The Academic Questions, Treatise De Finibus, and Tusculan Disputations Part 30

Should there be any G.o.d whose care I am:

it is inc.u.mbent on all the G.o.ds to see that he enjoys his amorous pleasure.

Wretch that I am!

Nothing is more true, and he says very appropriately-

What, are you sane, who at this rate lament?

He seems even to his friends to be out of his senses: then how tragical he becomes!

Thy aid, divine Apollo, I implore, And thine, dread ruler of the wat'ry store!

Oh! all ye winds, a.s.sist me!

He thinks that the whole world ought to apply itself to help his love: he excludes Venus alone as unkind to him.

Thy aid, O Venus, why should I invoke?

He thinks Venus too much employed in her own l.u.s.t, to have regard to anything else, as if he himself had not said and committed these shameful things from l.u.s.t.

x.x.xV. Now the cure for one who is affected in this manner, is to show, how light, how contemptible, how very trifling he is in what he desires; how he may turn his affections to another object, or accomplish his desires by some other means; or else to persuade him that he may entirely disregard it; sometimes he is to be led away to objects of another kind, to study, business, or other different engagements and concerns: very often the cure is effected by change of place, as sick people, that have not recovered their strength, are benefited by change of air. Some people think an old love may be driven out by a new one, as one nail drives out another: but above all things the man thus afflicted should be advised what madness love is: for of all the perturbations of the mind, there is not one which is more vehement; for, (without charging it with rapes, debaucheries, adultery, or even incest, the baseness of any of these being very blameable; not, I say, to mention these,) the very perturbation of the mind in love is base of itself, for, to pa.s.s over all its acts of downright madness, what weakness do not those very things which are looked upon as indifferent argue?

Affronts and jealousies, jars, squabbles, wars, Then peace again.-The man who seeks to fix These restless feelings, and to subjugate Them to some regular law, is just as wise As one who'd try to lay down rules by which Men should go mad.(102)

Now is not this inconstancy and mutability of mind enough to deter any one by its own deformity? We are to demonstrate, as was said of every perturbation, that there are no such feelings which do not consist entirely of opinion and judgment, and are not owing to ourselves. For if love were natural, all would be in love, and always so, and all love the same object; nor would one be deterred by shame, another by reflection, another by satiety.

x.x.xVI. Anger, too, when it disturbs the mind any time, leaves no room to doubt its being madness: by the instigation of which, we see such contention as this between brothers:

Where was there ever impudence like thine?

Who on thy malice ever could refine?(103)

You know what follows: for abuses are thrown out by these brothers, with great bitterness, in every other verse: so that you may easily know them for the sons of Atreus, of that Atreus who invented a new punishment for his brother:

I who his cruel heart to gall am bent, Some new, unheard-of torment must invent.

Now what were these inventions? Hear Thyestes.

My impious brother fain would have me eat My children, and thus serves them up for meat.

To what length now will not anger go? even as far as madness. Therefore we say properly enough, that angry men have given up their power, that is, they are out of the power of advice, reason, and understanding: for these ought to have power over the whole mind. Now you should put those out of the way, whom they endeavour to attack, till they have recollected themselves; but what does recollection here imply, but getting together again the dispersed parts of their mind into their proper place? or else you must beg and entreat them, if they have the means of revenge, to defer it to another opportunity, till their anger cools. But the expression of cooling implies, certainly, that there was a heat raised in their minds in opposition to reason: from which consideration that saying of Archytas is commended: who being somewhat provoked at his steward, "How would I have treated you," said he, "if I had not been in a pa.s.sion?"

x.x.xVII. Where, then, are they who say that anger has its use? Can madness be of any use? But still it is natural. Can anything be natural that is against reason? or how is it, if anger is natural, that one person is more inclined to anger than another? or that the l.u.s.t of revenge should cease before it has revenged itself? or that any one should repent of what he had done in a pa.s.sion? as we see that Alexander the king did, who could scarcely keep his hands from himself, when he had killed his favourite Clytus: so great was his compunction! Now who, that is acquainted with these instances, can doubt that this motion of the mind is altogether in opinion and voluntary? for who can doubt that disorders of the mind, such as covetousness, and a desire of glory, arise from a great estimation of those things, by which the mind is disordered? from whence we may understand, that every perturbation of the mind is founded in opinion.

