A Dialogue Concerning Oratory, Or The Causes Of Corrupt Eloquence by Cornelius Tacitus

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XXX. Before I proceed, let us advert for a moment to the plan of
ancient discipline. The unwearied diligence of the ancient orators,
their habits of meditation, and their daily exercise in the whole
circle of arts and sciences, are amply displayed in the books which
they have transmitted to us. The treatise of Cicero, entitled Brutus
[a], is in all our hands. In that work, after commemorating the
orators of a former day, he closes the account with the particulars of
his own progress in science, and the method he took in educating
himself to the profession of oratory. He studied the civil law under
[b] Mucius Scaevola; he was instructed in the various systems of
philosophy, by Philo [c] of the academic school, and by Diodorus the
stoic; and though Rome, at that time, abounded with the best
professors, he made a voyage to Greece [d], and thence to Asia, in
order to enrich his mind with every branch of learning. Hence that
store of knowledge which appears in all his writings. Geometry, music,
grammar, and every useful art, were familiar to him. He embraced the
whole science of logic [e] and ethics. He studied the operations of
nature. His diligence of enquiry opened to him the long chain of
causes and effects, and, in short, the whole system of physiology was
his own. From a mind thus replenished, it is no wonder, my good
friends, that we see in the compositions of that extraordinary man
that affluence of ideas, and that prodigious flow of eloquence. In
fact, it is not with oratory as with the other arts, which are
confined to certain objects, and circumscribed within their own
peculiar limits. He alone deserves the name of an orator, who can
speak in a copious style, with ease or dignity, as the subject
requires; who can find language to decorate his argument; who through
the passions can command the understanding; and, while he serves
mankind, knows how to delight the judgement and the imagination of his
audience.

XXXI. Such was, in ancient times, the idea of an orator. To form that
illustrious character, it was not thought necessary to declaim in the
schools of rhetoricians [a], or to make a vain parade in fictitious
controversies, which were not only void of all reality, but even of a
shadow of probability. Our ancestors pursued a different plan: they
stored their minds with just ideas of moral good and evil; with the
rules of right and wrong, and the fair and foul in human transactions.
These, on every controverted point, are the orator's province. In
courts of law, just and unjust undergo his discussion; in political
debate, between what is expedient and honourable, it is his to draw
the line; and those questions are so blended in their nature, that
they enter into every cause. On such important topics, who can hope to
bring variety of matter, and to dignify that matter with style and
sentiment, if he has not, beforehand, enlarged his mind with the
knowledge of human nature? with the laws of moral obligation? the
deformity of vice, the beauty of virtue, and other points which do not
immediately belong to the theory of ethics?

The orator, who has enriched his mind with these materials, may be
truly said to have acquired the powers of persuasion. He who knows the
nature of indignation, will be able to kindle or allay that passion in
the breast of the judge; and the advocate who has considered the
effect of compassion, and from what secret springs it flows, will best
know how to soften the mind, and melt it into tenderness. It is by
these secrets of his art that the orator gains his influence. Whether
he has to do with the prejudiced, the angry, the envious, the
melancholy, or the timid, he can bridle their various passions, and
hold the reins in his own hand. According to the disposition of his
audience, he will know when to check the workings of the heart, and
when to raise them to their full tumult of emotion.

Some critics are chiefly pleased with that close mode of oratory,
which in a laconic manner states the facts, and forms an immediate
conclusion: in that case, it is obvious how necessary it is to be a
complete master of the rules of logic. Others delight in a more open,
free, and copious style, where the arguments are drawn from topics of
general knowledge; for this purpose, the peripatetic school [b] will
supply the orator with ample materials. The academic philosopher [c]
will inspire him with warmth and energy; Plato will give the sublime,
and Xenophon that equal flow which charms us in that amiable writer.
The rhetorical figure, which is called exclamation, so frequent with
Epicurus [d] and Metrodorus, will add to a discourse those sudden
breaks of passion, which give motion, strength, and vehemence.

It is not for the stoic school, nor for their imaginary wise man, that
I am laying down rules. I am forming an orator, whose business it is,
not to adhere to one sect, but to go the round of all the arts and
sciences. Accordingly we find, that the great master of ancient
eloquence laid their foundation in a thorough study of the civil law,
and to that fund they added grammar, music, and geometry. The fact is,
in most of the causes that occur, perhaps in every cause, a due
knowledge of the whole system of jurisprudence is an indispensable
requisite. There are likewise many subjects of litigation, in which an
acquaintance with other sciences is of the highest use.

