Plutarch's essays and miscellanies, Vol. 1 · Plutarch
OF HEARING.
_Directions concerning Praising._ 13. As for commendation, some caution and mean is to be observed in it; because to be either deficient or excessive in that particular shows a base spirit. He is but a morose and rigid hearer whom no part of an oration can work upon or move, one who is full of a secret presumptuous opinion of himself, and of an inbred conceit that he could do better things himself; one who dares not alter his countenance as occasion requires, or let fall the least word to testify his good wishes, but with silence and affected gravity hunts after the reputation of a sagacious and profound person, and thinks that all the praise is lost to himself which he bestows on others, as if it were money. For many wrest that sentence of Pythagoras, who used to say that he had learned by philosophy to admire nothing; but these men think that to admire nobody and to honor nobody consists in despising everybody, and they aim at seeming grave by being contemptuous. Philosophy indeed removes that foolish admiration and surprise which proceeds from doubt or ignorance, by laying open to us the causes of things, but endeavors not to destroy all good-nature and humanity. And those who are truly good take it for their greatest honor and commendation to be just in paying honor and commendation where it is due to others; and for a man to adorn another is a most glorious ornament, proceeding from a generous abundance of glory and honor in himself; while those who are niggardly in praising others only betray how poor and bare they are of praises at home.
As oft amidst the furze and thorny brakes The tender violets more securely peep. For if some have undertaken successfully to speak in commendation of vomiting or a fever, and have even made an encomium on a porridge-pot not without some acceptance, certainly a discourse from one that has the least pretence to philosophy cannot but afford some opportunity, though it be a slight one, for commendation to a well-disposed auditory. Plato says that all who are in their bloom in some way excite the amorous man;—the fair are the children of the Gods, the black are manly, the hook-nosed have a look of majesty, the flat-nose gives a graceful air, even the sallow complexion is complimented for looking like honey; in spite of all their defects, he cherishes and loves them all.[185] Thus love, like ivy, must needs find something or other to lay hold on. But much more will a studious hearer and scholar be sure to find some not unworthy reason for praising every speaker. For Plato in an oration of Lysias, disliking the invention and utterly condemning the disposition as confused, yet praised the style and elocution, because every word was wrought off cleverly and cleanly turned.
Thus a man may see cause enough to disapprove the argument of Archilochus, the verse of Parmenides, the poverty of Phocylides, the eternal talk of Euripides, and inequality of style in Sophocles; and among the orators, one has no manner, another is not moving, a third has nothing of ornament; yet every one has his peculiar power of moving and exciting, for which he is praised. Some again do not require of us to testify our acceptance by the voice; a pleasing eye or cheerful look, or a behavior without any thing of pain or uneasiness, is all that they desire. For the following favors are nowadays bestowed of course upon every oration, though the speaker may speak to no purpose at all,—sitting modestly without lolling from one side to the other, looking earnestly on the speaker, in the posture of an attentive listener, and with a countenance which betrays not only no contempt or ill-will but not even a mind otherwise employed. For as the beauty and excellence of every thing consists in the concurrence of many different accidents, which contribute to the symmetry and harmony of the whole, so that, if but one inconsiderable part be away or absurdly added, deformity immediately follows; in like manner, not only a supercilious look or forbidding mien or roving eyes or waving the body to and fro or indecent crossing of the legs, but even a nod, a whisper to another, a scornful smile, a sleepy yawn, hanging of the head, or the like, are all likewise great indecorums and to be avoided with particular care.
14. Yet some there are who can assign a speaker his part, and think no duty incumbent on themselves all the while; who will have him prepare and premeditate what he has to deliver, and yet throw themselves into an auditory without any preparation or consideration, as if they were invited to a feast, to revel and take their pleasures at another’s cost. Yet it is known that even a guest has some things required of him to make him suitable and agreeable, and certainly a hearer has much more; because he ought to be a sharer in the discourse and an assistant to the speaker. Neither will it become him to be severe at all turns upon every slight miscarriage or perpetually putting the speaker’s elocution and action to the test, while he himself is guilty of grosser enormities in hearing, without danger or control. But as at tennis he that takes the ball turns and winds his body according to the motion of the server, so a kind of proportion is to be observed between the speaker and the hearer, if both will discharge their several duties. _Care to be observed in Praising Persons of all Qualities._
15. Neither ought we to use any expressions of praise indifferently. For it is an ill thing which Epicurus relates, that, upon reading any epistles from his friends, those about him broke out into tumultuous applauses; and such as daily introduce new forms into our auditories, as Divinely said! Superhuman! Inimitable! (as if those used by Plato, Socrates, and Hyperides, Well! Wisely! Truly said! were not sufficiently expressive), exceed the bounds of decency and modesty, nay indeed, do but affront the speaker, as though he were fond of such extravagant praises. Nor are they less odious and troublesome who confirm approbation with impertinent oaths, as if they were giving their testimony for a speaker in a court of judicature. And so likewise is it with such as observe not to give just deference to the quality of persons, who to a philosopher are apt to cry out, Smartly said! or to a reverend gentleman, Wittily! Floridly! applying to philosophy such trifles as are proper to scholastic exercises and declamations, and giving meretricious applause to a sober discourse,—as if a man should compliment the conqueror in the Olympic games with a garland of lilies or roses, instead of laurel or wild olive.
