The East: Confucianism Taoism Buddhism
The West: Stoicism Epicureanism Christianity
The East: Confucianism Taoism
Buddhism
The West: Stoicism
Epicureanism Christianity
To live happily, my brother Gallio, is the desire
of all men, but their minds are blinded to a clear vision of just what it is
that makes life happy; and so far from its being easy to attain the happy life,
the more eagerly a man strives to reach it, the farther he recedes from it if he
has made a mistake in the road; for when it leads in the opposite direction, his
very speed will increase the distance that separates him.
First, therefore, we must
seek what it is that we are aiming at; then we must look about for the road by
which we can reach it most quickly, and on the journey itself, if only we are on
the right path, we shall discover how much of the distance we overcome each day,
and how much nearer we are to the goal toward which we are urged by a natural
desire. But so long as we wander aimlessly, having no guide, and following
only the noise and discordant cries of those who call us in different
directions, life will be consumed in making mistakes - life that is brief even
if we should strive day and night for sound wisdom. Let us, therefore, decide
both upon the goal and upon the way, and not fail to find some experienced guide
who has explored the region towards which we are advancing; for the conditions
of this journey are different from those of most travel. On most journeys
some well-recognized road and inquiries made of the inhabitants of the region
prevent you from going astray; but on this one all the best beaten and the most
frequented paths are the most deceptive. Nothing, therefore, needs to be
more emphasized than the warning that we should not, like sheep, follow the lead
of the throng in front of us, travelling, thus, the way that all go and not the
way that we ought to go. Yet nothing involves us in greater trouble than
the fact that we adapt ourselves to common report in the belief that the best
things are those that have met with great approval, - the fact that, having so
many to follow, we live after the rule, not of reason, but of imitation.
The result of this is that people are piled high, one above another, as they
rush to destruction. And just as it happens that in a great crush of
humanity, when the people push against each other, no one can fall down without
drawing along another, and those that are in front cause destruction to those
behind - this same thing, You may see happening everywhere in life. No man
can go wrong to his own hurt only, but he will be both the cause and the sponsor
of another's wrongdoing. For it is dangerous to attach one's self to the crowd
in front, and so long as each one of us is more willing to trust another than to
judge for himself, we never show any judgement in the matter of living, but
always a blind trust, and a mistake that has been passed on from hand to hand
finally involves us and works our destruction. It is the example of other
people that is our undoing; let us merely separate ourselves from the crowd, and
we shall be made whole. But as it is, the populace,, defending its own iniquity,
pits itself against reason. And so we see the same thing happening that
happens at the elections, where, when the fickle breeze of popular favour has
shifted, the very same persons who chose the praetors wonder that those praetors
were chosen. The same thing has one moment our favour, the
next our disfavour; this is the outcome of every decision that follows the
choice of the majority.
When the happy life is under
debate, there will be no use for you to reply to me, as if it were a matter of
votes: "This side seems to be in a majority." For that is just the reason it is
the worse side. Human affairs are not so happily ordered that the majority
prefer the better things; a proof of the worst choice is the crowd.
Therefore let us find out what is best to do, not what is most commonly done
what will establish our claim to lasting happiness, not what finds favour with
the rabble, who are the worst possible exponents of the truth. But by the
rabble I mean no less the servants of the court than the servants of the
kitchen; for I do not regard the colour of the garments that clothe the body.
In rating a man I do not rely upon eyesight: I have a better and surer light, by
which I may distinguish the false from the true. Let the soul discover the
good of the soul. If the soul ever has leisure to draw breath and to
retire within itself - ah! to what self- torture will it come, and how, if
it confesses the truth to itself, it will say: "All that I have done hitherto, I
would were undone; when I think of all that I have said, I envy the dumb; of all
that I have prayed for, I rate my prayers as the curses of my enemies; of all
that I have feared - ye gods! how much lighter it would have been than the
load of what I have coveted! With many I have been at enmity, and, laying
aside hatred, have been restored to friendship with them - if only there can be
any friendship between the wicked; with myself I have not yet entered into
friendship. I have made every effort to remove myself from the multitude
and to make myself noteworthy by reason of some endowment. What have I
accomplished save to expose myself to the darts of malice and show it where it
can sting me? See you those who praise your eloquence, who trail upon your
wealth, who court your favour, who exalt your power? All these are either
now your enemies, or - it amounts to the same thing - can become such. To
know how many are jealous of you, count your admirers. Why do I not
rather seek some real good - one which I could feel, not one which I could
display? These things that draw the eyes of men, before which they halt,
which they show to one another in wonder, outwardly glitter, but are worthless
within." Let us seek something that is a good in more than appearance -
something that is solid, constant, and more beautiful in its more hidden part;
for this let us delve. And it is placed not far off; you will find it -
you need only to know where to stretch out your hand. As it is, just as if
we groped in darkness, we pass by things near at hand, stumbling over the very
objects we desire.
Not to bore you, however,
with tortuous details, I shall pass over in silence the opinions of other
philosophers, for it would be tedious to enumerate and refute them all. Do
you listen to ours. But when I say ours, "I do not bind myself to some
particular one of the Stoic masters; I, too, have the right to form an opinion.
Accordingly, I shall follow so- and-so, I shall request so-and-so to divide the
question; perhaps, too, when called upon after all the rest, I shall impugn none
of my predecessors' opinions, and shall say: "I simply have this much to add."
Meantime, I follow the guidance of Nature - a doctrine upon which all Stoics are
agreed. Not to stray from Nature and to mould ourselves according to her
law and pattern - this is true wisdom.
The happy life, therefore,
is a life that is in harmony with its own nature, and it can be attained in only
one way. First of all, we must have a sound mind and one that is in
constant possession of its sanity; second, it must becourageous and energetic,
and, too, capable of the noblest fortitude, ready for every emergency, careful
of the body and of all that concerns it, but without anxiety; lastly, it must be
attentive to all the advantages that adorn life, but with over-much love for
none - the user, but not the slave, of the gifts of Fortune. You understand,
even if I do not say more, that, when once we have driven away all that excites
or affrights us, there ensues unbroken tranquillity and enduring freedom; for
when pleasures and fears have been banished, then, in place of all that is
trivial and fragile and harmful just because of the evil it works, there comes
upon us first a boundless joy that is firm and unalterable, then peace and
harmony of the soul and true greatness coupled with kindliness; for all ferocity
is born from weakness. It is possible also to define this good of ours in
other terms - that is, the same idea may be expressed in different language.
