Ch. 23
Concerning such as read and dispute ostentatiously.
First, say to yourself what you would be; and
then do what you have to do. For in almost
everything we see this to be the practice. Olympic
champions first determine what they would be, and
then act accordingly. To a racer in a longer course
there must be one kind of diet, walking, anointing,
and training; to one in a shorter, all these must be
different; and to a Pentathlete, still more different.
You will find the case the same in the manual arts.
If a carpenter, you must have such and such things;
if a smith, such other. For if we do not refer each of
our actions to some end, we shall act at random; if to
an improper one, we shall miss our aim. Further,
there is a general and a particular end. The first is,
to act as a man. What is comprehended in this?
To be gentle, yet not sheepish; not to be mischievous,
like a wild beast. But the particular end relates to
the study and choice of each individual. A harper is
to act as a harper; a carpenter, as a carpenter; a
philosopher, as a philosopher; an orator, as an orator.
When, therefore, you say, "Come, and hear me discourse," observe, first, not to do this at random; and,
in the next place, after you have found to what end
you refer it, consider whether it be a proper one.
Would you be useful, or be praised? You presently hear him say, "What do -I value the praise
of the multitude?" And he says well; for this is
nothing to a musician, or a geometrician, as such.
You would be useful then. In what? Tell us, that
we too may run to make part of your audience. Now,
is it possible for any one to benefit others, who has
received no benefit himself? No; for neither can
he who is not a carpenter, or a shoemaker, benefit
any one in respect to those arts. Would you know,
then, whether you have received benefit? Produce
your principles, philosopher. What is the aim and
promise of desire? Not to be disappointed. What
of aversion? Not to be incurred. Come, do we
fulfil this promise? Tell me the truth; but, if you
falsify, I will tell it to you. The other day, when your
audience came but coldly together, and did not receive what you said with acclamations of applause,
you went away dejected. Again, the other day when
you were praised, you went about asking everybody,
" What did you think of me? " " Upon my life, sir,
it was prodigious." "But how did I express myself
upon that subject?" "Which?" "Where I gave
a description of Pan and the Nymphs."62 "Most
excellently." And do you tell me, after this, that you
regulate your desires and aversions conformably to
Nature? Get you gone ! Persuade somebody else.
Did not you, the other day, praise a man contrary
to your own opinion? Did not you flatter a certain
senator? Yet would you wish your own children to
be like him? "Heaven forbid!" Why then did
you praise and cajole him? "He is an ingenuous
young man, and attentive to discourses." How so?
"He admires me." Now indeed you have produced
your proof.
After all, what do you think? Do not these very
people secretly despise you? When a man conscious
of no good action or intention finds some philosopher
saying, "You are a great genius, and of a frank and
candid disposition," what do you think he says, but,
"This man has some need of me"? Pray tell me
what mark of a great genius he has shown. You
see he has long conversed with you, has heard your
discourses, has attended your lectures. Has he turned
his attention to himself? Has he perceived his own
faults? Has he thrown off his conceit? Does he
seek an instructor? "Yes, he does." An instructor
how to live? No, fool, but how to talk; for it is
upon this account that he admires you. Hear what
he says: "This man writes with very great art, and
much more finely than Dion." That is quite another
thing. Does he say, This is a modest, faithful, calm
person? But if he said this too, I would ask him, if
be is faithful, what it is to be faithful? And if he
could not tell, I would add, "First learn the meaning
of what you say, and then speak."
While you are in this bad disposition, then, and
gaping after applauders, and counting your hearers,
can you be of benefit to others? "To-day I had
many more hearers." "Yes, many; we think there
were five hundred." "You say nothing; estimate
them at a thousand." "Dion never had so great an
audience." "How should he?" "And they have
a fine taste for discourses." "What is excellent,
sir, will move even a stone." Here is the language
of a philosopher! Here is the disposition of one who
is to be beneficial to mankind ! Here is the man,
attentive to discourses, who has read the works of
the Socratic philosophers, as such; not as if they were
the writings of orators, like Lysias and Isocrates! " I
have often wondered by what arguments- "63 No;
"By what argument; " that is the more perfectly
accurate expression. Is this to have read them any
otherwise than as you read little pieces of poetry?