And if boldness, that is to say, a firm a.s.surance of mind, is a kind of knowledge and serious opinion, not hastily taken up: then diffidence is a fear of an expected and impending evil: and if hope is an expectation of good, fear must of course be an expectation of evil. Thus fear and other perturbations are evils. Therefore as constancy proceeds from knowledge, so does perturbation from error. Now they who are said to be naturally inclined to anger, or to pity, or to envy, or to any feeling of this kind; their minds are const.i.tutionally, as it were, in bad health, yet they are curable, as the disposition of Socrates is said to have been; for when Zopyrus, who professed to know the character of every one from his person, had heaped a great many vices on him in a public a.s.sembly, he was laughed at by others, who could perceive no such vices in Socrates; but Socrates kept him in countenance, by declaring that such vices were natural to him, but that he had got the better of them by his reason. Therefore, as any one who has the appearance of the best const.i.tution, may yet appear to be naturally rather inclined to some particular disorder, so different minds may be more particularly inclined to different diseases. But as to those men who are said to be vicious, not by nature, but their own fault; their vices proceed from wrong opinions of good and bad things, so that one is more p.r.o.ne than another to different motions and perturbations. But, just as it is in the case of the body, an inveterate disease is harder to be got rid of than a sudden disorder; and it is more easy to cure a fresh tumour in the eyes, than to remove a defluxion of any continuance.

x.x.xVIII. But as the cause of perturbations is now discovered, for all of them arise from the judgment or opinion, or volition, I shall put an end to this discourse. But we ought to be a.s.sured, since the boundaries of good and evil are now discovered, as far as they are discoverable by man, that nothing can be desired of philosophy greater, or more useful, than the discussions which we have held these four days. For besides instilling a contempt of death, and relieving pain so as to enable men to bear it; we have added the appeasing of grief, than which there is no greater evil to man. For though every perturbation of mind is grievous, and differs but little from madness: yet we are used to say of others, when they are under any perturbation, as of fear, joy, or desire, that they are agitated and disturbed; but of those who give themselves up to grief, that they are miserable, afflicted, wretched, unhappy. So that it doth not seem to be by accident, but with reason proposed by you, that I should discuss grief, and the other perturbations separately; for there lies the spring and head of all our miseries: but the cure of grief, and of other disorders, is one and the same, in that they are all voluntary, and founded on opinion; we take them on ourselves because it seems right so to do. Philosophy undertakes to eradicate this error, as the root of all our evils: let us therefore surrender ourselves to be instructed by it, and suffer ourselves to be cured; for whilst these evils have possession of us, we not only cannot be happy, but cannot be right in our minds. We must either deny that reason can effect anything, while, on the other hand, nothing can be done right without reason; or else, since philosophy depends on the deductions of reason, we must seek from her, if we would be good or happy, every help and a.s.sistance for living well and happily.

Book V. Whether Virtue Alone Be Sufficient For A Happy Life.

