We love the precepts for the teacher's sake.

In the words of George Farquhar, the playwright of wit and wisdom, “We love the precepts for the teacher’s sake.” Within this brief utterance lies a profound truth of human nature, one that transcends the boundaries of time. For it is not always the law, the rule, or the principle itself that binds our heart, but the living soul who delivers it. The command of virtue can be cold when spoken from a lifeless page, yet when a beloved guide speaks it, the same words burn with light and meaning.

To understand this, we must reflect upon the power of the teacher. He, or she, is not merely a vessel of wisdom, but a bridge between truth and the human heart. A teacher gives flesh and warmth to principles that otherwise remain abstract. We do not cling to the doctrine alone—we cling to the one who embodies it, who reveals it not as distant law but as living breath. Thus, Farquhar declares that our devotion to precepts arises not only from their correctness, but from the love we bear toward the one who taught them.

History itself bears witness. Recall the disciples of Socrates, who cherished his words not simply because they were just, but because they came from him—spoken with patience, irony, and the courage of a man who drank hemlock rather than betray his truth. Thousands of philosophers after him have written of justice, virtue, and knowledge, yet it is Socrates we remember, because his life gave fire to his teachings. His pupils loved the precepts for the teacher’s sake, and through their love, his wisdom endured across centuries.

Likewise, in a more modern age, consider Mahatma Gandhi. Many spoke of peace before him, many counseled restraint and non-violence, but it was Gandhi who lived them with such devotion that his frail body became a fortress stronger than empires. His words moved millions not only because they were true, but because they were his. He bore the hunger strike, the imprisonment, the ridicule, and by his example, every principle he spoke became clothed in undeniable power. Here again we see Farquhar’s meaning: the principle is exalted because the teacher is revered.

This truth must not lead us astray into worship of persons alone, for the teacher is but a lantern, and the light within the lantern is the principle itself. Yet, the lantern is necessary, for without it, the flame cannot be carried through the storm of life. We should honor the vessel, even as we seek the eternal fire. For it is through affection and respect that the student learns, and through reverence for the guide that the path of virtue becomes not drudgery, but joy.

Therefore, let us draw the lesson plainly: to teach well, one must live well. The most eloquent sermon will fall silent if the speaker’s life denies it. But even the simplest precept, spoken by one whose life embodies it, will be loved and remembered. To the student, the task is to look beyond the words to the living example, and to carry that spirit onward, so that truth becomes more than memory—it becomes inheritance.

In practice, this means two things. First, if you are a learner, honor your teachers, not blindly, but with gratitude. Cherish their sacrifice, their patience, and the humanity that makes their teaching shine. Second, if you are a teacher—whether of children, friends, or fellow workers—be mindful that your example is more powerful than your instruction. Live the precepts you speak, so that those who love you will in turn love the truth you carry.

Thus, Farquhar’s words echo like an eternal song: we love the precepts for the teacher’s sake. And in that union of heart and mind lies the true power of education, not cold and distant, but warm, personal, and enduring—passed from soul to soul like the sacred flame of Olympus, never extinguished, but ever burning.