If you read them as you ought, you would not dwell
on such trifles, but would rather consider such a
passage as this: "Anytus and Melitus may kill, but
they cannot hurt me." And " I am always so disposed as to defer to none of my friends, but to that
reason which, after examination, appears to me to
be the best."64 Hence, whoever heard Socrates say,
" I know, or teach anything"? But he sent different people to different instructors; they came to him,
desiring to be introduced to the philosophers; and
he took them and introduced them. No; but [you
think] as he accompanied them he used to give them
such advice as this: "Hear me discourse to-day at
the house of Quadratus." Why should I hear you?
Have you a mind to show me how finely you put
words together, sir? And what good does that do
you? "But praise me." What do you mean by
praising you? "Say, Incomparable ! prodigious!"
Well; I do say it. But if praise be that which the
philosophers call by the appellation of good, what
have I to praise you for? If it be good to speak
well, teach me, and I will praise you. "What, then;
ought these things to be heard without pleasure?"
By no means. I do not hear even a harper without
pleasure; but am I therefore to devote myself to playing upon the harp? Hear what Socrates says to his
judges: "It would not be decent for me to appear
before you, at this age, composing speeches like a
boy."65 Like a boy, he says. For it is, without
doubt, a pretty accomplishment to select words and
place them together, and then to read or speak them
gracefully in public; and in the midst of the discourse to observe that "he vows by all that is good,
there are but few capable of these things." But does
a philosopher apply to people to hear him? Does
he not attract those who are fitted to receive benefit
from him, in the same -manner as the sun or their
necessary food does? What physician applies to anybody to be cured by him? (Though now indeed I
hear that the physicians at Rome apply for patients;
but in my time they were applied to.) "I apply to
you to come and hear that you are in a bad way,
and that you take care of everything but what you
ought; that you know not what is good or evil, and
are unfortunate and unhappy." A fine application!
And yet, unless the discourse of a philosopher has
this effect, both that and the speaker are lifeless.
Rufus used to say, " If you are at leisure to praise
me, I speak to no purpose." And indeed he used to
speak in such a manner, that each of us who heard
him supposed that some person had accused us to
him; he so precisely hit upon what was done by us,
and placed the faults of every one before his eyes.
The school of a philosopher is a surgery. You are
not to go out of it with pleasure, but with pain; for
you do not come there in health; but one of you has
a dislocated shoulder; another, an abscess; a third,
a fistula; a fourth, the headache. And am I, then, to
sit uttering pretty, trifling thoughts and little exclamations, that, when you have praised me, you may
each of you go away with the same dislocated shoulder, the same aching head, the same fistula. and the
same abscess that you brought? And is it for this
that young men are to travel? And do they leave
their parents, their friends, their relations, and their
estates, that they may praise you while you are uttering little exclamations? Was this the practice of
Socrates; of Zeno; of Cleanthes?
What then ! is there not in speaking a style and
manner of exhortation? Who denies it? Just as
there is a manner of confutation and of instruction.
But who ever, therefore, added that of ostentation for
a fourth? For in what doth the hortatory manner
consist? In being able to show, to one and all, the
contradictions in which they are involved; and that
they care for everything rather than what they mean
to care for; for they mean the things conducive to
happiness, but they seek them where they are not to
be found. To effect this, must a thousand seats be
placed, and an audience invited; and you, in a fine
robe or cloak, ascend the rostrum, and describe the
death of Achilles? Forbear, for Heaven's sake ! to
bring, so far as you are able, good works and practices into disgrace. Nothing, to be sure, gives more
force to exhortation than when the speaker shows
that he has need of the hearers; but tell me who,
when he hears you reading or speaking, is solicitous
about himself; or turns his attention upon himself;
or says, when he is gone away, "The philosopher hit
me well "? Instead of this, even though you are in
high vogue, one hearer merely remarks to another,
" He spoke finely about Xerxes! " "No," says the
other; " but on the battle of Thermopylae!" Is this
the audience for a philosopher?