Just as an army remains the same, though at one time it deploys with a longer
line, now is massed into a narrow space and either stands with hollowed centre
and wings curved forward, or extends a straightened front, and, no matter what
its formation may be, will keep the selfsame spirit and the same resolve to
stand in defence of the selfsame cause, - so the definition of the highest good
may at one time be given in prolix and lengthy form, and at another be
restrained and concise. So it will come to the same thing if I say: "The
hishest good is a mind that scorns the happenings of chance, and rejoices only
in virtue," or say: "It is the power of the mind to be unconquerable, wise
from experience, calm in action, showing the while much courtesy and
consideration in intercourse with others," It may also be defined in the
statement that the happy man is he who recognizes no good and evil other than a
good and an evil mind one who cherishes honour, is content with virtue, who is
neither puffed up, nor crushed, by the happenings of chance, who knows of no
greater good than that which he alone is able to bestow upon himself, for whom
true pleasure will be the scorn of pleasures. It is possible, too, if one
chooses to be discursive, to transfer the same idea to various other forms of
expression without injuring or weakening its meaning. For what prevents us
from saying that the happy life is to have a mind that is free, lofty, fearless
and steadfast - a mind that is placed beyond the reach of fear, beyond the reach
of desire, that counts virtue the only good, baseness the only evil, and all
else but a worthless mass of things, which come and go without increasing or
diminishing the highest good, and neither subtract any part from the happy life
nor add any part to it?
A man thus grounded must,
whether he wills or not, necessarily be attended by constant cheerfulness and a
joy that is deep and issues from deep within, since he finds delight in his own
resources, and desires no joys greater than his inner joys. Should not
such joys as these be rightly matched against the paltry and trivial and
fleeting sensations of the wretched body? The day a man becomes superior
to pleasure, he will also be superior to pain; but you see in what wretched and
baneful bondage he must linger whom pleasures and pains, those most capricious
and tyrannical of masters, shall in turn enslave. Therefore we must make
our escape to freedom. But the only means of procuring this is through
indifference to Fortune. Then will be born the one inestimable blessing,
the peace and exaltation of a mind now safely anchored, and, when all error is
banished, the great and stable joy that comes from the discovery of truth, along
with kindliness and cheerfulness of mind; and the source of a man's pleasure in
all of these will not be that they are good, but that they spring from a good
that is his own.
Seeing that I am employing
some freedom in treating my subject, I may say that the happy man is one who is
freed from both fear and desire because of the gift of reason; since even rocks
are free from fear and sorrow, and no less are the beasts of the field, yet for
all that no one could say that these things are "blissful," when they have no
comprehension of bliss. Put in the same class those people whose dullness
of nature and ignorance of themselves have reduced them to the level of beasts
of the field and of inanimate things. There is no difference between the
one and the other, since in one case they are things without reason, and in the
other their reason is warped, and works their own hurt, being active in the
wrong direction; for no man can be said to be happy if he has been thrust
outside the pale of truth. Therefore the life that is happy has been
founded on correct and trustworthy judgement, and is unalterable. Then,
truly, is the mind unclouded and freed from every ill, since it knows how to
escape not only deep wounds, but even scratches, and, resolved to hold to the
end whatever stand it has taken, it will defend its position even against the
assaults of an angry Fortune. For so far as sensual pleasure is concerned,
though it flows about us on every side, steals in through every opening, softens
the mind with its blandishments, and employs one resource after another in order
to seduce us in whole or in part, yet who of mortals, if he has left in him one
trace of a human being, would choose to have his senses tickled night and day,
and, forsaking the mind, devote his attention wholly to the body? "But the mind
also," it will be said, "has its own pleasures." Let it have them, in sooth, and
let it pose as a judge of luxury and pleasures; let it gorge itself with the
things that are wont to delight the senses, then let it look back upon the past,
and, recalling faded pleasures, let it intoxicate itself with former experiences
and be eager now for those to come, and let it lay its plans, and, while the
body lies helpless from present cramming, let it direct its thoughts to that to
come - yet from all this, it seems to me, the mind will be more wretched than
ever, since it is madness to choose evils instead of goods. But no man can
be happy unless he is sane, and no man can be sane who searches for what will
injure him in place of what is best. _The happy man, therefore, is one who has
right judgement; the happy man is content with his present lot, no matter what
it is, and is reconciled to his circumstances; the happy man is he who allows
reason to fix the value of every condition of existence. Even those who
declare that the highest good is in the belly see in what a dishonourable
position they have placed it. And so they say that it is not possible to
separate pleasure from virtue, and they aver that no one can live virtuously
without also living pleasantly, nor pleasantly without also living virtuously.
But I do not see how things so different can be cast in the same mould.
What reason is there, I beg of you, why pleasure cannot be separated from
virtue? Do you mean, since all goods have their origin in virtue, even the
things that you love and desire must spring from its roots? But if the two
were inseparable, we should not see certain things pleasant, but not honourable,
and certain things truly most honourable, but painful and capable of being
accomplished only through suffering. Then, too, we see that pleasure
enters into even the basest life, but, on the other hand, virtue does not permit
life to be evil, and there are people who are unhappy not without pleasure -
nay, are so on account of pleasure itself - and this could not happen if
pleasure were indisolubly joined to virtue; virtue often lacks pleasure, and
never needs it. Why do you couple things that are unlike, nay, even
opposites? Virtue is something lofty, exalted and regal, unconquerable,
and unwearied; pleasure is something lowly, servile, weak, and perishable, whose
haunt and abode are the brothel and the tavern. Virtue you will find in
the temple, in the forum, in the senate-house - you will find her standing in
front of the city walls, dusty and stained, and with calloused hands;
pleasure you will more often find lurking out of sight, and in search of
darkness, around the public baths and the sweating-rooms and the places that
fear the police - soft, enervated, reeking with wine and perfume, and pallid, or
else painted and made up with cosmetics like a corpse. The highest good is
immortal, it knows no ending, it permits neither surfeit nor regret; for the
right-thinking mind never alters, it neither is filled with self-loathing nor
suffers any change in its life, that is ever the best. But pleasure is
extinguished just when it is most enjoyed; it has but small space, and thus
quickly fills it - it grows weary and is soon spent after its first assault.
Nor is anything certain whose nature consists in movement. So it is not
even possible that there should be any substance in that which comes and goes
most swiftly and will perish in the very exercise of its power; for it struggles
to reach a point at which it may cease, and it looks to the end while it is
beginning.
What, further, is to be said
of the fact that pleasure belongs alike to the good and the evil, and that the
base delight no less in their disgrace than do the honourable in fair repute?
And therefore the ancients have enjoined us to follow, not the most pleasant,
but the best life, in order that pleasure should be, not the, leader, but the
companion of a right and proper desire. For we must use Nature as our
guide; she it is that Reason heeds, it is of her that it takes counsel.
Therefore to live happily is the same thing as to live according to Nature.
