The custom has taken hold, and indeed grows more common on a daily basis, whereby boys are sent to teachers of eloquence, Latin always, but even sometimes Greek, at a later age than is reasonable. There are two explanations for this development: first the teachers of rhetoric, especially on the Latin side, have abandoned their responsibilities; and second, the teachers of literature have occupied alien terrain.
For the rhetoric teachers consider it their sole responsibility to declaim and to transmit knowledge and skill at declamation, and even then treat only deliberative and judicial issues, despising the rest as unworthy of their profession. Meanwhile the teachers of literature consider it insufficient merely to take up what has been neglected (for which they really ought to be thanked), but push their way into declamations in character or on deliberative themes1 – both of which require great expertise at speaking.
And so it happens that what used to be the first phase of rhetorical study becomes the last phase of literary study, and at the age when the student is ready for more serious subjects, he stays behind in lower school and practises rhetoric among grammarians. Most absurd of all, the boy isn’t sent to the teacher of declamation until he knows how to declaim.
Let us hereby impose a limit on each profession. Grammatice, which in Latin is called study of letters or literature, needs to recognize its natural boundaries, for it has been carried far beyond what little is implied by its name, although its early practitioners stopped at that. Although it began as a narrow stream, it has become swollen in its expanse by assuming the powers of historians and critics. In addition to the study of correct speech, an abundant subject in itself, it has come to embrace knowledge of all the highest arts. Meanwhile rhetoric, which takes its name from public speaking, must not disparage its own obligations or rejoice that its work has been taken up by others. When it abandons its responsibility, it is all but driven from its birthright. I won’t deny that at least some teachers of literature are capable of attaining sufficient knowledge to teach these other subjects as well. But when they do so, they fulfil the function of a rhetorician, not their own.
We would also like to know at what point a boy is likely to be ready for the instruction provided by a rhetorician. Here the deciding factor is not the boy’s age but the extent of his achievements in his studies. And so as not to discourse at length on the appropriate time for assigning him to the rhetorician, I believe it is best specified as follows: when he is able.
But this question really depends on the preceding one. For if the task of the grammarian is in fact extended to include declamation on fictional themes, then the need for the rhetorician is postponed. If the rhetorician does not decline to teach the elementary stages of his subject, then it’s desirable to have him involved in instruction as soon as the boy starts composing narratives and short exercises in praise and blame. It’s well known that among our predecessors it was routine to develop eloquence through practice on general theses and familiar themes and other matters without specification of actions or persons – the kinds of issues that both real and imaginary disputes entail. Obviously, then, it’s a disgrace for rhetoric today to have abandoned an area of study for which it once took primary, indeed for a long time, exclusive, responsibility.
For what aspect of the exercises I have just mentioned is not relevant to all the duties of a speaker, most especially in judicial cases? Is there no need for narration in a court of law? Indeed, it may be the most important part. Are not praise and invective frequently inserted into legal controversies? What of commonplaces, whether attacks on vice of the sort we read that Cicero composed, or treatments of general questions, of the sort published as well by Quintus Hortensius,2 such as ‘should minor points of argument carry a case’ or ‘for witnesses’, ‘against witnesses’ – are they not to be found in the very heart of lawsuits?
Weapons of this sort are always kept in readiness, to be used when the case demands. Anyone who thinks they aren’t relevant to oratory will believe that a statue hasn’t been commenced even as its limbs are being cast. And please don’t accuse me of rushing the pupil, as if I thought that a boy assigned to a rhetorician should necessarily be removed from the grammarians. Time will be allotted to them as well, nor need we fear that the boy will be overburdened by two instructors. Work that had been combined under one teacher will be separated under two, and each instructor will be better suited to his task. The Greeks still retain this practice, although it has been neglected by Latin teachers, and perhaps understandably, inasmuch as there are those who have been ready to take over the job of the rhetorician.
Therefore when the boy is sufficiently accomplished in his studies that he can undertake the first steps in rhetorical instruction, let us place him with a teacher of this art. The first point to consider is the moral character of the instructor. I address this matter at this point, not because I think it less demanding of attention where other teachers are concerned, as I have already discussed in Book 1. Rather, the age of the students makes it especially crucial to consider the matter here. For boys are undergoing puberty when transferred to these teachers, and remain with them even as young men. All the more reason to make certain that the integrity of the teacher will protect the younger ones from mistreatment and that his authority will deter the wilder sort from bad behaviour.
It isn’t sufficient for the teacher to display the highest degree of self-control unless he is also able, through the strictness of his discipline, to regulate the conduct of those around him. Let him therefore adopt above all the attitude of a parent towards his students, and regard himself as assuming the role of those whose children are entrusted to him.
He must not have vices, or tolerate them. He should be serious, but not cruel, friendly, but not easy-going, avoiding hatred in the one case, disrespect in the other. He should talk a great deal about what is good and honourable, for the more often he advises, the less often he will punish. He should avoid anger, yet not overlook mistakes that need correction, be straightfoward in his teaching, hard-working, rigorous rather than rigid.
He should respond readily to questions, and question those who offer none on their own. When praising the efforts of his students, he should be neither grudging nor effusive: the former generates distaste for labour, the latter leads to overconfidence. In revising what needs correction he will not be harsh or abusive, for many are driven from studies by teachers who correct pupils as if they hated them. He should declaim something, indeed a great deal, on a daily basis, giving his listeners something to take away with them. For although he will supply plenty of examples for imitation from readings, still the living voice, as it is called, provides greater nourishment, especially the voice of a teacher whom students, if only they have been rightly trained, come to love and revere. It’s difficult to overestimate how much more freely we copy the people that we like.
