thinking and call in his will-power to cause the voice to have a certain resonance. To what will this lead us? To keep his voice alive, the speaker must have some texture for every utterance. If his thinking process must be in- terrupted in order to produce the "qualities," or the tex- tures, then he can have no time left for the thinking which his theme demands. He becomes a mere machine, a mere phonograph sounding forth the "qualities." Some writers have detected the serious error in teaching the qualities in this manner, and have tried to correct it by analyzing and classifying the various sentiments which the respective qualities express. They tell us that the pectoral quality expresses reverence, awe, sublimity, dread, horror, amazement, etc. ; and that if we wish to speak in this quality we must think of one of these sentiments. This seems to be a step in the right direction, doesn't it? But does even this give the best assistance to the speaker? Let the student test it and he will discover that such a process does give texture or quality to his voice but that it diverts the mind from the thing about which he should be thinking. The thoughtful student invariably asks: "Are we con- scious of the particular emotion or 'sentiment* we are expressing at the moment when we express that emotion? And when we are conscious of it, is it uppermost in our minds?" We all know that the thing producing that emo-* tion is uppermost in our minds. If, then, it is necessary RELATION OF TONE-TEXTURE 559 for the speaker so far to forget the thing which might produce the emotion, as to turn his mind to the emotion itself and try deliberately to create that emotion, out of nothing, to give to his voice the right "quality," what value will the emotion itself have? What value will the thinking process of the speaker, at that moment, have? Evidently to consider either the "resonance" or the "sentiment" as the cause of "quality" or tone-texture, is to miss the real cause. Such causes as these do not lie in the free thought- process but in a deliberate use of the will; and such use of the will makes the speaker a poorer instead of a better thinker. The errors here considered are not in the nature of untruth. Authors who have treated quality or tone-texture in the manner outlined above, have not spoken falsehoods regarding the voice. Their discoveries are true as far as they go. The voice does have different resonances in ex- pressing different emotions. The error lies in the fact that both these things, resonance and emotion, are re- sultants from certain acts of the mind rather than causes in themselves. Resonance and emotion happen, occur, along with tone-texture, all three resulting from the same causes. These causes, as we have already learned, are the nature of the things about which the speaker is speaking and the attitude of the speaker's mind and body toward those things. To slight these causes and try to produce tone-texture in any other way, is to depart from nature's method and offer to the listener a poor substitute for the tone-texture he should receive from the speaker. 560 TONE-TEXTURE AND TOUCH Practice in Speaking on Tone-texture Put into practical use the ideas gained from this chapter, by outlining the above discussion and then preparing to speak extempore both on the various divisions of your out- line, separately, and on the chapter as a whole. Make the speeches yours by using illustrations of your own and by putting tone-texture to its various uses in your discus- sions. Experiments to Develop Tone-texture It is best to begin with something simpler than an original speech or a selection from literature. At first, it is enough for the voice to do, to take on the texture of single, concrete things, about which the mind of the speaker is thinking, without trying to make a speech at the same time. I. As the first experiment in tone-texture, observe fifteen different articles having as wide a range of textures as you can find. As you observe each one of these, get as clear a conception of the density and firmness of the thing ob- served, as possible, by striking on it, pressing it, striking it against something else, etc. When you feel that your con- ception is so clear that you can make someone else conceive the texture of that thing, from your description of it, de- scribe its texture. As you do so, keep your mind so firmly centered on the texture of the thing described, and imagine so clearly how you would feel if you had that texture, EXPERIMENTS TO DEVELOP TONE-TEXTURE 561 that your voice spontaneously becomes of the same texture as the thing you describe. When you have treated the fifteen articles in this manner, with them before you, then try the experiment with only imaginary articles before you. 2. Second experiment. Select ten of the things used in experiment I, which you can imagine yourself putting to such definite use that your mind is now centered on the use you make of the articles rather than the texture of the article itself. For example, you can imagine yourself pick- ing up a flint rock, the only thing at hand, and laying it on the wound of a friend to stop the flow of blood. In such an act, your mind loses all thought of the texture of the flint though the flint is one of the hardest materials to be thought of and thinks only of the gentleness and softness of the manner in which that flint should be used. In each of these experiments, try to use something the texture of which is decidedly different from the texture of your pur- pose in using that thing, and center your mind so firmly on the use to which you put that thing, that you become unconscious of the texture of the thing itself. If this is done successfully, your voice will unconsciously take on the texture of your purpose. 3. Third experiment. Repeat experiment I from the chapter on Vocal Movement. First try the experiment for movement, to make sure that you can still fully revive and enter into all the movements described. When you have done this, perform the experiment again, this time trying not only to imagine how you would feel if you were making the movements described, but trying also to imagine how tense or how relaxed, how hard or how soft, your muscles would have to be to perform the movements you describe. 562 TONE-TEXTURE AND TOUCH Think of the various textures as a very part of the move- ments you describe, and describe them as such. Repeat the experiment until your tone-texture gives as strong emphasis to your description as movement does. This experiment, well done, not only gives you the advantage of making fur- ther use of work already done, but becomes an easy and natural step from that work to the new work of building tone-texture. 