Citizen Kane

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Citizen Kane

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.
 THE APPEAL TO WANTS 47 grew up a kind of grim love for
duty. We sacrificed ourselves with a bitter pleasure; we did what we
did not like to do for the sake of what we felt we ought to do. There
was something severely strong about this. Many of us feel that the
present generation, brought up without the stern sense of duty, is
weak and willful. Perhaps. But the older training was not without its
dangers. It tended, often, to develope a kind of bigoted self
congratulation. "Look at me ! I don't like to do this. But I'm strong —
strong enough to make myself miserable for duty's sake !" It was,
therefore, in large measure, a breeder of moral egotism. Also, it
easily led to intolerance. "This is your duty, young man. Do it!" And
that was the last word. The stern eye and the unrelenting heart !
Worse than all this, it too often made for hypocrisy. "I know it is
hard on you and the children, my dear, but my duty calls me," and
the man went off to his adventure with a sorrowful face and a glad
heart. Morally as well as psychologically, the training of children by
emphasis upon their duty was bad because it was a training by
compulsion rather than by free inner development. The duty, in the
first instance, was never something willed by the child; it was
something imposed from without. The child might, indeed, be
battered into acceptance ; it might even, in the end, become so
habituated to the duty as to feel it as its own. But in the process, it
tended to lose that fine strength of personality which comes from a
free choosing and a self-determined carrying out of one's chosen
end. If many of our present generation of young people are, indeed,
weak and willful, it is doubtless because we of the older generation
have not substituted for the severe, external discipline of duty the
subtler, but far more powerful
 48 INFLUENCING HUMAN BEHAVIOR discipline of an inner
choice of that which is really worth the choosing. We have not yet
learned, in short, how to help our children organize their wants; how
to estimate their relative values. Brought up ourselves on the easy
duty technique — "Do this and do that" — we are altogether at a
loss in this new situation. How, as a matter of fact, does one get a
child to want to do the right, the fine thing? That is a most difficult
problem. It is infinitely easier to say, "Do it." Most of us, therefore,
adopt the easier way. The appeal to wants, then, presupposes, first
of all, an understanding of the fine, worthwhile wants that can be
aroused in children; and secondly, an intelligence capable of opening
up opportunities and devising situations which will arouse those
wants. The parent, in short, is to be, in the main, not a giver-of-
commands but an opener-up-ofopportunities. In a later chapter, we
shall discuss more in detail how this task is to be accomplished. At
this point we wish simply to emphasize the basic difference between
the duty technique, which operates by compulsion and from without,
and the appeal-to-wants technique, which operates by intelligent
suggestion and from within. The latter, although far more difficult of
application, is without any question, psychologically and morally the
superior. Summary "No appeal to a reason that is not also an appeal
to a want is ever effective." That ought to dispose of a good deal of
futile arguing. It ought to put an end to most of the angry
denunciation and bitter sarcasm wherewith we infuriate each other.
It ought to mend the ways of the preaching parent, the
expostulating, scolding parent. It
 THE APPEAL TO WANTS 49 ought to Indicate to the arid
pedagogue a way of escape from his aridity. And finally, it ought to
suggest to the earnest political reformer more effective techniques
for capturing and holding that difficult, but psychologically quite
normal entity called "the people." Thought (reason) is, at bottom, an
instrument of action; and action, whatever it may be, springs out of
what we fundamentally desire. There is, indeed, a place in life — a
most important place — for pure thought — thought, that is, which
has no interest in immediate action. But for the most part, thought
(reason) is, for us, an instrument of exploration; it enables us to see
more clearly where we are going, and how we may best go. But
where do we actually wish to go? If we are sure of that, then we
gladly enough busy ourselves to find ideas which point the path and
clear the way. Hence, as we have seen, the arguer must first arouse
in his respondent a real want to know what is being argued about, a
real wish to understand, or his argumentation is only words. The
trouble with most arguers is that they are too much in a hurry to
unload themselves. They quite forget that, preliminary to the
unloading, there must be awakened in the respondent an eagerness
to want. That perhaps is the best piece of advice which can be given
to would-be persuaders, whether in business, in the home, in the
school, in politics, etc. : first arouse in the other person an eager
want. He who can do this has the world with him. He who cannot
walks a lonely way !
 CHAPTER III THE PROBLEM OF VIVIDNESS Let the reader
try to recall the smell of a peach. He will no doubt find it a little
vague. Let him try, now, to recall its taste. Still vague; but perhaps
less so. Now let him try to recall what a peach looks like. Not vague
at all. The image of the peach leaps to the mind. Most of us are
visual minded. This means that anything that can be presented to
the eye has a far greater chance of being retained and recalled than
something which is presented only to the organs of taste and smell.
To put an idea into visual form, then, is to increase its power. For the
power of an idea depends upon two' things : ( i ) the swiftness and
clarity with which it is received: (2) the ease with which it is recalled.