By no means should boys be permitted, as they are in many schools, to jump up and dance about in support of a speaker. Audiences, even young men, must indicate their favour with restraint. That way the student will look to the judgement of the teacher, and upon receiving his approval will be confident in having spoken correctly.
The worst sort of ‘positive reinforcement’, as it is sometimes called, consists of reciprocal and indiscriminate applause. It is unbecoming, theatrical and foreign to the strict environment of the school. It’s also a very dangerous enemy of real endeavour. For attention and labour seem superfluous when anything a boy spouts off is met with praise. The audience should pay attention to the teacher just as carefully as the speaker does. In that way they will come to recognize what is and isn’t worthy of approval. Just as fluency comes about through writing, so critical judgement develops through listening.
Instead boys today are hunched forward, bracing themselves to leap up at the end of a period, even to run about and shout with unseemly enthusiasm. And they expect the same as reward for their own declamations. They become so swollen in their sense of self-worth, so puffed up by the outcry of their peers that they hold it against a teacher who seems to praise them too little. Moreover, teachers themselves should want their speeches to be received thoughtfully and with restraint. The teacher must not speak for the judgement of students; rather, the student speaks for the judgement of the teacher. If possible, the teacher should even make note of what each student praises and how he does so, thereby deriving satisfaction from the fact that what he says well is pleasing not just to himself but also to the students who exercise good judgement.
I don’t like boys to sit together with older youths. For even if the teacher in charge has the necessary learning and good character and can keep the older ones under control, still the weaker students should be kept separate from the stronger. We must be careful to avoid not just accusations of shameful conduct, but even suspicion thereof. I have thought it necessary to mention these points only briefly. I hardly consider it necessary to explain that both the teacher and his school must be free of the worst vices. And if any parent fails to steer clear of obvious misconduct when choosing a teacher for his son, he needs to understand that everything else I am saying with regard to the well-being of the young is superfluous if this responsibility is neglected.
I must not pass over in silence the opinion of those who think that boys, even when considered ready for a rhetorician, ought not to be placed under the most prominent teacher, but rather retained for a period among the lesser sort. It’s as if they think that a mediocre teacher is a better teacher because easier to understand and imitate and less disdainful of the tedious aspects of elementary instruction.
I don’t think it’s necessary to spend much time in pointing out how much better it is to be imbued with the best instruction, or how much more difficult to be rid of faults once they have become ingrained. No need to impose a double burden on the next teacher, with the task of unteaching before teaching. This is why, as the story goes, the renowned musician Timotheus3 demanded double fees for flute lessons from those who had prior instruction versus those who came to him untaught.
There are really two mistakes here: first, people think that inferior teachers suffice for the time being and are pleased with their willingness to put up with anything. Such lack of concern warrants correction, but could at least be tolerated if the teachers in question taught less, rather than worse. Second, and more commonly, they think that those who have reached a higher level of knowledge of the subject do not lower themselves to the lesser topics, either because they disdain to give attention to elementary matters or because they can’t.
For my part, I refuse to consider anyone unwilling to do so as belonging to the ranks of teachers, and I insist that the best teacher is particularly capable of doing so, provided he is willing. First because it seems reasonable to believe that the man whose eloquence has raised him above the rest has paid closest attention to the means through which he became eloquent; second because the learned man is the one with the fullest grasp of the discipline as a whole, which makes him most effective as a teacher; finally, because no one excels in the most important aspects of an art if he lacks understanding of the basics – unless you think that Phidias4 designed his statue of Jupiter beautifully, but others would have been better at executing the details, or that an orator is incapable of carrying on a conversation, or a famous doctor of curing a mild illness.
What, you ask? Is there not a kind of eloquence too demanding to be pursued by weak-minded boys? I imagine there is. But it will be necessary for our eloquent teacher to have good sense as well and to know something about teaching. He will submit to the pace of the learner, just as the fastest walker if he happens to be making a journey with a small child, gives him his hand, shortens his step and doesn’t proceed beyond what his companion can keep up with.
And, generally speaking, matters explained by an expert are much clearer and easier to understand. For the first virtue of eloquence is perspicuity, and the lesser a person’s talent, the more he tries to puff himself up, the way short men stand on tiptoe or weak men make a lot of threats. For those who are swollen and corrupt and raucous and show off in any other way I regard as suffering from an excess of weakness rather than strength. They are like bodies swollen from sickness rather than health, or like travellers who when worn out by a steady march keep turning off to the side. The weaker the speaker, the more obscure the speech.
I recognize that in the preceding book, when I was arguing in favour of education in school as opposed to home, I wrote that during the early stages pupils more readily imitate their peers, because it is easier. This may lead some to suppose that in the current discussion I am contradicting myself, which is far from being the case. A young boy’s propensity to imitate his peers explains why he must be entrusted to the very best teacher, for such a man’s pupils, having been better trained, will either say things not unworthy of imitation or, if they make a mistake, will be immediately corrected. The ignorant schoolmaster, on the other hand, may well approve something in error, and by his judgement lead the listeners to approve as well. Let the ideal instructor therefore be as remarkable for his knowledge of eloquence as for his moral rectitude, a person who will offer instruction in speech and action, as Phoenix5 did, according to Homer.
Let me now turn to the preliminary pedagogical tasks of the rhetorician, postponing a little what is typically regarded as the art of rhetoric proper. To me the best way to start will be with lessons similar to what the boy has already learned in grammar school.