4. Fourth experiment. Repeat experiment 2 from the chapter on Vocal Movement. First perform the experi- ment to perfect your pauses. Perform it again to perfect your changes of pitch and inflection. Try it a third time, to make sure that subordination and movement are serving you well. When you are sure that all these other modes of emphasis are doing full duty, present your speech mentally without vocalizing it. As you do so, be quick to sense why it is that you are presenting each think spoken of. It is to show the inner nature of that thing, or to make some use of that thing? If it is a thing whose inner nature you wish to show to the audience, realize that the success of your speech at that point, depends largely on your making the audience feel the texture of that thing. If it is a thing you present only to show the audience how you intend to use it, realize that the success of your speech at that point, depends largely on your making your audience feel the texture of your purpose toward that thing. When you have perfected your speech in this manner, present it aloud. 5. Further develop your ability to use tone-texture as a strong means of emphasis, by experimenting, in the thorough manner outlined in experiment 4, above, in read- ing and reciting the following selections. EXPERIMENTS TO DEVELOP TONE-TEXTURE 563 First use this group of short numbers : I wield the flail of the lashing hail, and whiten the green plains under: and then again I dissolve it in rain, and laugh as I pass in thunder. Shelley. Poems are painted window panes. If one looks from the square into the church, dusk and dimness are his gains; Sir Philistine is left in the lurch ! The sight, so seen, may well enrage him, not anything henceforth assuage him. But come just inside what conceals; cross the holy threshold quite; all at once 'tis rainbow-bright, devise and story flash to light, a gracious splendor truth reveals. This, to God's children, is full measure, it edifies and gives you pleasure. Goethe. Now leaps the wind on the sleepy marsh, and tramples the grass with terrified feet; the startled river turns leaden and harsh, you can hear the quick heart of the tempest beat. Anonymous. Follow these short numbers by conceiving and building the remarkable tone-textures in these lines: Hats off! Along the street there comes a blare of bugles, a ruffle of drums, a flash of color beneath the sky : Hats off ! The flag is passing by ! Blue and crimson and white it shines, over the steel-tipped, ordered lines. Hats off! The colors before us fly; but more than the flag is passing by. Sea-fights and land-fights, grim and great, fought to make and to save the State: weary marches and sinking ships; cheers of victory on dying lips ; Days of plenty and years of peace; march of a strong land's swift increase; equal justice, right and law, stately honor and reverend awe; Sign of a nation, great and strong to ward her people from foreign wrong: pride and glory and honor all live in the colors, to stand or fall. Hats off! Along the street there comes a blare of.bugles, a ruffle of drums ; and loyal hearts are beating high : Hats off ! The flag is passing by. From The Flag Goes By, by Henry Holcomb Bennett. 564 TONE-TEXTURE AND TOUCH Unusual opportunities for developing tone-texture will also be found in the following: The Bells, by Edgar Allan Poe ; My Star, Meeting at Night and Home Thoughts from Abroad, by Browning; Crossing the Bar, by Tenny- son; and The Tables Turned, by Wordsworth. TOUCH In addition to the six modes of emphasis which we have now studied, the speaker needs such a process of mind as will control and place his energies. This mode of emphasis which manifests this process of mind we call Touch, that firm but delicate stroke of the voice which emphasizes, more than single ideas, the emotional fullness of the mes- sage, and the speaker's control of that emotion. LAWS GOVERNING TOUCH 1. A strong desire within the speaker instantly to help the listener by holding him back from something unde- sirable, if ruled by a clear conception of the restraint needed, will produce Touch in the voice. 2. A strong desire within the speaker to urge the listener forward to something desirable, will produce Touch in the speaker's voice only when the speaker con- ceives clearly the strength the listener needs, and earn- estly tries to help the listener get and control that strength. 3. A strong desire within the speaker to express ap- proval of something already accomplished will produce Touch only when the speaker is ruled by a clear concep- TOUCH 565 tion of the controlled energy put into that accom- plishment. 4. When affected by grief or any other emotion that tends to destroy his powers, the speaker will have Touch in his voice in proportion as he faiths the strength needed to master the emotion. These four undertakings, (i) to save the listener from an undesirable thing, (2) to urge the listener forward to the accomplishment of a desirable thing, (3) to express approval of something accomplished, (4) to retain strength in great need, are all strongly emotional. The stronger the emotion, the greater the demand for touch. The central word of a phrase calls for more touch than any other word ; the central phrase in a sentence, for more than any other phrase; and the central sentence in a paragraph, for more than any other sentence in that paragraph. DEVELOPMENT OF TOUCH The development of touch depends upon the laws of constructive emotion and of strength and endurance of voice (found in the chapters on these subjects), and upon the laws of Touch, stated above. The best development of touch can be attained only after the other six modes of emphasis have been developed, especially Subordination, Vocal Movement, and Tone-texture. Experiments To Develop Touch Test your ability to use Touch impressively in each of the original speeches you have prepared which embodied strong feeling, Experiment i, in the emotion of Courage, 566 TONE-TEXTURE AND TOUCH p. 366; i, in the emotion of Pathos, p. 372, and 2, in Vocal Movement, p. 547, etc., also the selections from literature used in these same chapters, and the following: The Lost Leader, and One Way of Love, by Browning; parts III and IV of The Lady of Shalott, by Tennyson ; The Three Fishers, by Charles Kingsley; The Conquered Banner, by Abram J. Ryan ; and