Tag Archives: information overload

Persuasion: The Myth of Easy Influence

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Persuasion 7th edition cover - CopyPersuasion is hard.  It isn’t just Uncle Fred who refuses to acknowledge what everybody else around the family table knows.  In most contexts it’s all of us most of the time. 

 

A recent study on addiction created a stir in the psychiatric community with its claim that 12-step programs like Alcoholics Anonymous had success rates only in the single digits. Lance and Zachary Dode’s The Sober Truth (2014) has its critics, but it is quite plausible that rates of voluntary behavioral change in even the best addiction treatment programs are low. In a word, persuading another person to change is distressingly difficult.  Add in the addiction factor and it is even more difficult.

The task of trying to alter the attitude or behaviors of someone fairly comfortable with them is one the most difficult challenges a communicator can face. And yet Americans have traditionally believed that spellbinders, “brainwashers” and marketing experts have some sort of access to the secret pathways of persuasion. The ability of others to somehow do end-runs around our natural defenses is reflected in our fascination with advertising and religious conversion, our interest in books about selling products as well as ourselves to others, and our love of films as diverse as The Matrix (1999) or the classic Invasion of the Body Snatchers (1956, 1978).  American narratives love to build on the idea that there’s a secret back door for finding another person’s vulnerabilities.

We also think businesses advertise to gain market share, when it is equally likely their efforts are intended to retain existing consumers by reminding them that the brand is still around. This point is important because maintaining recognition for a brand is an obvious and much easier marketing goal.  Look at the last frame of a television ad it will almost always be a brand’s packaging or logo.  The simpler objective of reassuring the consumer is usually the point of the message.

We would also like to believe that personal transformation happens—Hollywood style—when the strong hand of unexpected experience turns someone toward a sudden change of heart.  At the beginning of Casablanca (1942) Rick may be the world’s greatest cynic. But in the short span of two acts he’s a very different man.  But after four decades assessing persuasion messages and effects, I can only count a handful of instances where I’ve actually seen a member of a target audience change their mind.

To be sure, persuasion is real. We need only track changes in American attitudes about gay marriage. Gallup, Pew and other pollsters have seen dramatic turnarounds in the number of citizens–now a majority–who accept marriages for same sex couples. But those attitudes evolved over a number of years, incrementally and often in private.

There is something more interesting about the possibility of even faster conversion. We often share a common narrative of the man or woman “on the make:” the person who will charm us into becoming active participants in our own persuasion.  Any number of shills for medical cures, shaky or legitimate investment schemes, and fake university courses has made many more wary. But believing in the American dream also means placing faith in the ability of an individual to find lucrative ways to induce consumers into parting with their money. After all, our economic system is built on consumer spending. When we are collectively reluctant to buy, state and federal budget directors become nervous.

Determining what motivates change is always a challenge. It isn’t just Uncle Fred who refuses to acknowledge what everybody else around the family Thanksgiving table knows. It’s all of us most of the time, especially if we take away the use of a hierarchical advantage as a bludgeon. The command of a superior isn’t really a form of persuasion. Power plays are just inducements toward reluctant compliance—something less democratic than true persuasion and not very interesting.

It turns out that we have perfect mental mechanisms for resistance to an unwanted idea. In persuasion research this fact of life is usually called the “theory of minimal effects.” Countless studies that compare “pre” and “post” persuasion attitudes in tested audiences–“post” coming after the researcher’s best shot at a persuasive pitch–note that very little changes. Most of the time we are immune to even strong and logical arguments, the testimony of credible sources, and the raw evidence of undeniable facts.

For example, if you don’t accept a human role in global warming, there is no shortage of mental equipment available to you to cling steadfastly to your beliefs. One common defense is to only notice evidence that confirms your view. This approach to choosing what you believe—sometimes called “confirmation bias”—is one reason our news media now tend to come in certain predictable ideological shades. In the case of doubts about climate change, Fox News is more likely your media home than MSNBC or The Weather Channel.

There are also risks to the ego in giving up a cherished belief.  Our beliefs are a big part of what makes up who we are. To shed even a part of a personal web of attitudes is to be a slightly different person. The new attitude is also likely to bump into other behaviors and attitudes that no longer make as much sense. So, if given the choice, we like our beliefs to be as comfortable as our Saturday morning clothes. Indeed, even though I teach and write frequently about “persuasion,” it would be more accurate to say that much of my time is really spent focusing on the ways we resist change.

Comments: woodward@tcnj.edu

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Too Much Noise on the Line

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If you are old enough to remember The Carol Burnett Show and her famous remake of “Gone with the Wind,” you can probably also describe the momentary loss of picture or sound with some version of the phrase, “There’s too much static on the line.” We tend to see the world through the vocabulary we’ve acquired, so some form of this expression hangs around, even though we now think of it as a holdover from older forms of analogue media. Listen to AM radio today and there can be so much static that it may actually drown out a station. Scratches on an old 35-millimeter print of a film or dust lodged in a cherished vinyl LP are similar versions of the same problem: what audio engineers call a bad “signal-to-noise ratio.” It’s still true that if you still have a land-line phone, you may also find that there are times when you sound like Sheriff Andy Taylor trying to be heard over an old wall phone at the far end of Mayberry.

“Too much static on the line” might seem like a complaint whose time has passed. After all, digital media generally have the potential to strip a message of extraneous noise. But it would be a mistake to think that we’ve licked the problem, especially if we can see its significance in slightly larger terms. I’m struck by the fact that the very devices that carried the promise of freeing us from bad connections have done just the opposite. If anything, those weighed down with various forms of the latest digital devices are now assaulted with more stimulation than we can ever accommodate. In our age, the fragile line represented by a focused consciousness is easily overwhelmed by visual and aural noise.

Talk to a friend while they are surfing the internet or texting someone, and you sense that there’s definitely too much static on the line. Ask someone to do their desk job while they are also trying to process a barrage of useless e-mails, cell messages and Tweets, and they’ve got more than their powers of concentration and discernment can handle.

This has become a familiar and much-discussed issue, especially among older adults who see what they describe as the distractions and attention deficits of the young. To be sure, our children will survive, and no doubt help us tame the twin Twenty First Century monsters of information overload and empathy fatigue. But it’s also worth remembering that many enduring achievements in life tend to come in broad swaths of linear development. The mind works best when it has time to put our heads around a challenge and master its demands. We know this when we’ve finished a great novel, witnessed the performance of a sprawling but magnificent symphony, or taken in the words of a provocative thinker who was given a generous  space of time to lay out their views. To reduce these efforts to anything less—especially because of a felt need to accommodate more truncated bits of “information”—is to produce its own kind of mental static.

There’s an important lesson in the fact that a number of great composers wrote their best works in fevers of concentrated effort. It was continuous and sustained chains of invention that gave us the Jupiter Symphony and the gathering brilliance of The Messiah. We can be thankful that Mozart and Handel didn’t have the distractions of 24-hour cable news, Facebook pages to fret over, or e-mails waiting to be answered. It is undeniably true that we have reduced the presence of unwanted electrical noises that dogged the transmissions of  older media. But they’ve been replaced by relentless and insistent demands on our attention that represent their own forms of noise.