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FORCE

However, 'tis expedient to be wary:

Indifference, certes, don't produce distress;

And rash enthusiasm in good society

Were nothing but a moral inebriety.

--BYRON, _Don Juan_.

You have attended plays that seemed fair, yet they did not move you,

grip you. In theatrical parlance, they failed to "get over," which means

that their message did not get over the foot-lights to the audience.

There was no punch, no jab to them--they had no force.

Of course, all this spells disaster, in big letters, not only in a stage

production but in any platform effort. Every such presentation exists

solely for the audience, and if it fails to hit them--and the expression

is a good one--it has no excuse for living; nor will it live long.

_What is Force?_

Some of our most obvious words open up secret meanings under scrutiny,

and this is one of them.

To begin with, we must recognize the distinction between inner and outer

force. The one is cause, the other effect. The one is spiritual, the

other physical. In this important particular, animate force differs from

inanimate force--the power of man, coming from within and expressing

itself outwardly, is of another sort from the force of Shimose powder,

which awaits some influence from without to explode it. However

susceptive to outside stimuli, the true source of power in man lies

within himself. This may seem like "mere psychology," but it has an

intensely practical bearing on public speaking, as will appear.

Not only must we discern the difference between human force and mere

physical force, but we must not confuse its real essence with some of

the things that may--and may not--accompany it. For example, loudness is

not force, though force at times may be attended by noise. Mere roaring

never made a good speech, yet there are moments--moments, mind you, not

minutes--when big voice power may be used with tremendous effect.

Nor is violent motion force--yet force may result in violent motion.

Hamlet counseled the players:

Nor do not saw the air too much with your hand, thus; but use

all gently; for in the very torrent, tempest, and (as I may say)

whirlwind of your passion, you must acquire and beget a

temperance, that may give it smoothness. Oh, it offends me to

the soul, to hear a robustious periwig-pated fellow tear a

passion to tatters, to very rags, to split the ears of the

groundlings[2]; who, for the most part, are capable of nothing

but inexplicable dumb show, and noise. I would have such a

fellow whipped for o'er-doing Termagant; it out-herods Herod.

Pray you avoid it.

Be not too tame, neither, but let your discretion be your tutor:

suit the action to the word, the word to the action; with this

special observance, that you o'erstep not the modesty of nature;

for anything so overdone is from the purpose of playing, whose

end, both at the first, and now, was, and is, to hold, as

'twere, the mirror up to Nature, to show Virtue her own feature,

Scorn her own image, and the very age and body of the time his

form and pressure. Now, this overdone, or come tardy off, though

it make the unskillful laugh, cannot but make the judicious

grieve; the censure of the which one must, in your allowance,

o'erweigh a whole theater of others. Oh, there be players that I

have seen play--and heard others praise, and that highly--not to

speak it profanely, that, neither having the accent of

Christians, nor the gait of Christian, pagan, or man, have so

strutted and bellowed that I have thought some of Nature's

journeymen had made men, and not made them well, they imitated

humanity so abominably.[3]

Force is both a cause and an effect. Inner force, which must precede

outer force, is a combination of four elements, acting progressively.

First of all, _force arises from conviction_. You must be convinced of

the truth, or the importance, or the meaning, of what you are about to

say before you can give it forceful delivery. It must lay strong hold

upon your convictions before it can grip your audience. Conviction

convinces.

_The Saturday Evening Post_ in an article on "England's T.R."--Winston

Spencer Churchill--attributed much of Churchill's and Roosevelt's public

platform success to their forceful delivery. No matter what is in hand,

these men make themselves believe for the time being that that one thing

is the most important on earth. Hence they speak to their audiences in a

Do-this-or-you-_PERISH_ manner.

That kind of speaking wins, and it is that virile, strenuous, aggressive

attitude which both distinguishes and maintains the platform careers of

our greatest leaders.

But let us look a little closer at the origins of inner force. How does

conviction affect the man who feels it? We have answered the inquiry in

the very question itself--he _feels_ it: _Conviction produces emotional

tension_. Study the pictures of Theodore Roosevelt and of Billy Sunday

in action--_action_ is the word. Note the tension of their jaw muscles,

the taut lines of sinews in their entire bodies when reaching a climax

of force. Moral and physical force are alike in being both preceded and

accompanied by in-_tens_-ity--tension--tightness of the cords of power.