Psalm XXIII. Practice, in accordance with the laws stated, until your fullness of feeling and of control, gives that delicately Poised Power, that commands while it pleases, that is Touch, the crowning glory of good speaking, and you will make your speech more lucid and more persuasive. CHAPTER XXIX PERSONALITY AND PERSUASION WE have now concluded the last chapter on the technical work of preparing to speak. That chapter ends with the word "persuasive." It is fitting that it should do so; for all true preparation for effective speaking will end in mak- ing the speaker more persuasive. Let us look backward, for a moment, to see how far we have come, along the road to effective speaking. If you have done thoroughly the work outlined in the preceding chapters, you are probably ready to declare that you have acquired a serviceable Method by which to study, prepare, and present a speech. We hope, however, that this is not all you have accomplished ; for mere method, however good, can never make a really effective or really great speaker. The faculty, above all others, that makes a speaker truly successful and truly great, is that of Persuasion; and it is the speaker's Personality that persuades. Bishop Bashford (in his admirable essay, "Oratory") clearly shows that there are three elements which make up Oratory, namely, "the Messenger, the Message, and the Masses/ 9 Let us state this thought in other words and say that the sources of Effective Speaking are the Personality, the Purpose, and 567 568 PERSONALITY AND PERSUASION the People. By intelligent study of the thing called per- sonality, we learn that the speaker's ability to form an effective purpose, and his ability to meet and serve the people, both depend, to a large extent, on his personality. Therefore, no matter how good the method a speaker may have developed, for acquiring and presenting the truth, if he has not developed the right sort of personality, his speaking will be, at best, a partial failure. For this reason, our effort, throughout this book, has been to make method only a means to an end. The real end toward which we have endeavored to help the student, is Personality. The preceding chapters have been an effort to start the de- velopment of the personality which the intending speaker will need, to win full success. It has been impossible, in this short time, to do anything more than start that de- velopment. Herein lies the need and purpose of the present chapter to outline for the student of speech the work which lies before him, and to help him to start intelligently upon that work, which is, in a word, to complete what he has already begun the development of personality. In the preceding chapters we have barely mentioned Personality. We have purposely refrained from doing so, for two reasons, i. In the early stages of its development, one of the surest ways to check the growth of personality, is to turn the student's mind to thinking about his per- sonality and consciously trying to develop it. 2. When the work for developing personality has been carefully and progressively outlined for the student, as we have en- deavored to outline it in this book, and when that work is pursued under the careful supervision of a teacher, the DEFINITION OF PERSONALITY 569 personality will develop without the student's paying con- scious attention to it. In the work of life, which now lies before the speaker, however, the conditions are different. His work will not be outlined for him as the work he has been pursuing. He must seek things out by himself seek and find and use such things, in life, as will engage and strengthen his personality use them in such manner as to give his per- sonality the best opportunity to grow. He will be able to do these things the better if he first understand the nature of his personality and then investigate the nature of the things which conduce to its best growth. The intending speaker who has performed, in a thorough manner, the tasks outlined in the preceding chapters, should now be ready to pay more direct attention to his personality. Let the first inquiry be directed to the DEFINITION OF PERSONALITY I. Professor Home (Philosophy of Education, p. 186) says: "Personality is the spirit that unifies the attain- ments of a man ; it is his attitude toward life, his point of view, his total character." Here we have, not a single definition, but four, or at least three, definitions, all in one the four attributes named are similar and closely re- lated but not, strictly speaking, identical. This definition suggests that different persons may define Personality in quite different ways. 2. Dr. Prince (The Dissociation of a Personality, p. 73) speaks of it as "that great group of perceptions and memories which, at any given moment, 570 PERSONALITY AND PERSUASION makes up the ego or personality." According to this defini- tion, personality means practically the same as the contents of the mind, which is hardly the same as any one of the four things included in Professor Home's definition. 3. The Standard Dictionary has this definition: "The at- tributes, taken collectively, that make up the character and nature of an individual." This, as you see, tends to in- clude all that is found in both the first and second defini- tions cited, and, perhaps, a little more ; for when the author of this definition speaks of the "character and nature" of an individual, he means, apparently, not only to point out that man is good or bad within himself, but also to con- sider his disposition toward others. For instance, he would probably say of one man that he is a good man and kind; of another, that he is good but severe. 