An extract Clarence Stratton’s Public Speaking (1920) that explains why a strong conclusion is critical for your presentation.
Preparing the conclusion. No architect would attempt to plan a building unless he knew the purpose for which it was to be used. No writer of a story would start to put down words until he knew exactly how his story was to end. He must plan to bring about a certain conclusion. The hero and heroine must be united in marriage. The scheming villain must be brought to justice. Or if he scorn the usual ending of the “lived happily ever after” kind of fiction, he can plan to kill his hero and heroine, or both; or he can decide for once that his story shall be more like real life than is usually the case, and have wickedness triumph over virtue. Whatever he elects to do at the conclusion of his story, whether it be long or short, the principle of his planning is the same—he must know what he is going to do and adequately prepare for it during the course of, previous events.
One other thing every writer must secure. The ending of a book must be the most interesting part of it. It must rise highest in interest. It must be surest of appeal. Otherwise the author runs the risk of not having people read his book through to its conclusion, and as every book is written in the hope and expectation that it will be read through, a book which fails to hold the attention of its readers defeats its own purpose.
The foregoing statements are self-evident but they are set down because their underlying principles can be transferred to a consideration of the preparation of conclusions for speeches.
Is a conclusion necessary?
But before we use them let us ask whether all speeches require conclusions.
There are some people—thoughtless, if nothing worse—who habitually end letters by adding some such expression as “Having nothing more to say, I shall now close.” Is there any sense in writing such a sentence? If the letter comes only so far and the signature follows, do not those items indicate that the writer has nothing more to say and is actually closing? Why then, when a speaker has said all he has to say, should he not simply stop and sit down? Will that not indicate quite clearly that he has finished his speech? What effect would such an ending have?
In the first place the speaker runs the risk of appearing at least discourteous, if not actually rude, to his audience. To fling his material at them, then to leave it so, would impress men and women much as the brusque exit from a group of people in a room would or the slamming of a door of an office.
In the second place the speaker runs the graver risk of not making clear and emphatic the purpose of his speech. He may have been quite plain and effective during the course of his explanation or argument but an audience hears a speech only once. Can he trust to their recollection of what he has tried to impress upon them? Will they carry away exactly what he wants them to retain? Has he made the main topics, the chief aim, stand out prominently enough? Can he merely stop speaking? These are quite important aspects of a grave responsibility.
In the third place—though this may be considered less important than the preceding—the speaker gives the impression that he has not actually “finished” his speech. No one cares for unfinished articles, whether they be dishes of food, pieces of furniture, poems, or speeches. Without unduly stressing the fact that a speech is a carefully organized and constructed product, it may be stated that it is always a profitable effort to try to round off your remarks. A good conclusion gives an impression of completeness, of an effective product. Audiences are delicately susceptible to these impressions.
Twenty-two centuries ago Aristotle, in criticizing Greek oratory, declared that the first purpose of the conclusion was to conciliate the audience in favor of the speaker. As human nature has not changed much in the ages since, the statement still holds true.
Speakers, then, should provide conclusions for all their speeches.
Although the entire matter of planning the speech belongs to a later chapter some facts concerning it as they relate to the conclusion must be set down here.
Relation of the conclusion to the speech
The conclusion should reflect the purpose of the speech. It should enforce the reason for the delivery of the speech. As it emphasizes the purpose of the speech it should be in the speaker’s mind before he begins to plan the development of his remarks. It should be kept constantly in his mind as he delivers his material. A train from Chicago bound for New York is not allowed to turn off on all the switches it meets in its journey. A speaker who wants to secure from a jury a verdict for damages from a traction company does not discuss presidential candidates. He works towards his conclusion. A legislator who wants votes to pass a bill makes his conclusion and his speech conform to that purpose. In all likelihood, his conclusion plainly asks for the votes he has been proving that his fellow legislators should cast. A school principal pleading with boys to stop gambling knows that his conclusion is going to be a call for a showing of hands to pledge support of his recommendations. A labor agitator knows that his conclusion is going to be an appeal to a sense of class prejudice, so he speaks with that continually in mind. An efficiency expert in shop management knows that his conclusion is going to enforce the saving in damages for injury by accident if a scheme of safety devices be installed, so he speaks with that conclusion constantly in his mind. In court the prosecuting attorney tells in his introduction exactly what he intends to prove. His conclusion shows that he has proved what he announced.
