ILLUSTRATIONS, PATHOS, HUMOR.
All popular and effective discourses must possess at least one of the
above qualities. In ordinary speeches they do not present themselves
spontaneously, but must be sought out with diligence and perseverance.
Some speakers find it easy to sparkle with illustrations and to indulge
in humor and pathos, but others can only succeed in that direction with
painful toil. We wish now to consider a few of the methods by which they
can be secured when they do not present themselves spontaneously.
The need of abundant illustrations has been felt in all kinds of address
and many efforts have been made to supply them. A number of books have
been published in which illustrations have been gathered from a wide
range of literature, and catalogued for use. The speaker may employ
these cautiously with great profit; and no longing for an originality,
which, after all, can never be absolute, should deter him. The labor of
searching for one or two illustrations of an important thought may be
greater than that devoted to the preparation of the whole speech, but it
is labor very profitably employed. While thinking what any particular
thing is _like_, our conception of the thing itself and of all the ideas
that cluster around it, will become much more vivid. Even the
illustrations we reject may have great value in sharpening our
conceptions of the difference between the thing investigated and all
other things of a similar character.
But it is not enough to search for similes and figures among ready-made
selections. All we know, hear, and read, may be passed in mental review
for the purpose of seeing what truth it will vividly set forth. If we
assume that our speeches _must_ be illustrated, and spend much time in
seeking for good illustrations, changing those we have used for better
ones whenever possible, we will come to “think double,” that is, to see
the likeness that exist in all objects to something else. The habit of
doing this grows with practice. If we pass our addresses in review
asking ourselves, “What points did we fail to make strong and
intelligible for want of good illustrations?” we will be able both to
see our defects in this line and the means of remedying them. There
should be a very careful record of these treasures made, for with the
majority of speakers nothing else is so precious.
Scraps from newspapers, sentences copied into common-place books, all
kinds of memoranda which direct attention to a happy figure heard in
conversation, encountered in reading, or thought of, will be exceedingly
valuable.
It is possible to have too many illustrations, but for one speaker who
labors under this disadvantage nine have not enough. A bad
illustration—one which is cloudy, tame, in bad taste, or which does not
illuminate or enforce some part of our subject—is worse than none at
all. It should be thrown out and its place supplied with something
better.
The power to touch the heart, and as an evidence of deep feeling to
cause tears to flow, is greatly sought by orators, and, strange as it
may seem, is highly enjoyed by audiences. There is a luxury in aroused
feeling, and multitudes will throng to the church or hall where they are
made to weep. If the effort for such effects is carried too far, it will
become unmanly and maudlin; but in proper bounds it is a genuine
oratorical resource. How shall a reasonable degree of pathos be brought
into our discourses?
Incidents which involve great or heroic suffering and self-sacrifices,
if well told, with a direct bearing upon the general theme, seldom fail
to make a deep impression. They are often invented by the speaker, but
while that device may not always be worthy of condemnation, its
expediency is questionable. Reality has far more power than fiction.
There is so much of suffering and sorrow in the world, and so much of
heroic struggle against it, that if our addresses fairly reflect this
“world-tragedy” the highest pathos will be realized. Keen, quick
observation and a really sympathetic nature on the part of the speaker
will show him where to find the materials to move the hearts of his
hearers. But while using such materials he must retain command of his
own feelings. To be truly successful in the use of pathos he must give a
reasonable foundation for the emotion he wishes to evoke, and then be
able to turn the aroused feeling into some channel which will justify
the pain caused.
Humor is intimately associated with pathos by the law of opposites. One
is almost the direct reaction from the other, and after one has been
evoked the other follows more easily than it would at another time. The
spirit of humor is valuable in all forms of address, but in some—notably
in the political arena and on the platform—it is invaluable. Its range
is vast. It may be so rude and uncouth as to lessen the dignity of
discourse, or it may be of the most refined character. While it cannot
be relied upon as an argument, yet if a good argument is employed and
then _clenched_ by a humorous story or allusion of perfect
appropriateness, much is gained. To make an audience laugh at the
positions of an opponent, at least prepares the way for refuting him.
This quality may be cultivated by seeking out and enjoying the humorous
element which is found in everything. We ought to be able to laugh at
all that is ludicrous, without in the least losing our respect and
veneration for what is good. Everything coarse and evil should be
rejected from our minds instantly, however humorous; but all the really
funny things, which can by any possibility be pressed into the service
of speech, should be carefully noted and remembered. Abraham Lincoln
owed no small part of his popular power to his marvelous fund of
humorous illustrations. More than one noted preacher has given a keener
edge to truth by the same means.
Extemporaneous speech furnishes much better opportunity than written for
the acquirement of all these elements of power. When a speech is once
written it is finished. But when merely planned and outlined, all
stories, quotations, incidents, and happy turns of language discovered
afterward, may be noted on the written plan, or slipped into an envelope
with it, and afterward used at any time without the labor necessary to
adjust them to a manuscript discourse.