4. Robertson (Sermons, Series IV; Sermon IV, p. 804) says: "Per- sonality is made up of three attributes consciousness, character and will." This makes personality a still larger thing. It includes not only what a man is (his character), but also the impressions which things around him make on him (his consciousness of them), and the choice he makes of the things which impress him (his will concerning them). You have probably already discovered that, while each succeeding definition, of the four quoted above, comes some- what nearer to the idea you may have had, yet not one of them seems to set forth clearly the meaning of "person- ality" as we are accustomed to hear the word in general usage. Let us examine some of the ways in which we use this word and hear it used. We frequently hear some person say of another: "He has no personality"; or we DEFINITION OF PERSONALITY 57! hear of another person, "he has a winning personality"; of another, that, "while his personality is strong, it is not quite pleasing" ; of another, "his personality is strong but never quick or ready" ; of still another, "you feel his personality whenever you are near him." Through all these and many other expressions concerning personality, with which we are familiar, there seems to run one common principle which shows the general idea of personality to be different from all the ideas contained in the definitions we have quoted. All those definitions treat the different attributes within the self; common usage, on the contrary, seems to regard personality as the effect or influence which the attributes within a man exert upon those around him. 5. This idea is also set forth by Professor Putnam who (A Manual of Pedagogics, p. 255) says: "Personality is used to denote the influence, force, or power, which one exerts, or may exert, in consequence of his individuality. It is the result of individuality rather than individuality alone." 6. F. X. Carmody, of the New York Bar, in his interesting essay on "Personality in the Oration," voices very much the same idea in these words: "Personality is the reaction which the individual makes to the sense-im- pressions crowding in upon him." The present writer's conviction is that this last definition comes the nearest of all to expressing what is in the average mind when that mind thinks of personality. Yet even this definition seems to lack something. In fact, in these definitions, as is almost always the case when op- posing ideas are found concerning the same substance, each of the opposing ideas needs the other. We first quoted from a class of men who regard personality as what a 572 PERSONALITY AND PERSUASION man is within himself. We next considered the opinions of men who define personality as the action of man toward people and things around him. Now is not personality both these things? Examine your real meaning whenever you speak of anyone as having a strong or weak, winning or repellent personality, and you will probably find that your idea of that individual includes both what he is within himself and what that self of his tends to do toward its environment. Therefore, we are bold enough to venture a seventh definition: 7. Personality is man made strong, ready, and re- sponsive in proportion as he reacts to the sense-impres- sions he receives. THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN PERSONALITY, INDI- VIDUALITY, AND CHARACTER This last definition of personality declares it to be a different thing, and a stronger thing, than either indi- viduality or character. One's individuality is that which differentiates him from other individuals. We all know individuals who accomplish nearly every thing they at- tempt, in so eccentric or individual a manner, that we should, unhesitatingly, say of them that they have highly developed individuality. Yet we should hardly call some of these same persons strong personalities they respond so little or so slowly or so weakly to their environment. It is evident that people, in general, are accustomed to think of personality as something stronger, more desirable, and more useful than mere individuality. Our definition for personality proves this opinion to be well founded. PERSONALITY, INDIVIDUALITY, CHARACTER 573 What, now, is the difference between Personality and Character? To answer this question intelligently, we must first have a clear conception of what we mean by Char- acter. Dr. James (Talks to Teachers, p. 184) says: "Character consists in an organized set of habits of reac- tion." Dr. Thorndike (Human Nature Club, p. 143) says: "When we say that anyone has such and such a character, we don't mean that he has any thing in him which cor- responds to the word. We really mean to express briefly the history of his behavior and to make a prophecy con- cerning his future." While very differently worded, these two definitions point to the same thing, namely, the law- fulness or lawlessness, the regularity or irregularity, with which an individual is accustomed to act. If we could illustrate man by likening him to an electrical machine sus- ceptible of a great variety of adjustments, then these definitions would make "character" refer to the peculiar adjustment of the machine which makes it almost sure to act in a certain way. Personality, on the contrary, would refer, not to the manner in which the machine tends to act, but to the power which the machine tends to exert when it acts. Let us, then, state the difference between character and personality, in this manner: Personality is applied Character or Character in action. What should this mean to the speaker? It should mean that, however much individuality and character he may have, these can make of him an effective speaker only when he learns the best ways in which to apply both his in- dividuality and his character to the affairs of life, so as to transform them both into strong, active, persuasive per- sonality. 574 PERSONALITY AND PERSUASION DIFFERENT KINDS OF PERSONALITY Another important thing concerning which we must get a clear understanding before we can develop personality to the best advantage, is that there are different kinds of personalities. By this we do not mean merely that there are different degrees of personality, as when we speak of one personality as being stronger or weaker, or more or less attractive, than another. We mean to emphasize the fact that personalities differ also in kind. We have found that personality is man made strong, ready, and responsive in proportion as he reacts to the sense-impressions he re- ceives. Now if man had but one nature through which to react, then there would not be different kinds at least, not fundamentally different kinds of personalities; but man has three fairly distinct natures, his mental nature, his physical nature, and his spiritual nature. Man may react through all three of these natures, or he may react almost exclusively through only one of these natures. If he does the latter, then his kind of personality will be determined by the nature through which he reacts. In other words, he will have principally a mental, or a physical, or a spiritual personality. Not only are there these three fundamental kinds of personality, but each of these kinds yields various other kinds accordingly as the principal nature through which a man reacts, occupies itself in this or that field of activity. We see these facts illustrated