One is tempted to say that the test of a good speech, a well-prepared speech, is its conclusion. How many times one hears a speaker floundering along trying to do something, rambling about, making no impression, not advancing a pace, and then later receives from the unfortunate the confession, “I wanted to stop but I didn’t know how to do it.” No conclusion had been prepared beforehand. It is quite as disturbing to hear a speaker pass beyond the place where he could have made a good conclusion. If he realizes this he slips into the state of the first speaker described in this paragraph. If he does not realize when he reaches a good conclusion he talks too long and weakens the effect by stopping on a lower plane than he has already reached. This fault corresponds to the story teller whose book drops in interest at the end. The son of a minister was asked whether his father’s sermon the previous Sunday had-not had some good points in it. The boy replied, “Yes, three good points where he should have stopped.”
Length of the conclusion
It must not be inferred from anything here stated concerning the importance of the conclusion that it need be long. A good rule for the length of the conclusion is the same rule that applies to the length of the introduction. It should be just long enough to do best what it is intended to do. As in the case of the introduction, so for the conclusion, the shorter the better, if consistent with clearness and effect. If either introduction or conclusion must deliberately be reduced the conclusion will stand the most compression. A conclusion will frequently fail of its effect if it is so long that the audience anticipates its main points. It fails if it is so long that it adds nothing of clearness or emphasis to the speech itself. It will end by boring if it is too long for the importance of its material. It will often produce a deeper, more lasting impression by its very conciseness. Brevity is the soul of more than mere humor. A brief remark will cut deeper than a long involved sentence. The speaker who had shown that the recent great war fails unless the reconstruction to be accomplished is worthy needed no more involved conclusion than the statement, “It is what we do tomorrow that will justify what we did yesterday.”
Coupled with this matter of effect is the length of the speech itself. Short speeches are likely to require only short conclusions. Long speeches more naturally require longer conclusions.
Consider the following conclusions. Comment upon them. It would be interesting to try to decide the length of the speeches from which they are taken, then look at the originals, all of which are easily procurable at libraries.
“That is in substance my theory of what our foreign policy should be. Let us not boast, not insult any one, but make up our minds coolly what it is necesary to say, say it, and then stand to it, whatever the consequences may be.” —Theodore Roosevelt at Waukesha, 1903
The foregoing is quite matter-of-fact. It contains no emotional appeal at all. Yet even a strong emotional feeling can be put into a short conclusion. From the date and the circumstances surrounding the next the reader can easily picture for himself the intense emotion of the audience which listened to these words from the leader of the free states against the South.
“Neither let us be slandered from our duty by false accusations against us, nor frightened from it by menaces of destruction to the government, nor of dungeons to ourselves. Let us have faith that right makes might, and in that faith let us to the end dare to do our duty as we understand it.” —Abraham Lincoln: Cooper Union Speech, 1860
While the student planning his own speech must determine exactly what he shall put into his conclusion—depending always upon his material and his purpose—there are a few general hints which will help him.
The retrospective conclusion.
A conclusion may be entirely retrospective. This means merely that it may refer back to the remarks which have been delivered in the body of the speech. A speaker does this to emphasize something he has already discussed by pointing out to his audience that he wants them to remember that from what he has said. Conclusions of this kind usually have no emotional appeal. They are likely to be found in explanatory addresses, where the clearness of the exposition should make hearers accept it as true. If a man has proven a fact—as in a law court—he does not have to make an appeal to feeling to secure a verdict. Juries are supposed to decide on the facts alone. This kind of conclusion emphasizes, repeats, clarifies, enforces. The first of the following is a good illustration of one kind of conclusion which refers to the remarks made in the speech proper. Notice that it enforces the speaker’s opinions by a calm explanation of his sincerity.
“I want you to think of what I have said, because it represents all of the sincerity and earnestness that I have, and I say to you here, from this platform, nothing that I have not already stated in effect, and nothing I would not say at a private table with any of the biggest corporation managers in the land.” —Theodore Roosevelt at Fitchburg, 1902
The next, while it is exactly the same kind in material, adds some elements of stronger feeling. Yet in the main it also enforces the speaker’s opinion by a clear explanation of his action. From this conclusion alone we know exactly the material and purpose of the entire speech.
“Sir, I will detain you no longer. There are some parts of this bill which I highly approve; there are others in which I should acquiesce; but those to which I have now stated my objections appear to me so destitute of all justice, so burdensome and so dangerous to that interest which has steadily enriched, gallantly defended, and proudly distinguished us, that nothing can prevail upon me to give it my support.” —Daniel Webster: The Tariff, 1824
The anticipatory conclusion
Just as a conclusion may be retrospective, so it may be anticipatory. It may start from the position defined or explained or reached by the speech and look forward to what may happen, what must be done, what should be instituted, what should be changed, what votes should be cast, what punishment should be inflicted, what pardons granted. The student should make a list of all possible things in the future which could be anticipated in the conclusions of various speeches. If one will think of the purposes of most delivered speeches he will realize that this kind of conclusion is much more frequent than the previous kind as so many speeches anticipate future action or events. Dealing with entirely different topics the three following extracts illustrate this kind of conclusion. Washington was arguing against the formation of parties in the new nation, trying to avert the inevitable.