We have all suffered under the colorless speaker (note the visual
condemnation in the word colorless). We have all groaned under too
great abstractness of presentation. We have all had the baffling
experience of trying to recall what a certain chapter was about. And
we have all gratefully had the opposite experience, of a speaker who
gave us a vivid sense of the reality of what he was talking about; of
a writer who so "pointed up" his material with visual illustration that
he left us with a clear sense of his essential meanings. 50
 THE PROBLEM OF VIVIDNESS 51 Picturizing With Words
Note the picture value of the following advertisement : ■ A $12,000
Advertisement It was only a small advertisement ; but some freak of
fortune brought it into the hands of a Chinese firm in Hongkong. A
few weeks later a Cleveland concern received an order from
Hongkong, for $12,000 worth of merchandise. It was a sizeable
order. They needed it badly. Yet they could find no credit data
relating to the new customer. They 'phoned to the Foreign
Department of this organization. Within ninety minutes, they had
four closely typewritten pages concerning their customer and his
financial status. Yet this is only a sample of the service at the
command . . . The power of that advertisement lies in the
picturephrases of which it is so largely made up : "Only a small
advertisement;" "some freak of fortune brought it into the hands;"
"Chinese firm in Hongkong;" "a Cleveland concern;" "an order from
Hongkong;" "$12,000 worth of merchandise;" "they needed it
badly;" "they 'phoned the Foreign Department;" "within ninety
minutes;" "four closely typewritten pages." Let us reconstruct that
advertisement along the lines of abstract dignity: Credit Information
The Foreign Department of the Union Trust Company is prepared to
give reliable credit information at short notice concerning business
houses throughout the world. 1The Fine Art of Picturizing; by Arthur
T. Corbett. Advertising and Selling Fortnightly, Nov. 19, 1924, p. 18.
 52 INFLUENCING HUMAN BEHAVIOR No pictures whatever
there, except, perhaps, a whiff of one in the phrase "at short notice
!" "Throughout the world" is far less arresting than "Hongkong,"
because it is too general, too diffused to form a picture. "Credit
information" is an understandable phrase; but it leaves us cold
beside the vivid picture of an actual instance, in a specific place, of
credit confirmation. Notice the picture value of the following names:
Camp Fire Girls; Boy Scouts; Pioneer Youth; Children's Bureau;
International Community Center; Day Nursery; The Road of
Anthracite ; New York. Central. Suppose the Camp Fire Girls had
been called: Association for the Promotion of Friendship and Outdoor
Life Among Girls! Notice the fuzzy abstractness of the following
names: The Joint Committee on Methods of Preventing Juvenile
Delinquency; The American Public Health Association; New York
State Committee on Mental Hygiene; New York, Westchester and
Boston Railway.1 Be Creators of Images Most of us, as we have said,
are naturally "visual minded;" but comparatively few of us are "visual
worded." There is no need, therefore, that we train ourselves in the
power to receive visual images; there is every need, however, that
we make some deliberate effort to train ourselves in the power to
create and transmit visual images. 1 1 have just tested the recall
value of the latter name by looking it up in the telephone directory.
First, I discovered I could not recall the order of the three localities.
So I started with Boston ; — Boston, New York, Westchester;
Boston, Westchester, New York; no luck! Then Westchester, Boston,
New York; Westchester, New York, Boston; no luck again! Then New
York, Boston, Westchester. Finally, after ten minutes or so of irritated
turning of pages, the absurd combination!
 THE PROBLEM OF VIVIDNESS 53 We can do this, first, by
taking passages from the great writers — men like Tolstoy; Anatole
France; Shaw; Huxley; Emerson; Carlyle — noting the picture words
used. To build up a fairly adequate vocabulary of such words is itself
of value. Of greater value, however, is the habit which thereby
develops of being aware of the power which such words give to the
writing. As we begin to note the presence of visual words in the
great writers, we note, the more easily, their absence from our own
efforts. Another excellent procedure is to examine writing which is
obviously dull and ineffective and note in how far the weakness of
the writing arises out of the poverty of picture-building words. The
same procedure may be followed in the case of effective speakers
and dull speakers. Then we shall be ready to take ourselves severely
and successfully in hand. We can stand over our own dull
paragraphs, or keep an ear upon our own colorless speeches, and
point them up by substituting "eye" words for the commonplace,
foggy symbols which help to hold us within the ranks of mediocrity.
The Anti-Picturizers We now go a step further, and as writers or
speakers put our material into visual form by the use of pictures.
There is, among many so-called intellectuals, an instant and
ominous "thumbs down." Pictures are lowbrow. No really intelligent
person is supposed to look at pictures — unless they are framed and
hung in a gallery ! This is a curious attitude, since a picture, very
often, is obviously the clearest and simplest means for transmitting
ideas. Take, for example, a printed verbal description of
 54 INFLUENCING HUMAN BEHAVIOR a house or a
landscape. We all know how difficult it is to follow the verbal
process. Is there any particular advantage in having to grope
through a wordy description, achieving, at the end, only a vague and
inaccurate visual image, when a picture would give us instantly all
the characteristic details? Or take a description of how to swing
one's golf club properly, or how to do a crawl stroke? The objection
to the use of pictures seems to be a curious left-over from the
ascetic philosophy that life must be made as difficult as possible,
never as easy. Pictures make things too easy for us. There is, of
course, a degree of truth in this. A generation brought up exclusively
on pictures would doubtless become lazy and passive-minded
(unless the pictures were stimulative of ideas). But no one in his
senses, surely, would advocate such a wholesale use of pictures,
particularly of pictures which in no wise roused the mind to active
response. In life we apply tools to the material of our environment.
