Euripides says that the wound of Telephus was

_Soothed by the filings ground from the same spear._

It is no less true that the sting implanted by philosophy in [Sidenote:

47] a youth of parts is cured by the same reasoning that caused the

wound. While, therefore, it is right that the subject of reproof should

feel some pain from the sting, he must not be crushed or dispirited,

but, after undergoing the first discomposing rites of purification, he

should look for some sweet and splendid revelation to follow the

distress and confusion of the moment. For though the reproof may appear

to be unjust, the proper course is to endure it with all patience until

the speaker concludes. Then he may be met by a plea in self-defence, and

by [Sidenote: B] a request to reserve for some real fault all the

vigorous candour which he has shown in the present instance.

To proceed to the next consideration. In reading and writing, playing

the lyre, or wrestling, the first lessons are very harassing, laborious,

and unsure; but, as we advance step by step, it is much as in dealing

with mankind. By dint of frequent and familiar acquaintance we find that

it all becomes pleasant and manageable, and every word or action easy.

It is the same with philosophy. No doubt the language and matter, as

first met with, contain something both hard and strange. But we must not

take fright at the rudiments and prove so timid and spiritless

[Sidenote: C] as to abandon the study. On the contrary, our duty is to

grapple with every question, to persevere, to be resolved on making

progress, and then to wait for that familiarity which converts all right

action into a pleasure. It will not be long before it arrives, casting

upon the study a flood of light, and inspiring an ardent passion for

excellence. To be without such passion and to put up with the ordinary

type of life because one is driven from philosophy by a lack of mettle,

is to be a miserable or cowardly creature.

We may also expect that at first the argumentation will prove somewhat

difficult for young and inexperienced students to understand. For the

most part, however, the obscurity and want of comprehension are due to

themselves. Opposite dispositions [Sidenote: D] lead to the same

mistake. Thus one class, through bashfulness and a desire to spare the

teacher, will shrink from putting questions and making sure of the

argument, and will ostensibly assent as if they quite understood. The

others, led by misplaced ambition and meaningless rivalry to make a show

of cleverness and quickness, pretend to have mastered a thing before

they take it in, and so will not take it in at all. The consequence is

that when the former—the modest and silent kind—go home, they will worry

themselves with their perplexities, and in the end they will be driven

perforce to trouble the speaker by harking back with their questions at

a later date, when they will feel still more ashamed. Meanwhile the bold

and ambitious kind will be perpetually cloaking their ignorance and

hiding the fact that it haunts them.

Let us then thrust aside all this pretentious silliness, and march

[Sidenote: E] on towards learning. Let our business be to get an

intelligent grasp upon valuable instruction. And let us put up with the

laughter of those who are thought to be clever. Remember how Cleanthes

and Xenocrates, though to all appearance slower than their

fellow-pupils, refused to give up or run away from their studies. On the

contrary, they were the first to joke at their own expense, comparing

themselves to a narrow-necked bottle or a brass tablet, inasmuch as,

though slow at taking their instruction in, they were safe and sure at

retaining it. Not only must we, as Phocylides puts it,

_Oft-times be baulked of our hope while seeking to come unto

goodness_;

we must also ‘oft-times’ be laughed at, and bear with scoffing

[Sidenote: F] and jeering, meanwhile putting all our heart and energy

into winning the struggle against our ignorance.

We must, however, be quite as careful not to err in the opposite

direction. Some do so from sloth, which makes them a wearisome

infliction. Unwilling to trouble themselves when [Sidenote: 48] alone,

they keep troubling the teacher by repeatedly asking for information on

the same questions. Like unfledged birds in the nest, they are

perpetually agape to be fed from another’s mouth, and expect to receive

everything ready masticated by someone else.

Another kind, in the misplaced quest of a reputation for alertness and

acumen, worry the lecturer with their fussy garrulity, perpetually

mooting some unimportant difficulty or demanding some unnecessary

demonstration,

_Till a short journey so becometh long_

[Sidenote: B] —as Sophocles says—not only to themselves but to every one

else. By continually arresting the teacher with superfluous and futile

questions, as if they were merely chatting with a companion, they

interfere with the continuity of the lesson by a series of checks and

delays. Persons of this class are (to quote Hieronymus) like wretched

cowardly puppies, who bite the skins and tear the odds and ends of wild

animals at home, but who never touch the animals themselves.

As for the former and lazy class, let us give them this advice. When

they have managed to comprehend the main points, let them piece the rest

together for themselves, using their [Sidenote: C] memory as a guide to

independent thought. And let them take the reasoning they hear from

another as a beginning—a seed which they are to make grow and thrive.

The mind is not a vessel which calls for filling. It is a pile, which

simply requires kindling-wood to start the flame of eagerness for

original thought and ardour for truth. Suppose someone goes to borrow

from his neighbour’s fire, and then, on finding a large bright blaze,

persists in staying and basking on the spot. It is the same when a man

comes to another to borrow reason, and does not realize that he must

kindle a light of his own in the shape of thinking for himself, but sits

enchanted with enjoyment of the lecture. He derives from the lesson

[Sidenote: D] a ruddy glow or outward brilliance, but he fails to drive

out the mould and darkness from within by the warming power of

philosophy.

If therefore any advice is needed for the hearing of lectures, it is to

remember the rule just given—to practise independent thought along with

learning. We shall thus attain, not to the ability of a sophist or the

‘well-informed’ man, but to a deep-seated philosophic power. Right

listening will be for us the introduction to right living.

Footnote 44:

The _paedagogus_, an attendant slave, who accompanied the boy and

watched over his conduct.

Footnote 45:

In his _Phaedrus_.

Footnote 46:

i. e. in the mixolydian mode, which was of a sad and dirgelike

character.

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