“There is an opinion that parties in free countries are useful checks upon the administration of the government, and serve to keep alive the spirit of liberty. This within certain limits is probably true; and in governments of a monarchical cast, patriotism may look with indulgence if not with favor upon the spirit of party. But in those of the popular character, in governments purely elective, it is a spirit not to be encouraged. From their natural tendency it is certain there will always be enough of that spirit for every salutary purpose. And there being constant danger of excess, the effort ought to be by force of public opinion to mitigate and assuage it. A fire not to be quenched, it demands a uniform vigilance to prevent its bursting into a flame, lest, instead of warming, it should consume.” —George Washington: Farewell Address, 1796
With the dignity and the calmness of the preceding, contrast the Biblical fervor of the next—the magnanimous program of the reuniter of a divided people.
“With malice toward none; with charity for all; with firmness in the right, as God gives us to see the right, let us strive on to finish the work we are in; to bind up the nation’s wounds; to care for him who shall have borne the battle, and for his widow and his orphan—to do all which may achieve and cherish a just and lasting peace among ourselves, and with all nations.” —Abraham Lincoln: Second Inaugural, 1865
In totally different circumstances the next conclusion was delivered, yet it bears the same aspect of anticipation. There is not a single hint in it of the material of the speech which preceded it, it takes no glance backward, it looks forward only. Its effectiveness comes from the element of leadership, that gesture of pointing the way for loyal Americans to follow.
“No nation as great as ours can expect to escape the penalty of greatness, for greatness does not come without trouble and labor. There are problems ahead of us at home and problems abroad, because such problems are incident to the working out of a great national career. We do not shrink from them. Scant is our patience with those who preach the gospel of craven weakness. No nation under the sun ever yet played a part worth playing if it feared its fate overmuch—if it did not have the courage to be great. We of America, we, the sons of a nation yet in the pride of its lusty youth, spurn the teachings of distrust, spurn the creed of failure and despair. We know that the future is ours if we have in us the manhood to grasp it, and we enter the new century girding our loins for the contest before us, rejoicing in the struggle, and resolute so to bear ourselves that the nation’s future shall even surpass her glorious past.” —Theodore Roosevelt at Philadelphia, 1902
Grave times always make men look into the future. All acts are judged and justified after they are performed. All progress depends upon this straining the vision into the darkness of the yet-to-be. Upon the eve of great struggles anticipation is always uppermost in men’s minds. In the midst of the strife it is man’s hope. In the next extract, only one sentence glances backward.
“For us there is but one choice. We have made it. Woe be to the man or group of men that seeks to stand in our way in this day of high resolution when every principle we hold dearest is to be vindicated and made secure for the salvation of the nations. We are ready to plead at the bar of history, and our flag shall wear a new luster. Once more we shall make good with our lives and fortunes the great faith to which we were born, and a new glory shall shine in the face of our people.” —Woodrow Wilson: Flag Day Address, 1917
Retrospective and anticipatory conclusion
While it does not occur so frequently as the two kinds just illustrated it is possible for a conclusion to be both retrospective and anticipatory—to look both backward and forward. The conclusion may enforce what the speech has declared or proved, then using this position as a safe starting point for a new departure, look forward and indicate what may follow or what should be done. The only danger in such an attempt is that the dual aspect may be difficult to make effective. Either one may neutralize the other. Still, a careful thinker and master of clear language may be able to carry an audience with him in such a treatment. The division in the conclusion between the backward glance and the forward vision need not be equal. Here again the effect to be made upon the audience, the purpose of the speech, must be the determining factor. Notice how the two are blended in the following conclusion from a much read commemorative oration.
“And now, friends and fellow-citizens, it is time to bring this discourse to a close.
We have indulged in gratifying recollections of the past, in the prosperity and pleasures of the present, and in high hopes for the future. But let us remember that we have duties and obligations to perform, corresponding to the blessings which we enjoy. Let us remember the trust, the sacred trust, attaching to the rich inheritance which we have received from our fathers. Let us feel our personal responsibility, to the full extent of our power and influence, for the preservation of the principles of civil and religious liberty. And let us remember that it is only religion, and morals, and knowledge, that can make men respectable, under any form of government…” —Daniel Webster: Completion of Bunker Hill Monument, 1843
Conclusions are classified in general under three headings: 1. Recapitulation; 2. Summary; 3. Peroration.