What this is, I shall proceed to make clear. If we shall guard the
endowments of the body and the needs of Nature with care and fearlessness, in
the thought that they have been given but for a day and are fleeting, if we
shall not be their slaves, nor allow these alien things to become our masters,
if we shall count that the gratifications of the body, unessential as they are,
have a place like to that of the auxiliaries and light-armed troops in camp - if
we let them serve, not command - thus and thus only will these things be
profitable to the mind. Let a man not be corrupted by external things, let
him be unconquerable and admire only himself, courageous in spirit and ready for
any fate, let him be the moulder of his own life; let not his confidence be
without knowledge, nor his knowledge without firmness; let his decisions
once made abide, and let not his decrees be altered by any erasure. It
will be understood, even without my adding it, that such a man will be poised
and well ordered, and will show majesty mingled with courtesy in all his
actions. Let reason search into external things at the instigation of the
senses, and, while it derives from them its first knowledge - for it has no
other base from which it may operate, or begin its assault upon truth - yet let
it fall back upon itself. For God also, the all-embracing world and the
ruler of the universe, reaches forth into outward things, yet, withdrawing from
all sides, returns into himself. And our mind should do the same; when, having
followed the senses that serve it, it has through them reached to things
without, let it be the master both of them and of itself. In this way will
be born an energy that is united, a power that is at harmony with itself, and
that dependable reason which is not divided against itself, nor uncertain either
in its opinions, or its perceptions, or in its convictions; and this reason,
when it has regulated itself, and established harmony between all its parts,
and, so to speak, is in tune, has attained the highest good. For no
crookedness, no slipperiness is left to it, nothing that will cause it to
stumble or fall. It will do eve rything under its own authority and
nothing unexpected will befall it, but whatever it does will turn out a good,
and that, too, easily and readily and without subterfuge on the part of the
doer; for reluctance and hesitation are an indication of conflict and
instability. Wherefore you may boldly declare that the highest good
is harmony of the soul; for where concord and unity are, there must the virtues
be. Discord accompanies the vices.
"But even you," it is
retorted, "cultivate virtue for no other reason than because you hope for some
pleasure from it." But, in the first place, even though virtue is sure to bestow
pleasure, it is not for this reason that virtue is sought; for it is not this,
but something more than this that she bestows, nor does she labour for this, but
her labour, while directed toward something else, achieves this also. As in a
ploughed field, which has been broken up for corn, some flowers will spring up
here and there, yet it was not for these poor little plants, although they may
please the eye, that so much toil was expended - the sower had a different
purpose, these were superadded -just so pleasure is neither the cause nor the
reward of virtue, but its by-product, and we do not accept virtue because she
delights us, but if we accept her, she also delights us. The highest good
lies in the very choice of it, and the very attitude of a mind made perfect, and
when the mind has completed its course and fortified itself within its own
bounds, the highest good has now been perfected, and nothing further is desired;
for there can no more be anything outside of the whole than there can be some
point beyond the end. Therefore you blunder when you ask what it is that
makes me seek virtue; you are looking for something beyond the supreme. Do you
ask what it is that I seek in virtue? Only herself. For she offers
nothing better - she herself is her own reward. Or does this seem to you
too small a thing? When I say to you, "The highest good is the
inflexibility of an unyielding mind, its foresight, its sublimity its soundness,
its freedom, its harmony, its beauty, do you require of me something still
greater to which these blessings may be ascribed?
Why do you mention to me pleasure?
It is the good of man that I am searching for, not that of his belly - the belly
of cattle and wild beasts is more roomy!
"You" are misrepresenting
what I say," you retort; "for I admit that no man can live pleasantly without at
the same time living virtuously as well, and this is patently impossible for
dumb beasts and for those who measure their good by mere food. Distinctly,
I say, and openly I testify that the life that I denominate pleasant is
impossible without the addition of virtue." Yet who does not know that those who
are most apt to be filled with your sort of pleasure are all the greatest fools,
and that wickedness abounds in enjoyments, and that the mind itself supplies
many kinds of pleasure that are vicious? Foremost are haughtiness, a too
high opinion of one's self and a puffed-up superiority to others, modesty a
blind and unthinking devotion to one's own interests, dissolute luxury,
extravagant joy springing from very small and childish causes, and, besides a
biting tongue and the arrogance that takes pleasure in insults, sloth, and the
degeneracy of a sluggish mind that falls asleep over itself. All these
things Virtue tosses aside, and she plucks the ear, and appraises pleasures
before she permits them, and those that she approves she sets no great store by
or even just permits them, and it is not her use of them, but her temperance
that gives her joy. Since, however, temperance reduces our pleasures,
injury results to your highest good. You embrace pleasure, I enchain her;
you enjoy pleasure, I use it; you think it the highest good, I do not think it
even a good; you do everything for the sake of pleasure, I, nothing.
When I say that "I" do
nothing for the sake of pleasure, I am speaking of the ideal wise man, to whom
alone you are willing to concede pleasure. But I do not call him a wise
man who is dominated by anything, still less by pleasure. And yet if he is
engrossed by this, how will he withstand toil and danger and want and all the
threatening ills that clamour about the life of man? How will he endure
the sight of death, how grief, how the crashes of the universe and all the
fierce foes that face him, if he has been subdued by so soft an adversary?
You say: "He will do whatever pleasure advises." But come, do you not see how
many things it will be able to advise? "It will not be able to advise anything
base," you say, "because it is linked with virtue." But once more, do you not
see what sort of thing that highest good must be if it needs a guardian in order
to become a good? And how shall Virtue guide Pleasure if she follows her,
since it is the part of one who obeys to follow, of one who commands to guide?
Do you station in the rear the one that commands? Truly a fine office that yon
assign to Virtue - to be the foretaster of your pleasures! We shall see
later whether to those who have treated virtue so contemptuously she still
remains virtue; for she cannot keep her name if she yields her place.
Meanwhile - for this is the point here - I shall show that there are many who
are beseiged by pleasures, upon whom Fortune has showered all her gifts, and
yet, as you must needs admit, are wicked men. Look at Nomentanus and
Apicius, digesting, as they say the blessings of land and sea, and reviewing the
creations of every nation arrayed upon their board! See them, too, upon a
heap of roses, gloating over their rich cookery, while their ears are delighted
by the sound of music, their eyes by spectacles, their palates by savours; soft
and soothing stuffs caress with their warmth the length of their bodies, and,
that the nostrils may not meanwhile be idle, the room itself, where sacrifice is
being made to luxury, reeks with varied perfumes. You will recognize that
these are living in the midst of pleasures, and yet it will not be well with
them, because what they delight in is not a good.
"It will be ill with them,"
you say, "because many things will intrude that perturb the soul, and opinions,
conflicting with one another, will disquiet the mind." That this is so I grant;
but none the less these very men, foolish as they are and inconsistent and
subject to the pangs of remorse, will have experience of very great pleasures,
so that you must admit that, while in that state they lack all pain, they no
less lack a sound mind, and, as is the case with very many others, that they
make merry in madness and laugh while they rave. But, on the other hand,
the pleasures of the wise man are calm, moderate, almost listless and subdued,
and scarcely noticeable inasmuch as they come unsummoned, and, although they
approach of their own accord, are not held in high esteem and are received
without joy on the part of those who experience them; for they only let them
mingle now and then with life as we do amusements and jests with serious
affairs.
