Chapter II

PREREQUISITES—INTELLECTUAL COMPETENCY—STRENGTH OF BODY—COMMAND OF
LANGUAGE—COURAGE—FIRMNESS.

Almost every speaker has at some time longed to obtain the golden power of eloquence. It always insures to its fortunate possessor a strong influence in the affairs of men. It is needed in the promotion of every reform, and is the only means by which the minds of a community can be at once moved in a new direction. When employed in the service of error and injustice it is like a fallen archangel’s power for evil. But its highest and purest sphere is in the promulgation of revealed truth. It there brings the word of God into living contact with the souls of men, and by it molds them into a higher life. It is sublime to be a co-worker with God, and thus assist him in peopling heaven.

Only the method of eloquence can be taught. Its refined and ethereal substance lies beyond the reach of all art. No preacher can be truly eloquent without the baptism of the Holy Spirit, and even the excited passion and burning enthusiasm which are the human sources of this quality, can be acquired by no formularies. But they may be developed and properly directed where a capability for them exists. In this respect there is the widest difference of talent. Some men never can attain the wondrous power of swaying their fellow-beings. Others are born orators. The latter class is small, and it is never safe to conclude that we belong to it until the fact has been incontestably proved. Neither is the class of incapables very large. The great mass of men lie between the extremes. Their talents do not make them great in spite of themselves; but if they make the proper effort, and are favored by circumstances, they may become effective, and even eloquent speakers. To these it is of great importance to have the right road pointed out, along which they may travel, and by earnest toil gain the desired end. There is no “royal road” to eloquence, but here, as elsewhere, application and study will produce their proper effects. Yet certain prerequisites must be received from God himself, without which all cultivation will be vain as the attempt to fertilize the sands of the seashore.

The first quality to which we will refer, is intellectual competency. By this, we mean a strength of intellect that can grasp an idea, and form a complete image of it; one who is not able to think out a subject in its leading features, cannot speak on it, and if the deficiency be general, he is unfitted to speak in public at all. We would not assert that none but men of commanding intelligence can profitably address their fellow-beings. It is not even necessary that the orator should be above the average of mental power possessed by his audience. Franklin was entranced by the preaching of Whitefield, though in grasp and compass of mind almost infinitely his superior. A man of comparative dullness may, by brooding over a particular subject, so master it, that the greatest intellect will listen to him with reverence and profit. The great German poet, Goethe, said that he met few men from whom he did not learn something valuable. But no man ought to address the people unless he can clearly comprehend the nature of his subject, mark out its limitations, understand its relations to other subjects, and so arrange and simplify it as to convey these ideas to his hearers. The Christian minister has to deal with a great variety of topics, and requires mind enough to grasp not one only, but many subjects.

It is hard to determine just how much mental power is required to secure a moderate degree of success as an orator. No precise rules can be given on this point, and if they could, egotism would prevent each from applying them to himself however correctly he might gauge his neighbor. The presumptuous would do well to remember that oratory is the highest of all arts, and to measure themselves with becoming humility; perhaps the following questions may aid in self-examination. Can you grasp an idea firmly? can you follow its ramifications, perceive its shades of meaning, and render it familiar in all its bearings? Can you analyze it clearly, so that each separate part will be understood by itself, and then again link these together and make each serve as a stepping-stone to the comprehension of that which follows? If you can do this with a single subject, you have the mental power to speak on that subject; if on all, or many of the subjects of the Christian religion, vast and varied as they are, you can preach. No deficiency of intellectual power or originality need dishearten you.

The fact of the close and mutual influence of body and mind is beyond dispute, although their connection is a subject of deep mystery. When we see how much the faculties of reason and imagination—nay, even of hope, love, and faith—are affected by bodily conditions, we can only exclaim with the Psalmist, “I am fearfully and wonderfully made.” Especially is this mutual dependence forced upon the attention of the extempore speaker. In every effort he feels the subtle effect of physical causes, and often under the pressure of disease, strives in vain to realize the grand but intangible thoughts that float through his brain. The body is the instrument of the mind in its communication with the outward world, and even if the most sublime and glorious conceptions existed within, they would be powerless if the bodily organs were unequal to the task of expressing them.