With respect to narration, there are three types (other than that used in actual trials): story, as found in tragedy and poems, which bears no relationship to reality; plot, which, although false, resembles reality; and history, which presents actual events. Poetic narration we have assigned to the grammarians; the teacher of rhetoric should begin with historical narration, which is more powerful because it is true.
I will explain what seems to me the best method of narration when I speak about its use in court. Here it is sufficient to note that narrative should not be dry and lifeless (for what’s the point of expending so much effort on our studies if it is considered sufficient merely to point to bare and unadorned facts?), nor should it be convoluted, luxuriating in the sort of far-fetched descriptions many speakers are drawn to in imitation of the freedom of poetry. Both are serious faults, although lack of development is more harmful than excess.
For it’s impossible to demand or expect perfect oratory from boys. Yet there is potential good in innate exuberance, expansive effort and a spirit that sometimes aims at more than is appropriate. In these early years, a student never offends through excess. I would prefer teachers to take care to nurse tender minds with more digestible food, and to let youngsters have their fill of more enjoyable instruction. Their plump bodies will slim down as they age, and give reason to expect strength. A child who is scrawny all over threatens to remain weak and underdeveloped.
Let the young child takes risks and exercise his imagination, and enjoy doing so, even if it what it produces isn’t always deadly serious. It’s easy to correct exuberance; barrenness can’t be conquered, no matter how hard we try. I have least confidence in a boy whose talent is constrained by self-critique. I prefer raw material that is richer and more abundant than seems necessary. The years will melt it down, method will smooth what is rough, parts will be rubbed away by experience, provided there is something that can be chiselled and trimmed. And such metal will exist, provided we do not slice the sheet so thin that deep engraving breaks it. My view will seem less remarkable to anyone who has read the following in Cicero: ‘I want creativity to express itself in the young.’6
Therefore one should above all else avoid a teacher who is dull and dry, especially for young boys, just as you would avoid dry soil when setting out young plants. They turn out humble and downcast, as it were, daring nothing beyond ordinary speech. They confuse skinniness with health, uncertainty with good judgement. As long as they think it sufficient to lack faults, they commit the fault of lacking virtues. Therefore, don’t let their talents ripen too soon, or their juices dry up before their time; that way they will last for years and continue to improve with time.
It’s also worth remembering that the innate ability of boys can actually diminish as a result of excessive criticism. They lose hope, suffer disappointment, grow to hate their studies and, worst of all, attempt nothing because they are fearful of everything. This is familiar to farmers who think that pruning should be withheld while a plant’s leaves are still young, because they seem to ‘shrink from the blade’7 and are not yet able to endure scarring.
The teacher of young boys, then, should be an amicable sort, one whose corrections, which are naturally annoying, are expressed gently. He should by turns praise, tolerate and correct (always with an explanation), and even clarify the lesson by inserting something of his own. Sometimes it will be helpful for him to dictate entire themes for the boy to imitate and occasionally even love as his own. But if the composition is so deficient that it isn’t worth correcting, I have found it useful to explain the theme again and have the boy write a fresh version, telling him he can do better. For nothing makes effort more enjoyable than hope. Criticism should be age-appropriate, and assignments must be set and corrected in accordance with the students’ abilities. When my students would venture on something a little too free or daring, I used to say that I would praise them for the moment, but the time would come when I would not permit such writing. In that way, they could take pleasure in their talent without being misled in their assessment.
But let me return to the point from which I digressed: written narratives are to be composed with the greatest possible care. Just as at the beginning, when children are learning to speak, it is useful for them to repeat what they have heard for the sake of acquiring language, so too it is worthwhile to require them to repeat a story in reverse order from the end or to start in the middle and retell it in either direction. But this is only to be done while the child is still in the teacher’s lap. It will strengthen his memory while he is capable of little more, and just beginning to associate words and things. Once students begin to recognize proper speech, spontaneous chatter, without a pause for thinking before commencing, can be left to the carnival barkers. Ignorant parents take pointless pleasure in such nonsense, and the boys themselves become contemptuous of real work and shameless in their self-presentation, making a habit of speaking badly and repeating their mistakes. Often the resulting excess of confidence has ruined even great promise. The time will come for acquiring ease in speaking, and I won’t pass over the topic. Meanwhile, it is enough if the boy takes as much care and effort as his age allows to write something acceptable. Let him get used to this, making it second nature. The boy who will be able to achieve the end we have in mind, or at least come close to it, is the one who will learn to speak correctly before speaking quickly.
It’s useful to join the study of narratives with the tasks of refuting or confirming them, called anaskeue and kataskeue respectively. This can be done not just with fables and stories told in poems, but even with historical accounts. For example, it might be asked ‘whether it’s believable that a raven landed on the head of Valerius during battle, and beat the face and eyes of the Gallic enemy with its beak and wings’ – and a great deal can be said for and against. The same goes for the legend of the serpent that fathered Scipio, or the she-wolf who nursed Romulus, or Numa’s Egeria.8 For Greek history often allows a licence similar to that of poetry. One can discuss the time and place in which an event is said to have occurred, sometimes even the actors involved; even Livy9 frequently expressed uncertainty, and historians differ among themselves.
From here little by the little the student will begin to attempt a greater challenge, namely to praise distinguished men and denounce the wicked. This assignment is useful in more than one respect. The mind is exercised due to the abundant and varied material, an ethical disposition is formed through contemplation of right and wrong, and much knowledge of affairs is acquired. When the need arises, the student will already be well prepared with examples, which are highly effective in every type of case.