One kind of tool is applied to physical things. Now it would be a
curious carpenter who would insist that it was demoralizing to use a
modern set of steel tools on the ground that it made carpentering
too easy. It is true that a stone hammer would cause the carpenter
far more trouble; would tax his patience and his ingenuity to the
utmost. But would that additional effort be worthwhile? Even at the
best, he could never accomplish with his ascetic stone hammer what
he could easily coax out of a full kit of modern tools. The point is
that the modern "easier" tools do not make the carpenter lazy; do
not weaken his craftsman ability.
 THE PROBLEM OF VIVIDNESS 55 Jliey simply release his
energies for work impossible with the cruder tool. Now words and
pictures are tools. They are tools for communicating ideas,
stimulating interests, arousing feelings and emotions. The sole
question we have to ask about these tools is, which of them does
the tool-work most effectively ? When we state the issue in this way
there can be no doubt about the answer. UA picture, with a few
words of explanation, will make it possible to get over an idea in one
minute that would require two minutes without the picture." If that
is true, then the picture is the more effective tool of communication.
We need not worry about the fact that the receiving mind has, in
this case, worked less hard (a minute less) in getting the idea by
picture than by word. That simply means that it has more time left
to get other ideas. And therein, after all, lies the secret of what we,
as human beings, are after. We make our life increasingly successful
as we are able to minimize the time spent upon certain tasks, in
order that our energies may be released for other worthwhile tasks
and opportunities. The Imitative Picture There are two types of
pictures which are of interest to us in this connection: (1) the
imitative; (2) the selective. Obviously, the imitative picture serves
many timesaving, idea-clarifying purposes. A photograph, or
photographic drawing, of a dress, or gun, or bicycle, or building is so
far more effective than a verbal description that business
 56 INFLUENCING HUMAN BEHAVIOR men have long since
abandoned the letter, save as supplementary to the picturization.
The eye grasps instantly a hundred details, gets the "wholeness" of
a thing in picture form, where it would crawl along slowly from word
to word of a description and in the end have no clear image. Books
on anatomy, physiology, biology, botany, horticulture, agriculture,
etc., are largely effective in proportion to the clear and precise
illustrations contained in their text. That pictures are not more
generously used in such texts is due to the relatively large cost of
their reproduction. The Selective Picture: Diagrams, Graphs, Curves
The most significant type of picture, however, is the selective
picture. At the farthest remove from imitative representation are
those skeleton-like picturizings which we call diagrams, graphs,
curves. "When large groups of figures are to be presented it is often
useful to employ diagrams which enable the eye to grasp at once
the series as a whole. There are many varieties. Popular discussions
of comparative populations, wealth, navies, and so on often
represent the various figures by lines or surfaces which are so
juxtaposed as to show at once to the eye the relations of the several
quantities. . . . Or we might employ rectangles with equal bases, or
points on a curve." ' Often skeleton maps with shaded areas show
most effectively diminutions or increases in numbers. Such selective
picturizing is a comparatively recent device. It is a form of
"conceptual shorthand" which very greatly increases the clarity and
the power of the ideas. It is significant that the making of such
selective pictures 1Jonw, A. L.; Logic; p. 226. Holt, New York.
 THE PROBLEM OF VIVIDNESS 57 is only slowly being
introduced into the schools. Here verbal technique is still in the
ascendant, although verbal technique is, in these cases,
immeasurably inferior. But so, likewise, students are still required
solemnly to add and subtract, multiply and divide, extract roots, etc.
(long after they have attained skill in these), despite the adding
machine and the slide rule ! The Cartoon Is there a more effective,
idea-clarifying and emotionarousing device than the modern
cartoon? The cartoon is in a preeminent way a form of selective
picture which conveys an idea. Through conveying an idea with
simple clarity, it often arouses powerful emotion. It frequently does
what words cannot do. It crowds the salient details of a situation
into a few square inches of space; places them there with such
selective clarity that the eye and the mind catch them instantly. The
power of the cartoon is the power of all art, the power of selective
emphasis. The cartoonist knows that most of us go about with only
a hazy kind of attention. We see people indeed; but we recognize
them only by a few conventional marks. The cartoonist wants us to
see the vulgarity in that fat woman's face; or the pathos in that girl's
thin arms. A bit of accentuation; and the trick is done. We now see.
He has extended our human insight. He has given a new direction to
our thought and feelings. Or he wants us to be aware of the danger
in a certain political situation. A few accentuated characters thrown
together within his small area; and the whole story is told!
 58 INFLUENCING HUMAN BEHAVIOR The cartoon is still
one of the step-children of the arts. Some day it will be lifted to the
place of honor which is its due. An artist who has genuine ideas
about human life, genuine insight into human situations, might well
be proud of the power to sweep his thoughts and feelings into the
swift compass of pictures that grip us with their clear pertinence.
Here, again, we are the victims of our own early conditioning.
Practically none of us, in our childhood days, were taught to "say it
with pictures." And as for the pictures that we were taught to
admire, they were the paintings on gallery walls. But why should our
children not be taught to "say it with pictures?" Why should we
confine our children to copying leaves and plaster casts — a wholly
imitative, idealess enterprise; when they ought, from their youngest
years, to be learning how to give graphic expression to their ideas?
