The Difficulty of Persuasion

T he hard part of persuasion is not knowing the matter. It is not finding the words to lay it out. It is not even nerve — the courage to say all of it without flinching. The hard part of persuasion is reading the heart of the man you are persuading, so that you can fit your words exactly to it. In general, the difficulty of persuasion: it is not the difficulty of my knowing the matter, such that I have the means to persuade him of it; nor again the difficulty of my arguing it, such that I can make my meaning clear; nor again the difficulty of my daring to speak boldly and without restraint, such that I can say all of it. The difficulty of persuasion lies in knowing the heart of the one being persuaded, so that I can make my persuasion fit it.

Take a man who, in private, is after hard profit, but in public wants to be seen as high-minded. Pitch him on honor and the high road: he keeps you on for show and quietly cuts you out. Pitch him on the profit he actually wants: he pockets your advice and discards you in public, so no one connects him to it. This you have to watch. Suppose the one persuaded is, in secret, for rich profit, but openly poses as high in reputation. If you persuade him with high reputation, then he outwardly takes you in but in fact keeps you distant; if you persuade him with rich profit, then he secretly uses your words but openly discards you. This cannot but be watched for.

Reverse the man. Say he genuinely wants the honor and the high road, and you come at him with profit. Now he reads you as cheap, treats you as low, and pushes you away for good. The mismatch runs both ways. Either way the listener's hidden want is the only thing that decides whether your words save you or sink you. Suppose the one persuaded is genuinely out for high reputation, and you persuade him with rich profit: then he sees you as base in scruple and meets you as low and mean, and is sure to cast you off and keep you far. (So the two cases mirror each other.)

“The dragon can be tamed, even ridden. But under its throat lies one scale, a foot long, that grows backward. Touch it, and it kills you. The ruler has one too.”

There is a worse trap than the wrong pitch. The man has some public scheme going, but its real cause is something else, something hidden. If you only see the public version and parrot it back, you are useless. If you see the hidden cause too — and let on that you see it — you are dangerous. That gets you killed. He openly has some matter he is putting forward, but he is using it to accomplish a different, ulterior purpose. The persuader who knows not merely what is put forward, but also why it is really being done — a man like this is in danger.

And before the bond is set — before the ruler's favor has soaked all the way through — if you talk to him as if you already know everything: when your advice works, the credit gets forgotten; when it fails, you draw suspicion. Either outcome is bad. That too gets you killed. When the ruler's favor has not yet run deep, and you speak with the full reach of your knowledge: if the persuasion is carried out and succeeds, the favor (owed you) is forgotten; if it is not carried out and ends in failure, you are met with suspicion. A man like this is in danger.

So anyone whose work is to advise and argue had better study one thing first: who his master loves and who he hates. Then, and only then, speak. The truth of what you say is almost beside the point. The relationship decides the reading. Therefore the man whose business is remonstrance, persuasion, and counsel cannot but examine the loves and hatreds of his ruler, and only afterward speak to him.

There was a rich man in Song. The rains came and a wall of his collapsed. His son said: if you don't rebuild it, thieves will get in. The old man next door said exactly the same thing. That night thieves came and stripped the house. The family thought the son was sharp — and suspected the old neighbor of the theft. In Song there was a rich man. It rained and his wall fell. His son said: "If it is not rebuilt, there will surely be thieves." The old man next door said the same. At dusk thieves did indeed come, and he lost a great deal of his property. The family thought their son very wise, and suspected the old man next door.

Long ago Mizi Xia was the favorite of the ruler of Wei. By Wei law, anyone who secretly drove the ruler's carriage had his foot cut off. One night Mizi Xia's mother fell ill; someone slipped in to tell him. He took the ruler's carriage and went, forging the order to use it. When the ruler heard, he praised him: "What a son. For his mother's sake he forgot he could lose a foot." In the past Mizi Xia was favored by the ruler of Wei. The law of Wei: whoever stealthily drove the ruler's carriage was punished by amputation of the foot. Mizi Xia's mother fell ill, and a man came by night to tell him. Mizi Xia, falsely (claiming the ruler's order), drove the ruler's carriage out. The ruler heard of it and deemed him worthy, saying: "How filial — for his mother's sake he forgot the crime that costs a foot."

Another day he was walking with the ruler through an orchard. He bit into a peach, found it sweet, and instead of finishing it handed the ruler the half he had already eaten. The ruler said: "How he loves me — he forgets his own mouth to feed me." On another day he was roaming with the ruler in an orchard. He ate a peach, found it sweet, and did not finish it, but gave the ruler the half. The ruler said: "How he loves me — he forgets his own appetite to feed me."

Then Mizi Xia's looks faded and the love cooled, and he gave offense. Now the ruler said: "This is the man who once forged an order and took my carriage. This is the man who once fed me a peach he'd already bitten." Mizi Xia had not changed a thing he did. The very acts that had won him praise now earned him punishment — because the love had turned to hate. That is all. The deeds held still; the reading moved. When Mizi Xia's beauty faded and the love slackened, he gave offense to the ruler. The ruler said: "This one once falsely drove my carriage, and once fed me a leftover peach." So Mizi Xia's conduct had not altered from what it was at first; yet the very thing for which he was earlier deemed worthy was later the thing for which he was found guilty — this was the turning of love into hatred.

So: when you have the ruler's love, your cleverness fits him and the bond draws closer. When you have his hatred, that same cleverness fails to fit and the distance grows. Anyone meaning to remonstrate or persuade cannot do it without first reading where the love and the hatred lie, and then speaking. Therefore, when you have the ruler's love, your wisdom fits him and you grow the more intimate; when you have his hatred, your wisdom does not fit him and you grow the more distant. So the man who would remonstrate, persuade, advise, or argue cannot but examine where his ruler's love and hatred lie, and only afterward speak.

A last image. The dragon, as a creature, can be gentled — tamed, even ridden. But under its throat there is one scale, about a foot long, that grows backward against the rest. Anyone who brushes against it, the dragon kills. A ruler has his reverse scale too. The persuader who can speak without ever grazing it has very nearly arrived. Now the dragon, as a creature, is mild enough to be approached and ridden. Yet beneath its throat there is a reverse scale, a foot across; if a man touches it, the dragon is sure to kill him. The ruler too has his reverse scale. If the persuader can avoid touching the ruler's reverse scale, then he is nearly there.

說難 The original Chinese · honored as an artifact

凡說之難：非吾知之，有以說之之難也；又非吾辯之，能明吾意之難也。

Opening lines, classical Chinese · The Han Feizi 韓非子