Let them cease, therefore,
to join irreconcilable things and to link pleasure with virtue - a vicious
procedure which flatters the worst class of men. The man who has plunged
into pleasures, in the midst of his constant belching and drunkenness, because
he knows that he is living with pleasure, believes that he is living with virtue
as well; for he hears first that pleasure cannot be separated from virtue, then
dubs his vices wisdom, and parades what ought to be concealed. And so it
is not Epicurus who has driven them to debauchery, but they, having surrendered
themselves to vice, hide their debauchery in the lap of philosophy and flock to
the place where they may hear the praise of pleasure, and they do not consider
how sober and abstemious the "pleasure" of Epicurus really is - for so, in all
truth, I think it - but they fly to a mere name seeking some justification and
screen for their lusts. And thus they lose the sole good that remained to
them in their wickedness - shame for wrongdoing. For they now praise the
things that used to make them blush, and they glory in vice; and therefore they
cannot even recover their youth, when once an honourable name has given warrant
to their shameful laxity. The reason why your praise of pleasure is
pernicious is that what is honourable in your teaching lies hid within, what
corrupts is plainly visible.
Personally I hold the
opinion - I shall express it though the members of our school may protest - that
the teachings of Epicurus are upright and holy and, if you consider them
closely, austere; for his famous doctrine of pleasure is reduced to small and
narrow proportions, and the rule that we Stoics lay down for virtue, this same
rule he lays down for pleasure - he bids that it obey Nature. But it takes
a very little luxury to satisfy Nature! What then is the case?
Whoever applies the term "happiness" to slothful idleness and the alternate
indulgence in gluttony and lust, looks for a good sponsor for his evil course,
and when, led on by an attractive name, he has found this one, the pleasure he
pursues is not the form that be is taught, but the form that he has brought, and
when he begins to think that his vices accord with the teacher's maxims, he
indulges in them no longer timidly, and riots in them, not now covertly, but
from this time on in broad daylight. And so I shall not say, as do most of our
sect, that the school of Epicurus is an academy of vice, but this is what I say
- it has a bad name, is of ill repute, and yet undeservedly. How can anyone know
this who has not been admitted to the inner shrine? Its mere outside gives
ground for scandal and incites to evil hopes. The case is like that of a
strong man dressed up in a woman's garb; you maintain your chastity, your
virility is unimpaired, your body is free from base submission - but in your
hand is a tambourine! Therefore you should choose some honourable
superscription and a motto that in itself appeals to the mind; the one that
stands has attracted only the vices.
Whosoever has gone over to
the side of virtue, has given proof of a noble nature; he who follows pleasure
is seen to be weakly, broken, losing his manhood, and on the, sure path to
baseness unless someone shall establish for him some distinction between
pleasures, so that he may know which of them lie within the bounds of natural
desire, which sweep headlong onward and are unbounded and are the more
insatiable the more they are satisfied. Come then! let virtue lead
the way, and every step will be safe. Then, too, it is the excess of
pleasure that harms; but in the case of virtue there need be no fear of any
excess, for in virtue itself resides moderation. That cannot be a good
that suffers from its own magnitude. Besides, to creatures endowed with a
rational nature what better guide can be offered than reason? Even if that
combination pleases you, if you are pleased to proceed toward the happy life in
such company, let virtue lead the way, let pleasure attend her - let it hover
about the body like its shadow. To hand over virtue, the loftiest of
mistresses, to be the handmaid of pleasure is the part of a man who has nothing
great in his soul.
Let virtue go first, let her bear the standard. We shall none the less have pleasure, but we shall be the master and control her; at times we shall yield to her entreaty, never to her constraint. But those who surrender the leadership to pleasure, lack both; for they lose virtue, and yet do not possess pleasure, but are possessed by it, and they are either tortured by the lack of it or strangled by its excess - wretched if it deserts them, more wretched if it overwhelms them - they are like sailors who have been caught in the waters around the Syrtes, and now are left on the dry shore, and again are tossed by the seething waves. But this results from a complete lack of self- control and blind love for an object; for, if one seeks evils instead of goods, success becomes dangerous. As the hunt for wild beasts is fraught with hardship and danger, and even those that are captured are an anxious possession - for many a time they rend their masters - so it is as regards great pleasures; for they turn out to be a great misfortune, and captured pleasures become now the captors. And the more and the greater the pleasures are, the more inferior will that man be whom the crowd calls happy, and the more masters will he have to serve. I wish to dwell still further upon this comparison. Just as the man who tracks wild animals to their lairs, and counts it a great delight
With noose the savage beasts to snare,
and
Around the spreading woods to fling a line of hounds,
in order that he may follow upon their tracks, leaves
things that are more worth while and forsakes many duties, so he who pursues
pleasures makes everything else secondary, and first of all gives up liberty,
and he pays this price at the command of his belly; nor does he buy pleasures
for himself, but he sells himself to pleasures. "Nevertheless," someone asks,
"what is there to prevent the blending of virtue and pleasure into one, and
constituting the highest good in such a way that the honourable and the
agreeable may be the same thing?" The answer is that the honourable can have no
part that is not honourable, nor will the highest good preserve its integrity if
it sees in itself something that is different from its better part. Even
the joy that springs from virtue, although it is a good, is not nevertheless a
part of the absolute good, any more than are cheerfulness and tranquillity,
although they spring from the noblest origins; for goods they are, yet they only
attend on the highest good but do not consummate it. But whoever forms an
alliance between virtue and pleasure - and that too, not an equal one - by the
frailty of one good dulls whatever power the other may have, and sends beneath
the yoke that which remains unconquered only so long as it finds nothing more
precious than itself. For it begins to need the help of fortune, and this
is the depth of servitude; there follows a life of anxiety, suspicion, and
alarm, a dread of mishap and worry over the changes time brings. You do
not give to virtue a foundation solid and immovable, but bid her stand on
unstable ground; yet what is so unstable as trust in the hazards of chance and
the vicissitudes of the body and the things that affect the body? How is
such a man able to obey God and to receive in cheerful spirit whatever happens,
and, interpreting his mishaps indulgently, never to complain of Fate, if he is
agitated by the petty prickings of pleasure and pain? But he is not even a
good guardian or avenger of his country, nor a defender of his friends if he has
a leaning toward pleasures. Therefore let the highest good mount to a
place from which no force can drag it down, where neither pain nor hope nor fear
finds access, nor does any other thing that can lower the authority of the
highest good; but Virtue alone is able to mount to that height. We must
follow her footsteps to find that ascent easy; bravely will she stand, and she
will endure whatever happens, not only patiently, but even gladly; she will know
that every hardship that time brings comes by a law of Nature, and like a good
soldier she will submit to wounds, she will count her scars, and, pierced by
darts, as she dies she will love him for whose sake she falls - her commander;
she will keep in mind that old injunction, "Follow God!" But whoever complains
and weeps and moans, is compelled by force to obey commands, and, even though he
is unwilling is rushed none the less to the bidden tasks. But what madness
to prefer to be dragged rather than to follow! As much so, in all faith,
as it is great folly and ignorance of one's lot to grieve because of some lack
or some rather bitter happening, and in like manner to be surprised or indignant
at those ills that befall the good no less than the had - I mean sickness and
death and infirmities and all the other unexpected ills that invade human life.