When we find Thackeray, Clarence Day, Hugh Lofting, Willem Van
Loon and others, telling their stories in pictures, we exclaim with
delight. We seldom think that this is what all of us ought to be able
to do; that it is a power which our word-dominated education has
failed to develop in us, but which ought to become part of our
everyday human equipment. The Gallery Picture Nor do we mean by
this to detract in any degree from the high form of art which hangs
on our gallery walls. The trouble with our gallery walls is — that they
are gallery walls. The pictures on them are seldom seen; and when
seen, they are looked upon as something rare and quite
 THE PROBLEM OF VIVIDNESS 59 apart from ourselves.
Usually, we do not even know how to look at them. We drag through
wearily, giving a glance here at a mother slicing bread for her
children or there at a generallissimo on a snorting horse. What do
these pictures on our gallery walls really intend to convey? What
good do they do? What use are they to our human enterprise? The
usual thought is that artists are queer folk who like to paint.
Sometimes the pictures tickle our fancy; and we stand for a moment
and look at them. Then we pass on. But, of course, there is much
more to it than this. A picture, if it is worth anything, is a more or
less powerful means of communication. The artist has seen
something. You and I have been in the same place, perhaps; have
looked at the same object; but we have not seen just that peculiar,
rare thing which the artist sees. Why? Because, as we said above,
we usually see only the ordinary, conventional marks whereby we
identify the objects and creatures of our world. But in this particular
commonplace object — say it is a tree — the artist sees something
which we have passed over. He sees a sturdiness, a stubbornness in
the windswept branches. When he paints his picture, it is sturdiness,
stubbornness that he paints into his canvas. He accentuates. He
brings these out so that even our attention-dulled eyes can see.
What a picture does, then, is to fasten our attention upon aspects of
our own world which ordinarily escape us. It is for that reason that
galleries are usually psychological monstrosities. No one of us can
have our attention whipped alive a hundred times in every few
hundred feet; a thousand, several thousand times in the course of
an hour. Every picture that is worth seeing is a stimulus to an un 
 60 INFLUENCING HUMAN BEHAVIOR usual act of attention
on our part. Each picture must, therefore, be given its full
opportunity. We should hardly expect a person to listen with a
peculiar joy to a single musical note, if a hundred discordant whistles
were blowing. No more can we expect these selective bits of
experience which we call pictures to arouse us to their peculiar new
way of seeing things, if a hundred of them are claiming our
distracted attention. In one of our women's colleges there is a wise
art director. One room is set apart; and in that room is hung one
picture — usually for an entire week. Also in front of that one
picture, at a great enough distance, is a bench with a back. The
director knows that if we are to incorporate the new and rare
experience, we must be given time; and that if we take time, the
rest of our bodily organism must not be crying out for attention. He
knows that we ordinarily see galleries not with our eyes but with our
protesting feet. Pictures seen in a real way add new feelings, new
insights to our life. Architecture and sculpture also influence human
behavior by picturization of ideas and feelings. There can be little
doubt that to the Athenian the Parthenon was a very important,
though doubtless quite unconscious, influence. There it reposed, a
white jewel of beauty, on the top of the Acropolis. No hundred other
"objects of art" to compete with it. The Athenian passed it scores of
times; could look up at it from any part of the city. Suppose that
instead of the gleaming white Parthenon, there had been a huge
illuminated sign, with dancing sillybillies, advertising Woggly's
Chewing Gum: It Sticks! The Parthenon was a work of art, not only
because it was beautiful, but because it was selective. It
accentuated
 THE PROBLEM OF VIVIDNESS 61 beauty of line in the
human body; beauty of movement; beauty of proportion. We could
easily imagine a gargoyled temple crowded with hooded figures.
Such a temple would be selective of other features of experience
and would have had an influence notably different from that of the
Parthenon. The Parthenon taught the Greeks to see human life in
one of its major aspects; it influenced them unconsciously towards
the development of a taste for beauty of line, movement and
proportion. Two Necessary Projects There are two things which,
apparently, we must learn to do if the full value of picturizing is to be
realized in our modern civilization. First, we must unlearn most of
our habits of thought about art. We must learn what pictures,
sculptures, and works of architecture really have to say. Once we
see that what they communicate is something selective; something
taken out of the vague and helterskelter mass of our experience and
made to stand out as beautiful and worthy of our attention — once
we see this, every picture or other work of art becomes for us a
means to arouse our attention to something unique, something
ordinarily unnoticed. A work of art, then, becomes for us a key to
unlock a rarity. It is not simply something to look at and exclaim:
"Why it's an exact copy!"; something to give the date of and the
author; something to hunt up in a catalogue. It becomes in itself a
new, enlightening experience. But, in the second place, we must
ourselves learn to speak the language of pictures. We must begin by
noting the unusual, the rare. We must begin by trying somehow,
 60 INFLUENCING HUMAN BEHAVIOR usual act of attention
on our part. Each picture must, therefore, be given its full
opportunity. We should hardly expect a person to listen with a
peculiar joy to a single musical note, if a hundred discordant whistles
were blowing. No more can we expect these selective bits of
experience which we call pictures to arouse us to their peculiar new
way of seeing things, if a hundred of them are claiming our
distracted attention. In one of our women's colleges there is a wise
art director. One room is set apart; and in that room is hung one
picture — usually for an entire week. Also in front of that one
picture, at a great enough distance, is a bench with a back. The
director knows that if we are to incorporate the new and rare
experience, we must be given time; and that if we take time, the
rest of our bodily organism must not be crying out for attention. He
knows that we ordinarily see galleries not with our eyes but with our
protesting feet. Pictures seen in a real way add new feelings, new
insights to our life. Architecture and sculpture also influence human
behavior by picturization of ideas and feelings. There can be little
doubt that to the Athenian the Parthenon was a very important,
though doubtless quite unconscious, influence. There it reposed, a
white jewel of beauty, on the top of the Acropolis. No hundred other
"objects of art" to compete with it. The Athenian passed it scores of
times; could look up at it from any part of the city. Suppose that
instead of the gleaming white Parthenon, there had been a huge
illuminated sign, with dancing sillybillies, advertising JVoggly's
Chewing Gum: It Sticks! The Parthenon was a work of art, not only
because it was beautiful, but because it was selective. It
accentuated
 THE PROBLEM OF VIVIDNESS 61 beauty of line in the
human body; beauty of movement; beauty of proportion. We could
easily imagine a gargoyled temple crowded with hooded figures.