XXXII. Am I to be told, that to gain some slight information on
particular subjects, as occasion may require, will sufficiently answer
the purposes of an orator? In answer to this, let it be observed, that
the application of what we draw from our own fund, is very different
from the use we make of what we borrow. Whether we speak from digested
knowledge, or the mere suggestion of others, the effect is soon
perceived. Add to this, that conflux of ideas with which the different
sciences enrich the mind, gives an air of dignity to whatever we say,
even in cases where that depth of knowledge is not required. Science
adorns the speaker at all times, and, where it is least expected,
confers a grace that charms every hearer; the man of erudition feels
it, and the unlettered part of the audience acknowledge the effect
without knowing the cause. A murmur of applause ensues; the speaker is
allowed to have laid in a store of knowledge; he possesses all the
powers of persuasion, and then is called an orator indeed.

I take the liberty to add, if we aspire to that honourable
appellation, that there is no way but that which I have chalked out.
No man was ever yet a complete orator, and, I affirm, never can be,
unless, like the soldier marching to the field of battle, he enters
the forum armed at all points with the sciences and the liberal arts.
Is that the case in these our modern times? The style which we hear
every day, abounds with colloquial barbarisms, and vulgar phraseology:
no knowledge of the laws is heard; our municipal policy is wholly
neglected, and even the decrees of the senate are treated with
contempt and derision. Moral philosophy is discarded, and the maxims
of ancient wisdom are unworthy of their notice. In this manner,
eloquence is dethroned; she is banished from her rightful dominions,
and obliged to dwell in the cold regions of antithesis, forced
conceit, and pointed sentences. The consequence is, that she, who was
once the sovereign mistress of the sciences, and led them as handmaids
in her train, is now deprived of her attendants, reduced,
impoverished, and, stripped of her usual honours (I might say of her
genius), compelled to exercise a mere plebeian art.

And now, my friends, I think I have laid open the efficient cause of
the decline of eloquence. Need I call witnesses to support my opinion?
I name Demosthenes among the Greeks. He, we are assured, constantly
attended [a] the lectures of Plato. I name Cicero among the Romans: he
tells us (I believe I can repeat his words), that if he attained any
degree of excellence, he owed it, not so much to the precepts of
rhetoricians, as to his meditations in the walks of the academic
school. I am aware that other causes of our present degeneracy may be
added; but that task I leave to my friends, since I now may flatter
myself that I have performed my promise. In doing it, I fear, that, as
often happens to me, I have incurred the danger of giving offence.
Were a certain class of men to hear the principles which I have
advanced in favour of legal knowledge and sound philosophy, I should
expect to be told that I have been all the time commending my own
visionary schemes.

XXXIII. You will excuse me, replied Maternus, if I take the liberty to
say that you have by no means finished your part of our enquiry. You
seem to have spread your canvas, and to have touched the outlines of
your plan; but there are other parts that still require the colouring
of so masterly a hand. The stores of knowledge, with which the
ancients enlarged their minds, you have fairly explained, and, in
contrast to that pleasing picture, you have given us a true draught of
modern ignorance. But we now wish to know, what were the exercises,
and what the discipline, by which the youth of former times prepared
themselves for the honours of their profession. It will not, I
believe, be contended, that theory, and systems of art, are of
themselves sufficient to form a genuine orator. It is by practice, and
by constant exertion, that the faculty of speech improves, till the
genius of the man expands, and flourishes in its full vigour. This, I
think, you will not deny, and my two friends, if I may judge by their
looks, seem to give their assent. Aper and Secundus agreed without
hesitation.