All that the very constitution of the universe obliges us to suffer, must be
borne with high courage. This is the sacred obligation by which we are
bound - to submit to the human lot, and not to be disquieted by those
things which we have no power to avoid. We have been born under a
monarchy; to obey God is freedom. Therefore true happiness is founded upon
virtue. And what is the counsel this virtue will give to you? That
you should not consider anything either a good or an evil that will not be the
result of either virtue or vice; then, that you should stand unmoved both in the
face of evil and by the enjoyment of good, to the end that - as far as is
allowed - you may body forth God. And what does virtue promise you
for this enterprise? Mighty privileges and equal to the divine. You
shall be bound by no constraint, nothing shall you lack, you shall be free,
safe, unhurt; nothing shall you essay in vain, from nothing be debarred; all
things shall happen according to your desire, nothing adverse shall befall you,
nothing contrary to your expectations and wish. "What! does virtue alone
suffice for living happily?" Perfect and divine as it is, why should it not
suffice -nay, suffice to overflowing? For if a man has been placed beyond
the reach of any desire, what can he possibly lack?
If a man has gathered into himself
all that is his, what need does he have of any outside thing? But the man
who is still on the road to virtue, who, even though he has proceeded far, is
still struggling in the toils of human affairs, does have need of some
indulgence from Fortune until he has loosed that knot and every mortal bond.
Where then lies the difference? In that some are closely bound, others fettered
- even hand and foot. He who has advanced toward the higher realm and has lifted
himself to higher levels drags a loosened chain; he is not yet free, but still
is as good as free.
If, therefore, any of those
who bark against philosophy, should ask the usual thing: "Why then do you talk
so much more bravely than you live? Why do you speak humbly in the
presence of a superior and deem money a necessary equipment, and why are you
moved by a loss, and why do you shed tears on hearing of the death of your wife
or a friend, and why do you have regard for your reputation and let slander
affect you? Why do you till broader acres than your natural need requires?
Why do your dinners not conform to your own teaching? Why do you
have such elegant furniture? Why is the wine that is drunk at your table
older than you are yourself? Why this show of an aviary? Why do you
plant trees that will supply nothing but shade? Why does your wife wear in
her ears the revenue of a rich house? Why are your young slaves dressed in
costly stuffs? Why is it an art to attend at your table and instead of the plate
being set out carelessly and as you please why is there expertness of service,
and why to carve your meat is there a professional?" Add, too, if you like: "Why
do you have domains across the sea? Why more than you have seen?
And shame to you! - you are either so careless that you do not know your handful
of slaves by sight, or so pampered that you have more than your memory can
recall to your knowledge!" Later I shall outdo your reproaches and bestow on
myself more blame than you think of; for the moment I shall make this reply: "I
am not a wise man, nor - to feed your malevolence shall I ever be. And so
require not from me that I should be equal to the best, but that I should be
better than the wicked. It is enough for me if every day I reduce the
number of my vices, and blame my mistakes. I have not attained to perfect
health, nor indeed shall I attain it; my gout I contrive to alleviate rather
than to cure, content if it comes more rarely and gives less pain; but when I
compare your feet, crippled though I am, I am a racer!" What I say is not spoken
on my own behalf - for I am sunk deep in vice of every kind but on behalf of the
man who has actually achieved something.
"You talk one way, you live
another," you say. The same reproach, O ye creatures most spiteful, most
hostile to all the best of men, has been made against Plato, against Epicurus,
against Zeno; for all these told, not how they themselves were living, but how
they ought to live. It is of virtue, not of 'myslf, that I am speaking,
and my quarrel is against all vices, more especially against my own. When
I shall be able, I shall live as I ought. And your spitefulness, deep-dyed
with venom, shall not deter me from what is best, nor shall even this poison
with which you besprinkle others, with which, too, you are killing yourselves,
hinder me from continuing to vaunt the life, not that I lead, but that I know
ought to be led - from worshipping virtue and from following her, albeit a long
way behind and with very halting pace. Am I, in sooth, to expect that
spite will spare anything when it held neither Rutilius nor Cato sacred?
Should anyone be concerned whether he seems too rich in the eyes of those to
whom Demetrius the Cynic seems not poor enough? This boldest of heroes, fighting
against all the desires of nature, and poorer than the rest of the Cynics in
that, while they banned possessions, he banned even the desire of them - this
man they say has not enough poverty! Bul you see - he has not professed a
knowledge of virtue but of poverty.
And they say that Diodorus,
the Epicurean philosopher, who within the last few days put an end to his life
with his own hand, was not following the teaching of Epicurus when he slashed
his own throat. Some would see in his suicide an act of madness, others of
recklessness; he, meanwhile, happy and filled with a good conscience bore
testimony to himself as he was departing from life; he praised the tranquillity
of the years he had passed safe at anchor in a haven, and uttered the words
which you never have liked to hear, as though you also must do the same thing:
I've lived; my destined course I now have run.
You argue about the life of the one, about the death of
the other, and when you hear the name of men who have become great on account of
some distinguished merit, you bark, just as small dogs do when they meet with
strangers; for you find it to your interest that no man should appear to be
good, as though virtue in another cast reproach upon the shortcomings of all of
you. You jealously compare their glorious appearance with your squalor,
and fail to understand with what great disadvantage to yourself you dare to do
so. For if those who pursue virtue are avaricious, lustful, and ambitious, what
are you yourselves, to whom the very name of virtue is hateful? You say
that no one of them practises what he preaches, or models his life upon his own
words. But what wonder, since their words are heroic, mighty, and survive
all the storms of human life? Though they strive to release themselves
from their crosses those crosses to which each one of you nails himself with his
own hand - yet they, when brought to punishment, hang each upon a single
gibbets; but these others who bring upon themselves their own punishment are
stretched upon as many crosses as they had desires. Yet they are
slanderous and witty in heaping insult on others. I might believe that
they were free to do so, did not some of them spit upon spectators from their
own cross
"Philosophers do not
practise what they preach," you say. Yet they do practise much that they
preach, much that their virtuous minds conceive. For indeed if their
actions always matched their words, who would be more happy than they?
