Republican presidential candidate Dr. Ben Carson has a compelling life story. His book, Gifted Hands, is an inspiring story of a man who overcomes grinding poverty and his own self-doubt to become a famed neurosurgeon. Recently details of the stories Carson tells and parts of his biography have been called into question. I’m not a political reporter and I have no inside information upon which to judge the veracity of the details. I am qualified, however, to discuss why we find personal stories irresistible and why accurate details matter so much.

For a soon to be published book, I’ve spent the last two years pouring over the latest research into the art and science of storytelling to understand how narrative applies to a wide range of areas from education to business, from culture to politics. The research shows that our brains are hardwired to crave rags-to-riches stories and to admire the people who tell them. We love to hear stories of struggle and redemption because we need to hear them, which is why we find Ben Carson-type stories irresistible. Personal stories of people who overcome hardship and tragedy make us stronger, smarter, more resilient and, ultimately, more successful.

In 1993 professor Dan McAdams at Northwestern University published “The Stories We Live By.” Based on 10 years of research, McAdams found that when something traumatic happens in our lives, our brains kick into storytelling mode to turn a negative into a positive and to extract meaning from the event. The themes of struggle and redemption can be found in literature going back thousands of years. Humans are wired to find meaning in tragedy, and we like to hear and share such stories.

The most successful political and business leaders understand the persuasive power of personal story. There’s a good reason why Carly Fiorina, in nearly every public appearance, television interview and debate, tells the story of rising “from secretary to CEO.” It’s a classic Horatio Alger story, with Fiorina as the protagonist. “I started as a secretary, typing, filing, and answering phones for a nine-person real estate firm. My story, from secretary to CEO, is only possible in this nation, and proves that everyone of us has potential.”

Fiorina moves from struggle to redemption, and ultimately finds meaning in her life’s journey. The implied lesson is—if she can make it, so can you.

There’s a good reason Republican candidate Marco Rubio retells the story of how his parents came to America from Cuba and what they did for a living once they got here. “My parents earned their way to the middle class working humble jobs – my father as a bartender in hotels and my mom as a maid, cashier and retail clerk. By their loving and powerful example, I learned the importance of work and family, and developed the belief that all things are possible in America.” Once again, the protagonist—Marco Rubio—finds meaning in the struggle.

“I came out of the middle class,” says Hillary Clinton, not to be outdone in the rags-to-riches department. “My grandfather was a factory worker. My dad became a small businessman,” she told Stephen Colbert. Ohio Governor and Republican candidate John Kasich doesn’t even bother with “middle class.” According to Kasich, both of his parents came from “dirt poor” immigrant families in western Pennsylvania. His paternal grandfather worked in the coal mines and died of black lung disease. Kasich’s father was a mail carrier.

You’ll note that each of these stories gets very specific. The details of these stories matter and they matter a lot. It’s well-established in the neuroscience literature that our brains do not process abstractions very well. Persuasive storytelling requires the inclusion of specific and vivid details.

“The hallmark of narrative is assurance,” says literary scholar Dr. Gerald Prince. A story, says Prince, is a specific event carried out by specific characters in a specific place at a specific time. Why do we listen for specifics? Prince and other scholars who study the evolution of narrative believe we have a built-in radar to protect ourselves from dishonesty and falsehoods. The more specific a story, the more evidence we have against which to measure a story’s truthfulness. We want to believe that our leaders are telling true stories and so we listen for specifics to help us distinguish between fact and fiction, between dishonesty and integrity.

Now back to Ben Carson. If Carson’s opponents are mischaracterizing his words to diminish his candidacy and to score political points, as he suggests they are, then Carson is right to attack those sources aggressively. At a news conference last Friday Carson called some stories a “bald-faced lie” and accused one news program of launching “the most lame investigation I have ever seen.” Over the weekend Carson posted several photographs to his Facebook page that appeared to confirm his side of his personal narrative and to call into question the motivation behind some of the attacks against him.

In the past few days Ben Carson, the soft-spoken candidate, has come out firing because he cannot afford not to. As they’ve proven time and again the American public is very forgiving on a wide range of transgressions, but they find it hard to forgive or forget personal stories in which the details were exaggerated or entirely made up. Personal stories of suffering and redemption strike to the core of what makes us human. We find such stories irresistible. We want to believe them because we need to believe them.

The bigger lesson for all political and business leaders is to remember the powerful role that personal stories play in the area of persuasion. Just make sure you get all the details right.