Comparison is the next exercise, that is deciding which of two is better or worse. It’s similar to the preceding, but requires twice as much material, and treats not just the nature of virtues and vices, but degrees as well. Still, the proper treatment of praise and blame, which is the third section of rhetoric, will be presented in its own place.10
Commonplaces (I mean those through which we attack bad behaviour in general rather than specific individuals, for example the adulterer, the gambler, the bully) come right out of the courtroom, and if you name a defendant, turn into accusations. Although even as general treatments, they are often given some degree of specificity, for example a blind adulterer, impoverished gambler, elderly bully. Sometimes they can be argued from the standpoint of the defence, as we might speak in favour of luxury or love, or defend a pimp or parasite not as such, but against a specific charge.
Theses derived from comparison (‘which is preferable: country life or city life?’ ‘who deserves greater respect: a lawyer or a soldier?’) are wonderfully appealing and productive as exercises in speaking, being helpful for both deliberative oratory and courtroom disputes. Cicero provides a very rich treatment of the second thesis cited above in his Speech in Defence of Murena.11 Some such theses are almost exclusively deliberative in nature, for example, ‘should one marry?’, ‘should one run for office?’ These become in effect suasoriae when they involve specific individuals.
My own teachers used to prepare us for conjectural cases with a type of exercise that was both useful and enjoyable. They had us discuss and develop questions such as ‘why do the Spartans depict Venus in armour?’ and ‘why is Cupid believed to be a boy, to have wings, and to be armed with arrows and a torch?’12 In these exercises we would try to discover intention, which is often an issue in controversiae.13 They can be regarded as a type of chreia, or anecdote about a character.
For certain topics, for example ‘are witnesses always believable?’ or ‘should we trust minor arguments?’, are so obviously relevant to forensic speaking that certain men well known for their civic achievements have written them down and carefully committed them to memory so that, whenever the occasion arises, they can enrich their ‘extemporaneous’ remarks with them, as if decorating their houses with bas-reliefs. Such a practice (for I have no intention of withholding judgement) seems an admission of great weakness on their part. For what can they find appropriate for use in cases which are always new and varied, how respond to the claims of the opposition, swiftly meet the challenges posed in debate, interrogate a witness, if they are unable to express the most commonplace sentiments relevant to almost every case without using language prepared well in advance?
Surely when they are repeating the same things in so many cases they become disgusted, as if serving cold leftovers, or ashamed that their audience has so often seen their shabby furniture, which like that of pretentious paupers is worn down from being put to so many different uses. An additional consideration: there’s hardly a commonplace so common that it can be made to fit a specific context unless somehow linked to it. It must appear interwoven, not stitched on – as will happen if it is too different from the rest of the speech or if, as is often the case, it was put to use because it was available rather than needed. Some speakers extend these commonplaces at great length for the sake of the ideas they contain when in fact the ideas should arise from the context. These utterances can be impressive and useful if they arise naturally from the case, otherwise no matter how attractive, expressions of this sort, unless they lead to victory, are superfluous, even counterproductive. But I have digressed enough.
Praise or blame of laws requires more developed powers, the sort suited to virtually the most demanding tasks. Whether this exercise is more closely related to suasoriae14 or controversiae depends on the custom and law of the individual state. Among the Greeks, a proponent of a law was called before a court, among the Romans it has been customary to speak pro and con at an assembly. Either way, the arguments are few in number and of a fairly specific type. For there are three kinds of law, sacred, public and private, a division that lends itself to use in praise, for example if an orator glorifies a decree step by step, first as a law, then as public, then as composed for the worship of deities.
Some common topics are common to every kind of law. For there can be dispute concerning the proponent of the law, as when it was argued that Publius Clodius15 had been named tribune irregularly, or concerning the proposed law itself, taking various forms – was it promulgated within the requisite time frame? Was it proposed, or is it being proposed, on an improper day, in defiance of a veto or the auspices or anything else that might constitute a legitimate obstacle? Does it contradict any existing law?
But such considerations aren’t really suitable for elementary exercises, which don’t involve specified persons, occasions or cases. The rest can generally be treated as follows, whether the case is real or fictional: for the error is either in the words or in the facts. If in words, it’s a question whether they are sufficiently clear or contain some ambiguity; in the facts, whether the law is internally consistent, whether it should be applied retroactively or against particular individuals. It’s especially common to ask whether the law is just and whether it is useful or expedient. I am well aware that many instructors introduce subdivisions of the first category, but in my view ‘justice’ encompasses piety, religious scruples and all the rest.
Still, the justice of a law is not usually considered in only one respect. We might discuss the act covered by the law, asking whether it merits punishment or reward; or argue about the type of reward or punishment, objecting to one or the other as too great or too small. Expediency is sometimes intrinsic to an act, at other times specific to the context. We also often ask whether a law can be enforced. Keep in mind that laws can be criticized in their totality or in part, with examples of both to be found in well-known speeches. Nor does it escape me that some laws are not intended to apply in perpetuity, but concern particular offices or commands, such as the Manilian law, on which we have Cicero’s speech.16 But nothing can be said about such matters here, since they depend on the specifics of each case, not on any general issue.
