[Footnote 105: Letters, vi. 17.]
[Footnote 106: Saetonius, Lucan.]
[Footnote 107: Letters, 102.]
Far from thinking, as Pliny does, the system of lectures a finishing school, I believe the author to be confirmed in his defects by applause and adulation. But I agree with Pliny as to the efficiency of these assemblies in preserving and propagating a taste for intellectual things. Mental labor, even when bestowed on trivial matters, is of use in fostering intelligence. Rhetors and sophists were generally inferior orators and philosophers, but they deserve our thanks for their fidelity to study and to the preservation of literary traditions. But for them the maturity of Christian eloquence might have been long delayed. We must remember that Basil, Gregory, Chrysostom, Augustine, and Ambrose had passed through their schools before entering the church. The disciples effaced their masters, while profiting by lessons received from them.
And, turning to a different view of the subject, it is no matter of indifference to continue beyond the usual period assigned to serious labors one's devotion to literature, so softening and humanizing in its influence on the heart. This especially applies to a nation, unprovided by religion or morality with any remedy against evil instincts. To write little verses and polish periods is no great affair, I confess; but it is better than wallowing in low and sometimes cruel sensuality, like the rabble. In point of religious and moral convictions, the Greeks had fallen to a level with the Romans. But one thing elevated them: an untiring love of poetry, eloquence, and philosophy. In default of the reality, they pursued its shadow. Ixion, so say their mythologists, embraced only the phantom of Juno. True; but, while striving to win this phantom, he had not stooped to base and ignoble loves. The astute and polished Greek avoided that barbarism which engulfed the coarse, unlettered Roman.
We must not forget that Christian preaching has been served to a limited extent, but yet effectively, by habits introduced by sophists. The first comers freely explained their doctrines in public places without exciting surprise. Every system received a hearing. Stoics, epicureans, and cynics all sought to win converts to their various theories. Beneath the mantle of philosophy, the Christian could mingle with the crowd, and, while teaching a morality hitherto unknown, prepare the way for novel doctrines. When St. Paul arrived in Athens, that city where all men, strangers or citizens, were occupied only with hearing or uttering something new, [Footnote 108] the multitude at first mistook the apostle for some wandering sophist, and lent him an attentive ear so long as he did not openly shock their preconceived ideas. Peregrinus, whose life and death Lucian gives us, became a cynic after having been a Christian, and continued to address the people. Lucian does not clearly mark the change nor the distinction between the two systems of instruction, which seem to him equally strange. A similar confusion must have often arisen, not in the minds of Christians turned philosophers (there were fewer apostasies than conversions), but of philosophers who became Christians.
[Footnote 108: Acts of the Apostles, xvii. 21.]
Our study is ended. I had merely thought of writing a chapter on literary history, without seeking in the past an attack or a defence of the present. It is difficult to compare two periods justly. Our lectures and conferences differ in many respects from those in vogue among the ancients, but who can deny the various points of resemblance? If we wish, as everyone indeed must wish, to secure a durable and legitimate success to the system, we must remember it is not established merely for the recreation and diversion of the public, like the theatre or the concert-room, but also and above all for their instruction. It is a question of education. I would have the lecture, whether literary or scientific, given in an attractive style, not after the severe, didactic fashion or a cours de faculté; but it should be distinctly a lecture, so that the hearer may carry away with him some profitable ideas with the memory of an agreeable hour. In my humble opinion, it is only on these conditions that the system of public conferences will obtain not merely a passing popularity, but freedom of the city. If this be true, are we to encourage authors to read their unpublished works, poems, dramas, odes, romances, or what not? In these days there are other roads to publicity, and it is not by a single hearing that intellectual works are to be judged. Still less must it be allowed (for even improbabilities should be anticipated) that an author, speculating in fame, should announce his arrival on such a day and hour: "To speak about what? I have not the least idea, but no matter! I shall speak, and you will have seen and heard me." A mere matter of curiosity, making one think of the tight rope.
Another danger is, that conferences may become a sort of intellectual gymnasium, only good for the development of suppleness and agility of mind. Hitherto, in running over the lists of subjects under discussion, we have met none of the frivolous and insignificant themes that rhetors revelled in handling. The titles at least announce a serious purpose. We should be glad to attribute the merit of this to the wisdom of the choosers, but the thought suggests itself that the administrative control may deserve part of the praise. It is well known that no one can deliver lectures without especial permission, and a especial approval of the subject of his address. It is also well known that certain orators find it impossible to obtain this permission. Whether this exercise of authority has inconveniences as well as advantages is a question we will not here investigate. But there is one among the conditions imposed on public lectures that must suit every sensible person, the restrictions with regard to age. It is not difficult to find young persons who, mistaking temerity for talent, are eager for an opportunity to display their presumptuous ignorance. Can we even be quite certain that among those who have passed their twenty-fifth year there may not be some who would do well to preserve a discreet silence? "Weigh carefully the burdens your shoulders are to bear," said Horace to the Romans of his day. The precept is old, but sound even now. Remember, all you who present yourselves for public speaking, that it is not merely an honor, but a responsibility also. Consult your strength. Neither diploma nor certificate of capacity is demanded of you. Do not, however, imagine that no quality is needed to fit you for this professorship (for the post is nothing less than a professorship) except unbounded self-confidence. The least we can ask is that those who would teach us should be well informed themselves. Good sense, ever successful in the end, would do justice sooner or later to all such vain pretensions; but meantime the oft-deluded public might have learned to avoid the recreation prepared for them. We earnestly desire the long life and prosperity of the system, and therefore trust that no lecturers likely to injure it should be tolerated. Is our wish to be fulfilled? The future must answer.