Meanwhile you have no reason to despise noble words and hearts that are filled
with noble thoughts. The pursuit of salutary studies is praiseworthy, even if
they have no practical result. What wonder that those who essay the steep
path do not mount to the Summit? But if you are a nan, look up to those
who are attempting great things, even though they fall. The man that
measures his effort, not by his own strength, but by the strength of his nature,
that aims at high things, and conceives in his heart greater undertakings than
could possibly be accomplished even by those endowed with gigantic courage,
shows the mark of nobility. The man who has set before himself such ideals
as these: "As for me, I shall look upon death or a comedy with the same
expression of countenance. As for me, I shall submit to all hardships, no
matter how great they be, staying my body by the spirit. As for me, I
shall despise riches alike when I have them and when I have them not, being
neither cast down if they shall lie elsewhere, nor puffed up if they shall
glitter around me. As for me, I shall pay no heed to fortune, either when
she comes or when she goes. As for me, I shall view all lands as my own, my own
as belonging to all others. As for me, I shall always live as if I were
aware that I had been born for service to others, and on this account I shall
render my thanks to Nature; for how could she better have served my interest?
She has given me, the individual, to all men and all men to me, the individual.
Whatever I may possess, I shall neither hoard as a miser, nor as a spendthrift
squander. Nothing shall seem to me so truly my possessions as the gifts I
have wisely bestowed. I shall not estimate my benefactions by their
number, nor by their size, nor by anything except my estimation of the
recipient; never shall what a worthy man receives seem great in my eyes.
Nothing shall I ever do for the sake of opinion, everything for the sake of my
conscience. Whatever I shall do when I alone am witness I shall count as
done beneath the gaze of the Roman people. In eating and drinking my aim
shall be to quench the desires of Nature, not to fill and empty my belly.
I shall be agreeable to my friends, to my enemies mild and indulgent. I
shall give pardon before it is asked , and hasten to grant all honourable
requests. I shall know that the whole world is my country, that its rulers are
the gods, and that they abide above me and around me, the censors of my words
and deeds. And whenever Nature demands back my breath, or my reason
releases it, I shall depart, bearing witness that I have loved a good conscience
and all good endeavour, that I have been guilty of nothing that impaired the
liberty of any man, least of all my own" - the man who shall resolve, shall
wish, and shall essay to do these things will be following the path toward the
gods - ah! such a man, even if he shall not reach them,
Yet fails in a high emprise.
But as for you, your hatred of virtue and of those who
practise it is in no way strange. For sickly lights quail before the sun,
and creatures of the night abhor the shining day - they stand aghast at the
first signs of dawn, and seek everywhere their lairs, and, finding some hole,
hide themselves away from fear of the light. Croak, and ply your wretched
tongues in abuse of the good, show your fangs, bite hard; you will break your
teeth long before they leave a mark! "Why," you ask, "does that man espouse
philosophy and yet live in such opulence? Why does he say that riches
ought to be despised and yet have them? Why does he think that life ought
to be despised and yet live? That health ought to be despised and yet
guard it most carefully, and prefer it to be excellent? And why does he think
that exile is an empty name and say: 'What evil is there in a change of
country,' and yet, if he is allowed, grow old in his native land?
Why does he decide that there is
no difference between a long and short existence, yet, if nothing prevents him,
prolong his life and peacefully flourish in a green old age?" He says these
things ought to be despised, not to keep him from having them, but to keep him
from being worried about having them; he does not drive them away, but if they
leave him, he escorts them to the door without the least concern. Where,
indeed, will Fortune deposit riches more securely than with one who will return
them without protest when she recalls them? Marcus Cato, when he was vaunting
Curius and Coruncanius and that age in which it was a censorial offence to have
a few small silver coins, himself possessed four million sesterces, fewer
without doubt than Crassus, but more than Cato the Censor. If comparison
be made, the distance by which he had outstripped his great-grandfather was
greater than that by which Crassus had outstripped him, and, if greater wealth
had fallen to his lot, he would not have scorned it. For indeed the wise
man does not deem himself undeserving of any of the gifts of Fortune.
He does not love riches, but he would rather have them; he does not admit them
to his heart, but to his house, and he does not reject the riches he has, but he
keeps them and wishes them to supply ampler material for exercising his virtue.
Who, however, can doubt that
the wise man finds in riches, rather than in poverty, this ampler material for
displaying his powers, since in poverty there is room for only one kind of
virtue - not to be bowed down and crushed by it - while in riches and diligence
and orderliness and grandeur; all have a wide field? The wise man
will not despise himself even if he has the stature of a dwarf, but nevertheless
he will wish to be tall. And if he is feeble in body, or deprived of
one eye, he will still be strong, but nevertheless he will prefer to have
strength of body, and this too, though he knows that there is something else in
him that is stronger than body. If his health is bad he will endure it,
but he will wish for good health. For certain things, even if they are
trifles in comparison with the whole, and can be withdrawn without destroying
the essential good, nevertheless contribute something to the perpetual joy that
springs from virtue. As a favourable wind, sweeping him on, gladdens the
sailor, as a bright day and a sunny spot in the midst of winter and cold give
cheer, just so riches have their influence upon the wise man and bring him joy.
And besides, who among wise men - I mean those of our school, who count virtue
the sole good - denies that even those things which we call "indifferent" do
have some inherent value, and that some are more desirable than others? To some
of them we accord little honour, to others much. Do not, therefore, make a
mistake - riches are among the more desirable things. "Why then," you say, "do
you make game of me, since they occupy the same place in your eyes that they do
in mine?" Do you want to know what a different place they occupy? In my
case, if riches slip away, they will take from me nothing but themselves, while
if they leave you, you will be dumbfounded, and you will feel that you have been
robbed of your real self; in my eyes riches have a certain place, in yours they
have the highest; in fine, I own my riches, yours own you.
Cease, therefore, forbidding
to philosophers the possession of money; no one has condemned wisdom to poverty.
The philosopher shall own ample wealth, but it will have been wrested from no
man, nor will it be stained with another's blood - wealth acquired without harm
to any man, without base dealing, and the outlay of it will be not less
honourable than was its acquisition; it will make no man groan except the
spiteful. Pile up that wealth of his as high as you like; it will be
honourable, if, while it includes much that each man would like to call his own,
it includes nothing that any man is able to call his own. But he, surely,
will not thrust aside the generosity of Fortune, and an inheritance that has
been honourably acquired will give him no cause either to blush or to boast. Yet
be will even have reason to boast if, throwing open his mansion and admitting
the whole city to view his possessions, he shall be able to say. "If any one
recognizes anything as his own, let him take it." O! a great man, O!
a man excellently rich, if after these words he shall possess just as much!