Such a temple would be selective of other features of experience
and would have had an influence notably different from that of the
Parthenon. The Parthenon taught the Greeks to see human life in
one of its major aspects; it influenced them unconsciously towards
the development of a taste for beauty of line, movement and
proportion. Two Necessary Projects There are two things which,
apparently, we must learn to do if the full value of picturizing is to be
realized in our modern civilization. First, we must unlearn most of
our habits of thought about art. We must learn what pictures,
sculptures, and works of architecture really have to say. Once we
see that what they communicate is something selective; something
taken out of the vague and helterskelter mass of our experience and
made to stand out as beautiful and worthy of our attention — once
we see this, every picture or other work of art becomes for us a
means to arouse our attention to something unique, something
ordinarily unnoticed. A work of art, then, becomes for us a key to
unlock a rarity. It is not simply something to look at and exclaim:
"Why it's an exact copy!"; something to give the date of and the
author; something to hunt up in a catalogue. It becomes in itself a
new, enlightening experience. But, in the second place, we must
ourselves learn to speak the language of pictures. We must begin by
noting the unusual, the rare. We must begin by trying somehow,
 62 INFLUENCING HUMAN BEHAVIOR even though with the
greatest awkwardness, to set do^ our own experience of what most
people do not see. Tec nique can follow in due course after the artist
eye is opene< And so, if we are adults and have not yet learned to
spea the language of pictures, our best plan will be not to cop
plaster casts but simply to try to note what is characterise about the
objects around us — the saucy tilt of a nose; th expressive solemnity
of huge ears; the pathos of knuckle fingers; the self-reliant
stubbiness of a small dog's tail; th lordly droop of a chrysanthemum.
We can try, in 01 awkward ways, to set down in simple black lines
these thin£ we see. We may never become skilled technicians; 01
drawings may be ridiculously crude ; but one thing, we ma be
assured, they will not be — if they are drawn out of ou actual seeing
of what is rare and characteristic, they wi never be dull. And they
will do this for us : they will ei able us to respond with a more
instant sensitiveness to whc the master artists are trying to convey.
But, of course, all this training ought to be begun earl in life. It is a
pity that our children spend years in lean ing the art of speaking
with words, but, for the most par no time at all in learning the art of
speaking with visual in ages. There are signs, however, that a new
understanc ing of the value of this art is being reached. In the mor
progressive schools, children begin to draw freely from th
kindergarten on. They are never asked to copy anythin — in the
pedantic way demanded of old. They are give generous spaces of
paper, a goodly equipment of paints an brushes and allowed to go
ahead as they wish. And th wise teacher does not say: "Ah, Jennie,
but don't you se that human arms don't hang that way? Let me sho
you how." No, she lets the arms hang in whatever wa
 THE PROBLExM OF VIVIDNESS 63 they wish to hang, being
fully assured that the spirit is more than arms and legs, and that
while arms and legs will eventually find their proper placing, the
spirit must blow where it listeth. It is not in order that children may
paint that we do this, or that they may bring home their pictures to
fond papa and mamma. It is that they may learn to see and to
express what they see. It is, in short, that their eyes may learn a
sensitiveness to the rarer aspects of experience, instead of becoming
dulled to all except the most conventional utilitarian marks whereby
we identify the objects around us. There is much loveliness in our
world which quite escapes us. Looking out upon a landscape, let the
reader bend down until his head is horizontal instead of
perpendicular and let him look at the landscape from that angle. A
subtle change comes over the scene. Colors not before detected
now stand out, contours hitherto unnoticed are now in sharp relief.