Euripides the poet one day at a rehearsal instructing the chorus in a part that was set to a serious air, one of the company unexpectedly fell out a laughing; Sir, said he, unless you were very stupid and insensible, you could not laugh while I sing in the grave mixolydian mood. In like manner a master of philosophy and politics may put a stop to the unseasonable levity and pertness of a youngster, by telling him, You seem to be a madman and unacquainted with all manner of civility, otherwise you would not hum over your tunes or practise your new steps while I am discoursing of Gods, or the laws, or the supreme magistrate. For consider seriously what a very scandalous thing it is that, while a philosopher is in his discourse, the passengers in the street, from the clamor and hooting of the hearers, should have reason to make it a question whether some piper or harper or morris-dancer were got in among them. _Of bearing Admonitions and Reproofs._
16. Admonitions and reprimands ought to be taken neither altogether insensibly nor yet sheepishly. For such as carry off a disgrace from a philosopher carelessly and without due concern, so as to grin at his reprehensions or scoffingly to praise him for them, as sharping parasites applaud the scurrilous reflection of their cullies,—such, I say, are shameless and insolent, and betray only their invincible impudence, which is no good or true argument of courage. Yet to bear handsomely without passion an innocent jest in raillery is not unbecoming the breeding of a gentleman, but a good accomplishment and altogether worthy of a Spartan. But when an exhortation to amendment of manners, like a bitter potion, is made up of harsh and unpleasant words, in such a case for a youth—instead of hearing submissively and running into a sweat or being seized with dizziness, when the mind is on fire with shame and confusion—to remain unmoved or sneer or dissemble his concernment is the certain sign of a dissolute and ill-bred man, one whose soul, like callous flesh, being hardened with a course of debauchery, will receive no scar or impression. Some young men indeed there are of a contrary disposition, who having undergone one rebuke fly off without ever looking back, turn renegades, and quite desert philosophy.
These being naturally very modest have a good disposition toward an healthful habit of mind, but vitiate it by too much tenderness and effeminacy, which disables them for bearing a reproof or manfully submitting to a correction, and run after more pleasing harangues wherewith some flatterers and Sophists soothe and bewitch them, without any benefit or advantage. For as he that flies from the surgeon after incision, and will not suffer the ligature to be applied, endures that part of his skill only which is painful, rejecting what would give him ease; so such a one as being lanced and scarified by a sharp oration has not patience till the wound be skinned over, goes away from philosophy tortured and harassed, without that benefit he might receive thereby. For not only Telephus’s wound was cured by rusty filings of the spear (as Euripides has it), but whatever pain philosophy may occasion to a meek disposition will be cured and removed by the same discourse that gave the wound. He therefore that is reprehended must endure awhile and away with some pain, not presently be discouraged or out of heart. Let him behave himself as though he were to be initiated into the mysteries of philosophy, still hoping, after the lustrations and more troublesome ceremonies are undergone, he shall enjoy some considerable effect of his present troubles and inconveniences. Or suppose he be wrongfully chidden, it is but handsome to expect the conclusion; after that he may make his defence, and desire that such freedom and violence may be reserved to repress some other misdemeanor which really deserves it.
_The Difficulties in Philosophy vincible._ 17. But besides this,—as in grammar, music, and the exercises of activity, there are many things which to young beginners appear troublesome, laborious, and obscure, which yet a fuller knowledge, like acquaintance among men, makes more agreeable, ready, and feasible,—in like manner, though philosophy in its first terms and notions may seem uncouth and strange, yet a man must not be so far discouraged at the first elements as to throw it up altogether, but he must bid at all and ply his business hard and patiently expect that acquaintance which will make all easy and pleasant; and that will not be long in coming, bringing great light into things and exciting ardent affections to virtue; without which to endure to live, after one has through his own effeminacy fallen from philosophy, is an argument of a mean spirit and servile disposition. I must confess there is some difficulty in the things themselves which is not easily conquered by raw and unexperienced beginners; yet the greatest part of the difficulty they bring upon themselves by their own ignorance and inadvertency, falling into the same error from two contrary causes. For some, out of a foolish bashfulness and desire to be easy to the speaker, are loath to be inquisitive or have the thing made plain to them, and so they nod their assent to every thing that is said, as if they fully comprehended it. And others out of unseasonable vain-glory, and vying with their fellows that they may vaunt their readiness of wit and quickness of apprehension, pretend to understand things before they do, and never understand them at all. Now the consequence in both cases is this; the modest go away in a great deal of anxiety and doubt, and are forced in the end, with greater disgrace, to interrupt the speaker to be informed again; and the vain-glorious are troubled to keep close and conceal the ignorance they carry about them.
