Ars Recte Vivende
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George William Curtis >> Ars Recte Vivende
But the argument for the newspaper can be pushed still further. Since
phonographic reporting has become universal, and the speaker is conscious
that his very words will be spread the next morning before hundreds of
thousands of readers, it is of those readers, and not of the thousand
hearers before him, of whom he thinks, and for whom his address is really
prepared. Formerly a single charge was all that was needed for the
fusillade of a whole political campaign. The speech that was originally
carefully prepared was known practically only to the audience that heard
it. It grew better and brighter with the attrition of repeated delivery,
and was fresh and new to every new audience. But now, when delivered to an
audience, it is spoken to the whole country. It is often in type before
it is uttered, so that the orator is in fact repeating the article of
to-morrow morning. The result is good so far as it compels him to precision
of statement, but it inevitably suggests the question whether the newspaper
is not correct in its assertion that the great object of the oration is
accomplished not by the orator, but by the writer.
But this, after all, is like asking whether a chromo copy of a great
picture does not supersede painting, and prove it to be an antiquated or
obsolete art. Oratory is an art, and its peculiar charm and power cannot be
superseded by any other art. Great orations are now prepared with care, and
may be printed word for word. But the reading cannot produce the impression
of the hearing. We can all read the words that Webster spoke on Bunker Hill
at the laying of the corner-stone of the monument fifty years after the
battle. But those who saw him standing there, in his majestic prime, and
speaking to that vast throng, heard and saw and felt something that we
cannot know. The ordinary stump speech which imperfectly echoes a leading
article can well be spared. But the speech of an orator still remains a
work of art, the words of which may be accurately lithographed, while the
spirit and glow and inspiration of utterance which made it a work of art
cannot be reproduced.
The general statement of the critic, however, remains true, and the
effective work of a political campaign is certainly done by the newspaper.
The newspaper is of two kinds, again--that which shows exclusively the
virtue and advantage of the party it favors, and that which aims to be
judicial and impartial. The tendency of the first kind is obvious enough,
but that of the last is not less positive if less obvious. The tendency
of the independent newspaper is to good-natured indifference. The very
ardor, often intemperate and indiscreet, with which a side is advocated,
prejudices such a paper against the cause itself. Because the hot orator
exclaims that the success of the adversary would ruin the country, the
independent Mentor gayly suggests that the country is not so easily ruined,
and that such an argument is a reason for voting against the orator. The
position that in a party contest it is six on one side and half a dozen
on the other is too much akin to the doctrine that naught is everything
and everything is naught to be very persuasive with men who are really
in earnest. Such a position in public affairs inevitably, and often very
unjustly to them, produces an impression of want of hearty conviction,
which paralyzes influence as effectually as the evident prejudice and
partiality of the party advocate. Thorough independence is perfectly
compatible with the strongest conviction that the public welfare will be
best promoted by the success of this or that party. Such independence
criticises its own party and partisans, but it would not have wavered in
the support of the Revolution because Gates and Conway were intriguers, and
Charles Lee an adventurer, and it would have sustained Sir Robert Walpole
although he would not repeal the Corporation and Test laws, and withdrew
his excise act.
Journalism, if it be true that it really shapes the policy of nations, well
deserves to be treated as thoughtfully as Mr. "John Oldcastle" apparently
treats it in the book we have mentioned, for it is the most exacting of
professions in the ready use of various knowledge. Mr. Anthony Trollope
says that anybody can set up the business or profession of literature who
can command a room, a table, and pen, ink, and paper. Would he also say
that any man may set up the trade of an artist who can buy an easel, a
palette, a few brushes, and some colors? It can be done, indeed, but only
as a man who can hire a boat may set up for an East India merchant.