By a slight change in the angle of our perception, we have brought
out new qualities in the scene before us. Art does that for us —
when we really see art. All the more reason, then, that we should
all. in some degree, become artists. Thus we enrich our own
experience. And thus, if we can really learn the art of selective
expression, we enrich the experience of others. A civilization is drab,
MainStreetish, when it sees only the utilitarian values. It escapes
drabness, it beautifies its Main Streets, when it develops in its
members new and more subtle sensitiveness of vision. The effort to
picturize, in brief, is valuable in many different ways. If we can cast
aside the colorless, abstract words of ordinary currency, and
substitute words which suggest images; if we can create what
people shall see —
 62 INFLUENCING HUMAN BEHAVIOR even though with the
greatest awkwardness, to set down our own experience of what
most people do not see. Technique can follow in due course after
the artist eye is opened. And so, if we are adults and have not yet
learned to speak the language of pictures, our best plan will be not
to copy plaster casts but simply to try to note what is characteristic
about the objects around us — the saucy tilt of a nose; the
expressive solemnity of huge ears; the pathos of knuckled fingers;
the self-reliant stubbiness of a small dog's tail; the lordly droop of a
chrysanthemum. We can try, in our awkward ways, to set down in
simple black lines these things we see. We may never become skilled
technicians; our drawings may be ridiculously crude ; but one thing,
we may be assured, they will not be — if they are drawn out of our
actual seeing of what is rare and characteristic, they will never be
dull. And they will do this for us : they will enable us to respond with
a more instant sensitiveness to what the master artists are trying to
convey. But, of course, all this training ought to be begun early in
life. It is a pity that our children spend years in learning the art of
speaking with words, but, for the most part, no time at all in
learning the art of speaking with visual images. There are signs,
however, that a new understanding of the value of this art is being
reached. In the more progressive schools, children begin to draw
freely from the kindergarten on. They are never asked to copy
anything — in the pedantic way demanded of old. They are given
generous spaces of paper, a goodly equipment of paints and brushes
and allowed to go ahead as they wish. And the wise teacher does
not say: "Ah, Jennie, but don't you see that human arms don't hang
that way? Let me show you how." No, she lets the arms hang in
whatever way
 THE PROBLEM OF VIVIDNESS 63 they wish to hang, being
fully assured that the spirit is more than arms and legs, and that
while arms and legs will eventually find their proper placing, the
spirit must blow where it listeth. It is not in order that children may
paint that we do this, or that they may bring home their pictures to
fond papa and mamma. It is that they may learn to see and to
express what they see. It is, in short, that their eyes may learn a
sensitiveness to the rarer aspects of experience, instead of becoming
dulled to all except the most conventional utilitarian marks whereby
we identify the objects around us. There is much loveliness in our
world which quite escapes us. Looking out upon a landscape, let the
reader bend down until his head is horizontal instead of
perpendicular and let him look at the landscape from that angle. A
subtle change comes over the scene. Colors not before detected
now stand out, contours hitherto unnoticed are now in sharp relief.
By a slight change in the angle of our perception, we have brought
out new qualities in the scene before us. Art does that for us —
when we really see art. All the more reason, then, that we should
all, in some degree, become artists. Thus we enrich our own
experience. And thus, if we can really learn the art of selective
expression, we enrich the experience of others. A civilization is drab,
MainStreetish, when it sees only the utilitarian values. It escapes
drabness, it beautifies its Main Streets, when it develops in its
members new and more subtle sensitiveness of vision. The effort to
picturize, in brief, is valuable in many different ways. If we can cast
aside the colorless, abstract words of ordinary currency, and
substitute words which suggest images; if we can create what
people shall see —
 64 INFLUENCING HUMAN BEHAVIOR whether we be
writers, or advertisers, or teachers, or artists — we add not only to
the clarity of our thought, but also to the power of our influence
over human behavior. Inducing an Imagined Experience
Picturization, then, lends a vividness such as is not usually
experienced through the imaginative use of the other senses. To see
with the eye of the mind concretely, is to apprehend more of the
object, and more vividly, than to hear with the ears abstractly. But
there is something more effective even than seeing with the
imaginative eye. It is the condition in which we imaginatively feel a
situation with more or less of our whole personalities. Let us
suppose that I wish to interest some one in the starving children of
Russia. I can tell the person that it is his duty to help these children
in distress. Such admonition will probably not move him very greatly.
Or I can ask him whether he will be so good as to help these poor,
suffering children. He may be slightly moved by my appeal to his
pity; more particularly, perhaps, by my flattery of his humanity; and
he may give me a contribution. Suppose, however, I could take him
over with me to Russia and let him see starving children; talk with
them; help them individually. I should no longer have to argue or to
plead. He himself, of his own free will, out of the intensity of his own
feeling, would give the maximum of his help. Obviously, the best
technique we can ever use is to put the person completely into the
situation. But in most cases in life this rather expensive technique
can hardly be
 THE PROBLEM OF VIVIDNESS 65 applied. Hence we are
called upon to use a second-best, namely, the technique of putting a
person imaginatively into the situation. We sometimes call this the
power of suggestion. That word, however, has so mysterious a
sound; it has become so associated with curious psychological
procedures like hypnotism, auto-suggestion, etc., and with erotic
"suggestiveness," that I prefer not to use it, but to use a phrase
which quite clearly indicates precisely what we do. We induce an
imagined experience. Not all of us, of course do. When we do not,
our speech or our writing is abstract, unarousing, "pale." We talk
"about it and about." When, however, we do successfully induce an
imagined experience, we have a power which, for effectively
influencing human behavior, is almost, if not quite, the greatest that
a writer or speaker can have. Let me illustrate. The power of a
person like Billy Sunday lies in the effective use of this technique.