18. Therefore all such sheepishness and self-conceit being set aside, let us learn to lay up in our minds whatever is usefully said, enduring to be laughed at by such as set up for wits and railers. This course took Cleanthes and Xenocrates, who being somewhat slower than their fellows did not therefore give over hearing or despond; but prevented the jests of others, by comparing themselves to narrow-mouthed vessels and to copper plates; because, though they received learning with some difficulty, yet they retained it surely. For he that will be a good man must not only, as Phocylides says,— Expect much fraud, and many a time be caught,— but be laughed at and disgraced, and endure many scurrilous and virulent reflections; he must also encounter ignorance and wrestle with it with all the strength of his mind, and subdue it too. Neither on the other hand must the faults be passed by which some troublesome people commit out of mere laziness and negligence; such men as will not bestow any pains in considering themselves, but asking often the same questions are a perpetual vexation to the speaker; like callow birds always gaping at the bill of the old one, and still reaching after what has been prepared and worked over by others. Another sort there are, who, affecting the reputation of quickness and attention, confound the speaker with their pragmatical curiosity and jargon, always haling in something unnecessary and requiring demonstrations of things foreign to the business in hand.
Thus a short way is long and tedious made, as Sophocles[186] says, and that not only to themselves, but others also. For by taking off the speaker with vain and unnecessary questions they retard the progress of instruction, like travellers in the road, by impertinent halts and stops. Hieronymus compares these men to lazy and greedy curs, which within doors bite and tear the skins of wild animals and lie tugging at their shaggy hair, but in the field dare not fasten upon beasts themselves. _A Concluding Exhortation._ Yet one exhortation let me leave with these people, that having received the general heads of things they would supply the rest by their own industry, making their memory a guide to their invention; and that, looking on the discourse of others only as a kind of first principle or seed, they would take care to cherish and increase it. For the mind requires not like an earthen vessel to be filled up; convenient fuel and aliment only will inflame it with a desire of knowledge and ardent love of truth. Now, as it would be with a man who, going to his neighbor’s to borrow fire and finding there a great and bright fire, should sit down to warm himself and forget to go home; so is it with the one who comes to another to learn, if he does not think himself obliged to kindle his own fire within and inflame his own mind, but continues sitting by his master as if he were enchanted, delighted by hearing. Such a one, although he may get the name of a philosopher, as we get a bright color by sitting by the fire, will never clear away the mould and rust of his mind, and dispel the darkness of his understanding by the help of philosophy. In fine, if there is any other precept concerning hearing, it is briefly this, to be careful in observing the last exhortation,—that is, to join the exercise of our invention to our hearing; that so, while we lay down the rule that hearing well is the first step to living well, we may not content ourselves with a superficial commonplace knowledge, but endeavor after such a philosophical habit as shall be deeply imprinted on the mind.
OF LARGE ACQUAINTANCE; OR, AN ESSAY TO PROVE THE FOLLY OF SEEKING MANY FRIENDS. 1. Menon the Thessalian, a person who had no mean opinion of his own parts, who thought himself well accomplished in all the arts of discourse and to have reached (as Empedocles words it) the highest pitch of wisdom, was asked by Socrates, What is virtue? And he answered readily enough, and as impertinently, that there is one virtue belonging to childhood, another to old age; that there are distinct virtues in men and women, magistrates and private persons, masters and servants. Excellently well! replied Socrates in raillery, when you were asked about one virtue, you have raised, as it were, a whole swarm; conjecturing, not without reason, that the man therefore named many because he knew the nature of none. And may not we ourselves expect and deserve as justly to be scoffed and rallied, who having not yet contracted one firm friendship seem nevertheless exceeding cautious of too many? It is almost the same thing as if one maimed and blind should appear solicitous lest like Briareus he may chance to be furnished with a hundred hands, and become all over eyes like Argus. However, we cannot but extol the sense of that young man in Menander the poet, who said that he counted every man wonderfully honest and happy who had found even the shadow of a friend.
