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27. Accordingly a great orator has truly said that "an eloquent man
must speak so as to teach, to delight, and to persuade." Then he
adds: "To teach is a necessity, to delight is a beauty, to persuade
is a triumph." Now of these three, the one first mentioned, the
teaching, which is a matter of necessity, depends on what we say; the
other two on the way we say it. He, then, who speaks with the
purpose of teaching should not suppose that he has said what he has to
say as long as he is not understood; for although what he has said be
intelligible to himself it is not said at all to the man who does not
understand it. If, however, he is understood, he has said his say,
whatever may have been his manner of saying it. But if he wishes to
delight or persuade his hearer as well, he will not accomplish that end
by putting his thought in any shape no matter what, but for that
purpose the style of speaking is a matter of importance. And as the
hearer must be pleased in order to secure his attention, so he must be
persuaded in order to move him to action. And as he is pleased if you
speak with sweetness and elegance, so he is persuaded if he be drawn by
your promises, and awed by your threats; if he reject what you
condemn, and embrace what you commend; if he grieve when you heap up
objects for grief, and rejoice when you point out an object for joy;
if he pity those whom you present to him as objects of pity, and shrink
from those whom you set before him as men to be feared and shunned. I
need not go over all the other things that can be done by powerful
eloquence to move the minds of the hearers, not telling them what they
ought to do, but urging them to do what they already know ought to be
done.
28. If, however, they do not yet know this, they must of course
be instructed before they can be moved. And perhaps the mere knowledge
of their duty will have such an effect that there will be no need to
move them with greater strength of eloquence. Yet when this is
needful, it ought to be done. And it is needful when people, knowing
what they ought to do, do it not. Therefore, to teach is a
necessity. For what men know, it is in their own hands either to do
or not to I do. But who would say that it is their duty to do what
they do not know? On the same principle, to persuade is not a
necessity: for it is not always called for; as, for example, when
the hearer yields his assent to one who simply teaches or gives
pleasure. For this reason also to persuade is a triumph, because it
is possible that a man may be taught and delighted, and yet not give
his consent. And what will be the use of gaining the first two ends if
we fail in the third? Neither is it a necessity to give pleasure; for
when, in the course of an address, the truth is clearly pointed out
(and this is the true function of teaching), it is not the fact, nor
is it the intention, that the style of speech should make the truth
pleasing, or that the style should of itself give pleasure; but the
truth itself, when exhibited in its naked simplicity, gives pleasure,
because it is the truth. And hence even falsities are frequently a
source of pleasure when they are brought to light and exposed. It is
not, of course, their falsity that gives pleasure; but as it is true
that they are false, the speech which shows this to be true gives
pleasure.
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