I am still holding my ground against Ford Harding.  We have been debating the relative merits of raising FUD (fear, uncertainty, and doubt) in persuasive arguments, or GOG (greed, opportunity, and glory.)

For previous exchanges, please click on Fud, Gog, Ethics and Rhetoric and Fud in Public Speaking and Persuasion

Ford seems to think that GOG is better than FUD.  I think they work together, and that one is not better than the other.

I follow what the ancient Greeks taught.  Aristotle taught that speakers need to make three types of arguments in order to be persuasive.

The first is the ethical appeal:  you argue that you are a trustworthy source of information.  You do this by casually referencing your experience or expertise, and perhaps with some self-effacing humor.

The second is the intellectual appeal.  You argue by stating your point and then proving it with reasoning and facts, or you present your facts and reasoning and then conclude with your point.

The third type of argument is the emotional appeal.  You try, through stories, or humor, to arouse an emotion in your listeners.

Cicero, the great Roman statesman, thought the emotional appeal was the most important.  He said, “…tickling and soothing anxieties is the test of a speaker’s impact and technique.”

Ford, please note that he said, “… tickling AND soothing anxieties,” and Cicero was no slouch as a speaker.  He knew what he was talking about.  He seems to be saying that whenever we propose to an audience that they make a decision, we should bring up the pros and cons.

For instance, you might say that if the listeners don’t do what you recommend, A, B, C and D are the negative consequences they might expect.  However, if they decide to do what you suggest, you would argue that they could enjoy X, Y, and Z.

I’m sure I don’t have to remind you, or anyone, that your reasoning should be fair and balanced.  Using FUD or GOG is ethically neutral.  One is not more virtuous or ethical than the other.  It is not our technique that makes us unethical, but our intention.

And by the way, most speeches, articles, plays, novels, and movies are structured in the same way.  They single out a problem, consider its implications, and explore solutions.

Humans like problems because problems resemble puzzles, and we love puzzles.  We derive great pleasure from solving them, and grow as a result.

FUD gets our attention on the problem.  GOG drives us toward a solution.

They are the one-two punch of human growth and accomplishment.

FUD is Fear, Uncertainty and Doubt.  I first heard the term when consulting at Gartner.  I was working with the analysts in preparing for a Gartner Symposium, and several of them used FUD at the start of their talks to engage the listeners on an emotional level.

For instance, they might have said, “While e-mail may be the killer-app of first generation internet programs, it could very well become the mass murderer of the second generation as it hurls armies of hackers, worms, viruses and spam against the the gates of your corporate security infrastructure.”

I made that up.  But something like that.

Fear-based arguments are common and valid, in my experience.  Our lives are built around the fear of pain and the hope of gain.  Every story we have ever enjoyed in novel, play, film, or ballad is about a person who had a problem (and had FUD) and struggled to make it go away.

In fact, FUD is what makes drama dramatic.  If we don’t have FUD when the pretty young thing all alone in the house on a dark and stormy night hears a sound downstairs and gets out of bed in her nightgown to see what’s happening, then the story doesn’t work.

We have to care about the girl, and we have to be afraid that something might jump out of the closet, hatchet raised.

What if a CIO heard a noise in the middle of the night, and it was her phone, and she heard that a hacker had broken through her security system at work, the one she touted and convinced the company to buy, and she had to get dressed and drive into headquarters and face the embarrassment of a crisis that higher-ups were likely to blame on her?

Those CIOs in the audience listening to the Gartner analysts are human beings motivated by the same things that everyone else is motivated by–the fear of loss, and the hope of gain.  I’m not a CIO, but if I were, I’d be worried about making bad decisions, not looking good when my systems aren’t successful, spending too much, spending too little, and taking too much time to get things done.

We know that humans are interested in their own problems.  We talk about our problems most of the time.  They’re  number one in the conversation hit parade.  If we talk to our listeners about their problems, they are much more likely to listen.  If we demonstrate a firm grasp of their problems, and the consequences for them if they don’t solve the problems, they are more likely to respect us and trust us.  So reminding them of their problems might not be a bad strategy.

There is evidence in social science that it is not wise to use FUD arguments on people who are already in a state of high anxiety.  But there is also evidence that we retain and value information when it is linked to our emotions–any emotions, positive or negative.

Consulting is based on problem solving (i.e., the removal of FUD.)  Philosophy is built around problem solving.   Politics likewise.  For the client, the voter, the audience, beyond the FUD is a vision of a new and better reality.  But our credibility as speakers depends largely on defining, in vivid and human terms, the problem that your content solves.

Let’s not be afraid of FUD.  Used appropriately, FUD can turn a dry information dump into a compelling story about a person, a product, a department, or a company that prevents disaster and saves the day.

People make fun of engineers–ribbing them for their introversion and poor communication skills.  I don’t feel that way.  Whenever I work with them on their speaking skills, I find them to be eager and open to new ideas.  When I give them a process to follow, they try to make it work, and generally they succeed.

I recently worked with a chief engineer on an elaborate and complex presentation of a global HR initiative that would have significant impact on the careers of all the engineers in his company.

When we met, the presentation was long, and all about the features of the program.  The slides were also crawling with bullet points.  When we finished, it was about one-third as long and not a bullet point in sight.

How did we do this?  We changed the structure of his talk from all about the new HR initiative to all about what the HR initiative could do for the engineers.

Within that structure, we described the features of the program, but only after we had built an emotional reason for taking an interest in it.

