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65 (Bundle 14.)
On the education of children destined for the magistracy.
If I were bringing up a child destined for military life, I would want his early education to be very gentle so that one day he would be humane; if I were bringing up a child destined for the magistracy, I would want his early education to be very laborious so that one day he would be just. In the turbulent life of the first, everything makes a man harsh; in the sedentary life of the second, everything disposes him to inaction, to softness, unless, through fortunate habits, the activity of the mind and the strength of the soul oppose and overcome the idleness of the body.
When a child’s future place in society is assigned to him from the cradle, when it is known from his birth what post he will occupy if he becomes a man, the tutor must direct his efforts so as to combine perfectly the education the child receives from his teacher and the education the man will receive from his calling. One must serve as a counterweight to the other and thus prepare far in advance that balance which produces happiness and virtue, and which cannot exist unless in every profession one possesses the qualities of mind and heart whose union makes a man worthy of esteem. That is to say, in the cases we are discussing, the wise tutor must do what the skillful pilot does when he orders the cargo moved to one side of the vessel when he foresees that the wind will make it lean to the other; without this necessary precaution, he would have brought into port only a ship useless to refit, which could never again have served the public convenience.
I would try to make my first pupil love rural and domestic pleasures so that, amid the tumult of camps and the horrors of war, he would make it his duty to protect the harvests and shelter the honor of families. I would try to give the second a passion for public affairs so that, in the seclusion of towns and woods, he would wage unceasing war on crimes. In a word, I would make the soldier loving and the magistrate austere.
This does not mean that love of men is unnecessary to the magistrate; on the contrary, without it his occupations would have no reward and his whole life no delights. But the magistrate must love men only in masses, and the soldier only as individuals. By his calling the soldier is the enemy of peoples and must by inclination be the friend of all private persons. He must know how to destroy a people in cold blood, burn a city in cold blood, and save with fervor an old man, a woman, a child from amid the destroyed people and the blazing city. By his calling the magistrate is the friend of peoples; in that capacity he is no one’s friend. Age, sex, and blood count for nothing with him; if the safety of all is at stake, he will send an old man, a woman, a child to execution in cold blood to save a city from the flames, a state from destruction. The one will always live surrounded by his family: let us accustom him to be a citizen; the other will live among enemies: let us work to make him a man. Let both love men from childhood; but let the one grow accustomed to loving them tenderly, and the other with all the excess of enthusiasm appropriate to public men.
To form a future soldier, a future magistrate, I would therefore employ neither the same moral instruction nor the same literary instruction. I would make study easy for the first, because above all he needs that courage and physical activity for which intellectual labors bring distaste in the long run. I would make study arduous for the second, to train his young organs early in the attention whose habit will one day be so necessary for the dry, abstract matters that will occupy him all his life. I would almost be content to have the first read the poets, and read them well translated into his own language. I would require the second to study the orators, and to study them without any help in their own language.
The poets embellish the world, soften the heart, and would be useful to the man destined to see before his eyes only scenes of horror and carnage. The orators elevate the mind, strengthen the soul, and it is with elevation and strength that the senator must be armed, destined as he is to live surrounded by the most moving spectacles of supplication that will raise its hands to heaven before him. Finally, if I knew the older of these two languages, I would nourish my young soldier with all the gentleness of the Greek writers and my young magistrate with all the severity of the Latin authors. To be good, the soldier must love all natural pleasures; to be just, the magistrate must love only the pleasures of virtue. His inclinations must be grave, his pleasures grave: one must make a Roman of him.
The Romans were grave. They were grave in their conduct, grave in their dress, grave in their thoughts, in their discourses, in their language. Their language is truly a language of magistrates; in their books it expresses only things relating to the magistracy. All Rome was, in a sense, a senate. And even in declaring war, it had all legal formalities observed by its fetials.
In teaching a child Latin, one teaches him to be a judge, to be an advocate, to be a statesman; the Romans knew no other science, and their writings teach no other. In teaching a child the history of Rome, even the history of Rome’s conquests, one teaches him to be firm, to be just, to be moderate, to love only his country. It was by no other virtues that Rome succeeded in its unjust wars. The virtues of Roman generals were still those of magistrates, and on their military tribunal they bore themselves no differently than on the curule chair.
Finally, actions and words in Latin books, discourses and examples—everything works together to form public men. And these alone would suffice to teach a French magistrate who knew his country’s history and situation what his duties are, and what his conduct, talents, and labors should be. This was doubtless known even better than by me to a magistrate illustrious for his labors and enlightenment, who united the wit that makes one shine in high society with the intelligence that teaches one to judge good books well, and who, in this century when excellent books have disparaged the old education and high society approves no study of languages except modern ones, said with as much courage as reason: “I want my son to know a great deal of Latin.”