The recapitulation
The first of these—recapitulation—is exactly defined by the etymology of the word itself. Its root is Latin caput, head. So recapitulation means the repetition of the heads or main topics of a preceding discussion. Coming at the end of an important speech of some length, such a conclusion is invaluable. If the speaker has explained clearly or reasoned convincingly his audience will have been enlightened or convinced. Then at the end, to assure them they are justified in their knowledge or conviction, he repeats in easily remembered sequence the heads which he has treated in his extended remarks. It is as though he chose from his large assortment a small package which he does up neatly for his audience to carry away with them. Frequently, too, the recapitulation corresponds exactly to the plan as announced in the introduction and followed throughout the speech. This firmly impresses the main points upon the brains of the hearers.
A lawyer in court starts by announcing that he will prove a certain number of facts. After his plea is finished, in the conclusion of his speech, he recapitulates, showing that he has proved these things. A minister, a political candidate, a business man, a social worker—in fact, every speaker will find such a clear-cut listing an informative, convincing manner of constructing a conclusion. This extract shows a clear, direct, simple recapitulation.
“To recapitulate what has been said, we maintain, first, that the Constitution, by its grants to Congress and its prohibitions on the states, has sought to establish one uniform standard of value, or medium of payment. Second, that, by like means, it has endeavored to provide for one uniform mode of discharging debts, when they are to be discharged without payment. Third, that these objects are connected, and that the first loses much of its importance, if the last, also, be not accomplished. Fourth, that, reading the grant to Congress and the prohibition on the States together, the inference is strong that the Constitution intended to confer an exclusive power to pass bankrupt laws on Congress. Fifth, that the prohibition in the tenth section reaches to all contracts, existing or future, in the same way that the other prohibition, in the same section, extends to all debts, existing or future. Sixth, that, upon any other construction, one great political object of the Constitution will fail of its accomplishment.” —Daniel Webster: Ogden vs. Saunders, 1827
The summary
The second kind—a summary—does somewhat the same thing that the recapitulation does, but it effects it in a different matter. Note that the recapitulation repeats the main headings of the speech; it usually uses the same or similar phrasing.
The summary does not do this. The summary condenses the entire material of the speech, so that it is presented to the audience in shortened, general statements, sufficient to recall to them what the speaker has already presented, without actually repeating his previous statements. This kind of conclusion is perhaps more usual than the preceding one. It is known by a variety of terms—summing up, résumé, epitome, review, precis, condensation.
In the first of the subjoined illustrations notice that the words “possible modes” contain practically all the speech itself. So the four words at the end, “faction, corruption, anarchy, and despotism,” hold a great deal of the latter part of the speech. These expressions do not repeat the heads of divisions; they condense long passages. The extract is a summary.
“I have thus presented all possible modes in which a government founded upon the will of an absolute majority will be modified; and have demonstrated that, in all its forms, whether in a majority of the people, as in a mere democracy, or in a majority of their representatives, without a constitution, to be interpreted as the will of the majority, the result will be the same: two hostile interests will inevitably be created by the action of the government, to be followed by hostile legislation, and that by faction, corruption, anarchy, and despotism.” —John C. Calhoun: Speech on the Force Bill, 1833
From the following pick out the expressions which summarize long passages of the preceding speech. Amplify them to indicate what they might cover.
“I firmly believe in my countrymen, and therefore I believe that the chief thing necessary in order that they shall work together is that they shall know one another—that the Northerner shall know the Southerner, and the man of one occupation know the man of another occupation; the man who works in one walk of life know the man who works in another walk of life, so that we may realize that the things which divide us are superficial, are unimportant, and that we are, and must ever be, knit together into one indissoluble mass by our common American brotherhood.” —Theodore Roosevelt at Chattanooga, 1902
The peroration
A peroration is a conclusion which—whatever may be its material and treatment—has an appeal to the feelings, to the emotions. It strives to move the audience to act, to arouse them to an expression of their wills, to stir them to deeds. It usually comes at the end of a speech of persuasion. It appeals to sentiments of right, justice, humanity, religion. It seldom merely concludes a speech; it looks forward to some such definite action as casting a vote, joining an organization or movement, contributing money, going out on strike, returning to work, pledging support, signing a petition.