I mean this: if without risk and concern he has allowed the people to make
search, if no man shall have found in his possession a single thing to lay his
hands upon, then he will be rich boldly and in all openness. Not one penny will
a wise man admit within his threshold that makes a dishonest entry; yet he will
not repulse or exclude great wealth that is the gift of Fortune and the fruit of
virtue. For what reason has he to grudge it good quarters? Let
it come, let it be welcomed. But he will not flaunt it, neither will he
hide it - the one is the part of a silly mind, the other of a timid and petty
mind, that makes him keep a great blessing as it were, in his pocket - nor, as I
said before, will he expel it from the house. For what shall he say to it?
Will it be -"You are of no use," or "I do not know how to use riches"?
In the same way that, even if he
is able to accomplish a journey on foot, he will prefer to mount into a
carriage, so, even if he is able to be poor. He will prefer to be rich.
And so he will possess wealth, but with the knowledge that it is fickle and
likely to fly away, and he will not allow it to be a burden either to himself or
to anyone else. He will give of it - why do you prick up your ears?
why do you get ready your pocket? - he will give of it either to good men or to
those whom he will be able to make good men; choosing the most worthy after the
utmost deliberation, he will give of his wealth, as one who rightly remembers
that he must render account no less of his expenditures than of his receipts; he
will give of it only for a reason that is just and defensible, for wrong giving
is no other than a shameful waste; he will have his pocket accessible, but it
will have no hole in it - a pocket from which much can appear and nothing can
drop.
Whoever believes that giving
is an easy matter, makes a mistake; it is a matter of very great difficulty,
provided that gifts are made with wisdom, and are not scattered at haphazard and
by caprice. To this man I do a service, to that one make return; this one
I succour, this one I pity; I supply this other one because he does not deserve
to be dragged down by poverty and have it engross him; to some I shall not give
although they are in need, because, even if I should give, they would still be
in need; to some I shall proffer my help, upon certain ones even thrust it.
In this matter I cannot afford to be careless; never am I more careful to
register names than when I am giving. "What!" you say, " do you give with the
intention of taking back?" No, with the intention of not wasting; the status of
giving should be that no return ought to be asked, yet that a return is
possible.
A benefit should be stored away like a deep buried
treasure, which you would not dig up except from necessity. Why, the very
house of a rich man - what an opportunity it offers for conferring benefit!
Whose voice invokes liberality only for-the man that wears a toga? Nature
bids me do good to all mankind - whether slaves or freemen, freeborn or
freed-men, whether the laws gave them freedom or a grant in the presence of
friends - what difference does it make? Wherever there is a human being
there is the opportunity for a kindness. And so it is possible to be
lavish with money even inside the threshold and to find there a field for one's
liberality which is so called, not because it is owed to a free man, but because
it is born from a free mind. This, in the case of a wise man, is never
hurled at base and unworthy men, and never makes the mistake of being so
exhausted that it cannot flow from a full hand, as it were, as often as it finds
a worthy object.
You have no excuse,
therefore, for hearing wrongly the honourable, brave, and heroic utterances of
those who pursue wisdom. And pay heed first to this -it is one thing to
pursue wisdom, and another to have already attained wisdom. A man of the
first type will say to you: "My words are most excellent, but I still wallow in
evils, very many of them. You have no right to require me to live up to my
own standard. Just now I am still fashioning and moulding myself and trying to
lift myself to the height of a lofty ideal; when I shall have accomplished all
that I have set before me, then require me to make my actions accord with my
words." But he who has already attained the height of human good will plead with
you otherwise, and will say: "In the first place, you have no right to
permit yourself to pass judgement on your betters. As for me I have
already had the good fortune to win the displeasure of the wicked, which is
proof enough of my uprightness, but, that I may give you the explanation that I
grudge to no mortal man, hear what I maintain and what value I set on each
thing. I deny that riches are a good; for if they were, they would make
men good. As it is, since that which is found in the hands of the wicked
cannot be called a good, I refuse to apply the term to riches.
Nevertheless I admit that they are desirable, that they are useful, and that
they add great comforts to living.
"Hear, then, since we both
agree that they are desirable, what reason I have for not including them in the
number of goods, and in what respect my attitude toward them differs from yours.
Place me in a house that is most sumptuous, place me where I may have gold and
silver plate for common use; I shall not look up to myself on account of these
things, which, even though they belong to me, are nevertheless no part of me.
Take me to the Sublician Bridge and cast me among the beggars; nevertheless I
shall not find reason to look down upon myself beeause I sit in the company of
those who stretch out their hands for alms. For what difference does it make
whether a man lacks a piece of bread when he does not lack the possibility of
dying? And what is the conclusion? I prefer that gorgeous house to the
Bridge! Place me in the midst of sumptuous furnishings and the trappings
of luxury; I shall not think myself one whit happier because I have a soft
mantle, because my guests recline on purple. Change my mattress; I shall be not
a whit more wretched if my wearied neck must rest on a handful of hay, if I
shall sleep on a cushion of the Circus with the stuffing spilling out through
its patches of old cloth. And what is the conclusion? I prefer to display
the state of my soul clad rather in the toga and shoes than showing naked
shoulders and with cuts on my feet. Let all my days pass according to my
desire, let new felicitations be added to the old;. I shall not on this account
be puffed up. Change this kindness of time to just the opposite; from this
quarter and that let my soul be smitten by loss, by grief, by various
adversities, let no hour lack some cause for complaint; I shall not for that
reason call myself the most wretched of the wretched; I shall not for that
reason curse any one day; for I have seen to it that for me no day shall be
black. And what is the conclusion? I prefer to temper my joys, rather than
to stifle my sorrows.
This is what a Socrates will
say to you: "Make me victor over the nations of the world, let the voluptuous
car of Bacchus convey me in triumph from the rising of the sun all the way to
Thebes, let the kings of the nations seek laws from me; when from every side I
shall be greeted as a god, I shall then most of all remember that I am a man.
Then with such a lofty height connect straightway a headlong fall to altered
fortune; let me be placed upon a foreign barrow, to grace the procession of a
proud and brutal victor; no whit more humble shall I be when I am driven in
front of the chariot of another than when l stood erect upon my own." And what
is the conclusion? After all, I prefer to conquer rather than to be
captured. The whole domain of Fortune I shall despise, but, if the choice be
offered, I shall choose the better part of it. Whatever befalls me will
turn into a good, but I prefer that what befalls me should be the more pleasant
and agreeable things and those that will be less troublesome to manage.