We may not be particularly interested in the kind of imagined
experience which the Reverend Billy induces. As psychologists,
however, it is important that we note the source of his power. The
New York Times recently reported one of the characteristic feats of
the preacher, "billy sunday TALK ENDS LONG LOOTING." " WOMAN
MOVED BY SERMON ON THE 'WAGES OF SIN,' REVEALS ALL TO THE
ELMIRA POLICE." "Before an audience of 7,000 in the Sunday
Tabernacle, the famous evangelist declared that 'no person in whose
heart reposes guilty knowledge need expect to make peace with God
until confession is first made,' and the statement struck terror to one
woman's heart, for she had been concealing the knowledge of
extensive robberies for nearly ten years and yet devoutly wished to
make her
 66 INFLUENCING HUMAN BEHAVIOR peace with her
Creator. Leaving the tabernacle she sought the seclusion of her room
and remained upon her knees in agonized prayer until the first flush
of dawn, when her decision was made." Here was a case of inducing
an imagined experience, that of standing before God with a guilty
secret in one's heart. The preacher doubtless portrayed the situation
with such vividness that the guilty woman was terror-stricken. The
colored minister often has this power. The following amusing yet
psychologically most significant story is told by Professor F. M.
Davenport (quoted by Allport, Social Psychology, p. 247) : "In a little
town between Cleveland, Tennessee, and Chattanooga, it was the
purpose to give a donation to the colored minister. One of the
brethren in the church volunteered to make a collection from the
various homes, and an old woman loaned this brother her cart and a
pair of steers for the purpose. After he had been throughout the
neighborhood and had secured a load of provisions and clothing, he
drove off to Chattanooga and sold everything, including the cart and
the steers, pocketed the proceeds and departed on a visit to Atlanta.
Consternation and indignation reigned in the community when the
affair became known. After some time the culprit drifted back, in
deep contrition, but having spent all. Indignation once more arose to
a white heat, and it was determined to give him a church trial at
once. The meeting was crowded ; and the preacher, after stating the
charges, announced that the accused would be given a chance to be
heard. He went forward and took the place of the preacher on the
platform. " 'I ain't got nuffin to say fo' myse'f,' he began in a
penitent voice, Tse a po' mis'able sinner. But, bredren, so is we all
mis'able sinners. An' de good book says we must fergib. How many
times, bredren? Till seven times? No, till seventy times seven. An' I
ain't sinned no seventy times seven, and I'm jes' go' to sugges' dat
 THE PROBLEM OF VIVIDNESS 67 we turn dis into a
fergibness meetin', and eberybody in dis great comp'ny dat is willin'
to fergib me, come up now, while we sing one of our deah ole
hymns, and shake ma hand.' "He started one of the powerful revival
tunes, and they began to come, first those who hadn't given
anything to the donation and were not much interested in the
matter, then those who hadn't lost much, and then the others.
Finally all had passed before him except one, and she stuck to her
seat. 'Dar's one po' mis'able sinner lef',' said he, 'dat won't fergib.'
(She was the old lady who had lost the steers.) 'Now I sugges' dat
we hab a season ob prayer, an' gib dis po' ole sinner one mo'
chance.' And after they had prayed and sung a hymn, the old lady
came up, too !" Imagining It Does It Note the difference in effect
between the following two statements made to a person: "I would
advise you to have a regular examination by a physician;" and "By
Jove, man, you're looking positively ill. You ought to have a doctor
look you over !" In the one case we present a perfectly impeccable
bit of abstract statement, with the result that nothing happens! In
the second case, we "induce an imagined experience." The friend
sees himself looking sick; he feels himself getting sicker. And
because it is he who does the feeling, no argument is needed. He
goes to the doctor! Amusing and yet instructive psychological
experiments have been made along this line. A number of young
men are subjects. They are told that experiments are to be made
upon them to try out the effect of stimulating and of depressing
drugs upon their heart-beat. They are accordingly given a few pills,
which, they are told, contain strychnine; and it is explained to them
that strychnine has the
 68 INFLUENCING HUMAN BEHAVIOR effect of whipping up
the heart to more rapid action. After a certain lapse of time, the
heart beats are counted; and in the majority of cases the beat is
faster. The pills, however, as the reader may have guessed, were
only milk sugar pills! And so with the other experiments.1 In these
cases, "inducing an imagined experience" actually succeeds in so
enlisting the entire organism that even movements ordinarily beyond
conscious control are noticeably affected! The "Forward Looking"
Mind There is at present in America, among forward looking minds,
a large amount of dissatisfaction with reactionary tendencies. This
dissatisfaction takes itself out in bitter negative argumentation. The
American public are roundly scolded for taking no interest in the
European situation; for being smugly concerned only with their own
affairs; for being intolerant of liberals; for curbing free speech.
Apparently, nothing very noticeable comes of all this. The American
public go on their way supremely indifferent, because they do not
even read or hear these scoldings! And even if they did, they would
doubtless only be annoyed into a more stubborn pursuit of their
ways. The failure, one may suppose, lies in the fact that no glowing,
imagined experience is portrayed for the American people. Suppose
that the critics should face about, should accept the idea of ioo per
cent Americanism but go it one better. Suppose they should build up,
in every possible way, the picture of America the pioneer, America
the adventurous, the red-blooded, the unafraid; America always on 1
Dearborn, G. V.; Influence of Joy; p. 90. Little Brown & Co., Boston.