These purposes suggest its material. It is usually a direct appeal, personal and collective, to all the hearers. Intense in feeling, tinged with emotion, it justifies itself by its sincerity and honesty alone. Its apparent success is not the measure of its merit. Too frequently an appeal to low prejudices, class sentiment and prejudice, base motives, mob instincts will carry a group of people in a certain direction with as little sense and reason as a flock of sheep display. Every student can cite a dozen instances of such unwarranted and unworthy responses to skilful perverted perorations. Answering to its emotional tone the style of a peroration is likely to rise above the usual, to become less simple, less direct. In this temptation for the speaker lies a second danger quite as grave as the one just indicated. In an attempt to wax eloquent he is likely to become grandiloquent, bombastic, ridiculous. Many an experienced speaker makes an unworthy exhibition of himself under such circumstances. One specimen of such nonsense will serve as a warning.
When the terms for the use of the Panama Canal were drawn up there arose a discussion as to certain kinds of ships which might pass through the canal free of tolls. A treaty with Great Britain prevented tolls-exemption for privately owned vessels. In a speech in Congress upon this topic one member delivered the following inflated and inconsequential peroration. Can any one with any sanity see any connection of the Revolutionary War, Jefferson, Valley Forge, with a plain understanding of such a business matter as charging tolls for the use of a waterway? To get the full effect of this piece of “stupendous folly”—to quote the speaker’s own words— the student should declaim it aloud with as much attempt at oratorical effect as its author expended upon it.
“Now, may the God of our fathers, who nerved 3,000,000 backwoods Americans to fling their gage of battle into the face of the mightiest monarch in the world, who guided the hand of Jefferson in writing the charter of liberty, who sustained Washington and his ragged and starving army amid the awful horrors of Valley Forge, and who gave them complete victory on the blood-stained heights of Yorktown, may He lead members to vote so as to prevent this stupendous folly—this unspeakable humiliation of the American republic.”
When the circumstances are grave enough to justify impassioned language a good speaker need not fear its effect. If it be suitable, honest, and sincere, a peroration may be as emotional as human feelings dictate. So-called “flowery language” seldom is the medium of deep feeling. The strongest emotions may be expressed in the simplest terms. Notice how, in the three extracts here quoted, the feeling is more intense in each succeeding one. Analyze the style. Consider the words, the phrases, the sentences in length and structure. Explain the close relation of the circumstances and the speaker with the material and the style. What was the purpose of each?
“Sir, let it be to the honor of Congress that in these days of political strife and controversy, we have laid aside for once the sin that most easily besets us, and, with unanimity of counsel, and with singleness of heart and of purpose, have accomplished for our country one measure of unquestionable good.” —Daniel Webster: Uniform System of Bankruptcy, 1840
Lord Chatham addressed the House of Lords in protest against the inhumanities of some of the early British efforts to suppress the American Revolution.
“I call upon that right reverend bench, those holy ministers of the Gospel, and pious pastors of our Church—I conjure them to join in the holy work, and vindicate the religion of their God. I appeal to the wisdom and law of this learned bench, to defend and support the justice of their country. I call upon the Bishops to interpose the unsullied sanctity of their lawn; upon the learned Judges, to interpose their purity upon the honor of your Lordships, to reverence the dignity of your ancestors and to maintain your own. I call upon the spirit and humanity of my country, to vindicate the national character. I invoke the genius of the Constitution. From the tapestry that adorns these walls the immortal ancestor of this noble Lord frowns with indignation at the disgrace of his country…”
“I again call upon your Lordships, and the united powers of the state, to examine it thoroughly and decisively, and to stamp upon it an indelible stigma of the public abhorrence. And I again implore those holy prelates of our religion to do away with these iniquities from among us! Let them perform a lustration; let them purify this House, and this country, from this sin.”
My Lords, I am old and weak, and at present unable to say more; but my feelings and indignation were too strong to have said less. I could not have slept this night in my bed, nor reposed my head on my pillow, without giving vent to my eternal abhorrence of such preposterous and enormous principles.”
At about the same time the same circumstances evoked several famous speeches, one of which ended with this well-known peroration.
“It is in vain, Sir, to extenuate the matter. Gentlemen may cry, Peace, Peace—but there is no peace. The war is actually begun! The next gale that sweeps from the North will bring to our ears the clash of resounding arms! Our brethren are already in the field! Why stand we here idle? What is it that gentlemen wish? What would they have? Is life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to be purchased at the price of chains and slavery? Forbid it, Almighty God! I know not what course others may take; but as for me, give me liberty or give me death!” —Patrick Henry in the Virginia Convention, 1775