(_December_, 1880)
III
"If you find that you have no case," the old lawyer is reported to have
said to the young, "abuse the plaintiff's attorney," and Judge Martin
Grover, of New York, used to say that it was apparently a great relief to
a lawyer who had lost a case to betake himself to the nearest tavern and
swear at the court. Abuse, in any event, seems to have been regarded by
both of these authorities as a consolation in defeat. It is but carrying
the theory a step further to resort to abuse in argument. Timon, who is a
club cynic--which is perhaps the most useless specimen of humanity--says
that 'pon his honor nothing entertains him more than to see how little
argument goes to the discussion of any question, and how immediate is
the recourse to blackguardism. "The other day," he said, recently, "I
was sitting in the smoking-room, and Blunt and Sharp began to talk about
yachts. Sharp thinks that he knows all that can be known of yachts, and
Blunt thinks that what he thinks is unqualified truth. Sharp made a strong
assertion, and Blunt smiled. It was that lofty smile of amused pity and
superiority, which is, I suppose, very exasperating. Sharp was evidently
surprised, but he continued, and at another observation Blunt looked at
him, and said, simply, 'Ridiculous!' As it seemed to me," said Timon, "the
stronger and truer were the remarks of Sharp, the more Blunt's tone changed
from contempt to anger, until he came to a torrent of vituperation, under
which Sharp retired from the room with dignity.
"I presume," said the cynic, "that Sharp was correct upon every point.
But the more correct Sharp was, the more angry Blunt became. It was very
entertaining, and it seems to me very much the way of more serious
discussion." Timon was certainly right, and those who heard his remarks,
and have since then seen him chuckling over the newspapers, are confident
it is because he observes in them the same method of carrying on
discussion. Much public debate recalls the two barbaric methods of warfare,
which consist in making a loud noise and in emitting vile odors. A
member of Congress pours out a flood of denunciatory words in the utmost
rhetorical confusion, and seems to suppose that he has dismayed his
opponent because he has made a tremendous noise. He is only an overgrown
boy, who, like some other boys, imagines that he is very heroic when he
shakes his head, and pouts his lip, and clinches his fist, and "calls
names" in a shrill and rasping tone. Other members, who ought to know
better, pretend to regard his performances as worthy of applause, and
metaphorically pat him on the back and cry, "St, boy!" They only share--and
in a greater degree, because they know better--the contempt with which he
is regarded.
In the same way a newspaper writer attacks views which are not acceptable
to him, not with argument, or satire, or wit, or direct refutation, but by
metaphorically emptying slops, and directing whirlwinds of bad smells upon
their supporters. The intention seems to be, not to confute the arguments,
but to disgust the advocates. The proceeding is a confession that the views
are so evidently correct that they will inevitably prevail unless their
supporters can be driven away. This is an ingenious policy, for guns
certainly cannot be served if the gunners are dispersed. Men shrink from
ridicule and ludicrous publicity. However conscious of rectitude a man
may be, it is exceedingly disagreeable for him to see the dead-walls and
pavements covered with posters proclaiming that he is a liar and a fool. If
he recoils, the enemy laughs in triumph; if he is indifferent, there is a
fresh whirlwind.
A public man wrote recently to a friend that he had seen an attack upon his
conduct in a great journal, and had asked his lawyer to take the necessary
legal steps to bring the offender to justice. His friend replied that he
had seen the attack, but that it had no more effect upon him than the
smells from Newtown Creek. They were very disgusting, but that was all.
This is the inevitable result of blackguardism. The newspaper reader,
as he sees that one man supports one measure because his wife's uncle is
interested in it, and another man another measure to gratify his grudge
against a rival, gradually learns from his daily morning mentor that there
is no such thing as honor, decency, or public spirit in public affairs; he
chuckles with the club cynic, although for a very different reason, and
forgets the contents of one column as he begins upon the next. If a man
covers his milk toast, his breakfast, his lunch, dinner, and supper with a
coating of Cayenne pepper, the pepper becomes as things in general became
to Mr. Toots--of no consequence.
This kind of fury in personal denunciation is not force, as young writers
suppose; it is feebleness. Wit, satire, brilliant sarcasm, are, indeed,
legitimate weapons. It was these which Sydney Smith wielded in the early
_Edinburgh Review_. But "calling names," and echoing the commonplaces
of affected contempt, that is too weak even for Timon to chuckle over,
except as evidence of mental vacuity. The real object in honest controversy
is to defeat your opponent and leave him a friend. But the Newtown Creek
method is fatal to such a result. Of course that method often apparently
wins. But it always fails when directed against a resolute and earnest
purpose. The great causes persist through seeming defeat to victory. But to
oppose them with sneers and blackguardism is to affect to dam Niagara with
a piece of paper. The crafty old lawyer advised the younger to reserve his
abuse until he felt that he had no case. Judge Grover remarked that it was
when the case was lost that the profanity began.