Messala proceeded as follows: Having, as I conceive, shewn the
seed-plots of ancient eloquence, and the fountains of science, from
which they drew such copious streams; it remains now to give some idea
of the labour, the assiduity, and the exercises, by which they trained
themselves to their profession. I need not observe, that in the
pursuit of science, method and constant exercise are indispensable:
for who can hope, without regular attention, to master abstract
schemes of philosophy, and embrace the whole compass of the sciences?
Knowledge must be grafted in the mind by frequent meditation [a]; to
that must be added the faculty of conveying our ideas; and, to make
sure of our impression, we must be able to adorn our thoughts with the
colours of true eloquence. Hence it is evident that the same arts, by
which the mind lays in its stock of knowledge, must be still pursued,
in order to attain a clear and graceful manner of conveying that
knowledge to others. This may be thought refined and too abstruse. If,
however, we are still to be told that science and elocution are things
in themselves distinct and unrelated; this, at least, may be assumed,
that he, who, with a fund of previous knowledge, undertakes the
province of oratory, will bring with him a mind well seasoned, and
duly prepared for the study and exercise of real eloquence.

XXXIV. The practice of our ancestors was agreeable to this theory. The
youth, who was intended for public declamation, went forth, under the
care of his father, or some near relation, with all the advantages of
home-discipline; his mind was expanded by the fine arts, and
impregnated with science. He was conducted to the most eminent orator
of the time. Under that illustrious patronage he visited the forum; he
attended his patron upon all occasions; he listened with attention to
his pleadings in the tribunals of justice, and his public harangues
before the people; he heard him in the warmth of argument; he noted
his sudden replies, and thus, in the field of battle, if I may so
express myself, he learned the first rudiments of rhetorical warfare.
The advantages of this method are obvious: the young candidate gained
courage, and improved his judgement; he studied in open day, amidst
the heat of the conflict, where nothing weak or idle could be said
with impunity; where every thing absurd was instantly rebuked by the
judge, exposed to ridicule by the adversary, and condemned by the
whole bar.

In this manner the student was initiated in the rules of sound and
manly eloquence; and, though it be true, that he placed himself under
the auspices of one orator only, he heard the rest in their turn, and
in that diversity of tastes which always prevails in mixed assemblies,
he was enabled to distinguish what was excellent or defective in the
kind. The orator in actual business was the best preceptor: the
instructions which he gave, were living eloquence, the substance, and
not the shadow. He was himself a real combatant, engaged with a
zealous antagonist, both in earnest, and not like gladiators, in a
mock contest, fighting for prizes. It was a struggle for victory,
before an audience always changing, yet always full; where the speaker
had his enemies as well as his admirers; and between both, what was
brilliant met with applause; what was defective, was sure to be
condemned. In this clash of opinions, the genuine orator flourished,
and acquired that lasting fame, which, we all know, does not depend on
the voice of friends only, but must rebound from the benches filled
with your enemies. Extorted applause is the best suffrage.

In that school, the youth of expectation, such as I have delineated,
was reared and educated by the most eminent genius of the times. In
the forum, he was enlightened by the experience of others; he was
instructed in the knowledge of the laws, accustomed to the eye of the
judges, habituated to the looks of a numerous audience, and acquainted
with the popular taste. After this preparation, he was called forth to
conduct a prosecution, or to take upon himself the whole weight of the
defence. The fruit of his application was then seen at once. He was
equal, in his first outset, to the most arduous business. Thus it was
that Crassus, at the age of nineteen [a], stood forth the accuser of
Papirius Carbo: thus Julius Caesar, at one and twenty, arraigned
Dolabella; Asinius Pollio, about the same age, attacked Caius Cato;
and Calvus, but a little older, flamed out against Vatinius. Their
several speeches are still extant, and we all read them with
admiration.

XXXV. In opposition to this system of education, what is our modern
practice? Our young men are led [a] to academical prolusions in the
school of vain professors, who call themselves rhetoricians; a race of
impostors, who made their first appearance at Rome, not long before
the days of Cicero. That they were unwelcome visitors, is evident from
the circumstance of their being silenced by the two censors [b],
Crassus and Domitius. They were ordered, says Cicero, to shut up their
school of impudence. Those scenes, however, are open at present, and
there our young students listen to mountebank oratory. I am at a loss
how to determine which is most fatal to all true genius, the place
itself, the company that frequent it, or the plan of study universally
adopted. Can the place impress the mind with awe and respect, where
none are ever seen but the raw, the unskilful, and the ignorant? In
such an assembly what advantage can arise? Boys harangue before boys,
and young men exhibit before their fellows. The speaker is pleased
with his declamation, and the hearer with his judgement. The very
subjects on which they display their talents, tend to no useful
purpose. They are of two sorts, persuasive or controversial. The
first, supposed to be of the lighter kind, are usually assigned to the
youngest scholars: the last are reserved for students of longer
practice and riper judgement. But, gracious powers! what are the
compositions produced on these occasions?