on every hand. Here is a man, for instance, whose reaction to sense-impressions is DIFFERENT KINDS OF PERSONALITY 575 almost wholly through his mental nature. Not only this, but his mind reacts almost exclusively in the field of finance. What is the result? He becomes a mental per- sonality in the field of finance. We take this same man over into the field of art and what do we find? To use the common expression for it, we find that "he is lost," "he is not at home here," which expressions mean that he has no particular personality here. It would, therefore, be misleading to say that this man has a well-developed per- sonality, without further defining him, even though he has this development in a certain limited field. Here is another man whose reaction to sense-impressions is principally through his physical nature, and whose activity is limited to the field of blacksmithing. We might truly say of him that he has a physical personality; but we would speak much more accurately of him if we should say that he has a physical personalty for blacksmithing, for if we test him in the field of athletics, another field where physical per- sonality abounds, we find him decidedly deficient. We meet a third man who reacts to sense-impressions chiefly through his spiritual nature, and whose activity has been limited almost entirely to work in the pulpit. Everyone who hears him says that he has a strong spiritual personality; yet when this man attempts what is known as "pastoral work/' another field where the spiritual personality is certainly demanded, he is an utter failure. His spiritual personality here seems strangely lacking. Therefore, to speak ac- curately concerning his personality, we should say that he has a spiritual personality for preaching. To define the personality of any one of these three men, we must not only name it by the particular nature 576 PERSONALITY AND PERSUASION which is most active in this man, but also by the field in which his most active nature exerts itself. This same principle holds true with regard to all kinds of limited personalities. The intending speaker surely need not be reminded that, if he hopes to become efficient in the general field of Public Speaking, he must develop a per- sonality that is broader than those suggested by the ex- amples we have just cited. (The diseased personality, which has been the subject of study and experiment by some of the world's greatest psychologists, physiologists, and physicians, and which they have come to call "divided" or "dissociated" personality, is sometimes the outgrowth of such limitation as we have sug- gested. Among the noted men who have given much attention to the study of abnormal personalities, are: Professor Alfred Binet, Dr. Edmund Gurney, Dr. R. Hodgson, Dr. Wm. James, Drs. Jules and Pierre Janet, Dr. E. E. Mayer, Dr. S. Wier Mitchell, Dr. F. W. H. Myers, Dr. Morton Prince, and Dr. Albert Wilson. If the student desires to pursue this interesting study, Dr. Prince's The Dissociation of a Personality, will be found especially attractive.) TWO FUNDAMENTAL DEFECTS IN PERSONALITY From what we have said, it appears that when a per- sonality fails to be as efficient as it might be, it probably fails because of one or the other of two fundamental faults. One of these faults is suggested by the definition. From the definition of personality as "man made strong, ready, and responsive in proportion as he reacts to the sense- impressions he receives," we deduce that: When a personality is weak, its weakness is caused TWO FUNDAMENTAL DEFECTS IN PERSONALITY 577 by inaction or weak action of that individual in respond- ing to his sense-impressions. The second fundamental defect in personality is found in the above discussion of Kinds of Personality. In that discussion, it appears that : When the efficiency of a personality is lessened by that personality's being limited, so that only a part of it is active, the defect is caused by over action of that individual in some narrow or isolated line of activity. These two defects in personality are opposites. Because they are opposites, we may, by removing one of the defects, at the same time increase the other. For instance, here is an individual who reacts so little and so feebly to any sense- impression, that he seems to possess hardly any person- ality. We succeed in interesting him in some single line of activity (for it is always necessary to start with one thing, no matter how much we may hope to broaden the mind later). Watch the development. This individual is pleased with his experience. He likes to react to the thing in which he has become interested, and tends to react more and more. But how does he tend to react? He tends to react to that one activity. The result is, that he soon begins to have a more marked personality, but only in that one narrow line of activity. In other words, he has started a limitation of his own personality; while re- moving the first defect, he is increasing the second. 578 PERSONALITY AND PERSUASION INDIVIDUALITY, THE BASIS OF PERSONALITY Yet, notwithstanding this tendency of the individual to over-individualize, that is, to run to extremes of reacting along certain lines, the first requisite is: React, and react strongly, to the things with which one comes in contact, even if the reaction does go to extremes. This is equivalent to saying that strength of individuality must be started as a basis on which to build personality. The individual must first come to kno v himself as himself, an individual force, capable of exerting a certain influence on things around him. Professor Betts (Social Principles of Education, p. 220) says: "Perhaps the first step in the conscious realization of the self, is self-appreciation, or a recognition of the worth of the person/' Professor Ross (Social Control, p. 277) says: "Faith in one's self, and imagination are the real architects of vast personal authority." Both as- sertions are true. One cannot realize his larger self until he first learns to appreciate himself and to have great faith in himself. Both these can best be gained through testing himself by doing something with the things around him. Strong testimony to the truth of this, is found in the fact that many individuals who are illiterate, but whose lives have been given to "doing something" with the things around them, have far stronger personalities than other in- dividuals, highly educated, whose lives have been marked by inaction. Professor Huey (Psychology and Pedagogy of Reading, p. 