It is this tautness of the bow-string, this knotting of the muscles,

this contraction before the spring, that makes an audience

_feel_--almost see--the reserve power in a speaker. In some really

wonderful way it is more what a speaker does _not_ say and do that

reveals the dynamo within. _Anything_ may come from such stored-up force

once it is let loose; and that keeps an audience alert, hanging on the

lips of a speaker for his next word. After all, it is all a question of

manhood, for a stuffed doll has neither convictions nor emotional

tension. If you are upholstered with sawdust, keep off the platform, for

your own speech will puncture you.

Growing out of this conviction-tension comes _resolve to make the

audience share that conviction-tension_. Purpose is the backbone of

force; without it speech is flabby--it may glitter, but it is the

iridescence of the spineless jellyfish. You must hold fast to your

resolve if you would hold fast to your audience.

Finally, all this conviction-tension-purpose is lifeless and useless

unless it results in _propulsion_. You remember how Young in his

wonderful "Night Thoughts" delineates the man who

Pushes his prudent purpose to resolve,

Resolves, and re-resolves, and dies the same.

Let not your force "die a-borning,"--bring it to full life in its

conviction, emotional tension, resolve, and propulsive power.

_Can Force be Acquired?_

Yes, if the acquirer has any such capacities as we have just outlined.

How to acquire this vital factor is suggested in its very analysis: Live

with your subject until you are convinced of its importance.

If your message does not of itself arouse you to tension, _PULL_

yourself together. When a man faces the necessity of leaping across a

crevasse he does not wait for inspiration, he _wills_ his muscles into

tensity for the spring--it is not without purpose that our English

language uses the same word to depict a mighty though delicate steel

contrivance and a quick leap through the air. Then resolve--and let it

all end in actual _punch_.

This truth is worth reiteration: The man within is the final factor. He

must supply the fuel. The audience, or even the man himself, may add the

match--it matters little which, only so that there be fire. However

skillfully your engine is constructed, however well it works, you will

have no force if the fire has gone out under the boiler. It matters

little how well you have mastered poise, pause, modulation, and tempo,

if your speech lacks fire it is dead. Neither a dead engine nor a dead

speech will move anybody.

Four factors of force are measurably within your control, and in that

far may be acquired: _ideas_, _feeling about the subject_, _wording_, and

_delivery_. Each of these is more or less fully discussed in this

volume, except wording, which really requires a fuller rhetorical study

than can here be ventured. It is, however, of the utmost importance that

you should be aware of precisely how wording bears upon force in a

sentence. Study "The Working Principles of Rhetoric," by John Franklin

Genung, or the rhetorical treatises of Adams Sherman Hill, of Charles

Sears Baldwin, or any others whose names may easily be learned from any

teacher.

Here are a few suggestions on the use of words to attain force:

_Choice of Words_

PLAIN words are more forceful than words less commonly used--_juggle_

has more vigor than _prestidigitate_.

SHORT words are stronger than long words--_end_ has more directness than

_terminate_.

SAXON words are usually more forceful than Latinistic words--for force,

use _wars against_ rather than _militate against_.

SPECIFIC words are stronger than general words--_pressman_ is more

definite than _printer_.

CONNOTATIVE words, those that suggest more than they say, have more

power than ordinary words--"She _let_ herself be married" expresses more

than "She _married_."

EPITHETS, figuratively descriptive words, are more effective than direct

names--"Go tell that _old fox_," has more "punch" than "Go tell that

_sly fellow_." ONOMATOPOETIC words, words that convey the sense by the

sound, are more powerful than other words--_crash_ is more effective

than _cataclysm_.

_Arrangement of words_

Cut out modifiers.

Cut out connectives.

Begin with words that demand attention.

"End with words that deserve distinction," says Prof. Barrett Wendell.

Set strong ideas over against weaker ones, so as to gain strength by the

contrast.

Avoid elaborate sentence structure--short sentences are stronger than

long ones.

Cut out every useless word, so as to give prominence to the really

important ones.

Let each sentence be a condensed battering ram, swinging to its final

blow on the attention.

A familiar, homely idiom, if not worn by much use, is more effective

than a highly formal, scholarly expression.

Consider well the relative value of different positions in the sentence

so that you may give the prominent place to ideas you wish to emphasize.

"But," says someone, "is it not more honest to depend the inherent

interest in a subject, its native truth, clearness and sincerity of

presentation, and beauty of utterance, to win your audience? Why not

charm men instead of capturing them by assault?"

_Why Use Force?_

There is much truth in such an appeal, but not all the truth.