Such were the exercises in eloquence employed by the ancients, who also adopted techniques of argumentation from the dialecticians. It is generally accepted that the Greeks initiated the practice of declaiming on fictional legal and deliberative topics around the time of Demeterius of Phalerum.17 Whether he invented this type of exercise I have not been able to ascertain, as I acknowledged in another book of mine. Even those who insist on the point cite no satisfactory authority. Cicero is the one who tells us that Latin rhetors got their start late in the lifetime of Lucius Crassus, with Plotius being the most famous.18
A little later I will consider the proper use of declamation. Meanwhile, because we are discussing the rudiments of rhetorical education, I must not refrain from reminding the teacher of rhetoric how much he will assist his students’ progress if he guides them in the reading of histories and speeches, following the same techniques used by the grammarians in the exposition of poetry. I have employed this practice with a few pupils who were suitable in age and whose parents believed it would be useful. Still, although at the time I thought it an ideal practice, there were two obstacles, first that tradition had established a different expectation for teaching, and second, that the students, being energetic young men, didn’t need this kind of exercise, and instead just treated me as their exemplar. Still, although my discovery came somewhat late, I’m not embarrassed to recommend it to my successors. For I am now aware that this technique is used by Greek teachers, or rather their assistants, since the former are seen as having too little time to be constantly supervising individual readers.
To be sure, the preliminary reading used in this practice, which is intended to make it easier for the boys to follow the text chunk by chunk,19 and includes the definition of uncommon words, is thought to be beneath the rhetorician. But to point out the virtues of what is being read, and if they occur, the mistakes, most definitely is part of his profession and responsibility, insofar as he promises to be a teacher of eloquence. All the more so because I am hardly asking the teacher to summon the boy to his lap and assist him in reading any book he chooses!
To me it seems easier and more productive to call for silence, then appoint one student at a time as reader, allowing them to get used to public delivery. The case for which the oration was composed should be explained (which makes it easier to understand what’s being said) and everything worth noting about invention and style should be discussed, for example the means of winning the favour of the judges in the proem; the clarity, conciseness and plausibility of the narrative – and sometimes too the hidden strategy and cunning (for here the only real art is one that is apparent to no one but the artist); the foresight evident in the division of the issues; how subtle and numerous the arguments; how energetically the speaker rouses the audience, how charmingly he soothes them, the ferocity of his invective, the urbanity of his wit, how he lords it over their emotions, forces his way into their hearts, aligns their judgement with his words. As for style, point out each appropriate, choice and elevated word, the admirable use of amplification and diminution, each striking metaphor and figure of language, the smooth, polished, yet virile composition.
It can even be beneficial to consider on occasion speeches that are corrupt and faulty, yet admired due to the depravity of the critics. Have them read out loud, let the students be shown how much in them is inappropriate, obscure, bombastic, fawning, ugly, salacious or effeminate. Such speeches are praised by many, which is bad enough, but even worse, they are praised for the very features that make them depraved. For language that is direct and natural in expression is thought to contain nothing of genius, while the more distorted an expression the more we admire it as exquisite, much as some people prefer bodies that are deformed and even monstrous to those that have lost none of the advantages of normalcy. Being captivated by appearances, they think there’s greater beauty in those whose hair has been plucked or depilated or curled with a curling-iron or dyed a bizarre colour than there could possibly be in uncorrupted nature. They seem to imagine that a beautiful body requires an ugly character.
The instructor must explain these things, but also ask frequent questions and test the good judgement of his students. This will keep the listeners from feeling too comfortable or letting their lessons go in one ear and out the other. At the same time they will be led to the goal of this instruction, namely to figure things out for themselves and understand on their own. For what’s the point of teaching except to keep students from always needing to be taught? I dare say that this kind of exercise brings greater advantage to the learner than all the textbooks of all the specialists, which without doubt are quite helpful: but which among them can possibly cover the whole range of cases that arise on an almost daily basis?
Consider as a parallel the art of war. Although many general precepts have been passed along, still it will be more useful to know how any given general acted, whether wisely or not, in a particular action, time or place. For in just about every subject precepts are less valuable than experience. Yes, a teacher will declaim as a model for his audience. But wouldn’t there be more benefit in reading Cicero or Demosthenes? If a student makes a mistake in declaiming he will be corrected openly: will it not be more effective to correct some oration, not to say more enjoyable? We would all prefer to have someone else’s mistakes corrected instead of our own. I have much more that I could say on the subject, but I think everyone recognizes the usefulness of this type of exercise. I only wish the reluctance to do this were not so great as the advantage to be gained therefrom.
Once we do adopt this method, it’s easy to determine which authors are to be read by beginners. For some have recommended writers of lower quality as seeming easier to understand, others choose those of a more flowery sort, as if better suited to the inclinations of the young. But I say that students should be exposed at once and always to the best writers, albeit those who are most approachable. Thus for boys Livy rather than Sallust,20 for although the latter is the greater historian, it takes greater proficiency to understand him. Cicero, as it seems to me, is enjoyable for beginners and simple enough; he can be learned from, even loved. After Cicero, just as Livy recommends, authors who most closely resemble him.
Two sorts of writers are to be avoided where boys are concerned. First, whatever your admiration for antiquity, don’t let it harden your students through a reading of the Gracchi and Cato21 and the like. They will be become rough and uninteresting. Not yet understanding the force of such authors, they will grow satisfied with a style that although no doubt excellent for its time is foreign to our own, and, what is worst of all, will imagine that they are somehow similar to these great men.