2. But all the difficulty lies in finding him; and the chiefest reason is that, instead of one choice true friend, nothing under a multitude will content us; like women of the town who admit the embraces of all gallants that come, at the gay appearance of the last which comes we neglect and slight the former, and so are unable to hold them. Or rather, like the foster-child of Hypsipyle, who “in a green meadow sat cropping the flowers one after another, snatching each prize with delighted heart, insatiable in his childish joy,”[187]—so we of riper years, from an inbred affection of novelty and disdain of things already possessed, take up presently with the first promising aspect of every fresh and new-blooming friend, and lay all at once the foundations of several acquaintances; but we leave each unfinished, and when we have scarce fixed on one, our love immediately palls there, while we passionately pursue some other.
Wherefore, in this affair,—to begin at the beginning (at the domestic altar, as the saying is),—let us ask the opinion and counsel of our forefathers, and consider what report the records of antiquity make concerning true friends. They are, we find, always reckoned in pairs; as Theseus and Pirithous, Achilles and Patroclus, Orestes and Pylades, Phintias and Damon, Epaminondas and Pelopidas. Friendship (so to speak) is a creature sociable, but affects not a herd or a flock; and that we usually esteem a friend another self, and call him ἑταῖρος (companion) as much as to say ἕτερος (the other one), is a convincing argument that the number two is the adequate and complete measure of friendship. And in truth, a great number of friends or servants is not to be purchased at an easy rate. That which procures love and friendship in the world is a sweet and obliging temper of mind, a lively readiness in doing good offices, together with a constant habit of virtue; than which qualifications nothing is more rarely found in nature. Therefore to love and to be beloved much can have no place in a multitude; but the most eager affection, if divided among numerous objects, like a river divided into several channels, must needs flow at length very weak and languid. Upon this score, those animals love their young most which generate but one; and Homer, describing a beloved child, calls it the only-begotten and born in old age,—that is, at such a time when the parents neither have nor hope for another.[188]
3. Yet I do not assert we ought to confine ourselves to one only friend; but among the rest, there should be one eminently so, like a well-beloved and only son, not casually picked up at a tavern or eating-house or in a tennis-court, nor at a game of hazard, nor at an accidental meeting in the wrestling-place or the market,—as is too common nowadays,—but one chosen upon long and mature deliberation, with whom (according to that celebrated proverb) we have eaten a bushel of salt. The palaces of noble men and princes appear guarded with splendid retinues of diligent obsequious servants, and every room is crowded with a throng of visitors, who caress the great man with all the endearing gestures and expressions that wit and breeding can invent; and it may be thought, I confess, at first sight, that such are very fortunate in having so many cordial, real friends at their command; whereas it is all bare pageantry and show. Change the scene, and you may observe a far greater number of flies as industriously busy in their kitchens; and as these would vanish, were the dishes empty and clean, so neither would that other sort of insect pay any farther respect, were nothing to be got by it. There are chiefly these requisites to a true friendship: virtue, as a thing lovely and desirable; familiarity, as pleasant; and advantage, as necessary. For we must first choose a friend upon a right judgment made of his excellent qualities; having chosen him, we must perceive a pleasure in his conversation, and upon occasion he must be useful to us in our concerns. All which (especially judgment in our choice, the main point of all) are inconsistent with a numerous acquaintance.
And first of all (to draw a parallel in other matters), if there is no small time required to select a great many persons together who can dance and sing in exact time to the same tune, manage oars with a like strength and vigor, be fit stewards of our estates or tutors of our children, certainly we must acknowledge it much more difficult to meet with a considerable number of friends, ready to enter with us the trial of all manner of fortune, of whom every one will Of his good fortune yield thy part to thee, And bear like part of thy calamity. Even a ship at sea runs not the risk of so many storms, nor are any castles, forts, and havens secured with walls, ramparts, and dams against the apprehension of so many dangers, as are the misfortunes against which a constant approved friendship mutually undertakes to afford a defence and refuge. Whoever without due trial put themselves upon us for friends we examine as bad money; and the cheat being discovered, we are glad if of their own accord they withdraw; or if they persist, at least we wish with great impatience fairly to get rid of them.[189] Yet we must own it is a hard and troublesome task to cast off a disagreeable acquaintance; for as unwholesome meats which nauseate the stomach can neither be retained without hazard of health, nor yet ejected sincere as they were taken, but wholly disguised and defiled with other humors; so a mistaken false friend must either be still entertained, and remain a mere vexation to us as well as uneasy to himself, or else by a kind of convulsion be thrown up like bile, leaving behind the continual torment of private grudgings and hatred.
Text from Project Gutenberg, public domain in the United States.