In praise of admiration.

Ionce heard it said of a man that he didn't admire anyone. The implication was that he was wise in the ways of the world and could see through what others took for talent and virtue to the reality beneath. In his eyes, the `talent' was due more to luck than to any innate gifts, and the `virtue' concealed behaviour which was at heart self interested.

As a journalist I am aware of the value of scepticism. Indeed, I would count it as one of the virtues necessary for a profession which is daily bombarded with trivia purporting to be significant, information debased into half-truths through exaggeration, and even downright lies.

History and our own experience show that it is perfectly easy to admire someone for the wrong reasons. In the 1930s, many Germans were dazzled by Hitler's oratory, and turned a blind eye to the effects of its anti-Semitic and megalomaniac purpose. In our own lives, we can be bewitched by those possessed of striking good looks, physical prowess or intellectual brilliance. A thin line separates proper admiration from gullibility.

Yet the refusal to admire betrays a deep complacency. It is as if we had nothing to learn from those around us, as though we were self-sufficient and did not need the example of others to lift our eyes to new horizons, or to correct our behaviour. A non-admirer is an emotional miser, shut in on himself.

Generosity

Like many men, much of my admiration is reserved for women. I think of my mother: how she made a home for my infant first cousin after his mother had died, until my uncle had remarried; how she took in the son of a neighbour of ours in Sussex, who lived with my parents until his death; how, in her later years, she made my three children welcome when we went to stay for Christmas and Easter and during the summer holidays. I admired her for her generosity of heart, and for her stoicism, in the face of suffering.

I think of my wife, Elizabeth, of what she has contributed to our marriage of almost 30 years. She is honest, while I am inclined to hide my feelings. She is patient, while I am always looking for something new. She is good with her hands, while I am incompetent at all but the simplest DIY tasks. In these ways she makes up for what I lack, which brings a wholeness to our relationship.

Both my mother and my wife stayed at home to bring up their children. I deeply admire that capacity for giving expressed by women who devote a large part of their lives to this task. Yet I also admire those who choose to pursue a career as well, often in the face of male prejudice, and seek to maintain a balance between the demands of the workplace and home.

Of famous figures, I have long admired Joan of Arc as an example of what faith can accomplish. Her life is wonderful testimony that God is the master of the impossible. Since I was a choirboy and sang at her Coronation, I have admired the Queen. Throughout her reign she has faithfully upheld the solemn charges laid upon her that June day in Westminster Abbey over 40 years ago. Although not a fully fledged Thatcherite, I admired our first woman prime minister for her honesty during the election campaign in 1979. Her attitude made a welcome contrast to Labour's evasiveness.

And what of men alongside this panoply of female virtues? As a Christian, I think first of the person of Jesus, whose human and divine nature is conveyed most movingly in the Gospel of St John. I think of the saintliness of Eric Hamilton, Dean of Windsor, who prepared me for Confirmation and made the Resurrection come alive; of the Popes who have reigned during my lifetime--Pius XII, John XXIII, Paul VI and John Paul II; of St Francis of Assisi; of Charles de Foucauld, the French aristocrat, soldier and explorer who ended his life in the service of the Tuareg in the Sahara.

Vitality

At Cambridge I was fortunate enough to be tutored by Peter Stern, later Professor of German at London University, one of those brilliant teachers of Central European origin who challenged the conventional British way of seeing things. At the same period in my life, I met Michael Bulkley, teacher in a language school. His example of faithful friendship over more than 40 years has been one of the great blessing of my life.

Finally, there is my uncle, now in his 80s, whose vitality and genius for living are hardly dimmed.

These people, all of whom I admire, have qualities which I lack. Their presence has been life-enhancing. They have opened up new vistas, and produced a desire to emulate, however imperfectly.

I accept that admiration can be wrongly directed, with dire results, especially when we are vulnerable to false promises. But, worthily conferred, it dilates the heart, making us more truly human.

Simon Scott Plummer is a leader writer on `The Daily Telegraph', London.