A dumb man cannot be an orator, no matter how richly endowed; and all other bodily defects will be felt as hindrances even if they fall short of the deprivation of an organ of sense. The preacher needs to be a completely developed man physically, as well as mentally, though he may succeed in spite of many disadvantages. Feeble health will always detract from his power. The mind may for a time rise superior to it, but a crushing recoil will follow. This takes place when the ill-health is not extreme; but when it fetters the ability of expression, and prevents the manifestation of living power, the barrier is absolute. Many ministers utterly fail, because they forget that eloquence is the offspring of health; others, perhaps, still more unfortunate have battled against disease and bodily infirmity for years, and yet have been doomed to feel, amid their brightest aspirations, that a power beyond their control was conquering them. It is terrible to sit helpless, and see a cloud stealing over the brightness of genius, and shading the whole future of life. Yet this has been the experience of thousands. We remember an impressive illustration of this in the case of one who possessed the richest endowments. He was almost unequaled as a pulpit orator, yet, in the middle of life, saw his powers of usefulness withdrawn, and his fame fading—only because his body could not bear the strain he unwisely put upon it.

In view of the many facts of this kind, it would be well for the man who aspires to eminence in the fields of eloquence, to examine himself, and see if he have the needed physical strength. With some the incapacity is no doubt total. How many ministers have had their light turned into darkness by a diseased throat, a cerebral affection, or a nervous disorder? But the majority of men only need care and obedience to the laws of life to bring their bodies up to the standard of efficiency. In youth, at least, there is nothing so easily improved as health. By the golden rule of temperance in all things—in voice and thought, as well as food and drink—nearly all may render the body adequate to the manifestation of mind.

To an orator, the power of readily clothing his thoughts in words is indispensable. Language is the dress of ideas—the means by which they are communicated to others. The thoughts that arise in our minds resolve themselves into words as naturally as the clouds do into falling showers. We use words to some degree in our most secret meditations, and whenever the latter become clear and well defined they fall into language without conscious effort. To cause them to do this with precision and certainty is one of the problems of extempore speech. The thought is prepared in advance, but is to be coined into words at the moment. If the faculty of language is weak this cannot be done without such hesitation and embarrassment as greatly to diminish the effect; but if strong, a tide of words will be poured forth without apparent effort. Even in common conversation, a wide difference in point of fluency may be observed. In fact, it was this which gave Gall the first hint that led to the establishment of Phrenology.

No doubt this faculty may be greatly cultivated and improved, but when its original strength is very small, it can not, probably, be made available for ready and powerful speech. There are persons whose voices seem to have no defect, who cannot learn to sing; others, with eyes perfectly organized, are unable to distinguish between colors. The power of language may be equally deficient in an otherwise well-constituted mind. We once knew a man who could not find the words necessary to make the most common statement without long and embarrassed pauses. He forgot the names of his nearest neighbors; and, when telling a story, required perpetual prompting wherever names occurred, and would often hesitate until some every-day term was suggested to him. No cultivation would have made him a speaker. He had as much education as his neighbors around, and was not remarkably dull. He was simply an almost wordless man. Many persons suffer in the same manner, though but few to the same degree.

But the mere fact that a man is slow of speech is no bar even to the highest eminence as an orator. The proper test of the power of this faculty is in common conversation. There one feels perfectly at ease, and deals with matters he understands. If he have but a moderate share of fluency, he will have no difficulty in conveying his ideas. But if he does experience such difficulty, it shows a radical defect which art can never remove. But we should not be discouraged if it is hard to find appropriate words when speaking on unfamiliar subjects, for we cannot have words to express ideas before possessing the ideas themselves!

Those who are deficient in language, but have strong powers of thought, are almost the only persons who really find relief in writing and reading their sermons. If they have time to wait, the right word may come to them, or they can search through dictionaries for it; but in the hurry of speech there is no such leisure for selection. They have some excuse for writing, though it will still be questionable whether it would not be better for them to dash ahead with the loss of some precision, or if this cannot be done, abandon altogether a profession for which they are so obviously unfitted.

A man must have a degree of courage to place himself within reach of any danger, and remain there. If he be destitute of it, he will resign the hope of victory rather than encounter the perils by which it may be won. It is needed in extempore speaking as well as in any species of physical danger, for the perils to be encountered are not less terrible. To some sensitive minds these even amount to a species of martyrdom. They go to the desk trembling in every limb, and would feel wonderfully relieved if they could exchange their position for the tented field, where the warfare would be of the body only, and not of the spirit. Some of the greatest orators have never been able to entirely overcome this feeling, although they may have been free from the fear of failure.

