Chapter 3: To those who commend persons to philosophers.
That is a good answer of Diogenes to one who asked him for letters of introduction: “You are a man, and that his eyes will tell him; but whether you are good or bad he will discover, if he has skill to distinguish the good from the bad; and if he has not that skill, he will never discover it, though I should write him ten thousand letters.”
A drachma might just as well ask to be introduced to someone in order to be tested. If the man is a judge of silver, you will introduce yourself.
That is a good answer of Diogenes to one who asked him for letters of introduction: “You are a man, and that his eyes will tell him; but whether you are good or bad he will discover, if he has skill to distinguish the good from the bad; and if he has not that skill, he will never discover it, though I should write him ten thousand letters.”
A drachma might just as well ask to be introduced to someone in order to be tested. If the man is a judge of silver, you will introduce yourself.
—from Epictetus, Discourses 2.3
I recall how my application to a fancy high school already required letters of recommendation, and my poor middle school teachers had no idea about what they were supposed to write.
The fine old nun who taught me algebra suggested that the admissions committee simply sit down and have a lengthy chat with me instead, since no number of formal introductions could ever provide proof of either intelligence or character.
When I later found myself in the stuffy world of academia, it was as if recommendation letters were a form of currency, even as it seemed that very few people actually read them. To possess those pieces of paper, however, was enough to win admiration, though we weren’t always proud of the price we had to pay to acquire them.
I have now both read and written hundreds of such letters, and I can honestly say that not a single one was able to capture the true spirit of a man, and quite often managed to be little more than a diversion from coming to appreciate his true inner merits, or was even a clever means of covering up his darkest sins.
Am I expected to somehow trust you implicitly, just because I have heard your name before? Are you expected to merely take my word for it, when you know full well that I am always “professionally” required to write about the candidate in glowing colors? Have we no shame?
You may rightly ask how you are then supposed to learn anything about him, and I can only suggest, with Diogenes and Epictetus, as well as with Sister Judy at my middle school, that you form your own judgments, based upon your own observations, and guided by your own first principles.
This will certainly take far more time, but there can be no quick answers when it comes to something as critical as virtue and vice.
If I don’t already grasp a proper measure of human merit, and have the willingness to look carefully, critically, and charitably, that letter is only good for wrapping cheese or fish. I do not worry about what name is on the letterhead, for the love of status is in conflict with a love of the true, the good, and the beautiful.
It is much the same in all walks of life: the banker can weed out counterfeit currency, the publican recognizes a good ale, and the honest cop will smell the crook from a mile away. It isn’t magic, and there are no hidden secrets.
Join together a watchful eye for detail with a sound awareness of human nature, and then you will be able, slowly but surely, to distinguish the sinner from the saint.
No letters of introduction are necessary, as every man already speaks for himself through his own words and deeds.
I recall how my application to a fancy high school already required letters of recommendation, and my poor middle school teachers had no idea about what they were supposed to write.
The fine old nun who taught me algebra suggested that the admissions committee simply sit down and have a lengthy chat with me instead, since no number of formal introductions could ever provide proof of either intelligence or character.
When I later found myself in the stuffy world of academia, it was as if recommendation letters were a form of currency, even as it seemed that very few people actually read them. To possess those pieces of paper, however, was enough to win admiration, though we weren’t always proud of the price we had to pay to acquire them.
I have now both read and written hundreds of such letters, and I can honestly say that not a single one was able to capture the true spirit of a man, and quite often managed to be little more than a diversion from coming to appreciate his true inner merits, or was even a clever means of covering up his darkest sins.
Am I expected to somehow trust you implicitly, just because I have heard your name before? Are you expected to merely take my word for it, when you know full well that I am always “professionally” required to write about the candidate in glowing colors? Have we no shame?
You may rightly ask how you are then supposed to learn anything about him, and I can only suggest, with Diogenes and Epictetus, as well as with Sister Judy at my middle school, that you form your own judgments, based upon your own observations, and guided by your own first principles.
This will certainly take far more time, but there can be no quick answers when it comes to something as critical as virtue and vice.
If I don’t already grasp a proper measure of human merit, and have the willingness to look carefully, critically, and charitably, that letter is only good for wrapping cheese or fish. I do not worry about what name is on the letterhead, for the love of status is in conflict with a love of the true, the good, and the beautiful.
It is much the same in all walks of life: the banker can weed out counterfeit currency, the publican recognizes a good ale, and the honest cop will smell the crook from a mile away. It isn’t magic, and there are no hidden secrets.
Join together a watchful eye for detail with a sound awareness of human nature, and then you will be able, slowly but surely, to distinguish the sinner from the saint.
No letters of introduction are necessary, as every man already speaks for himself through his own words and deeds.
—Reflection written in 6/2001
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