For while you are not to suppose that any virtue is acquired without effort, yet
certain virtues need the spur, certain ones the bridle. Just as the
body must be held back upon a downward path, and be urged up a steep ascent, so
certain virtues follow the downward path, and certain others struggle up the
hill. Would anyone doubt that patience, fortitude, and perseverance, and
every virtue that pits itself against hardships and subdues Fortune must mount
and strive and struggle? And tell me, is it not just as evident that
liberality, moderation, and kindness take the downward path? In the case
of these we must put a check, upon the soul for fear that it may slip, in the
case of the others, with all our power we urge and spur it on. Therefore
for poverty we shall make use of those more hardy virtues that know how to
fight, for riches those more cautious virtues that advance on tiptoe and yet
keep their balance. Since there exists this distinction between
them, I prefer to appropriate for myself the virtues that can be practised with
comparative tranquility, rather than those whose exercise draws blood and sweat.
"Consequently," says the wise man, "I do not live one way andd talk another, but
I talk one way and you hear another - only the sound of my words reaches your
ears, what they mean you do not inquire."
"What then," you say, " is
the difference between you, the wise man, and me, the fool, if we both wish to
have riches? "The very greatest; for in the eyes of a wise man riches are a
slave, in the eyes of fools a master; the wise man grants no importance to
riches, to you riches are everything. You accustom yourself to them and
cling to them just as if someone had assured you that they would be a lasting
possession; the wise man never reflects so much upon poverty as when he abides
in the midst of riches. No general ever trusts so wholly to peace as to
fail to make ready for a war that has been declared, even if it is not yet being
waged. As for you, a beautiful house makes you arrogant, just as if it
could never be burned or tumble down; you are stupefied by your wealth, just as
if it had escaped every risk and had become so great that Fortune had lost all
power to destroy it. Idly you play with your riches, and do not descry the
danger they are in - you are like the barbarians who, usually, when they are
blockaded, having no knowledge of the engines of war, watch with indifference
the effort of the besiegers, and do not surmise the purpose of the constructions
that are being erected afar. So it is with you; you loll in the midst of
your possessions, and give no heed to the many disasters that threaten from
every side and all too soon will carry off the costly spoils. But the wise
man -whoever steals away his riches will still leave to him all that is his own;
for he ever lives happy in the present and unconcerned about the future.
"Upon nothing," says a Socrates, or any other who has
like authority and like ability to cope with human affairs, "am I more strongly
resolved than not to change my course of life to suit your opinion. Heap
upon me from every side the usual taunts; I shall not consider that you are
railing at me, but that you are wailing like poor little babies." These will be
the words of him who has found wisdom, whose soul, free from all vices, bids him
chide others, not because he hates them, but in order to cure them. And,
too, he will add others: "Your opinion of me moves me, not on my own account,
but on yours; for to hate and to assail virtue with your outcry, is to disavow
the hope of being good. You do me no harm, but neither do men harm the
gods when they overturn their altars. But evil intention and an evil
purpose are apparent even where there has been no power to harm. I put up
with your babblings even as Jupiter Greatest and Best puts up with the silly
fancies of the poets, one of whom gives to him wings, another horns, another
pictures him as the great adulterer staying out all night, another as cruel
toward the gods, another as unjust toward men, another as the ravisher of
freeborn youths and even of his kinsmen, another as a parricide and usurper of
another's throne - his own father's too. All that they have accomplished
is that men are relieved of shame at doing wrong if they beheve that the gods
are such. But although your words do me no harm, nevertheless for your own
sake I proffer advice. Have respect for virtue, give credence to those who,
having long pursued her, proclaim that they themselves are pursuing something
that is great and that every day seems greater, and do you reverence her as you
do the gods, and her exponents as the priests of the gods, and whenever any
mention is made of sacred writings, "be favourable with your tongues." This
expression is not derived, as very many imagine, from "favour" in the sense of
"applause," but enjoins silence in order that sacrifice may be performed
according to ritual without the interruption of an ill-omened word. But it
is far more necessary that you lay this command upon yourself, in order that,
whenever utterance is delivered from that oracle, you may listen with attentive
ear and hushed voice. Whenever someone, shaking the rattle, pretends to
speak with authority, whenever someone dexterous in slashing his muscles makes
bloody his arms and his shoulders with light hand, whenever some woman howls as
she creeps along the street on her knees, and an old man, clad in linen and
carrying a lamp in broad daylight and a branch of laurel, cries out that some
one of the gods is angry, you gather in a crowd and give ear and, fostering each
other's dumb amazement, affirm that he is divine! Lo! from that
prison, which he purified by entering it and made more honourable than any
senatehouse, Socrates cries out: "What madness is this, what instinct is this at
war with gods and men that leads you to calumniate the virtues and by your
wicked talk to profane holy things? If you are able, praise the
good, if not, ignore them; but if you take pleasure in indulging in your foul
abuse, assail you one another. For when you rage against heaven I do not
say, 'You are committing sacrilege,' but 'You are wasting your time.' I once
afforded Aristophanes subject matter for his jokes, the whole company of comic
poets has poured upon me their envenomed wit. Yet their very efforts to
assail my virtue added to its lustre; for if profits from being exposed and
tested, and none understand better how great it is than those who have perceived
its strength by attacking it. None know better the hardness ot flint than
those who strike it. I show myself like some lonely rock in the sea, which
the waves never cease to beat upon from whatever quarter they have come, yet for
all that they cannot move it from its base nor wear it away by their ceaseless
attack through countless ages. Leap upon me, make your assault; I shall
conquer you by enduring. Whatever strikes against that which is firm and
unconquerable expends its power to its own hurt. Accordingly, seek some
soft and yielding object in which to stick your darts."
But as for you, have you the
leisure to search out others' evils and to pass judgement upon anybody? "Why
does this philosopher have such a spacious house?" Why does this one dine so
sumptuously?" you say. You look at the pimples of others when you
yourselves are covered with a mass of sores. This is just as if someone
who was devoured by a foul itch should mock at the moles and the warts on bodies
that are most beautiful. Taunt Plato because he sought for money,
Aristotle because he accepted it, Democritus because he disregarded it, Epicurus
because he spent it; fling Alcibiades a and Phaedrus in my own teeth - though it
will prove your happiest time when you are so fortunate as to copy my vices!
Why do you not rather look about you at your own sins that rend you on every
side, some assailing you from without, others raging in your very vitals.
Human affairs -even if you have insufficient knowledge of your own position -
have not yet reached the situation in which you may have such superfluity of
spare time as to find leisure to wag your tongue in abusing your betters.
This you do not understand,
and you wear an air that ill accords with your condition - you are like the many
who lounge in the Circus or in a theatre while their home is already wrapped in
mourning and they have not yet heard the evil news. But I, looking from
the heights, see the storms that threaten and a little later will burst upon you
in a flood, or, already near, have drawn still closer to sweep away both you and
yours. Why say more? Are not your minds even now - though you little
know it - whirled and spun about as if some hurricane had seized them, while
they flee and pursue the selfsame things, and now are lifted to the skies, and
now are dashed to the lowest depths? . . .
The rest of the essay is lost
a project of John Trapp
