Therefore, mark my words; that forceful manner of speech, rapid and copious, is more suited to a mountebank than to a man who is discussing and teaching an important and serious subject.
But I object just as strongly that he should drip out his words as that he should go at top speed; he should neither keep the ear on the stretch, nor deafen it. For that poverty-stricken and thin-spun style also makes the audience less attentive because they are weary of its stammering slowness; nevertheless, the word which has been long awaited sinks in more easily than the word which flits past us on the wing.
Finally, people speak of "handing down" precepts to their pupils; but one is not "handing down" that which eludes the grasp.
Besides, speech that deals with the truth should be unadorned and plain. This popular style has nothing to do with the truth; its aim is to impress the common herd, to ravish heedless ears by its speed; it does not offer itself for discussion, but snatches itself away from discussion.
But how can that speech govern others which cannot itself be governed? May I not also remark that all speech which is employed for the purpose of healing our minds, ought to sink into us? Remedies do not avail unless they remain in the system.
But I object just as strongly that he should drip out his words as that he should go at top speed; he should neither keep the ear on the stretch, nor deafen it. For that poverty-stricken and thin-spun style also makes the audience less attentive because they are weary of its stammering slowness; nevertheless, the word which has been long awaited sinks in more easily than the word which flits past us on the wing.
Finally, people speak of "handing down" precepts to their pupils; but one is not "handing down" that which eludes the grasp.
Besides, speech that deals with the truth should be unadorned and plain. This popular style has nothing to do with the truth; its aim is to impress the common herd, to ravish heedless ears by its speed; it does not offer itself for discussion, but snatches itself away from discussion.
But how can that speech govern others which cannot itself be governed? May I not also remark that all speech which is employed for the purpose of healing our minds, ought to sink into us? Remedies do not avail unless they remain in the system.
—from Seneca, Moral Letters 40
Hold your horses! There is too much, and then there is too little. The Classical model of life understands how the mean lies, sometimes rather precariously, between two extremes. The delicate balance of a virtue is at threat from either side of excess and deficiency.
On the one hand there is the braggart, and on the other there is the boor. I occasionally worry that my Aristotelian and Thomist training gets in the way of my Stoic practice, and then I remember that tribalism has no place in the love of truth.
Am I now more like the tortoise than I am like the hare? I only know I need to get the job done, and I prefer to err on the side of caution instead of rushing in without any due diligence. From speaking like a 33 at 45 rpm, I suppose I have ended up sounding terribly sleepy. I’m still working at it.
Nevertheless, give me the quiet man over the rambling man on any day. I believe it was Emily Dickinson who feared a man of frugal speech, for she feared he might be grand.
Seneca was a man of refined rhetoric, and that is something I have not yet mastered. Will it someday come to me? Perhaps, though I must work on the essentials first. No one can preach with any confidence about the virtues he has not yet mastered; note how often we get the order backwards.
Teachers of all sorts will go on about how well they “personally relate” to their students, and so we have sadly ended up with education as a kind of popularity contest, where the best actors get tenure. I’m now fine with being the tortoise, and having Bugs Bunny laugh at me for my sluggishness.
Remember, slow and steady wins the race. Aiming for character is the only race that matters.
Ah, “mountebank!” Now there’s a word that needs to come back, along with charlatan, scoundrel, caitiff, blackguard, and demagogue. I would even be content with hearing about rascals. When we have no distinction between right and wrong, all the words are reduced to a warm and fuzzy mediocrity.
We’d all like to be saints, without admitting there are any sinners.
Hold your horses! There is too much, and then there is too little. The Classical model of life understands how the mean lies, sometimes rather precariously, between two extremes. The delicate balance of a virtue is at threat from either side of excess and deficiency.
On the one hand there is the braggart, and on the other there is the boor. I occasionally worry that my Aristotelian and Thomist training gets in the way of my Stoic practice, and then I remember that tribalism has no place in the love of truth.
Am I now more like the tortoise than I am like the hare? I only know I need to get the job done, and I prefer to err on the side of caution instead of rushing in without any due diligence. From speaking like a 33 at 45 rpm, I suppose I have ended up sounding terribly sleepy. I’m still working at it.
Nevertheless, give me the quiet man over the rambling man on any day. I believe it was Emily Dickinson who feared a man of frugal speech, for she feared he might be grand.
Seneca was a man of refined rhetoric, and that is something I have not yet mastered. Will it someday come to me? Perhaps, though I must work on the essentials first. No one can preach with any confidence about the virtues he has not yet mastered; note how often we get the order backwards.
Teachers of all sorts will go on about how well they “personally relate” to their students, and so we have sadly ended up with education as a kind of popularity contest, where the best actors get tenure. I’m now fine with being the tortoise, and having Bugs Bunny laugh at me for my sluggishness.
Remember, slow and steady wins the race. Aiming for character is the only race that matters.
Ah, “mountebank!” Now there’s a word that needs to come back, along with charlatan, scoundrel, caitiff, blackguard, and demagogue. I would even be content with hearing about rascals. When we have no distinction between right and wrong, all the words are reduced to a warm and fuzzy mediocrity.
We’d all like to be saints, without admitting there are any sinners.
—Reflection written in 1/2013
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