The subject is remote from truth, and even probability, unlike any
thing that ever happened in human life: and no wonder if the
superstructure perfectly agrees with the foundation. It is to these
scenic exercises that we owe a number of frivolous topics, such as the
reward due to the slayer of a tyrant; the election to be made by [c]
violated virgins; the rites and ceremonies proper to be used during a
raging pestilence; the loose behaviour of married women; with other
fictitious subjects, hackneyed in the schools, and seldom or never
heard of in our courts of justice. These imaginary questions are
treated with gaudy flourishes, and all the tumor of unnatural
language. But after all this mighty parade, call these striplings from
their schools of rhetoric, into the presence of the judges, and to the
real business of the bar [d]:

1. What figure will they make before that solemn judicature? Trained
up in chimerical exercises, strangers to the municipal laws,
unacquainted with the principles of natural justice and the rights of
nations, they will bring with them that false taste which they have
been for years acquiring, but nothing worthy of the public ear,
nothing useful to their clients. They have succeeded in nothing but
the art of making themselves ridiculous. The peculiar quality of the
teacher [a], whatever it be, is sure to transfuse itself into the
performance of the pupil. Is the master haughty, fierce, and arrogant;
the scholar swells with confidence; his eye threatens prodigious
things, and his harangue is an ostentatious display of the
common-places of school oratory, dressed up with dazzling splendour,
and thundered forth with emphasis. On the other hand, does the master
value himself for the delicacy of his taste, for the foppery of
glittering conceits and tinsel ornament; the youth who has been
educated under him, sets out with the same artificial prettiness, the
same foppery of style and manner. A simper plays on his countenance;
his elocution is soft and delicate; his action pathetic; his sentences
entangled in a maze of sweet perplexity; he plays off the whole of his
theatrical skill, and hopes to elevate and surprise.

2. This love of finery, this ambition to shine and glitter, has
destroyed all true eloquence. Oratory is not the child of hireling
teachers; it springs from another source, from a love of liberty, from
a mind replete with moral science, and a thorough knowledge of the
laws; from a due respect for the best examples, from profound
meditation [a], and a style formed by constant practice. While these
were thought essential requisites, eloquence flourished. But the true
beauties of language fell into disuse, and oratory went to ruin. The
spirit evaporated; I fear, to revive no more. I wish I may prove a
false prophet, but we know the progress of art in every age and
country. Rude at first, it rises from low beginnings, and goes on
improving, till it reaches the highest perfection in the kind. But at
that point it is never stationary: it soon declines, and from the
corruption of what is good, it is not in the nature of man, nor in the
power of human faculties, to rise again to the same degree of
excellence.

3. Messala closed with a degree of vehemence, and then turning to
Maternus and Secundus [a], It is yours, he said, to pursue this train
of argument; or if any cause of the decay of eloquence lies still
deeper, you will oblige us by bringing it to light. Maternus, I
presume, will find no difficulty: a poetic genius holds commerce with
the gods, and to him nothing will remain a secret. As for Secundus, he
has been long a shining ornament of the forum, and by his own
experience knows how to distinguish genuine eloquence from the corrupt
and vicious. Maternus heard this sally of his friend's good humour
with a smile. The task, he said, which you have imposed upon us, we
will endeavour to execute. But though I am the interpreter of the
gods, I must notwithstanding request that Secundus may take the lead.
He is master of the subject, and, in questions of this kind,
experience is better than inspiration.