I. This fifth day, Brutus, shall put an end to our Tusculan Disputations: on which day we discussed your favourite subject. For I perceive from that book which you wrote for me, with the greatest accuracy, as well as from your frequent conversation, that you are clearly of this opinion, that virtue is of itself sufficient for a happy life: and though it may be difficult to prove this, on account of the many various strokes of fortune, yet it is a truth of such a nature, that we should endeavour to facilitate the proof of it. For among all the topics of philosophy, there is not one of more dignity or importance. For as the first philosophers must have had some inducement, to neglect everything for the search of the best state of life: surely, the inducement must have been the hope of living happily, which impelled them to devote so much care and pains to that study. Now, if virtue was discovered and carried to perfection by them; and if virtue is a sufficient security for a happy life: who can avoid thinking the work of philosophising excellently recommended by them, and undertaken by me? But if virtue, as being subject to such various and uncertain accidents, were but the slave of fortune, and were not of sufficient ability to support herself; I am afraid that it would seem desirable rather to offer up prayers than to rely on our own confidence in virtue, as the foundation for our hope of a happy life. And, indeed, when I reflect on those troubles, with which I have been so severely exercised by fortune, I begin to distrust this opinion; and sometimes even to dread the weakness and frailty of human nature, for I am afraid lest, when nature had given us infirm bodies, and had joined to them incurable diseases, and intolerable pains, she perhaps also gave us minds partic.i.p.ating in these bodily pains, and hara.s.sed also with troubles and uneasinesses, peculiarly their own. But here I correct myself, for forming my judgment of the power of virtue more from the weakness of others, or of myself perhaps, than from virtue itself: for she herself (provided there is such a thing as virtue, and your uncle Brutus has removed all doubt of it) has everything that can befal mankind in subjection to her; and by disregarding such things, she is far removed from being at all concerned at human accidents; and, being free from every imperfection, she thinks that nothing which is external to herself can concern her. But we, who increase every approaching evil by our fear, and every present one by our grief, choose rather to condemn the nature of things, than our own errors.

II. But the amendment of this fault, and of all our other vices and offences, is to be sought for in philosophy: and as my own inclination and desire led me, from my earliest youth upwards, to seek her protection; so, under my present misfortunes, I have had recourse to the same port from whence I set out, after having been tossed by a violent tempest. O Philosophy, thou guide of life! thou discoverer of virtue, and expeller of vices! what had not only I myself, but the whole life of man been without you? To you it is that we owe the origin of cities; you it was who called together the dispersed race of men into social life; you united them together, first, by placing them near one another, then by marriages, and lastly, by the communication of speech and languages. You have been the inventress of laws; you have been our instructress in morals and discipline: to you we fly for refuge; from you we implore a.s.sistance; and as I formerly submitted to you in a great degree, so now I surrender up myself entirely to you. For one day spent well, and agreeably to your precepts, is preferable to an eternity of error. Whose a.s.sistance, then, can be of more service to me than yours, when you have bestowed on us tranquillity of life, and removed the fear of death? But Philosophy is so far from being praised as much as she has deserved by mankind, that she is wholly neglected by most men, and actually evil spoken of by many. Can any person speak ill of the parent of life, and dare to pollute himself thus with parricide! and be so impiously ungrateful as to accuse her, whom he ought to reverence, even were he less able to appreciate the advantages which he might derive from her? But this error, I imagine, and this darkness, has spread itself over the minds of ignorant men, from their not being able to look so far back, and from their not imagining that those men by whom human life was first improved, were philosophers: for though we see philosophy to have been of long standing, yet the name must be acknowledged to be but modern.