Second, which is the opposite to this, don’t let them become enchanted by the allurements of the modern lascivious style or be taken in by a depraved type of pleasure, falling in love with a sensuality that is more appealing than suitable for boyish natures. Once their judgement has been strengthened and they are well out of danger, I would advise them to read ancient authors (once the squalor of age is cleared away, our present-day cultivation will shine more brightly, especially if the ancients’ solid manliness is retained); and also recent authors, in whom there is a great deal of value. It’s not that nature has doomed us to be dimwitted; rather, we have changed our style of speaking and indulged ourselves more than we should. Earlier writers surpassed us not in talent but in what they aimed to accomplish.
There will be much of value to select, but we must be careful not to let it be polluted by what it is mixed with. I freely admit, indeed insist, that there are recent and current writers fully deserving of imitation. But it’s not up to just anyone to say who they are. It’s safer to be mistaken about earlier authors, which is why I postpone the reading of modern writers. Imitation must not outpace judgement.
There’s another matter on which the practice of teachers differs. Some, not content just to structure the themes given to the student by setting up the division, press on to supply types of proof and emotional appeals. Others provide just an outline, then after the declamations discuss what each student omitted, developing certain passages as carefully as if they themselves were getting ready to make a speech. Both approaches are useful, and so I won’t give preference to either one. Still, if it is necessary to employ only one, it will be more profitable to have demonstrated the correct procedure from the outset than to correct those who have fallen into error. For students only receive correction passively, whereas they must put the division to use in thinking and writing; and they listen more willingly to instruction than correction.
If there are some who are a little feistier, the way things are nowadays they’ll become angry with correction and sullenly resist. Of course that’s no argument against openly correcting mistakes: the teacher needs to keep in mind the rest of the students who will think that anything not corrected by the teacher is indeed correct. The two approaches should be combined and put to use as the situation demands. Beginners will be given the theme in a form matched to their abilities. Once it’s clear that they are sufficiently prepared, we can provide them with prompts that will allow them to proceed on their own without assistance.
Students need to start to trust themselves. We mustn’t let the bad habit of following in another’s footsteps keep them from knowing how to set out on their own. But once they have a clear sense of what needs to be said, the task of the teacher is all but complete. If they still go astray, then they will have to be led back by their leader. We see birds behaving in a similar manner. They feed weak and vulnerable chicks with food they carry in their own mouths, but when the chicks seem grown, little by little they teach them to emerge from the nest and guide them as they fly about close to home. Only when the chicks’ abilities have been tested do they let them take to the open sky, relying on themselves.
There is one practice employed with boys of the age we are now discussing that I think needs to be changed entirely. They should not be learning by heart everything they have written in order to give a recitation on a specified day. Fathers in particular demand this practice, believing that their children are only making progress if they declaim as often as possible, when in fact progress depends chiefly on thoughtful attention. For although I want boys to write and to exert a great deal of effort, I would much rather that they memorize passages selected from orations or histories or another worthwhile genre.
Memory is given a more intense workout learning the words of another rather than our own. Students who master this more difficult task will have no difficulty remembering their own familiar words. Besides, they will grow accustomed to the best writings, and always carry within themselves examples worthy of imitation, and without even realizing it they will speak in the style that has been impressed upon their mind. They will have an abundant supply of excellent vocabulary, arrangement and figurative expressions that will make themselves freely available as if from a treasure house, rather than needing to be tracked down. They will also be able to quote fine sayings, which brings both pleasure and advantage in court. For remarks that have been composed outside the context of the case at hand have greater authority and earn greater respect than they would if we had written them.
Nevertheless, on occasion students should be permitted to recite their own compositions, so that they can enjoy as reward for their labour that most sought-after prize – the praise of the multitude. But this should only take place when they have produced something more polished than usual. That way they will be happy to have received a special reward for their effort and to have earned the opportunity to recite.
It’s rightly considered a virtue for a teacher to recognize the different talents of those he has undertaken to educate and to know their natural inclinations. For there is incredible variety in this respect, and as many forms of mind as of body. This can be seen even with orators, who so differ in their styles of speaking that no one quite resembles another, although many have composed their speeches in imitation of their favourite authors. Many also consider it useful to instruct each student in such a way that learning enhances his natural abilities, and in particular to assist talents to develop as they are inclined to do so anyway. Just as a wrestling coach, when he enters a gymnasium full of boys tests the body and mind of them in every way and determines what event each should prepare for, so too the teacher of eloquence, once he has carefully observed whose talent is suited to terse and polished speech, who especially enjoys an aggressive, serious, gentle, rough or urbane style, adapts his instruction so that each can progress in the direction in which he is naturally inclined. Natural ability, on this view, becomes even stronger when supplemented with attention; conversely, the student who is directed away from his inclinations never achieves real competency, and even grows weaker in the areas of his inborn talent, due to neglect.
Such a perspective seems to me only partly true (for it is permissible in pursuit of reason to dissent even from received opinion). To be sure, it is essential to observe the particular nature of each boy’s talent, and no one will convince me not to make a corresponding selection of pursuits. One will be more suited to history, another to poetry, another to study of law, with some perhaps to be sent back to the farm. The teacher of rhetoric will discern these things just as an athletics instructor will make one boy a runner, one a boxer, one a wrestler, or whatever else of the events held at the sacred games. Yet, the student who is headed for the forum must prepare not just for one aspect of the profession, but for everything relevant, even if it seems difficult. Education would be completely superfluous if nature alone were sufficient. After all, would we allow someone who had become indulgent and overly confident in his natural talent, as many are, to continue in that direction? Will we not fatten up, or at least disguise with better clothing, the weak and frail speaker? And if some habits must be eliminated, why not acknowledge that others must be introduced? I don’t mean to fight against nature. Innate quality should never be abandoned, but it should be improved upon, and what is naturally lacking must be supplied.