4. Secundus [a] complied with his friend's request. I yield, he said,
the more willingly, as I shall hazard no new opinion, but rather
confirm what has been urged by Messala. It is certain, that, as
painters are formed by painters, and poets by the example of poets, so
the young orator must learn his art from orators only. In the schools
of rhetoricians [b], who think themselves the fountain-head of
eloquence, every thing is false and vitiated. The true principles of
the persuasive art are never known to the professor, or if at any time
there may be found a preceptor of superior genius, can it be expected
that he shall be able to transfuse into the mind of his pupil all his
own conceptions, pure, unmixed, and free from error? The sensibility
of the master, since we have allowed him genius, will be an
impediment: the uniformity of the same dull tedious round will give
him disgust, and the student will turn from it with aversion. And yet
I am inclined to think, that the decay of eloquence would not have
been so rapid, if other causes, more fatal than the corruption of the
schools, had not co-operated. When the worst models became the objects
of imitation, and not only the young men of the age, but even the
whole body of the people, admired the new way of speaking, eloquence
fell at once into that state of degeneracy, from which nothing can
recover it. We, who came afterwards, found ourselves in a hopeless
situation: we were driven to wretched expedients, to forced conceits,
and the glitter of frivolous sentences; we were obliged to hunt after
wit, when we could be no longer eloquent. By what pernicious examples
this was accomplished, has been explained by our friend Messala.

5. We are none of us strangers to those unhappy times, when Rome,
grown weary of her vast renown in arms, began to think of striking
into new paths of fame, no longer willing to depend on the glory of
our ancestors. The whole power of the state was centred in a single
ruler, and by the policy of the prince, men were taught to think no
more of ancient honour. Invention was on the stretch for novelty, and
all looked for something better than perfection; something rare,
far-fetched, and exquisite. New modes of pleasure were devised. In
that period of luxury and dissipation, when the rage for new
inventions was grown epidemic, Seneca arose. His talents were of a
peculiar sort, acute, refined and polished; but polished to a degree
that made him prefer affectation and wit to truth and nature. The
predominance of his genius was great, and, by consequence, he gave the
mortal stab to all true eloquence [a]. When I say this, let me not be
suspected of that low malignity which would tarnish the fame of a
great character. I admire the man, and the philosopher. The undaunted
firmness with which he braved the tyrant's frown, will do immortal
honour to his memory. But the fact is (and why should I disguise it?),
the virtues of the writer have undone his country.

6. To bring about this unhappy revolution, no man was so eminently
qualified [a]. His understanding was large and comprehensive; his
genius rich and powerful; his way of thinking ingenious, elegant, and
even charming. His researches in moral philosophy excited the
admiration of all; and moral philosophy is never so highly praised, as
when the manners are in a state of degeneracy. Seneca knew the taste
of the times. He had the art to gratify the public ear. His style is
neat, yet animated; concise, yet clear; familiar, yet seldom
inelegant. Free from redundancy, his periods are often abrupt, but
they surprise by their vivacity. He shines in pointed sentences; and
that unceasing persecution of vice, which is kept up with uncommon
ardour, spreads a lustre over all his writings. His brilliant style
charmed by its novelty. Every page sparkles with wit, with gay
allusions, and sentiments of virtue. No wonder that the graceful ease,
and sometimes the dignity of his expression, made their way into the
forum. What pleased universally, soon found a number of imitators. Add
to this the advantages of rank and honours. He mixed in the splendour,
and perhaps in the vices, of the court. The resentment of Caligula,
and the acts of oppression which soon after followed, served only to
adorn his name. To crown all, Nero was his pupil, and his murderer.
Hence the character and genius of the man rose to the highest
eminence. What was admired, was imitated, and true oratory was heard
no more. The love of novelty prevailed, and for the dignified
simplicity of ancient eloquence no taste remained. The art itself, and
all its necessary discipline, became ridiculous. In that black period,
when vice triumphed at large, and virtue had every thing to fear, the
temper of the times was propitious to the corruptors of taste and
liberal science. The dignity of composition was no longer of use. It
had no power to stop the torrent of vice which deluged the city of
Rome, and virtue found it a feeble protection. In such a conjuncture
it was not safe to speak the sentiments of the heart. To be obscure,
abrupt, and dark, was the best expedient. Then it was that the
affected sententious brevity came into vogue. To speak concisely, and
with an air of precipitation, was the general practice. To work the
ruin of a person accused, a single sentence, or a splendid phrase, was
sufficient. Men defended themselves in a short brilliant expression;
and if that did not protect them, they died with a lively apophthegm,
and their last words were wit. This was the fashion introduced by
Seneca. The peculiar, but agreeable vices of his style, wrought the
downfall of eloquence. The solid was exchanged for the brilliant, and
they, who ceased to be orators, studied to be ingenious.

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