Have we not heard it said of some of our compeers in the ministry that they spoil their presentation of truth by being wordy ? Others are criticized for having an extremely lean vocabulary; while still others have their praise as public speakers sounded on the strength of their being able to find the right word for every occasion.
Diction is one's mode of expression in language. It is synonymous with both phraseology and style in public speaking; yet it differs from both. Diction applies to the choice of words to express ideas ; phraseology applies to the grouping or arrangement of words; while style deals with individual expression in the use of words. It at once becomes apparent that both phraseology and style in speaking are subsidiary to diction, for diction is the parent of the other two, and deals with one's general selection of words to express thoughts and ideas.
Diction differs widely from vocabulary. A man may possess an elaborate and commendable vocabulary ; yet with it all he may be a dismal, dreary speaker. Unless he has a deficient voice which mars his best efforts, it will usually be found, upon close scrutiny, that the trouble is he does not know how to use the great store of words he has in reserve. He may use feeble words when attempting to express a great idea. Realizing this deficiency, he may try to make amends by shoutinc, and intensity. The result is that the ears of the hearers are perhaps vastly impressed, but the thought escapes their hearts, and the intended impression glances off their minds.
A speaker may use a strong, gripping word where a plain, average word would be better. The result is distressing, for the thought of the hearer is diverted from the speaker's general theme and focused upon the strangely intruding word. When continuity of interest is broken, it can rarely be picked up again. Like spilled quicksilver, it can seldom be gathered up.
"The right word at the right time in the right place," is a motto that should hang over every minister's study desk. There is nothing more beautiful in public speaking than the mastery of words. Perhaps nothing is so annoying as the wrong use of words in expressing ideas. The average audience is usually inclined to be gracious toward a public speaker, overlooking physical handicaps and deformities, tolerating a voice that is far too shrill or discouragingly flat, and stammering and lisping to a moderate extent. They will also tolerate a speaker's eccentricities in dress, bear with irritating mannerisms that should have been eliminated, and with misplaced gestures. All this they will patiently endure, if only the speaker has the art of using words effectively. His listeners may even become so engrossed in his message that impediments and failures of one kind or another may be entirely forgotten for the moment.
What the brush is to the artist, what the pen is to the writer, what the sledge is to the smith, what the saw is to the carpenter, what the plow is to the farmer—that is what words are to the speaker. Without well-chosen words, rightly placed, a speech or a sermon becomes a dry, parched field to which the speaker takes his listeners for an hour of tedious wandering. But through the use of words which grip the imagination, the desert wastes assume a bright aspect. The paths become lined with scented flowers, and the very air vibrates with the music of birds. Oppressive heat and tedium are removed, and the listeners advance from one oasis to another as the speech advances from point to point.
The effective minister will skill himself in the apt use of words. It is said that one day a young minister called upon the great White-field. Upon being ushered into his study, the visitor was greatly amazed to find the famed preacher on his hands and knees on the floor, earnestly peering into an open book. All about the room were open books. There were books on the floor in a circle about him, and open books on every chair in the room. His study table was also strewn with a profusion of open volumes. The great divine excused himself, and, upon arising, explained that he had simply been looking for the right word to use at a certain point in one of his sermons. The young minister went home understanding in part what lay back of this preacher's amazing power. He knew one of the reasons why this great man swept through his parish like a flame of fire, why sinners trembled at his word, why saints hung upon his every sentence.
When DeWitt Talmage, the great Brooklyn preacher, was at the peak of his fame, a delegation of men called upon him at his home to learn what he considered the chief contribution to his amazing diction and beauty of expression. His answer was brief and startling. "Gentlemen, the reading of good poetry is my hobby. I cannot long fly with those gentle birds without learning their warble." The following lines from this great prince of ministers will perhaps illustrate what a beautifying effect his habit of walking with the poets had upon his diction.
"God has promised to take care of us. The Bible blooms with assurance. Your hunger will be fed ; your sickness will be alleviated ; your sorrow will be healed. God will sandal your feet and smooth your path, and along by frowning crag and opening grave, sound the voices of victory and good cheer. The summer clouds that seem thunder charged really carry in their bosom harvests of wheat, and shocks of corn, and vineyards purpling for the wine press. Your way may wind along dangerous bridle paths and amid wolf's howl and the scream of the vulture; but the way still winds upward till angels guard it, and trees of life overarch it, and thrones line it, and crystalline fountains leap on it, and the pathway ends at gates that are pearl, and streets that are gold, and temples that are always open, and hills that quake with perpetual song, and a city mingling forever Sabbath and jubilee and triumph and coronation"—"Trumpet Blasts," p. 479.
Another strong contributor to good diction in public speaking is the well-nigh lost art of meditation. The minister, who, after drafting his sermon, takes the pains carefully to think through his subject, will invariably double that sermon's effectiveness. With meditation comes ready utterance, and the play of apt and appropriate words for the occasion. An audience invariably knows by his diction a man who extemporizes profusely in his preaching. Even a child will detect his verbal shallowness. It is said of Henry Ward Beecher that his favorite way of preparing a sermon was to find his subject, then repair to the seclusion of his farm in the country, and there, as he quaintly put it, "stay quiet and let the cream rise."
Another method of improving one's diction in public speaking lies in building up one's vocabulary. Certain it is that if we do not possess a great treasury of words, we cannot draw from it in time of need. Once words are mastered, their correct and effective use will generally follow. Daniel Webster, in the heyday of his power as the nation's mightiest orator, would pore for hours over a common dictionary, patiently rehearsing the use of words new to him, and adding to his already great stock of words. Every new word absorbed and retained is another cartridge added to one's belt of verbal ammunition.
One man has said that a successful preacher must be able to make a rose out of a dry stick. He must be able to take dry, barren wastes and make them gush with fountains. He must be able to take palling silences and make them vibrate with melodious sound. He must be able to change the bitterness of tears into the priceless balm of peace. Needless to say, the right and effective use of words is the primary medium of accomplishing these great transformations.