The famous teacher Isocrates, whose books attest to his excellence as a speaker, just as his students attest to his excellence as an instructor, assessed Ephorus and Theopompus22 by saying that one needed reins, the other spurs. Did he mean that the slowness of the one, the precipitous haste of the other required augmentation through instruction, or rather that the natural inclination of each needed to be combined with that of the other?
Still, it’s probably best to acknowledge the limits of lesser talents and lead them only where nature beckons anyway. At least they will improve at the only thing they can do. But if we have richer material to work with, such that we might hope to develop a true orator, then no virtue of speaking is to be omitted. For even if such a student is inclined in one direction, as of course he will be, still he will not resist the rest, and with effort will achieve the same level as in the area in which he naturally excels. To return to the example of the athletics trainer: if he plans to train a pancratiast, he won’t give instruction merely in punching or kicking or in particular wrestling holds, but will train him in every aspect of the event.
Some will simply be incapable in a given area. Let them focus on their greatest strength. Two mistakes are to be avoided: first don’t make him try what he cannot accomplish; second, don’t transfer him from a task at which he excels to one for which he is less well suited. But if the student is like Nicostratus, whom we saw in his old age when we were young, he will likewise benefit from all aspects of instruction, and make himself indomitable, just as Nicostratus23 was in wrestling and in boxing, for each of which he won the crown at the same competition.
And how much more foresight is required of the one who would teach a future orator. It isn’t sufficient to speak only tersely or subtly or roughly, any more than it’s sufficient for a singing master to excel only in high or middle or low register, or in particular sections thereof. For, like a harp, eloquence is not perfect unless from lowest to highest all its strings are taut and in tune.
Having said a great deal about the obligations of teachers, I give just one piece of advice to students: love your teachers no less than your studies and consider them parents not, to be sure, of your bodies, but of your minds. This sense of respect will be of great advantage in your studies, for you will listen to them willingly and trust what they are telling you and become eager to be like them, gladly assembling in school, not growing angry when corrected, but rejoicing when praised, earning the teacher’s great affection through your enthusiasm.
For just as the duty of teacher is to teach, the duty of students is to present themselves ready to be taught. Otherwise neither is sufficient without the other. Just as a human child is born from two parents, and in vain you would scatter seed unless a previously softened furrow is ready to receive it, just so eloquence cannot come into being unless the giver and receiver are united in common purpose.
During these elementary stages, which, far from being insignificant, are the bases for more advanced studies, when the students have had good instruction and plenty of practice, the time will come for attempting suasoriae and controversiae. Before I explain the method, I need to say a few words about declamation in general, a practice of recent origin yet of the greatest usefulness. It contains pretty much everything we have been discussing so far and comes close to real-life speechmaking. As a result, it is so widely practised that many regard it as the only thing necessary for producing eloquence.
Now it is true that there is no virtue in continuous oratory that cannot also be found in this type of speaking. And yet through the fault of instructors the practice has so declined that the wantonness and unsophistication of declaimers are among the primary reasons for the corruption of eloquence. But it is possible to make good use of anything that is in itself beneficial. Therefore, let topics be fashioned which are as close as possible to reality and let declamation, as far as possible, resemble the speeches for which it was invented as preparation.
For we will seek in vain among sponsions and interdicts24 for magicians and pestilence and oracular utterances and stepmothers even crueller than in tragedy and other more fantastic inventions. What?! you ask. Are we never to allow young declaimers to treat implausible or poetic, as I would call them, themes? Never permit them to revel in the material and throw themselves into their performance?Yes, that would be best, but at least if the themes are grandiose, don’t let them be stupid and laughable to those who examine them at all closely, and if some concession is necessary let the declaimer have his fill of them on occasion. But make sure he understands that like cattle bloated with too much green pasture who must be bled before returning to healthful food, he will have to slim down and be purged of the corrosive stuff he has imbibed if he intends to be healthy and strong. Otherwise his empty bluster will be exposed on his first attempt at a real case. But those who regard the whole project of declamation as in every respect different from courtroom cases evidently do not recognize the very reasons for which this exercise was devised. For if it does not prepare the student for the forum, then it is nothing but theatrical display or wild raving.
What is the point of addressing a non-existent judge, of narrating what everybody knows to be false, of providing arguments in a case no one will ever argue? Well these at least are only wastes of effort. But to feel emotion and be driven to anger or grief, what kind of joke is this, unless through mock battles we prepare ourselves for genuine strife and danger? Is there then to be no difference between declamatory practice and courtroom eloquence? None, at least if we practise for the sake of improvement. If only it were possible to add to the current practice the use of real names, for controversiae to be fashioned that are more complex and require longer treatment, if only we could be less fearful of everyday language and more accustomed to adding witticisms. However much we have practised other skills in schools, these things find us novices in the forum.
And even if a declamation is prepared for show, surely we should strive to give at least a little pleasure to our audience. For there are types of speeches that undoubtedly deal with reality, but are also adapted to popular entertainment, for example panegyrics and the whole demonstrative genre. In these it is permitted to speak more elaborately, and before an audience gathered for this express purpose, not just to use but even to flaunt all the artistry that must stay hidden in trials. And so declamation, because it is the image of trials and public deliberations, has to resemble reality, but because it has something of the epideictic about it, must take on a certain polish.