(_September_, 1882)
IV
There is a delicate question in newspaper ethics which is sometimes widely
discussed, namely, whether "journalism" may be regarded as a distinct
profession which has a moral standard of its own. The question arises when
an editorial writer transfers his services from one journal to another of
different political opinions. Is a man justified in arguing strenuously for
free trade to-day and for protection to-morrow? Are political questions and
measures of public policy merely points of law upon which an editor is an
advocate to be retained indifferently and with equal morality upon either
side?
This question may be illuminated by another. Would John Bright be a man of
equal renown, character, and weight of influence if, being an adherent of
peace principles, he had remained in an administration whose policy was
war? This question will be thought to beg the whole question. But does
it? Must it not be assumed that a man of adequate ability for the proper
discussion of political questions must have positive political convictions,
and can a man who has such convictions honorably devote himself to
discrediting them, and to defeating the policy which they demand, under the
plea that he has professionally accepted a retainer or a salary to do so?
Would his arguments have any moral weight if they were known to be those of
a man who was not himself convinced by them? And is not the concealment of
the fact indispensable to the value of his services?
To continue this interrogation: is not the parallel sought to be
established between the editorial writer and the lawyer vitiated by
the fact that it is universally understood that a lawyer's service is
perfunctory and official; that he takes one side rather than another
because he is paid for it, and because that is the condition of his
profession, and that that condition springs from the nature of legal
procedure, society not choosing to take life or to inflict punishment
of any kind until the whole case has been stated according to certain
stipulated forms? For this reason the advocate who defends a criminal
is not supposed necessarily to believe him to be innocent. But no such
reason existing in the case of the editor, is it not an equally universal
understanding that an editor does honestly and personally hold the view
that he presents and defends? For instance, the _Times_ in New York
is a Republican and free-trade journal. If it should suddenly appear some
morning as a Democratic and protectionist paper, would not the general
conclusion be that it had changed hands? But if it should be announced that
it was in the same hands, and had changed its views because of a pecuniary
arrangement, could the _Times_ continue to have the same standing and
influence which it has now?
A distinction may be attempted between the owner of a paper and the editor.
But for the public are they not practically the same? It is not, in fact,
the owner or the editor, it is the paper, which is known to the public. If
the public considers at all the probable relation of the owner and editor,
it necessarily assumes their harmony, because it does not suppose that an
owner would employ an editor who is injuring the property, and if the paper
flourishes under the editor, it is because the owner yields his private
opinion to the editor's, if they happen to differ, so that there is no
discord. On the other hand, if the paper flags and fails, and the owner,
to rescue his property, employs another editor, who holds other views,
and changes the tone of the paper, the result is the same so far as the
public is concerned. The profit of the paper may increase, but its power
and influence surely decline. In the illustration that we have supposed,
the proprietorship of the _Times_ might decide that a Democratic and
protection paper would have a larger sale and greatly increase the profit.
But could the change be made without a terrible blow to the character and
influence of the paper? Now why is not an editor in the same position? He
has a certain standing, and he holds certain views, like the paper. The
paper changes its tone for a price. He does the same thing. The paper loses
character and influence. Why does not he?
Journalism is not a profession in the sense claimed. It does not demand a
certain course of study, which is finally tested by an examination and
certified by a degree. It is a pursuit rather than a profession. Of course
special knowledge in particular branches of information is of the highest
value, and indeed essential to satisfactory editorial writing, as to all
other public exposition. There are also certain details of the collection
of news, the organization of correspondence, and the "make up" of the
paper, the successful management of which depends upon an energetic
executive faculty, which is desirable in every pursuit. It is sometimes
said that an editor, like the late Mr. Delane of the London _Times_,
should not write himself, but select the topics and procure the writing
upon them by others. And so long as a man is merely an anonymous writer for
a paper, so long as he writes to sustain the views of the paper, his actual
opinions, being unknown to the reader, do not affect the power of the
paper. Such a man, indeed, may write at the same time upon both sides of
the same question for different papers. But if he have any convictions or
opinions upon the subject, he is with one hand consciously injuring what he
believes to be the truth, and a man cannot do that without serious harm to
himself. If he have no convictions, his influence will vanish the moment
that the fact is known.