III. But indeed, who can dispute the antiquity of philosophy, either in fact or name? for it acquired this excellent name from the ancients, by the knowledge of the origin and causes of everything, both divine and human. Thus those seven S?f??, as they were considered and called by the Greeks, have always been esteemed and called wise men by us: and thus Lycurgus many ages before, in whose time, before the building of this city, Homer is said to have lived, as well as Ulysses and Nestor in the heroic ages, are all handed down to us by tradition as having really been what they were called, wise men; nor would it have been said that Atlas supported the heavens, or that Prometheus was bound to Caucasus, nor would Cepheus, with his wife, his son-in-law, and his daughter, have been enrolled among the constellations, but that their more than human knowledge of the heavenly bodies had transferred their names into an erroneous fable. From whence, all who occupied themselves in the contemplation of nature, were both considered and called, wise men: and that name of theirs continued to the age of Pythagoras, who is reported to have gone to Phlius, as we find it stated by Heraclides Ponticus, a very learned man, and a pupil of Plato, and to have discoursed very learnedly and copiously on certain subjects, with Leon, prince of the Phliasii-and when Leon, admiring his ingenuity and eloquence, asked him what art he particularly professed; his answer was, that he was acquainted with no art, but that he was a philosopher. Leon, surprised at the novelty of the name, inquired what he meant by the name of philosopher, and in what philosophers differed from other men: on which Pythagoras replied, "That the life of man seemed to him to resemble those games, which were celebrated with the greatest possible variety of sports, and the general concourse of all Greece. For as in those games there were some persons whose object was glory, and the honour of a crown, to be attained by the performance of bodily exercises: so others were led thither by the gain of buying and selling, and mere views of profit: but there was likewise one cla.s.s of persons, and they were by far the best, whose aim was neither applause nor profit, but who came merely as spectators through curiosity, to observe what was done, and to see in what manner things were carried on there. And thus, said he, we come from another life and nature unto this one, just as men come out of some other city, to some much frequented mart; some being slaves to glory, others to money; and there are some few who, taking no account of anything else, earnestly look into the nature of things: and these men call themselves studious of wisdom, that is, philosophers; and as there it is the most reputable occupation of all to be a looker-on, without making any acquisition, so in life, the contemplating things, and acquainting oneself with them, greatly exceeds every other pursuit of life."

IV. Nor was Pythagoras the inventor only of the name, but he enlarged also the thing itself, and, when he came into Italy after this conversation at Phlius, he adorned that Greece, which is called Great Greece, both privately and publicly, with the most excellent inst.i.tutions and arts; but of his school and system, I shall, perhaps, find another opportunity to speak. But numbers and motions, and the beginning and end of all things, were the subjects of the ancient philosophy down to Socrates, who was a pupil of Archelaus, who had been the disciple of Anaxagoras. These made diligent inquiry into the magnitude of the stars, their distances, courses, and all that relates to the heavens. But Socrates was the first who brought down philosophy from the heavens, placed it in cities, introduced it into families, and obliged it to examine into life and morals, and good and evil. And his different methods of discussing questions, together with the variety of his topics, and the greatness of his abilities, being immortalized by the memory and writings of Plato, gave rise to many sects of philosophers of different sentiments: of all which I have princ.i.p.ally adhered to that one which, in my opinion, Socrates himself followed; and argue so as to conceal my own opinion, while I deliver others from their errors, and so discover what has the greatest appearance of probability in every question. And the custom Carneades adopted with great copiousness and acuteness, and I myself have often given in to it on many occasions elsewhere, and in this manner, too, I disputed lately, in my Tusculan villa; indeed I have sent you a book of the four former days' discussions; but the fifth day, when we had seated ourselves as before, what we were to dispute on was proposed thus:-

V. _A._ I do not think virtue can possibly be sufficient for a happy life.

_M._ But my friend Brutus thinks so, whose judgment, with submission, I greatly prefer to yours.

_A._ I make no doubt of it; but your regard for him is not the business now; the question is now what is the real character of that quality of which I have declared my opinion. I wish you to dispute on that.

_M._ What! do you deny that virtue can possibly be sufficient for a happy life?

_A._ It is what I entirely deny.

_M._ What! is not virtue sufficient to enable us to live as we ought, honestly, commendably, or, in fine, to live well?

_A._ Certainly sufficient.

_M._ Can you, then, help calling any one miserable, who lives ill? or will you deny that any one who you allow lives well, must inevitably live happily?

_A._ Why may I not? for a man may be upright in his life, honest, praiseworthy, even in the midst of torments, and therefore live well.

Provided you understand what I mean by well; for when I say well, I mean with constancy, and dignity, and wisdom, and courage; for a man may display all these qualities on the rack; but yet the rack is inconsistent with a happy life.

_M._ What then? is your happy life left on the outside of the prison, whilst constancy, dignity, wisdom, and the other virtues, are surrendered up to the executioner, and bear punishment and pain without reluctance?