Isocrates

Isocrates

“Who does not know that words carry greater conviction when spoken by men of good repute than when spoken by men who live under a cloud, and that the argument which is made by a man’s life is of more weight than that which is furnished by words?”

One of the things that makes teaching such an intimidating calling for those who take it seriously is the power teachers have to form young people by their words and actions. Such formation is not optional, as I noted last week. Students will be formed in some way, for good or for ill. Teachers’ actions either reinforce their words of instruction or destroy their effectiveness.

This weighty responsibility is further complicated by the fact that teachers are not aware of all their actions. I am using “actions” loosely to include attitudes and other manifestations of who we are as human beings. We teach more than we realize or intend. We are models at every moment. We are being watch. And the student as well is not always aware of the lessons he or she is learning from us. By the very way we teach, we offer an example of how to reason, how to use evidence, how to construct an argument, and what is a justified conclusion. We teach style of expression and habits of thought. And at a deeper and more consequential level, we teach character. Are we patient? Are we just in our treatment of students? Do we use humor in a way that does not belittle and discourage students? Are we humble and grateful? Do we love truth? Our students’ eyes are on us. We are patterns. We teach what to say, how to say it, and when to say it. Knowing and practicing these things is not a matter of technique alone. It must be wedded to good character.

Isocrates, the Athenian teacher of rhetoric and a contemporary of the more famous Plato and Xenophon, provides a nuanced reflection on students, instruction, and the teacher in his treatise Against the Sophists. It is unfortunate that Isocrates has become a specialized topic of modern rhetoricians and is not better and more widely known. His practicality can be refreshing after the airy abstractions of Plato. He lived to be nearly 100 and drew on a lifetime of experience to craft his approach to teaching and learning. His impact on the Hellenistic Age and the Roman Republic and later on the Renaissance Humanists was profound, probably greater than Plato’s. He belongs in any Great Books curriculum focused on those authors and works that did the most to shape the tradition of liberal learning in the West.

Isocrates urged teachers to consider the natural aptitude of the student, the cultivation of proper skills and experience, and the pattern of the teacher. All three of these must be present in education worthy of the name. The last of these probably receives the least attention, especially in a world of “measurable learning outcomes.” But what “data” can prove the teacher’s success as a model?  

We often hear it said that “actions speak louder than words.” At the heart of this folk wisdom lies the lesson, learned by hard experience, that our deeds can swiftly undermine our speech and do so with devastating effectiveness. More words will not repair the damage. Good deeds sustain good words, and vice versa. Together, they build reputation—a result quite distinct from celebrity. Reputation is hard work and flows from genuine character. There is no substitute. And it is fragile. “A man’s life,” in the words of Isocrates quoted above, makes an “argument.” Deeds have a power of persuasion more potent than words.

Isocrates insisted that character counts in any position of responsibility, from the statesman to the teacher. The wellbeing of the city, the household, and the individual all depend on an education that forms the complete human being. Mere skill, divorced from wisdom and virtue, becomes a dangerous weapon. This is why Isocrates, and more famously Socrates, blasted the Sophists—the clever teachers of rhetoric who had “no interest whatever in the truth.” They juggled with words without regard to justice. They made extravagant promises they could never fulfill, among them that education can be cheap and easy and a formulaic matter of merely learning the tricks of the trade. They care nothing about “honesty of character”—for themselves or their students. They measure success in terms of riches, power, and fame.

How often do we slip into Sophistry, even unwittingly? How do we measure the success of what we do day by day in the classroom? What kind of a human being are we helping to cultivate? These are the questions classical education has always taking seriously. We cannot implant good character with a handy formula. We cannot promise parents that our students will automatically become good people and good citizens thanks to our masterly technique. But we can patently, wisely, graciously strive to be the models our students need and deserve. As Isocrates warned, words matched by character carry the greatest conviction.