But it is difficult to be perfectly assured even against failure. “There is nothing so fitful as eloquence,” says the Abbe Bautain, who was well qualified to judge. The practiced and prepared orator does not often dread losing command of words altogether, and being obliged to close before the proper time, but fears that his rich and glowing conceptions may fade, and his high ideal be unattained.

Mere boldness does not suffice to protect a speaker from these dangers. Of what avail is a man’s courage if his brain be clouded and his tongue paralyzed? He cannot brave the consequences, for the power of ridicule is too keen for any armor—at least when it comes in such a concentrated volume as falls on the head of the unfortunate speaker who can not finish what he has begun. At such a time the boaster’s fate is worst of all; for, while others are pitied, he is crushed beneath the scorn and triumph of his audience. There is no positive guard against failure. Public speaking is a modern battle, in which the most skillful warrior may be stricken down by a random bullet—the bravest slain by a coward!

What then is the benefit of courage? We have placed it in the list of essential qualities, and believe the orator cannot succeed without it. It does not operate by rendering failure impossible, or even materially reducing the risk, but by enabling us to endure all danger and press on. Bonaparte said that most generals failed in one point—they delayed to attack when it became necessary to fight a great battle. The issue was so uncertain—so far beyond the reach of human wisdom—that they hesitated and deliberated until the favorable moment had passed forever. In war this timid policy courts destruction, by permitting the adversary to choose his own time to strike. The same principle governs in other affairs. The risk must be taken. A man of courage derives new lessons from his failures, and makes them the introduction to future triumphs. Especially in the field of oratory is there no possibility of success, if this indomitable, persevering spirit be wanting. Many persons of excellent talents have been condemned to perpetual silence, because they would not endure the perils of speech. Men who have instructed the world by their pens, and in the privacy of the social circle have charmed their friends by the magic of their conversation, have never spoken in public because they shrunk from the inevitable hazard. There is no difficulty in determining whether we possess this quality or not. Let the trial be made, and if we do not abandon our posts and incur disgrace rather than speak, we have all the boldness that is needed.

The quality of firmness in oratory is sometimes undervalued. While steady, persevering industry, working toward a definite end, is known to be essential in everything else, in this field genius is often supposed to be sufficient. There never was a greater mistake. Nature does lay the foundation broad and deep for some men, but they must build diligently upon it to make their gifts availing. The way to eminence, even for the favored few, is long and hard, requiring deep thought and earnest striving, and without a strong purpose fixed in the very beginning, and firmly adhered to through years of labor, there is slight chance of success. A few persons have risen to eminence without appearing to pay the price for it, but such exceptions are more apparent than real. There are times of great excitement, when some one before unknown is able to speak so as to fix the eyes of the nation upon himself, but unless he has been previously prepared, and continues to put forth resolute effort, his success is but transitory.

The career of Patrick Henry is adduced as an instance of success without labor. He had little education in the schools, but learned much from Nature herself. His observation was tireless. It is said, that when he kept a country store, he would sit and question his customers by the hour, causing them to display their various dispositions. He was thus learning to play upon the human heart, and as this was only one manifestation of a ruling passion, it doubtless took a hundred other forms. When on those long hunting excursions in the beautiful valley of Virginia, how many deep and ineffaceable impressions must have been made on his mind. He had a peerless genius, yet all we can learn of him leads us to believe that he cultivated it to the utmost, at least as applied to oratory.

The familiar examples of Demosthenes and Cicero are not solitary ones. All who have acquired the power of effective speech have toiled long and patiently. The poor, weak waverer can never be an orator in the highest sense of the term, however he may, on special occasions, flash into momentary brilliancy. And as the minister of the Gospel must cultivate the most difficult field of eloquence, we advise no one to attempt preaching who is not conscious of a strong, unchangeable purpose—a purpose that will bear delay, discouragement and weary waiting.

Of course, the nature of all the results obtained through our firmness will depend on the direction of our efforts. If personal ambition, or pecuniary profit be the object toward which we bend our energies, the grand and holy character of the Christian ministry will be lost sight of. But let our aim be unselfish, and our success will be pure and noble.

To him who has a mind to conceive, a body with strength to execute, language to coin the mass of thoughts into words, courage to bear the scrutiny of a thousand eyes, and firmness that will endure the toil of preparation—to him the upward pathway is clear. He may not win great fame, but he will be able to present the truth in its native beauty, and make his words fall with weight and power on the hearts of men.