A Discourse Being Introductory to his Course of Lectures on Elocution and the English Language (1759)

In Short

This discourse serves as a manifesto for the elocutionary movement of the eighteenth century. It posits that the English nation, despite its intellectual and scientific advancements, has catastrophically neglected the art of public speaking. By comparing contemporary British education—which focuses primarily on written Latin and Greek—with the classical traditions of Greece and Rome, the author contends that the power to persuade and move an audience through voice, gesture, and tone is a "divine" skill essential to the health of the state, the church, and the individual.

The Story

The narrative begins with a lament: while many celebrated thinkers have long acknowledged that the neglect of spoken English is a national failing, none have provided a systematic remedy. The author argues that the ancients succeeded in public life precisely because they cultivated oratory as a rigorous, teachable art. By contrast, the British system of education remains locked in an archaic structure, teaching students to read Latin while ignoring the mechanics of their own living language.

The argument builds upon the distinction between the written and the spoken word. Writing, the author asserts, is a mere artifact of human invention—a system of symbols lacking the inherent, "natural" power of sound. Speech, however, is a force of nature. It operates on the human frame through tones, accents, and gestures, possessing a "miraculous" ability to stir the passions and secure conviction. Because written characters cannot capture the nuances of the living voice, the author argues that relying solely on written texts for education is an intellectual dead end.

Next, the discourse addresses the institutional failures of the time. Critics often blamed universities for the poor quality of public speaking, but the author exonerates them, noting that schoolmasters are hired to teach grammar, not rhetoric. These educators, often underpaid and overburdened with large classes, lack the expertise and the time to implement a new system. The author positions his own proposed lectures as the solution. He promises to replace the current reliance on "chance" and imitation with a scientific, empirical approach. By categorizing the elements of vocal delivery—rests, emphases, and tones—he plans to create a standardized system that will allow students to master their native tongue with the same precision applied to any other academic science.

The progression of the argument concludes with an appeal to national pride. The author envisions a future where the British, armed with this new method, might not only reach the heights of classical eloquence but surpass them. He frames the study of elocution not merely as a technical skill, but as a moral and patriotic duty. By reclaiming the "majesty of oratory," citizens can finally realize their potential in the senate and the church. He closes with a call for his audience to set aside their hesitation, urging them to pursue this art with the same fervor that once defined the great orators of Rome, ensuring their own voices echo in the memory of posterity.

How It Unfolds

The diagnosis of neglect The author surveys the historical indifference toward spoken English, noting that even the greatest minds have identified the problem without proposing a solution. He asserts that the current state of education is fundamentally ill-equipped to address the nation's need for skilled public orators.

The hierarchy of mediums A sharp contrast is drawn between the limited "artificial" power of written letters and the "natural", divine energy of the human voice. This section establishes the premise that sound, as a direct conduit to the mind, possesses an influence that no written page can replicate.

The institutional impasse The argument shifts to the practical realities of the classroom, where overtaxed teachers are unfairly blamed for a systemic lack of training. The author clears the universities of negligence, arguing that they cannot be expected to teach an art for which no formal, systemized rules exist.

The promise of a new system The author introduces his proposed lectures as the missing bridge between theory and practice. He commits to reducing elocution to a set of empirical rules, promising that with the right guidance, the "shades of darkness" surrounding language study will be lifted.

The final exhortation The discourse ends with a passionate call to action, framing the mastery of speech as a path to honor, prosperity, and national glory. The author invokes the spirit of Quintilian to reassure his readers that perfection is attainable through diligent study and the correct application of art.

The People

Thomas Sheridan presents himself as the pioneer of a necessary revolution in education. Driven by the belief that his peers are trapped in an obsolete academic tradition, he wants to transform the English language from an unstudied, neglected tool into a highly refined instrument of power. He stands against the "low and ignorant masters" who currently oversee the education of youth and the critics—like the skeptical David Hume—who view his grand ambitions with suspicion.

The "illustrious sons" of the universities are the intended beneficiaries of his project. These are the bright, capable individuals who, despite their extensive education, find themselves struck dumb in public forums, their potential wasted due to a lack of oratorical training. They are defined by their "silent indignation," longing to contribute to the nation but silenced by their own inability to perform.

Finally, the figures of antiquity—Demosthenes, Cicero, and Quintilian—serve as the silent, looming benchmarks of excellence. They are the standard against which the contemporary Briton is measured and found wanting. The author wants his audience to view these figures not as unreachable icons, but as masters of a craft that can be understood, dismantled, and mastered once more through the application of his scientific method.

In Its Own Voice

"That is wholly the invention of man, a mere work of art, and therefore can contain no natural power."

(The author contrasts the limitations of written language with the innate influence of the spoken word.)

"It has pleased the All-wise Creator to annex to elocution, when in its perfect state, powers almost miraculous! and an energy nearly divine!"

(This emphasizes the author’s conviction that cultivated speech is a fundamental, almost spiritual, force in human affairs.)

"By the loud trumpet, which our courage aids, we learn that sound, as well as sense, persuades."

(The author uses this couplet to illustrate the direct, visceral connection between auditory stimuli and the human mind.)

What It's Really About

The central argument concerns the relationship between language, power, and the health of a society. The author challenges the Enlightenment’s heavy reliance on the printed word, arguing that a civilization that ignores the "natural" power of speech is effectively stifling its own potential. The text raises profound questions about the nature of education: should it prioritize the preservation of classical dead languages, or should it foster the living, breathing skills necessary for public life? Underlying the entire work is a faith in scientific empiricism—the belief that even the most subjective, "divine" human expressions can be observed, categorized, and taught through a rigorous, systematic methodology.

Why Read It Today

Readers interested in the history of rhetoric or the evolution of pedagogical theory will find this work a fascinating window into the eighteenth-century mind. It is a striking example of the period's obsession with categorization and its earnest, often grandiose, belief that human progress could be engineered through the application of "sure and sufficient rules."

However, the modern reader should be prepared for the author's relentless, evangelistic tone. His view that the study of elocution is a divinely ordained mission can feel overly prescriptive, and his disdain for the "ignorant" masters of his day reveals the class and educational biases of the era. The prose is dense with the formal, complex syntax typical of 1759, and the author’s tendency to treat his own theories as a panacea for all societal ills may strike some as eccentric. Yet, for those who value the study of how we communicate, the book captures a unique moment when the mastery of the human voice was seen as the most vital, untapped resource of a nation. It remains a poignant reminder of the enduring tension between the stability of the written word and the volatile, persuasive power of the voice.