8) emphasizes the fact that a serious THE BASIS OF PERSONALITY 579 tendency to degeneracy of the race is resulting from too much and wrong reading. Later (Ibid., p. 362) he sets forth the principle by which this is coming about, by stating that much reading often brings on habitual inac- tion and indecision and results in disintegration of the mind because of a lack of organizing and acting upon the ideas read. This is a very important truth, especially to the speaker, for he must read much. Unless the reader takes time to preserve his individuality by assuming definite and strong attitudes toward everything about which he reads, and unless he puts what he" reads into some definite use in action, much reading will diminish instead of developing his personality. He must react to what he reads as fully as to the things around him. Finally, if a person wishes to lay the foundation for an effective personality, by developing strong individuality, he must have some clear and strong personal ideals. Pro- fessor Kirkpatrick (The Individual in the Making, p. 8) says : "Where one's own ideals are opposed by his desires ... if the conflict can be settled by thinking about the matter and definitely deciding to give up one of the op- posing tendencies, and acting accordingly, . . . unity and strength of personality tend to be developed and estab- lished." Each of us can testify to the truth of this. Every time we relinquish a desire for the sake of . an ideal, we feel better, we feel stronger, we feel more ready to face the world. To have an ideal, a standard of action higher than we feel capable of reaching now, but which we are de- termined to reach sometime, will raise individuality to its 580 PERSONALITY AND PERSUASION strongest, and prepare it to be transformed into personality. Let the speaker not forget that: While he must develop a strong individuality as a basis for the personality he needs, yet, if he becomes content with mere individuality, a strong individual force imposing itself on others, he is likely to find himself totally devoid of effective persuasion, his greatest need in speech. SOCIAL PERSONALITY, THE TRANSFORMER FOR INDIVIDUALITY What, then, is to transform Individuality into Person- ality a personality that will persuade? We have quoted Professor Putnam (p. 571) as saying: "Personality is . . . the influence, force, or power, which one exerts, or may exert, in consequence of his individuality. It is the result of individuality rather than individuality alone." Professor Chancellor (Motives, Ideals, and Values in Education, p. 346) adds this thought: "Personality tran- scends individuality, even transforming it, reducing (as it were) the various ores of the original soul, each to its pure metal/' Will the development of personality always effect this transforming? We have found that it will not (see the discussion of Different Kinds of Personality, pp. 574-576). If a man reacts to the sense-impressions he receives in only some narrow field of activity, he may de- velop a decided personality, yet he may only intensify his individuality. What, then, is the transforming force? It is social personality. SOCIAL PERSONALITY 58 1 When one has become a strong individuality, that is, when he has become, and has recognized himself as, a self-directing, self-governing, individual force, the one thing that can save him from becoming too far indi- vidualized, is the development of a social personality. Professor McVannel (Philosophy of Education, p. 115) says : "The perfect realization of a man's nature is possible on ] y in anrl thrnugh the identification of his personal good with the universal good. . . . Self-realization is a process in which the self (a) comes to be more completely defined, i. e., individualized, (b) but defined through its membership in the larger unity." This is the meaning we would give to "social personality" when we say that it is the thing that transforms mere individuality into real personality. Each one must make this transformation for himself, by coming to know himself as a member of the great human society in which he finds himself coming to know his dependence upon and his duty toward his fel- low-men in all the walks and activities of life. This knowledge of himself, one can gain only by trying himself, that is, by reacting to every important social con- dition with which he comes in contact. (It will be observed that we are using the words "society" and "social" in their broadest meaning, including all the relations of man to men, and comprising all the smaller "societies," religious, benevolent, professional, educational, political, industrial, financial, commercial, and "social.") When one attempts to "find" himself as a member in the great social order, he must not only be wide-enough- awake to be keenly conscious of every important condition 582 PERSONALITY AND PERSUASION around him, and strong enough to take some attitude toward each of those conditions, but: He must also take account of others' attitudes. Growth of personality depends largely on one's being able to discern and understand the desires, attitudes, hopes, am- bitions, and ideals of others. Professor McVannel (Philosophy of Education, pp. 70-71) says: "Personal consciousness is the result of a constant give and take, an unceasing social synthesis. . . . Self-activity is the essence of personality, . . . but the true permanence of the self" (the personality) "lies in the process of its growth in the social environment." It is this process of "give and take," or "social syn- thesis," or building one's self into the lives of others, that, alone, can develop a social personality strong enough to be a power in the affairs of men. Professor J. M. Baldwin (Mental Development in Child and Race, pp. 357-358) points to the fact that "the child makes up his personality ... by imitation, out of the 'copy' set in the actions, temper, emotions, of the persons who build around him the social enclosure of his child- hood." True personality in the man is built in precisely the same manner. The speaker must build his personality out of the "copy" found in the larger social life around him, if he hopes to persuade those whose lives make up that social life. When one builds his personality out of his environment, does it mean that he ceases to be his real or former self? By no means. To discard one's former self, would be to discard personality. The speaker should relinquish only THE ELEMENT OF EMOTION "583 such ideas as seem inadaptable to conditions as he finds