Clearness, persuasion, beauty, simple statement of truth, are all

essential--indeed, they are all definite parts of a forceful

presentment of a subject, without being the only parts. Strong

meat may not be as attractive as ices, but all depends on the

appetite and the stage of the meal.

You can not deliver an aggressive message with caressing little strokes.

No! Jab it in with hard, swift solar plexus punches. You cannot strike

fire from flint or from an audience with love taps. Say to a crowded

theatre in a lackadaisical manner: "It seems to me that the house is on

fire," and your announcement may be greeted with a laugh. If you flash

out the words: "The house's on fire!" they will crush one another in

getting to the exits.

The spirit and the language of force are definite with conviction. No

immortal speech in literature contains such expressions as "it seems to

me," "I should judge," "in my opinion," "I suppose," "perhaps it is

true." The speeches that will live have been delivered by men ablaze

with the courage of their convictions, who uttered their words as

eternal truth. Of Jesus it was said that "the common people heard Him

gladly." Why? "He taught them as one having _AUTHORITY_." An audience

will never be moved by what "seems" to you to be truth or what in your

"humble opinion" may be so. If you honestly can, assert convictions as

your conclusions. Be sure you are right before you speak your speech,

then utter your thoughts as though they were a Gibraltar of

unimpeachable _truth_. Deliver them with the iron hand and confidence of

a Cromwell. Assert them with the fire of _authority_. Pronounce them as

an _ultimatum_. If you cannot speak with conviction, be silent.

What force did that young minister have who, fearing to be too dogmatic,

thus exhorted his hearers: "My friends--as I assume that you are--it

appears to be my duty to tell you that if you do not repent, so to

speak, forsake your sins, as it were, and turn to righteousness, if I

may so express it, you will be lost, in a measure"?

Effective speech must reflect the era. This is not a rose water age, and

a tepid, half-hearted speech will not win. This is the century of trip

hammers, of overland expresses that dash under cities and through

mountain tunnels, and you must instill this spirit into your speech if

you would move a popular audience. From a front seat listen to a

first-class company present a modern Broadway drama--not a comedy, but a

gripping, thrilling drama. Do not become absorbed in the story; reserve

all your attention for the technique and the force of the acting. There

is a kick and a crash as well as an infinitely subtle intensity in the

big, climax-speeches that suggest this lesson: the same well-calculated,

restrained, delicately shaded force would simply _rivet_ your ideas in

the minds of your audience. An air-gun will rattle bird-shot against a

window pane--it takes a rifle to wing a bullet through plate glass and

the oaken walls beyond.

_When to Use Force_

An audience is unlike the kingdom of heaven--the violent do not always

take it by force. There are times when beauty and serenity should be the

only bells in your chime. Force is only one of the great extremes of

contrast--use neither it nor quiet utterance to the exclusion of other

tones: be various, and in variety find even greater force than you could

attain by attempting its constant use. If you are reading an essay on

the beauties of the dawn, talking about the dainty bloom of a

honey-suckle, or explaining the mechanism of a gas engine, a vigorous

style of delivery is entirely out of place. But when you are appealing

to wills and consciences for immediate action, forceful delivery wins.

In such cases, consider the minds of your audience as so many safes that

have been locked and the keys lost. Do not try to figure out the

combinations. Pour a little nitro glycerine into the cracks and light

the fuse. As these lines are being written a contractor down the street

is clearing away the rocks with dynamite to lay the foundations for a

great building. When you want to get action, do not fear to use

dynamite.

The final argument for the effectiveness of force in public speech is

the fact that everything must be enlarged for the purposes of the

platform--that is why so few speeches read well in the reports on the

morning after: statements appear crude and exaggerated because they are

unaccompanied by the forceful delivery of a glowing speaker before an

audience heated to attentive enthusiasm. So in preparing your speech you

must not err on the side of mild statement--your audience will

inevitably tone down your words in the cold grey of afterthought. When

Phidias was criticised for the rough, bold outlines of a figure he had

submitted in competition, he smiled and asked that his statue and the

one wrought by his rival should be set upon the column for which the

sculpture was destined. When this was done all the exaggerations and

crudities, toned by distances, melted into exquisite grace of line and

form. Each speech must be a special study in suitability and proportion.

Omit the thunder of delivery, if you will, but like Wendell Phillips put

"silent lightning" into your speech. Make your thoughts breathe and your

words burn. Birrell said: "Emerson writes like an electrical cat

emitting sparks and shocks in every sentence." Go thou and speak

likewise. Get the "big stick" into your delivery--be forceful.