Such strictures do not apply to papers which expressly renounce
convictions, and blow hot or cold as the chances of probable profit and
the apparent tenor of public opinion at the moment invite. Such papers,
properly speaking, have no legitimate influence whatever. They produce
a certain effect by mere publicity, and reiteration, and ridicule, and
distortion and suppression of facts, and appeals to prejudice. There is a
legitimate and an illegitimate power of the press. A lion and a skunk both
inspire terror.
But a paper which represents convictions, and promotes a public policy
in accordance with them, necessarily implies sincerity in its editorial
writing. The public assumes that among papers of all opinions the writer
attaches himself to one with which he agrees. The nature of the pursuit
is such that he cannot make himself a free lance without running the risk
of being thought an adventurer, a soldier without patriotism, a citizen
without convictions. If the best American press did not represent real
convictions, but only the clever ingenuity of paid advocates, it would be
worthless as an exponent of public opinion, and could not be the beneficent
power that it is.
(_October_, 1882)
V
One public man in a recent angry altercation with another taunted him with
elaborately preparing his invective, and some notoriously vituperative
speeches are known to have been written out and printed before they were
spoken. Such cold venom is undoubtedly as effective in reading as the hot
outbreak of the moment, and it may be even more effective in the delivery,
since self-command is as useful to the orator as to the actor. But if a
man be guilty of a gross offence who upon a dignified scene violates the
self-restraint and respect for the company which are not only becoming, but
so much assumed that whoever violates the requirement is felt to insult his
associates and the public, why do we not consider whether every scene is
not too dignified for mature and intelligent men to attempt to rival in
blackguardism the traditional fishwives of Billingsgate?
If an orator or a newspaper conducts a discussion without discharging the
fiercest and foulest epithets at the opponent, it is often declared to be
tame and feeble and indifferent. But to whom and to what does vituperation
appeal? When an advocate upon the platform shouts until he is very hot and
very red that the supporter of protection is a thief, a robber, a pampered
pet of an atrociously diabolical system, he inflames passion and prejudice,
indeed, to the highest fury, and he produces a state of mind which is
inaccessible to reason, but he does not show in any degree whatever either
that protection is inexpedient or how it is unjust. In the same way,
to assail an opponent who favors revision of the tariff and incidental
protection as a rascally scoundrel who is trying to ruin American
industry--as if he could have any purpose of injuring himself materially
and fatally--is absurd. The tirade merely injures the cause which the
blackguard intends to help. But the man who carried on discussion in this
style is described by other professors of the same art as manly and virile
and hitting from the shoulder, and he comes perhaps to think himself a
doughty champion of the right.
The weapon that demolishes an antagonist and an argument is not rhetoric,
but truth. This accumulation of "bad names" and ingenious combination of
scurrility is merely rhetoric. It serves the rhetorical purpose, but it
does not convince. It does not show the hearer or reader that one course
is more expedient than another, nor give him any reason whatever for
any opinion upon the subject. Virility, vigor, masculinity of mind, and
essential force in debate are revealed in quite another way. If an American
were asked to mention the most powerful speech ever made in the debates
of Congress, he would probably mention Mr. Webster's reply to Hayne. It
contained the great statement of nationality and the argument for the
national interpretation of the Constitution, and it was spoken in the
course of a famous controversy. Let any man read it, and ask himself
whether it would have gained in power, in effect, in weight, dignity, or
character, by personal invective and elaborate vituperation of any kind and
any degree whatever.
The truth is that the fury which is supposed to imply force is the
conclusive proof of weakness. The familiar advice, "If you have no
evidence, abuse the plaintiff's attorney," contains by implication
the whole philosophy of what is called the manliness and force of the
blackguard. He has no reason, therefore he sneers. He has no argument,
therefore he swears. He will get the laugh upon his adversary if he can,
forgetting that those who laugh at the clown may also despise him.