 THE PROBLEM OF VIVIDNESS 69 the firing-line of social
and political advance. Suppose they could make the average citizen
feel that kind of America, feel the thrill of pride in belonging to such
a country. I doubt whether the indifference and reactionism would
remain quite unaffected. As a matter of fact, "100 per cent
American" is a powerful slogan, precisely because it does induce an
imagined experience; does give a thrill of proud feeling. Instead of
arguing against keeping political refugees out, the more successful
way, apparently, would be to build up the picture of America as the
Haven of the Persecuted. Instead of arguing against standpattism,
the more effective way would doubtless be to build up the picture of
America as open minded, as indeed the very America it is, because
of its eagerness for new ideas. Instead of inveighing against the
timid reactionaries who are constantly harking back to the signers of
the Constitution, the really powerful thing to do would be to build up
the picture of America as forward looking. Each of these phrases we
have used, it will be noted, is a picture phrase, a phrase which puts
one into a situation, and which consequently arouses the feeling of
being in that situation. The secret of all true persuasion is to induce
the person to persuade himself. The chief task of the persuader,
therefore is to induce the experience. The rest will take care of itself.
For the Reader The reader will find it a most valuable undertaking to
examine the extent to which the technique of inducing-an 
 74 INFLUENCING HUMAN BEHAVIOR Look At Your
Audience One of the first rules for all public speaking should be :
look at your audience. There is something finely subtle about this
which is very often missed by speakers. Quite often a speaker's face
is conventionally turned towards his audience; but if one is in the
audience oneself, one has the feeling that the speaker is not really
looking at him. The speaker is only looking towards him. Therein lies
a world of difference. For it is only when the speaker looks directly
at his audience that the invisible wall between him and his audience
falls away. Until that wall falls away, the speaker is relatively
ineffective. What do we mean by the difference between "looking at"
and "looking towards?" It was implied in what we said a moment
ago. He who thinks of his audience inevitably looks at them. He who
thinks solely of himself or of his own subject-matter, inevitably has
the focus of his attention turned away from his audience. We, in the
audience, may not be able to express it; but what we subtly feel is
that the speaker is distant, apart, aloof. Or we express it by referring
to the invisible wall. Let us recall again the technique mentioned in
the first chapter — the homeogenic technique. Like begets like. If
we are interested in our audience there is a likelihood that our
audience will be interested in us. If we scowl at our audience, there
is every likelihood that inwardly or outwardly they will scowl at us. If
we are timid and rather flustered, they likewise will lack confidence
in us. If we are brazen and boastful, they will react with their own
selfprotective egoism. Even before we speak, very often, we are
condemned or approved. There is every reason there 
 PSYCHOLOGY OF SPEAKING 75 fore that we should make
certain that our attitude is such as to elicit warm response. Finding
the Audience's Interest If, now, we are interested in our audience,
we shall take our first step in the right direction : we shall say
something, or suggest something that interests them. The tendency
of a great many speakers is to say something that interests
themselves, with the hope, perhaps, that what interests themselves
will interest their audience. Parents and teachers are star performers
at this. Science lecturers often display this trait to perfection. Now it
is true that unless we are thoroughly absorbed in what we wish to
say, unless we can convey to our audience the feeling that we really
intend it all and believe in it, we shall not get far. Nevertheless,
complete absorption in one's subject and complete belief in its value,
while indispensable, are not always sufficient. We recall here the
psychological rule that there must always be an element of the
familiar in the unfamiliar or the latter makes no appeal. Translated
into terms of what we are now considering, we may say that unless
the speaker in some way ties up the thing that interests him with
what interests his audience he fails to secure alert and fruitful
attention. Hence the speaker might well ask himself: is there
anything in what I wish to say that is of interest to this particular
audience? If, before launching out, he asks himself that question,
and seeks for a specific answer, he is far likelier to discover the
successful point of first approach to his audience than if he simply
goes ahead unloading his ideas.
 74 INFLUENCING HUMAN BEHAVIOR Look At Your
Audience One of the first rules for all public speaking should be: look
at your audience. There is something finely subtle about this which
is very often missed by speakers. Quite often a speaker's face is
conventionally turned towards his audience; but if one is in the
audience oneself, one has the feeling that the speaker is not really
looking at him. The speaker is only looking towards him. Therein lies
a world of difference. For it is only when the speaker looks directly
at his audience that the invisible wall between him and his audience
falls away. Until that wall falls away, the speaker is relatively
ineffective. What do we mean by the difference between "looking at"
and "looking towards?" It was implied in what we said a moment
ago. He who thinks of his audience inevitably looks at them. He who
thinks solely of himself or of his own subject-matter, inevitably has
the focus of his attention turned away from his audience. We, in the
audience, may not be able to express it; but what we subtly feel is
that the speaker is distant, apart, aloof. Or we express it by referring
to the invisible wall. Let us recall again the technique mentioned in
the first chapter — the homeogenic technique. Like begets like. If
we are interested in our audience there is a likelihood that our
audience will be interested in us. If we scowl at our audience, there
is every likelihood that inwardly or outwardly they will scowl at us. If
we are timid and rather flustered, they likewise will lack confidence
in us. If we are brazen and boastful, they will react with their own
selfprotective egoism. Even before we speak, very often, we are
condemned or approved. There is every reason there