The emotional reasons were that the old one was vague, overly-comlex, rigid, and unfair–while the new one put them in the drivers seat, gave them the keys to their career, and a road map to the position of their choice.

So not only did we emotionalize content that could have been very dry, but we made the benefits concrete by using the metaphor of being in the driver’s seat.  Plus, we had a great picture of a young woman sitting in a brand-new car being handed the keys and smiling from ear to ear.

Words and pictures.  Much better than words alone.

Last week I went to the third and last day of a meeting for engineers.  After lunch, one of their senior leaders stood up and summarized every presentation they had experienced during the past three days.  As he began to speak about each presentation, he put up a new slide, and each slide was a beautiful photograph of a bridge.

London Bridge, Pont Neuf in Paris, that famous bridge in Venice I can’t remember the name of–and the George Washington Bridge, lit up with a thousand lights strung along its spans in the dark.

I liked the images, but I spent time staring at them and wondering what they meant.  Were they meant to say that he was “bridging” back to previous content in the meeting?  Or was he bridging from “Engineering” content to the upcoming presenter who was about to speak on the subject of Emotional Intelligence?

Then he added another layer of complexity to the experience by linking the lyrics of songs to each of the bridges.  Apparently he could recall the lyrics of popular songs with ease, and he would recite, say, a few lines of “Bridge over troubled waters” as the picture of the George Washington bridge appeared with the now destroyed World Trade Center in the background.

At last he announced the subject to be addressed by the next speaker, and he showed a picture of his young blond son in his shiny blue soccer uniform running at full tilt after a ball.  He spoke about his experience as a father attending his son’s games–how many other parents witnessed the entire event from behind a “chunk of plastic and wires.”  And with that, he put his hand up to his face as though he were holding a small video camera.

I felt a sensation in my body begin to move into my chest.  Because he then said that those who watched the game from behind a camera could not easily jump up with joy when their child scored their first goal, or run out onto the field to join the team as they embraced their hero, or participate head, heart and hands in the support of the team.

Nor can a camera man quickly respond when his son is injured, he said, or be the first one at his side, or engage with the other parents, or enjoy the animal spirit of competition.

“That’s my view on emotional intelligence,” he said.  Then he introduced the speaker.

He spoke with such earnestness and authenticity that I was truly moved–literally moved–because something moved through me.  Perhaps because of his previous dullness I was jolted by his sudden authenticity, but something happened in that room full of 250 engineers.  The man changed the atmosphere by speaking with real emotion.  It was palpable.  He bent the air.

Here’s the thing.  I don’t remember a thing he said about the umpteen presentations he recalled for us.  I only remember the images, the stories, and how I felt.

Makes me wonder about the 50,000 or more intelligent PowerPoint presentations delivered every day in the meeting rooms of America.  How long did it take to create them?  How much did it cost?  And just what is the ROI–The Return on Intelligence–when there is little imagery, and no emotion?

My sun sign is Libra–the scales.  Whether my need for balance derives from the accident of my birth, or my experience as a speech coach is hard to say.  But from where I sit, most presenters are out of balance.

We have too much substance, and not enough style.  Too much anxiety, not enough expression.  Too many slides, not enough imagery.  Too much abstraction, not enough concretion.  Too much masking, not enough connection.  We have data, data everywhere, and not a thought to think.

Balance is the preferred human condition. We need physical balance to walk and run, but we also need balance in our faculties and judgment–a well-rounded mixture of imagination, reason, feeling and will.

We seek work-life balance, a balanced checkbook, a balanced diet.  To say a man is unbalanced is to say he’s unreliable, inconsistent, even dangerous.  When a company can’t balance its books, it’s in trouble.

Yet when we present to those who are critical to our success–high stakes presentations–we are out of balance.

And when out of balance, we have less ability to bring our ideas to life–and thus we lose influence and persuasive power.

Classical Greek rhetoric tells us that we need to appeal to our listeners in three ways:

1. We need Ethos–an ethical appeal.  We need to convince the audience that we are a trustworthy and reliable source of information. We can accomplish this with our resumes, our reputation, a good introduction from a reputable person, a distinguished title appearing after our name on the first slide, and by being known by the audience.  We can also build our ethical appeal by speaking with confidence, by demonstrating that we are well prepared for the occasion, and by speaking to the audience as an equal–neither speaking down to them, or appearing intimidated.  Good manners are also effective–civility is inherently persuasive. In court, male defendants tend to do better dressed in suits and ties rather than orange jump-suits.
2. We need Logos–intellectual appeal.  We need to have our ideas in marching order–to advance our propositions and defend them with reasons, information, and data.  This is what most of us are good at–we are LOIs: Logos-oriented individuals.  Logos is frequently necessary for persuasion, but hardly ever sufficient.
3. Finally, we need Pathos–emotional appeal.  We get the word empathy from pathos.  We need to know why our listeners should care about what we have to say, and we must remind them diplomatically why they should listen.  Every audience lives on an island of its own interests, and we will get voted off the island if we don’t convince them that it’s in their interest to listen.

Most of us spend a disproportionate amount of time on the logos part of the equation, and fail to invest enough effort in making our talks more appealing–ethically and emotionally.  Perhaps we think that our good intentions will make our content speak for itself.

I’ve heard this called The Curse of Knowledge–the belief that since you know your subject cold, your audience will find it both clear and fascinating.

They won’t.  We need to balance our expertise with a considered approach to the social and pyschological needs of our listeners.