Of wit, humor, satire, sarcasm, we are not speaking. The ordinary
blackguardism of the political platform and press does not belong to that
category. Caricature, however, easily may. There are certain pictures in
American caricature which are wit made visible. They are the satire of
instructive truth. Indeed, they tell to the eye the indisputable truth
as words cannot easily tell it to the ear. In this way caricature is one
of the most powerful agents in public discussion. But, like speech or
writing, it may be merely blackguard. The incisive wit, the rich humor, the
withering satire of speech, gain all their point and effect from the truth.
They have no power when they are seen to be false.
So it is with caricature. Nobody can enjoy it more than its subject when it
is merely humorous; nobody perceive so surely its pungent touch of truth;
nobody disregard more completely its mere malice and falsehood. True
wit and humor, whether in controversial letters or art, whether in the
newspaper article or the "cartoon," as we now call it, often reveal to the
subject in himself what otherwise he might not have suspected. It is very
conceivable that an actor, seeing a really clever burlesque of himself, may
become aware of tendencies or peculiarities or faults which otherwise he
would not have known, and quietly address himself to their correction.
This sanitary service of humor in every form, as well as that of the honest
wrath which shakes many a noble sentence of sinewy English as a mighty
man-of-war is shaken by her own broadside, is something wholly apart from
the billingsgate and blackguardism which are treated as if they were real
forces. Publicity itself, as the Easy Chair has often said, has a certain
power, and to call a man a rascal to a hundred thousand persons at once
produces an undeniable effect. But we must not mistake it for what it is
not. Being false, it is not an effect which endures, nor does it vex the
equal mind.
It is the fact that the public often seems to demand that kind of
titillation, to enjoy fury instead of force, and ridicule instead of
reason, which suggests the inquiry whether, if self-restraint and wise
discipline are desirable for every faculty of the mind and body, the
tongue and hand alone should be allowed to riot in wanton excess. If even
the legitimate superlative must be handled, like dynamite, with extreme
caution, blackguardism of every degree is a nuisance to be summarily
discountenanced and abated by those who know the difference between
grandeur and bigness, between Mercutio and Tony Lumpkin, between fair-play
and foul.
(_September_, 1888)
VI
The Easy Chair has been asked whether there is any code of newspaper
manners. It has no doubt that there is. But it is the universal code of
courtesy, and not one restricted to newspapers. Good manners in civilized
society are the same everywhere and in all relations. A newspaper is not
a mystery. It is the work of several men and women, and their manners in
doing the work are subject to the same principles that govern their manners
in society or in any other human relation. If a man is a gentleman, he does
not cease to be one because he enters a newspaper office, and it would seem
to be equally true that if his work on the paper does not prove to be that
of a gentleman, it could not have been a gentleman who did the work.
A gentleman, we will suppose, does not blackguard his neighbors, nor talk
incessantly about himself and his achievements, nor behave elsewhere as he
would be ashamed to behave in his club or in his own family. If a gentleman
does not do these things, of course a gentleman does not do them in a
newspaper. And does it not seem to follow, if such things are done in a
newspaper, and are traced to a hand supposed to be that of a gentleman,
that there has been some mistake about the hand?
Good manners are essentially a disposition which moulds conduct. They can
be feigned, indeed, as gilt counterfeits gold, and plate silver. But the
clearest glass is not diamond. A man may smile and smile and be a villain.
Scoundrels are sometimes described as of gentlemanly manners, and Lothario
was not personally a boor. But he was not a gentleman, and he merely
affected good manners. A gentleman, indeed, may sometimes lose his temper
or his self-control, but no one who habitually does it, and swears and
rails vociferously, can be called properly by that name. Here again it is
easy to apply the canon to a newspaper. When a newspaper habitually takes
an insulting tone, and deliberately falsifies, whether by assertion of an
untruth or by a distortion and perversion of the truth, it is not the work
of a gentleman, and if the writer be responsible for the tone of the paper,
the manners of that newspaper are not good manners.