them. When the public speaker attempts to build his per- sonality out of the "copy" surrounding him, he will prob- ably agree with Professor Kirkpatrick (see The Individual in the Making, pp. 253-254), that the best success in this process can come only when he holds fast to his funda- mental principles of life, but remains constantly ready to adapt himself to changing conditions in affairs of busi- ness, of politics, of education, and even of religion. Only by these two acts, by retaining the best of himself and by gaining the best from the new things around him, can the speaker hope to acquire the social personality which he should have which he must have before he can ex- ercise a strong power of persuasion over an audience. THE ELEMENT OF EMOTION IN SOCIAL PERSONALITY In building personality, nothing is a more important factor than emotion. This fact is attested by eminent authority. Dr. Prince (The Dissociation of a Person- ality, p. 22) says: "Particular emotional states, like fear or anxiety or general mental distress, have the tendency to disintegrate the mental organization in such a way that the normal associations become severed or loosened." In this testimony, we find, as we often found in the study of the emotions, the exceedingly bad effects which strong destructive emotions have upon the personality. The effect of strong constructive emotions is just as great in the op- posite direction just as beneficial as the effect of the others is detrimental. On this point we quote the same authority 584 PERSONALITY AND PERSUASION (Ibid., p. 324: "The induction of an exalting emotion is the most powerful agent in maintaining . . . mental and bodily stability." Professor Ribot (Psychology of Emo* tion, p. no) says that emotion "springs from the inmost personality of the individual, and participates in its stability and its instability." These are two of the most important truths in the life of the speaker, or the life of anyone that destructive emotion (see the chapter on The Feelings and Their Sources) destroys the stability of personality, while constructive emotion is the most powerful means for maintaining that stability. The personality which the speaker should build, is not only strong within itself, it is also capable of winning others to itself. To persuade should be the speaker's con- stant thought and aim in developing his personality. In persuasion, emotion is even more powerful than in main- taining the ; stability of the personality. A speaker's ideas may not join his life closely enough to the lives of his hearers to enable him to lead his hearers by persuasion; but emotions which both he and they have experienced, will bind his hearers to him. We have all seen this fact demonstrated many times. To the proof of our experience, M. Ribot adds the strength of his testimony when he says (Psychology of Emotion, p. 291): "It would be a psychological absurdity to suppose that a bare, dry idea, an abstracted conception without emotional accompani- ments, and resembling a geometrical notion, could have the least influence on human conduct." Influence on human conduct! That is the very essence of persuasion. And Dr. Ribot is eminently correct in declaring that emotion is the main-spring in that influence. The present writer THE ELEMENT OF EMOTION 585 has seen this truth demonstrated many times. No wonder that emotion influences others, for it arises in the speaker because he himself is influenced by the object of the feeling. Like begets like, hence the speaker's influence on others when he himself is moved. Just as emotion is needed to influence human conduct, so a realization of something influencing human con- duct, is necessary to produce the emotion which the speaker needs. For example, a speaker wishes to persuade his audience to adopt a certain social reform. To build the personality capable of persuading his audience to do so, the speaker must so thoroughly put himself in the places of his hearerX j and must so fully feel how the thing he would have re-N^ formed is blighting the lives or destroying the happiness f or lessening the success of his hearers, that he cannot help being stirred to action to reform that thing. To quote again from Ribot (Ibid., p. 295) : "The theoretic concep- tion of a higher moral ideal, of a step in advance, is not sufficient, it needs a powerful emotion leading to action, and, by its contagion, communicating its own impulse to others." To have such an emotion, and the personality which it produces, the speaker must clearly conceive and fully respond to, actual, definite things which are in- fluencing the lives of those to whom he expects to speak. What are the principal things which influence the lives of those to whom the speaker is likely to speak? i. To begin at the bottom of the list, first, there are those things which affect the physical existence and physical comfort of each person and his immediate family. 2. Next we think of the things which affect the safety of the property 586 PERSONALITY AND PERSUASION each hearer may possess. 3. Closely related to these are the things which affect each hearer's opportunities to make money. 4. Next, perhaps, come those things which affect the opportunities for the educational development of each hearer, his family, and his neighbors. 5. Close to these are the things which affect the community conveniences, the community beauty, and the community pride in the city or neighborhood in which each hearer lives. 6. Then come those things which increase or diminish the enjoyments of the hearer. 7. Closely related to these are those things which affect the influence and power social, financial, or political of the hearer, among his fellow-men. 8. Above all these, lie those things which affect the safety, the dignity, the honor of the hearer's country. 