Think of comic actors. They speak not exactly in an everyday manner, for there would be no art in that, yet do not stray far from nature, which would hurt their performance. Instead, they give everyday speech a certain flair.
So too various challenges arise from the fictional nature of themes, especially the fact that many points are left uncertain which we assume as seems best: ages, abilities, children, parents, the resources, laws, customs and other such like of the city in question. Sometimes we even derive arguments from the flaws in the posited themes. But these things will be discussed in the relevant place. Although this work is aimed exclusively at the formation of the orator, I will not ignore issues relevant only to the schools, in case students ask about them.
Now it’s necessary to commence the part of the treatise that usually serves as the beginning for those who omit all the prior material. Already there are some ready to block me at the threshold and mock my efforts. Thinking, as they do, that eloquence does not require instruction of this sort, they are satisfied with their own natural ability and some mundane school exercises. They follow the example of certain prominent professors, one of whom, I believe, when asked to define a figure and a thought, responded that he had no idea, but if they were at all relevant they were present in his declamation. Another, being asked whether he followed Theodorus or Apollodorus, said, ‘I follow the Thracians.’25 He could hardly have been wittier in avoiding a confession of his own ignorance. These men, considered brilliant due to their inborn ability and frequent memorable sayings, have many equals in recklessness, few in talent.
And so they boast that they speak on impulse and rely on their innate strengths. They say that there’s no need for proof or organization where fictional themes are concerned, only for those remarkable epigrams that fill the auditorium – and are best sought out in the heat of the moment. And if they do consider them in advance, they apply no rational method, but instead stare at the ceiling, spurred on by some vague rumbling, like a call to arms, adapting their agitated gestures not to the delivery of words but to their pursuit.
Some prepare introductions before they have anything to say, intending to attach something clever to them. Having practised them for a long time both in silence and out loud, they give up hope of forming a connected whole and abandon what they have prepared, turning instead to one cliché after another. The most sensible among them work up not actual cases, but purple passages, tossing together bits and pieces as they come to hand, rather than considering the whole body of the speech. As a result their speeches, fragmented and assembled from mismatched parts, cannot possibly cohere, and end up resembling the notebooks in which schoolboys copy memorable expressions from the declamations of others. True, they sometimes knock out powerful turns of phrase and other good things, as they are constantly boasting, but barbarians and slaves can do the same, and if this is all that’s necessary, then the art of rhetoric counts for nothing.
Now I cannot deny that it’s commonly held that untrained speakers are more forceful, but this is a mistake on the part of those whose poor judgement leads them to believe that what lacks artistry has greater force. They consider it a sign of vigour to smash rather than open, break rather than loosen, drag rather than lead. The same people would praise an untrained gladiator who rushes into combat or a wrestler who applies his whole body against his opponent as ‘more courageous’, even though the latter is often overthrown by his own strength, while the vehement onslaught of the former is gently turned aside by a flick of his opponent’s wrist. There are aspects of this topic that will naturally escape the attention of the inexperienced. For example division, although effective in trials, reduces the appearance of strength; rough stones are bigger than those that have been worked, and scattered items seem more numerous than those that have been organized.
In addition, there are certain resemblances between virtues and vices that allow the abusive speaker to be considered outspoken, the brusque as brave, the long-winded as expressive. The uneducated speaker is more openly and more frequently offensive, although he puts his client, and often even himself, in danger. (Yet even this earns approval, because people gladly hear what they themselves are unwilling to say.) He also takes risks with style, striving so recklessly that in always seeking what is excessive he sometimes hits upon something truly grand. But this is a rare occurrence, and does not outweigh the rest of his vices.
This is why untrained speakers sometimes seem to have a greater fluency. They say anything at all, whereas the learned exercise choice and restraint. The untrained back off from any concern with proving their case, and so they evade the chilly reception given by our corrupted courts to actual investigation and argumentation. They aim only at thrilling the ears of the audience with depraved delights. Epigrammatic expressions, which are all they seek, appear more prominent when everything surrounding them is ugly and abject, as light shines more brilliantly, not in the shade, as Cicero has it,26 but in the depths of night! So let them be acclaimed as geniuses, as you will, just as long as it is understood that such praise is an insult to a man of real eloquence.
Nonetheless it must be admitted that learning does remove something – the way a file removes rough spots, a whetstone grinds away blunt edges or age takes away something from wine. What it removes is deficiency – and the less of this in polished speech, the better.
These bolder speakers also seek renown for their delivery. They are constantly shouting; they bellow everything, ‘with uplifted hand’, as they themselves put it; they run back and forth, huff and puff, throw their arms about and furiously shake their heads. Well, it makes a big impression on the ragged crowd to clap the hands, stamp the feet, strike the thigh, chest, forehead. But the trained speaker, just as he knows how to lower his tone, vary his style and organize his material, also accommodates his delivery to the register of his material. His one goal, constantly in mind, is to be and be seen as a man of restraint.
What the uneducated call force is really violence. Believe it or not, there are not only speakers, but even worse, teachers, who after a short course in rhetoric abandon any method and instead storm about impulsively, calling those with more respect for learning foolish, dry, lukewarm, weak or any other term of abuse that occurs to them.
So allow me to congratulate those who manage to become ‘eloquent’ without effort, reason or training. I long ago begged off giving instruction and speaking in the forum, because I thought it best to stop while I was still being sought after. Now, in my retirement, I take comfort in my studies and in writing what I consider useful for young men of good sense – and without doubt, pleasurable for me.