9. Highest of all are those things which influence the relations of the hearer to Humanity and to God. These are the things which move men to action. From full realization of how these things are influencing the lives of his hearers, must the speaker build his emotion if he would have the personality that will persuade his hearers to adopt his views and act upon them. THE ELEMENT OF THE AUDIENCE The vast benefit which large, strong, constructive emo- tion brings to the speaker, does not end in enabling the speaker to persuade his audience. If that emotion is created by the speaker's contemplating things which vitally affect the lives of his audience, it brings a response from the audience which is beyond value. Who can estimate the THE ELEMENT OF THE AUDIENCE 587 value of a great constructive emotion, experienced in com- mon with many other persons? It lifts us out of our sordid selves pnH gjyps us a momentary glimpse of what we might be. How often we hear a public speaker say: "The response of that vast audience carried me beyond myself." Such instances are not accidents; they follow an important law. G. Le Bon (Psychologic des Foules) states the law thus: "Only collectively is humanity cap- able of great acts of disinterestedness and devotion." This is the part the audience plays in the act of persuasion. It returns to the speaker a collective mind and a collective heart, capable of merging all separate interests into one common interest and capable of giving a common devotion to a common cause. This is the speaker's opportunity; it arises only when the speaker makes the collective mind in his audience by filling the minds of all before him with thoughts of some great common need. The speaker turns that opportunity into real success only when he fills the hearts of all before him with a strong emotion toward this common need. The time when, best of all, the speaker wins this great response from a collective mind and heart in all his hearers, is when he gets them all to working with him on his theme. Great persuasion results not from the amount of him- self which the speaker gives out, but from the amount of themselves which he can induce his hearers to put into the theme discussed. Ribot states this law of mind in these words : "A man attaches himself to another rather in proportion to the services he renders than to those he receives from the 588 PERSONALITY AND PERSUASION other he has put more of himself into the other." He then cites this remarkable illustration: "In the proscrip- tions of Marius and Sulla, many Roman sons, through fear, gave up their fathers; but not one father, his son. In the Roman family, the father could do much for the .son ; the son, nothing for the father." This law is strikingly effective in speaking. Each member of an audience will be devoted to the cause which the speaker presents, in proportion to the amount of thought and feeling he has put into that cause as the speaker has presented it. For this reason, the first question a speaker should ask, when he begins the active preparation of a speech which he hopes to make persuasive, is: 'What is it I wish the audience to do?" When he has clearly conceived the an- swer to this question, the speaker is then ready to begin the work of effective persuasion. THE WELL-ROUNDED SPEECH AND THE WELL- ROUNDED SPEAKER Professor De Garmo (Interest and Education, p. 133) declares that "personality is governed by method; method is permeated by personality." This brings before us the last thought which we shall state concerning personality, namely, the relation between the work we have suggested, in this chapter, for the development of personality, and the work outlined in the preceding chapters where the effort was, primarily, a search for the best methods by which to produce a speech. Each of these efforts to produce WELL-ROUNDED SPEECH AND SPEAKER 589 method and to produce personality demands the aid of the other. If a speaker confines his attention to method, he is almost sure to lack the personality which his fullest success demands. If, on the other hand, he devotes his attention wholly to personality and slights method, his success will not only be lessened through lack of method, but, through this very lack of method his personality also will suffer in any particular effort before an audience. This mutual need of method and personality leads up to the last question we shall consider in this book. That question is, what constitutes a well-rounded speech and when may a speaker be considered a well-rounded speaker ? We hope that by this time we have made it consistently clear that any theme presented in words to an audience, can be considered a well-rounded speech (i) only when the speaker has clearly conceived, out of the active affairs of men, some actual public need; (2) only when the speaker has clearly conceived some means for meeting that need; (3) only when the speaker has clearly conceived his plan for employing the means to meet that need; (4) only when the speaker has thoroughly tested the practicability of his means and his plan, by trying them upon an imaginary audience until his conceptions have developed into memory, action, emotion, and voice; and, (5) only when the speaker has come to employ appropriately and spontaneously his action, his emotion, and his voice, in the seven modes of emphasis. When the speaker has met these requirements, his speech will satisfy the standard set by Fechner, when (Vorstellung die Aestetic, end of Vol. i) he measures all art by its "outcome for the well- being of mankind for time and eternity." The speech will 590 PERSONALITY AND PERSUASION then be ready to do what Wundt (Elements of Physiological Psychology, II, 221) declares true art should do when he says: "High art always arouses moral or religious ideas." Such a speech is indeed well-rounded. We trust that, by this time, the student of speech who has performed the various experiments in speech-building outlined through this volume, has found sufficient pleasure and profit in developing the sources of speech within his own nature, to fill him with a desire and a determination to develop these sources of speech-power every day through- out his life. The speaker who does daily develop his sources of speech till his senses bring him into keen contact with everything about him, till he assumes a vigorous attitude toward all the important activities of men and takes due account of others' attitudes, till his imagination is true and trusty, till he forms a clear and full conception of everything to which he turns his thought, always having in mind the benefit that thing can bring to the people, and till he develops every theme he presents, according to the outline of a well-rounded speech such a speaker will soon become known as a well-rounded speaker. Such a speaker will soon have that badge of mastery in speaking, Effective Persuasion. THE END. GENERAL LIBRARY UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA BERKELEY RETURN TO DESK FROM WHICH BORROWED This book is due on the last date stamped below, or on the date to which renewed. Renewed books are subject to immediate recall. w g 1954 10 21-100m-l,'54(18S7sl6)476 YC 01386 THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY