I. I have often wondered, Brutus, on many occasions, at the ingenuity and
virtues of our countrymen; but nothing has surprised me more than their
development in those studies, which, though they came somewhat late to us,
have been transported into this city from Greece. For the system of
auspices, and religious ceremonies, and courts of justice, and appeals to
the people, the senate, the establishment of an army of cavalry and
infantry, and the whole military discipline, were instituted as early as
the foundation of the city by royal authority, partly too by laws, not
without the assistance of the Gods. Then with what a surprising and
incredible progress did our ancestors advance towards all kind of
excellence, when once the republic was freed from the regal power! Not
that this is a proper occasion to treat of the manners and customs of our
ancestors, or of the discipline and constitution of the city; for I have
elsewhere, particularly in the six books I wrote on the Republic, given a
sufficiently accurate account of them. But whilst I am on this subject,
and considering the study of philosophy, I meet with many reasons to
imagine that those studies were brought to us from abroad, and not merely
imported, but preserved and improved; for they had Pythagoras, a man of
consummate wisdom and nobleness of character, in a manner, before their
eyes; who was in Italy at the time that Lucius Brutus, the illustrious
founder of your nobility, delivered his country from tyranny. As the
doctrine of Pythagoras spread itself on all sides, it seems probable to
me, that it reached this city; and this is not only probable of itself,
but it does really appear to have been the case from many remains of it.
For who can imagine that, when it flourished so much in that part of Italy
which was called Magna Græcia, and in some of the largest and most
powerful cities, in which, first the name of Pythagoras, and then that of
those men who were afterwards his followers, was in so high esteem; who
can imagine, I say, that our people could shut their ears to what was said
by such learned men? Besides, it is even my opinion, that it was the great
esteem in which the Pythagoreans were held, that gave rise to that opinion
amongst those who came after him, that king Numa was a Pythagorean. For,
being acquainted with the doctrine and principles of Pythagoras, and
having heard from their ancestors that this king was a very wise and just
man, and not being able to distinguish accurately between times and
periods that were so remote, they inferred from his being so eminent for
his wisdom, that he had been a pupil of Pythagoras.
II. So far we proceed on conjecture. As to the vestiges of the
Pythagoreans, though I might collect many, I shall use but a few; because
they have no connexion, with our present purpose. For, as it is reported
to have been a custom with them to deliver certain precepts in a more
abstruse manner in verse, and to bring their minds from severe thought to
a more composed state by songs and musical instruments; so Cato, a writer
of the very highest authority, says in his Origins, that it was customary
with our ancestors for the guests at their entertainments, every one in
his turn, to celebrate the praises and virtues of illustrious men in song
to the sound of the flute; from whence it is clear that poems and songs
were then composed for the voice. And, indeed, it is also clear that
poetry was in fashion from the laws of the Twelve Tables, wherein it is
provided, that no song should be made to the injury of another. Another
argument of the erudition of those times is, that they played on
instruments before the shrines of their Gods, and at the entertainments of
their magistrates; but that custom was peculiar to the sect I am speaking
of. To me, indeed, that poem of Appius Cæcus, which Panætius commends so
much in a certain letter of his which is addressed to Quintus Tubero, has
all the marks of a Pythagorean author. We have many things derived from
the Pythagoreans in our customs; which I pass over, that we may not seem
to have learned that elsewhere which we look upon ourselves as the
inventors of. But to return to our purpose. How many great poets as well
as orators have sprung up among us! and in what a short time! so that it
is evident that our people could arrive at any learning as soon as they
had an inclination for it. But of other studies I shall speak elsewhere if
there is occasion, as I have already often done.
III. The study of philosophy is certainly of long standing with us; but
yet I do not find that I can give you the names of any philosopher before
the age of Lælius and Scipio: in whose younger days we find that Diogenes
the Stoic, and Carneades the Academic, were sent as ambassadors by the
Athenians to our senate. And as these had never been concerned in public
affairs, and one of them was a Cyrenean, the other a Babylonian, they
certainly would never have been forced from their studies, nor chosen for
that employment, unless the study of philosophy had been in vogue with
some of the great men at that time; who, though they might employ their
pens on other subjects, some on civil law, others on oratory, others on
the history of former times, yet promoted this most extensive of all arts,
the principle of living well, even more by their life than by their
writings. So that of that true and elegant philosophy, (which was derived
from Socrates, and is still preserved by the Peripatetics, and by the
Stoics, though they express themselves differently in their disputes with
the Academics,) there are few or no Latin records; whether this proceeds
from the importance of the thing itself, or from men’s being otherwise
employed, or from their concluding that the capacity of the people was not
equal to the apprehension of them. But, during this silence, C. Amafinius
arose and took upon himself to speak; on the publishing of whose writings
the people were moved, and enlisted themselves chiefly under this sect,
either because the doctrine was more easily understood, or because they
were invited thereto by the pleasing thoughts of amusement, or that,
because there was nothing better, they laid hold of what was offered them.
And after Amafinius, when many of the same sentiments had written much
about them, the Pythagoreans spread over all Italy: but that these
doctrines should be so easily understood and approved of by the unlearned,
is a great proof that they were not written with any great subtlety, and
they think their establishment to be owing to this.
IV. But let every one defend his own opinion, for every one is at liberty
to choose what he likes; I shall keep to my old custom; and being under no
restraint from the laws of any particular school, which in philosophy
every one must necessarily confine himself to, I shall always inquire what
has the most probability in every question, and this system, which I have
often practised on other occasions, I have adhered closely to in my
Tusculan Disputations. Therefore, as I have acquainted you with the
disputations of the three former days, this book shall conclude the
discussion of the fourth day. When we had come down into the Academy, as
we had done the former days, the business was carried on thus.
_M._ Let any one say, who pleases, what he would wish to have discussed.
_A._ I do not think a wise man can possibly be free from every
perturbation of mind.
_M._ He seemed by yesterday’s discourse to be free from grief; unless you
agreed with us only to avoid taking up time.
_A._ Not at all on that account, for I was extremely satisfied with your
discourse.
_M._ You do not think, then, that a wise man is subject to grief?
_A._ No, by no means.
_M._ But if that cannot disorder the mind of a wise man, nothing else can.
For what? can such a man be disturbed by fear? Fear proceeds from the same
things when absent, which occasion grief when present. Take away grief
then, and you remove fear.
The two remaining perturbations are, a joy elate above measure, and lust;
and, if a wise man is not subject to these, his mind will be always at
rest.
_A._ I am entirely of that opinion.
_M._ Which, then, shall we do? shall I immediately crowd all my sails? or
shall I make use of my oars, as if I were just endeavouring to get clear
of the harbour?
_A._ What is it that you mean; for I do not exactly comprehend you?
V. _M._ Because, Chrysippus and the Stoics, when they discuss the
perturbations of the mind, make great part of their debate to consist in
definitions and distinctions; while they employ but few words on the
subject of curing the mind, and preventing it from being disordered.
Whereas the Peripatetics bring a great many things to promote the cure of
it, but have no regard to their thorny partitions and definitions.—My
question, then, was, whether I should instantly unfold the sails of my
eloquence, or be content for a while to make less way with the oars of
logic?
_A._ Let it be so; for by the employment of both these means the subject
of our inquiry will be more thoroughly discussed.
_M._ It is certainly the better way; and should anything be too obscure,
you may examine that afterwards.
_A._ I will do so; but those very obscure points, you will, as usual,
deliver with more clearness than the Greeks.
_M._ I will indeed endeavour to do so; but it well requires great
attention, lest, by losing one word, the whole should escape you. What the
Greeks call πάθη, we choose to name perturbations (or disorders) rather
than diseases; in explaining which, I shall follow, first, that very old
description of Pythagoras, and afterwards that of Plato; for they both
divide the mind into two parts, and make one of these partake of reason,
and the other they represent without it. In that which partakes of reason
they place tranquillity, that is to say, a placid and undisturbed
constancy; to the other they assign the turbid motions of anger and
desire, which are contrary and opposite to reason. Let this, then, be our
principle, the spring of all our reasonings. But notwithstanding, I shall
use the partitions and definitions of the Stoics in describing these
perturbations; who seem to me to have shown very great acuteness on this
question.
VI. Zeno’s definition, then, is this: “a perturbation” (which he calls a
πάθος) “is a commotion of the mind repugnant to reason, and against
nature.” Some of them define it even more briefly, saying that a
perturbation is a somewhat too vehement appetite; but by too vehement they
mean an appetite that recedes further from the constancy of nature. But
they would have the divisions of perturbations to arise from two imagined
goods, and from two imagined evils; and thus they become four: from the
good proceed lust and joy—joy having reference to some present good, and
lust to some future one. They suppose fear and grief to proceed from
evils: fear from something future,—grief from something present; for
whatever things are dreaded as approaching, always occasion grief when
present. But joy and lust depend on the opinion of good; as lust, being
inflamed and provoked, is carried on eagerly towards what has the
appearance of good; and joy is transported and exults on obtaining what
was desired: for we naturally pursue those things that have the appearance
of good, and avoid the contrary. Wherefore, as soon as anything that has
the appearance of good presents itself, nature incites us to endeavour to
obtain it. Now, where this strong desire is consistent and founded on
prudence, it is by the Stoics called βούλησις, and the name which we give
it is volition; and this they allow to none but their wise man, and define
it thus: Volition is a reasonable desire; but whatever is incited too
violently in opposition to reason, that is a lust, or an unbridled desire,
which is discoverable in all fools.—And, therefore, when we are affected
so as to be placed in any good condition, we are moved in two ways; for
when the mind is moved in a placid and calm motion, consistent with
reason, that is called joy; but when it exults with a vain, wanton
exultation, or immoderate joy, then that feeling may be called immoderate
ecstasy or transport, which they define to be an elation of the mind
without reason.—And as we naturally desire good things, so in like manner
we naturally seek to avoid what is evil; and this avoidance of which, if
conducted in accordance with reason, is called caution; and this the wise
man alone is supposed to have: but that caution which is not under the
guidance of reason, but is attended with a base and low dejection, is
called fear.—Fear is, therefore, caution destitute of reason. But a wise
man is not affected by any present evil; while the grief of a fool
proceeds from being affected with an imaginary evil, by which his mind is
contracted and sunk, since it is not under the dominion of reason. This,
then, is the first definition, which makes grief to consist in a shrinking
of the mind, contrary to the dictates of reason. Thus, there are four
perturbations, and but three calm rational emotions; for grief has no
exact opposite.
VII. But they insist upon it that all perturbations depend on opinion and
judgment; therefore they define them more strictly, in order not only the
better to show how blameable they are, but to discover how much they are
in our power. Grief, then is a recent opinion of some present evil, in
which it seems to be right that the mind should shrink and be dejected.
Joy is a recent opinion of a present good, in which it seems to be right
that the mind should be elated. Fear is an opinion of an impending evil,
which we apprehend will be intolerable. Lust is an opinion of a good to
come, which would be of advantage were it already come, and present with
us. But however I have named the judgments and opinions of perturbations,
their meaning is, not that merely the perturbations consist in them, but
that the effects likewise of these perturbations do so; as grief occasions
a kind of painful pricking, and fear engenders a recoil or sudden
abandonment of the mind; joy gives rise to a profuse mirth, while lust is
the parent of an unbridled habit of coveting. But that imagination, which
I have included in all the above definitions, they would have to consist
in assenting without warrantable grounds. Now, every perturbation has many
subordinate parts annexed to it of the same kind. Grief is attended with
enviousness (_invidentia_)—I use that word for instruction sake, though it
is not so common; because envy (_invidia_) takes in not only the person
who envies, but the person too who is envied;—emulation, detraction, pity,
vexation, mourning, sadness, tribulation, sorrow, lamentation, solicitude,
disquiet of mind, pain, despair, and many other similar feelings, are so
too. Under fear are comprehended sloth, shame, terror, cowardice,
fainting, confusion, astonishment.—In pleasure they comprehend
malevolence, that is pleased at another’s misfortune, delight,
boastfulness, and the like. To lust they associate anger, fury, hatred,
enmity, discord, wants, desire, and other feelings of that kind.
But they define these in this manner:
VIII. Enviousness (_invidentia_), they say, is a grief arising from the
prosperous circumstances of another, which are in no degree injurious to
the person who envies: for where any one grieves at the prosperity of
another, by which he is injured, such a one is not properly said to
envy,—as when Agamemnon grieves at Hector’s success; but where any one,
who is in no way hurt by the prosperity of another, is in pain at his
success, such an one envies indeed. Now the name "emulation" is taken in a
double sense, so that the same word may stand for praise and dispraise:
for the imitation of virtue is called emulation—(however, that sense of it
I shall have no occasion for here, for that carries praise with it);—but
emulation is also a term applied to grief at another’s enjoying what I
desired to have, and am without. Detraction (and I mean by that, jealousy)
is a grief even at another’s enjoying what I had a great inclination for.
Pity is a grief at the misery of another who suffers wrongfully; for no
one is moved by pity at the punishment of a parricide, or of a betrayer of
his country. Vexation is a pressing grief. Mourning is a grief at the
bitter death of one who was dear to you. Sadness is a grief attended with
tears. Tribulation is a painful grief. Sorrow, an excruciating grief.
Lamentation, a grief where we loudly bewail ourselves. Solicitude, a
pensive grief. Trouble, a continued grief. Affliction, a grief that
harasses the body. Despair, a grief that excludes all hope of better
things to come. But those feelings which are included under fear, they
define thus:—There is sloth, which is a dread of some ensuing labour:
shame and terror, which affect the body; hence blushing attends shame; a
paleness, and tremor, and chattering of the teeth, attend terror:
cowardice, which is an apprehension of some approaching evil: dread, a
fear that unhinges the mind; whence comes that line of Ennius,—
Then dread discharged all wisdom from my mind:
fainting is the associate and constant attendant on dread: confusion, a
fear that drives away all thought: alarm, a continued fear.
IX. The different species into which they divide pleasure come under this
description; so that malevolence is a pleasure in the misfortunes of
another, without any advantage to yourself: delight, a pleasure that
soothes the mind by agreeable impressions on the ear. What is said of the
ear, may be applied to the sight, to the touch, smell, and taste. All
feelings of this kind are a sort of melting pleasure that dissolves the
mind. Boastfulness is a pleasure that consists in making an appearance,
and setting off yourself with insolence.—The subordinate species of lust
they define in this manner. Anger is a lust of punishing any one who, as
we imagine, has injured us without cause. Heat is anger just forming and
beginning to exist, which the Greeks call θύμωσις. Hatred is a settled
anger. Enmity is anger waiting for an opportunity of revenge. Discord is a
sharper anger conceived deeply in the mind and heart. Want, an insatiable
lust. Regret is when one eagerly wishes to see a person who is absent. Now
here they have a distinction; so that with them regret is a lust conceived
on hearing of certain things reported of some one, or of many, which the
Greeks call κατηγορήματα, or predicaments; as that they are in possession
of riches and honours: but want is a lust for those very honours and
riches.—But these definers make intemperance the fountain of all these
perturbations; which is an absolute revolt from the mind and right reason:
a state so averse to all rules of reason, that the appetites of the mind
can by no means be governed and restrained. As, therefore, temperance
appeases these desires, making them obey right reason, and maintains the
well-weighed judgments of the mind; so intemperance, which is in
opposition to this, inflames, confounds, and puts every state of the mind
into a violent motion. Thus, grief and fear, and every other perturbation
of the mind, have their rise from intemperance.
X. Just as distempers and sickness are bred in the body from the
corruption of the blood, and the too great abundance of phlegm and bile;
so the mind is deprived of its health, and disordered with sickness, from
a confusion of depraved opinions, that are in opposition to one another.
From these perturbations arise, first, diseases, which they call νοσήματα;
and also those feelings which are in opposition to these diseases, and
which admit certain faulty distastes or loathings; then come sicknesses,
which are called ἀρρωστήματα by the Stoics; and these two have their
opposite aversions. Here the Stoics, especially Chrysippus, give
themselves unnecessary trouble to show the analogy which the diseases of
the mind have to those of the body: but, overlooking all that they say as
of little consequence, I shall treat only of the thing itself. Let us then
understand perturbation to imply a restlessness from the variety and
confusion of contradictory opinions; and that when this heat and
disturbance of the mind is of any standing, and has taken up its
residence, as it were, in the veins and marrow, then commence diseases and
sickness, and those aversions which are in opposition to these diseases
and sicknesses.
XI. What I say here may be distinguished in thought, though they are in
fact the same; inasmuch as they both have their rise from lust and joy.
For should money be the object of our desire, and should we not instantly
apply to reason, as if it were a kind of Socratic medicine to heal this
desire, the evil glides into our veins, and cleaves to our bowels, and
from thence proceeds a distemper or sickness, which, when it is of any
continuance, is incurable, and the name of this disease is covetousness.
It is the same with other diseases; as the desire of glory, a passion for
women, to which the Greeks give the name of φιλογυνεία; and thus all other
diseases and sicknesses are generated. But those feelings, which are the
contrary of these, are supposed to have fear for their foundation, as a
hatred of women, such as is displayed in the Woman-hater of Atilius: or
the hatred of the whole human species, as Timon is reported to have done,
whom they called the Misanthrope. Of the same kind is inhospitality; and
all these diseases proceed from a certain dread of such things as they
hate and avoid. But they define sickness of mind to be an overweening
opinion, and that fixed and deeply implanted in the heart, of something as
very desirable, which is by no means so. What proceeds from aversion, they
define thus: a vehement idea of something to be avoided, deeply implanted,
and inherent in our minds, when there is no reason for avoiding it; and
this kind of opinion is a deliberate belief that one understands things of
which one is wholly ignorant. Now, sickness of the mind has all these
subordinate divisions, avarice, ambition, fondness for women, obstinacy,
gluttony, drunkenness, covetousness, and other similar vices. But avarice
is a violent opinion about money, as if it were vehemently to be desired
and sought after, which opinion is deeply implanted and inherent in our
minds; and the definition of all the other similar feelings resembles
these. But the definitions of aversions are of this sort; inhospitality is
a vehement opinion, deeply implanted and inherent in your mind, that you
should avoid a stranger. Thus too the hatred of women, like that felt by
Hippolytus, is defined, and the hatred of the human species like that
displayed by Timon.
XII. But to come to the analogy of the state of body and mind, which I
shall sometimes make use of, though more sparingly than the Stoics: some
men are more inclined to particular disorders than others. And, therefore,
we say, that some people are rheumatic, others dropsical, not because they
are so at present, but because they are often so: some are inclined to
fear, others to some other perturbation. Thus in some there is a continual
anxiety, owing to which they are anxious; in some a hastiness of temper,
which differs from anger, as anxiety differs from anguish: for all are not
anxious who are sometimes vexed; nor are they who are anxious always
uneasy in that manner: as there is a difference betwixt being drunk, and
drunkenness; and it is one thing to be a lover, another to be given to
women. And this disposition of particular people to particular disorders
is very common: for it relates to all perturbations; it appears in many
vices, though it has no name: some are therefore said to be envious,
malevolent, spiteful, fearful, pitiful, from a propensity to those
perturbations, not from their being always carried away by them. Now this
propensity to these particular disorders may be called a sickness, from
analogy with the body; meaning, that is to say, nothing more than a
propensity towards sickness. But with regard to whatever is good, as some
are more inclined to different good qualities than others, we may call
this a facility or tendency: this tendency to evil is a proclivity or
inclination to falling: but where anything is neither good nor bad, it may
have the former name.
XIII. Even as there may be, with respect to the body, a disease, a
sickness, and a defect; so it is with the mind. They call that a disease
where the whole body is corrupted: they call that sickness, where a
disease is attended with a weakness: and that a defect, where the parts of
the body are not well compacted together; from whence it follows, that the
members are mis-shapen, crooked, and deformed. So that these two, a
disease and sickness, proceed from a violent concussion and perturbation
of the health of the whole body; but a defect discovers itself, even when
the body is in perfect health. But a disease of the mind is
distinguishable only in thought from a sickness. But a viciousness is a
habit or affection discordant and inconsistent with itself through life.
Thus it happens, that in the one case a disease and sickness may arise
from a corruption of opinions; in the other case the consequence may be
inconstancy and inconsistency. For every vice of the mind does not imply a
disunion of parts; as is the case with those who are not far from being
wise men: with them there is that affection which is inconsistent with
itself whilst it is foolish, but it is not distorted, nor depraved. But
diseases and sicknesses are parts of viciousness: but it is a question
whether perturbations are parts of the same: for vices are permanent
affections: perturbations are such as are restless; so that they cannot be
parts of permanent ones. As there is some analogy between the nature of
the body and mind in evil, so is there in good: for the distinctions of
the body are beauty, strength, health, firmness, quickness of motion; the
same may be said of the mind. The body is said to be in a good state, when
all those things on which health depends are consistent: the same may be
said of the mind, when its judgments and opinions are not at variance with
one another. And this union is the virtue of the mind: which, according to
some people, is temperance itself; others make it consist in an obedience
to the precepts of temperance, and a compliance with them, not allowing it
to be any distinct species of itself: but be it one or the other, it is to
be found only in a wise man. But there is a certain soundness of mind,
which even a fool may have, when the perturbation of his mind is removed
by the care and management of his physicians. And, as what is called
beauty arises from an exact proportion of the limbs, together with a
certain sweetness of complexion, so the beauty of the mind consists in an
equality and constancy of opinions and judgments, joined to a certain
firmness and stability, pursuing virtue, or containing within itself the
very essence of virtue. Besides, we give the very same names to the
faculties of the mind, as we do to the powers of the body, the nerves, and
other powers of action. Thus the velocity of the body is called swiftness:
a praise which we ascribe to the mind, from its running over in its
thoughts so many things in so short a time.
XIV. Herein indeed the mind and body are unlike: that though the mind when
in perfect health may be visited by sickness, as the body may, yet the
body may be disordered without our fault, the mind cannot. For all the
disorders and perturbations of the mind proceed from a neglect of reason;
these disorders, therefore, are confined to men; the beasts are not
subject to such perturbations, though they act sometimes as if they had
reason. There is a difference, too, betwixt ingenious and dull men; the
ingenious, like the Corinthian brass, which is long before it receives
rust, are longer before they fall into these perturbations, and are
recovered sooner: the case is different with the dull. Nor does the mind
of an ingenious man fall into every kind of perturbation, for it never
yields to any that are brutish and savage: and some of their perturbations
have at first even the appearance of humanity, as mercy, grief, and fear.
But the sicknesses and diseases of the mind are thought to be harder to
eradicate, than those leading vices which are in opposition to virtues:
for vices may be removed, though the diseases of the mind should continue,
which diseases are not cured with that expedition with which vices are
removed. I have now acquainted you with the arguments which the Stoics put
forth with such exactness: which they call logic, from their close
arguing; and since my discourse has got clear of these rocks, I will
proceed with the remainder of it, provided I have been sufficiently clear
in what I have already said, considering the obscurity of the subject I
have treated.
_A._ Clear enough; but should there be occasion for a more exact inquiry,
I shall take another opportunity of asking you: I expect you now to hoist
your sails as you just now called them, and proceed on your course.
XV. _M._ Since I have spoken before of virtue in other places, and shall
often have occasion to speak again (for a great many questions that relate
to life and manners arise from the spring of virtue); and since, as I say,
virtue consists in a settled and uniform affection of mind, making those
persons praiseworthy who are possessed of her; she herself also,
independent of anything else, without regard to any advantage, must be
praiseworthy; for from her proceed good inclinations, opinions, actions,
and the whole of right reason; though virtue may be defined in few words
to be right reason itself. The opposite to this is viciousness (for so I
choose to translate what the Greeks call κακία, rather than by
perverseness; for perverseness is the name of a particular vice; but
viciousness includes all), from whence arise those perturbations, which,
as I just now said, are turbid and violent motions of the mind, repugnant
to reason, and enemies in a high degree to the peace of the mind, and a
tranquil life: for they introduce piercing and anxious cares, and afflict
and debilitate the mind through fear; they violently inflame our hearts
with exaggerated appetite; which is in reality an impotence of mind,
utterly irreconcilable with temperance and moderation, which we sometimes
call desire, and sometimes lust; and which, should it even attain the
object of its wishes, immediately becomes so elated, that it loses all its
resolution, and knows not what to pursue; so that he was in the right who
said, “that exaggerated pleasure was the very greatest of mistakes.”
Virtue then alone can effect the cure of these evils.
XVI. For what is not only more miserable, but more base and sordid, than a
man afflicted, weakened, and oppressed with grief? And little short of
this misery is one who dreads some approaching evil, and who, through
faintheartedness, is under continual suspense. The poets, to express the
greatness of this evil, imagine a stone to hang over the head of Tantalus,
as a punishment for his wickedness, his pride, and his boasting. And this
is the common punishment of folly; for there hangs over the head of every
one whose mind revolts from reason some similar fear. And as these
perturbations of the mind, grief and fear, are of a most wasting nature;
so those two others, though of a more merry cast, (I mean lust, which is
always coveting something with eagerness, and empty mirth, which is an
exulting joy,) differ very little from madness. Hence you may understand
what sort of person he is whom we call at one time moderate, at another
modest or temperate, at another constant and virtuous; while sometimes we
include all these names in the word frugality, as the crown of all. For if
that word did not include all virtues, it would never have been proverbial
to say, that a frugal man does everything rightly; but when the Stoics
apply this saying to their wise man, they seem to exalt him too much, and
to speak of him with too much admiration.
XVII. Whoever, then, through moderation and constancy, is at rest in his
mind, and in calm possession of himself, so as neither to pine with care,
nor be dejected with fear, nor to be inflamed with desire, coveting
something greedily, nor relaxed by extravagant mirth,—such a man is that
identical wise man whom we are inquiring for, he is the happy man: to whom
nothing in this life seems intolerable enough to depress him; nothing
exquisite enough to transport him unduly. For what is there in this life
that can appear great to him, who has acquainted himself with eternity,
and the utmost extent of the universe? For what is there in human
knowledge, or the short span of this life, that can appear great to a wise
man? whose mind is always so upon its guard, that nothing can befal him
which is unforeseen, nothing which is unexpected, nothing, in short, which
is new. Such a man takes so exact a survey on all sides of him, that he
always knows the proper place and spot to live in free from all the
troubles and annoyances of life, and encounters every accident that
fortune can bring upon him with a becoming calmness. Whoever conducts
himself in this manner, will be free from grief, and from every other
perturbation: and a mind free from these feelings renders men completely
happy: whereas a mind disordered and drawn off from right and unerring
reason, loses at once, not only its resolution, but its health.—Therefore
the thoughts and declarations of the Peripatetics are soft and effeminate,
for they say that the mind must necessarily be agitated, but at the same
time they lay down certain bounds beyond which that agitation is not to
proceed. And do you set bounds to vice? or is it novice to disobey reason?
does not reason sufficiently declare, that there is no real good which you
should desire too ardently, or the possession of which you should allow to
transport you: and that there is no evil that should be able to overwhelm
you, or the suspicion of which should distract you? and that all these
things assume too melancholy or too cheerful an appearance through our own
error? But if fools find this error lessened by time, so that, though the
cause remains the same, they are not affected in the same manner, after
some time, as they were at first; why surely a wise man ought not to be
influenced at all by it. But what are those degrees by which we are to
limit it? Let us fix these degrees in grief, a difficult subject, and one
much canvassed.—Fannius writes that P. Rutilius took it much to heart,
that his brother was refused the consulship: but he seems to have been too
much affected by this disappointment; for it was the occasion of his
death: he ought, therefore, to have borne it with more moderation. But let
us suppose, that whilst he was bearing this with moderation, the death of
his children had intervened; here would have started a fresh grief, which,
admitting it to be moderate in itself, yet still must have been a great
addition to the other. Now to these let us add some acute pains of body,
the loss of his fortune, blindness, banishment; supposing, then, each
separate misfortune to occasion a separate additional grief, the whole
would be too great to be supportable.
XVIII. The man who attempts to set bounds to vice, acts like one who
should throw himself headlong from Leucate, persuaded that he could stop
himself whenever he pleased. Now, as that is impossible, so a perturbed
and disordered mind cannot restrain itself, and stop where it pleases.
Certainly whatever is bad in its increase, is bad in its birth: now grief,
and all other perturbations, are doubtless baneful in their progress, and
have therefore no small share of evil at the beginning; for they go on of
themselves when once they depart from reason, for every weakness is
self-indulgent, and indiscreetly launches out, and does not know where to
stop. So that it makes no difference whether you approve of moderate
perturbations of mind, or of moderate injustice, moderate cowardice, and
moderate intemperance. For whoever prescribes bounds to vice, admits a
part of it, which, as it is odious of itself, becomes the more so as it
stands on slippery ground, and being once set forward, glides on headlong,
and cannot by any means be stopped.
XIX. Why should I say more? Why should I add that the Peripatetics say
that these perturbations, which we insist upon it should be extirpated,
are not only natural, but were given to men by nature for a good purpose?
They usually talk in this manner. In the first place, they say much in
praise of anger; they call it the whetstone of courage, and they say that
angry men exert themselves most against an enemy or against a bad citizen:
that those reasons are of little weight which are the motives of men who
think thus, as,—It is a just war, it becomes us to fight for our laws, our
liberties, our country; they will allow no force to these arguments unless
our courage is warmed by anger.—Nor do they confine their argument to
warriors: but their opinion is, that no one can issue any rigid commands
without some bitterness and anger. In short, they have no notion of an
orator either accusing or even defending a client, without he is spurred
on by anger. And though this anger should not be real, still they think
his words and gestures ought to wear the appearance of it, so that the
action of the orator may excite the anger of his hearer. And they deny
that any man has ever been seen, who does not know what it is to be angry:
and they name what we call lenity, by the bad appellation of indolence:
nor do they commend only this lust, (for anger is, as I defined it above,
the lust of revenge,) but they maintain that kind of lust or desire to be
given us by nature for very good purposes: saying that no one can execute
anything well but what he is in earnest about. Themistocles used to walk
in the public places in the night, because he could not sleep: and when
asked the reason, his answer was, that Miltiades’ trophies kept him awake.
Who has not heard how Demosthenes used to watch; who said that it gave him
pain, if any mechanic was up in a morning at his work before him? Lastly,
they urge that some of the greatest philosophers would never have made
that progress in their studies, without some ardent desire spurring them
on.—We are informed that Pythagoras, Democritus, and Plato, visited the
remotest parts of the world; for they thought that they ought to go
whereever anything was to be learned. Now it is not conceivable that these
things could be effected by anything but by the greatest ardour of mind.
XX. They say that even grief, which we have already said ought to be
avoided as a monstrous and fierce beast, was appointed by nature, not
without some good purpose: in order that men should lament when they had
committed a fault, well knowing they had exposed themselves to correction,
rebuke, and ignominy. For they think that those who can bear ignominy and
infamy without pain, have acquired a complete impunity for all sorts of
crimes: for with them, reproach is a stronger check than conscience. From
whence we have that scene in Afranius, borrowed from common life; for when
the abandoned son saith, Wretched that I am! the severe father replies,
Let him but grieve, no matter what the cause.
And they say the other divisions of sorrow have their use; that pity
incites us to hasten to the assistance of others, and to alleviate the
calamities of men who have undeservedly fallen into them: that even envy
and detraction are not without their use; as when a man sees that another
person has attained what he cannot, or observes another to be equally
successful with himself: that he who should take away fear, would take
away all industry in life; which those men exert in the greatest degree
who are afraid of the laws and of the magistrates, who dread poverty,
ignominy, death, and pain. But while they argue thus, they allow indeed of
these feelings being retrenched, though they deny that they either can, or
should be plucked up by the roots: so that their opinion is that
mediocrity is best in everything. When they reason in this manner, what
think you? is what they say worth attending to or not?
_A._ I think it is; I wait, therefore, to hear what you will say in reply
to them.
XXI. _M._ Perhaps I may find something to say,—but I will make this
observation first: do you take notice with what modesty the Academics
behave themselves? for they speak plainly to the purpose. The Peripatetics
are answered by the Stoics; they have my leave to fight it out; who think
myself no otherwise concerned than to inquire for what may seem to be most
probable. Our present business is, then, to see if we can meet with
anything in this question which is the probable, for beyond such
approximation to truth as that human nature cannot proceed. The definition
of a perturbation, as Zeno, I think, has rightly determined it, is thus:
That a perturbation is a commotion of the mind against nature, in
opposition to right reason; or more briefly thus, that a perturbation is a
somewhat too vehement appetite; and when he says somewhat too vehement, he
means such as is at a greater distance from the constant course of nature.
What can I say to these definitions? the greater part of them we have from
those who dispute with sagacity and acuteness: some of them expressions,
indeed, such as the “ardours of the mind,” and “the whetstones of virtue,”
savouring of the pomp of rhetoricians. As to the question, if a brave man
can maintain his courage without becoming angry; it may be questioned with
regard to the gladiators: though we often observe much resolution even in
them; they meet, converse, they make objections and demands, they agree
about terms, so that they seem calm rather than angry. But let us admit a
man of the name of Placideianus, who was one of that trade, to be in such
a mind, as Lucilius relates of him,
If for his blood you thirst, the task be mine;
His laurels at my feet he shall resign;
Not but I know, before I reach his heart,
First on myself a wound he will impart.
I hate the man; enraged I fight, and straight
In action we had been, but that I wait
Till each his sword had fitted to his hand,
My rage I scarce can keep within command.
XXII. But we see Ajax in Homer advancing to meet Hector in battle
cheerfully, without any of this boisterous wrath. For he had no sooner
taken up his arms, than the first step which he made inspired his
associates with joy, his enemies with fear: so that even Hector, as he is
represented by Homer,(98) trembling condemned himself for having
challenged him to fight. Yet these heroes conversed together, calmly and
quietly, before they engaged; nor did they show any anger or outrageous
behaviour during the combat. Nor do I imagine that Torquatus, the first
who obtained this surname, was in a rage when he plundered the Gaul of his
collar: or that Marcellus’ courage at Clastidium was only owing to his
anger. I could almost swear, that Africanus, with whom we are better
acquainted, from our recollection of him being more recent, was no ways
inflamed by anger, when he covered Alienus Pelignus with his shield, and
drove his sword into the enemy’s breast. There may be some doubt of L.
Brutus, whether he was not influenced by extraordinary hatred of the
tyrant, so as to attack Aruns with more than usual rashness; for I observe
that they mutually killed each other in close fight. Why, then, do you
call in the assistance of anger? would courage, unless it began to get
furious, lose its energy? What? do you imagine that Hercules, whom the
very courage which you would try to represent as anger raised to heaven,
was angry when he engaged the Erymanthian boar, or the Nemean lion? or was
Theseus in a passion when he seized on the horns of the Marathonian bull?
Take care how you make courage to depend in the least on rage. For anger
is altogether irrational, and that is not courage which is void of reason.
XXIII. We ought to hold all things here in contempt; death is to be looked
on with indifference; pains and labours must be considered as easily
supportable. And when these sentiments are established on judgment and
conviction, then will that stout and firm courage take place: unless you
attribute to anger whatever is done with vehemence, alacrity, and spirit.
To me, indeed, that very Scipio(99) who was chief priest, that favourer of
the saying of the Stoics, “that no private man could be a wise man,” does
not seem to be angry with Tiberius Gracchus, even when he left the consul
in a hesitating frame of mind, and, though a private man himself,
commanded, with the authority of a consul, that all who meant well to the
republic should follow him. I do not know whether I have done anything in
the republic that has the appearance of courage; but if I have, I
certainly did not do it in wrath. Doth anything come nearer madness than
anger? And indeed Ennius has well defined it as the beginning of madness.
The changing colour, the alteration of our voice, the look of our eyes,
our manner of fetching our breath, the little command we have over our
words and actions, how little do all these things indicate a sound mind!
What can make a worse appearance than Homer’s Achilles, or Agamemnon,
during the quarrel. And as to Ajax, anger drove him into downright
madness, and was the occasion of his death. Courage, therefore, does not
want the assistance of anger; it is sufficiently provided, armed, and
prepared of itself. We may as well say that drunkenness, or madness, are
of service to courage, because those who are mad or drunk often do a great
many things with unusual vehemence. Ajax was always brave, but still he
was most brave when he was in that state of frenzy:
The greatest feat that Ajax e’er achieved
Was, when his single arm the Greeks relieved.
Quitting the field; urged on by rising rage,
Forced the declining troops again t’engage.
Shall we say, then, that madness has its use?
XXIV. Examine the definitions of courage: you will find it does not
require the assistance of passion. Courage is, then, an affection of mind,
that endures all things, being itself in proper subjection to the highest
of all laws; or, it may be called a firm maintenance of judgment in
supporting or repelling everything that has a formidable appearance, or a
knowledge of what is formidable or otherwise, and maintaining invariably a
stable judgment of all such things, so as to bear them, or despise them;
or, in fewer words according to Chrysippus: (for the above definitions are
Sphærus’s, a man of the first ability as a layer down of definitions, as
the Stoics think: but they are all pretty much alike, they give us only
common notions, some one way, and some another.) But what is Chrysippus’s
definition? Fortitude, says he, is the knowledge of all things that are
bearable: or an affection of the mind, which bears and supports everything
in obedience to the chief law of reason, without fear. Now, though we
should attack these men in the same manner as Carneades used to do, I fear
they are the only real philosophers: for which of these definitions is
there which does not explain that obscure and intricate notion of courage
which every man conceives within himself? And when it is thus explained,
what can a warrior, a commander, or an orator, want more? and no one can
think that they will be unable to behave themselves courageously without
anger. What? do not even the Stoics, who maintain that all fools are mad,
make the same inferences? for, take away perturbations, especially a
hastiness of temper, and they will appear to talk very absurdly. But what
they assert is this: they say that all fools are mad, as all dunghills
stink; not that they always do so, but stir them, and you will perceive
it. And in like manner, a warm-tempered man is not always in a passion;
but provoke him, and you will see him run mad. Now, that very warlike
anger, which is of such service in war, what is the use of it to him when
he is at home with his wife, children, and family? Is there, then,
anything that a disturbed mind can do better than one which is calm and
steady? or can any one be angry without a perturbation of mind? Our
people, then, were in the right, who, as all vices depend on our manners,
and nothing is worse than a passionate disposition, called angry men the
only morose men.(100)
XXV. Anger is in no wise becoming in an orator, though it is not amiss to
affect it. Do you imagine that I am angry when in pleading I use any
extraordinary vehemence and sharpness? What? when I write out my speeches
after all is over and past, am I then angry while writing? or do you think
Æsopus was ever angry when he acted, or Accius was so when he wrote? Those
men, indeed, act very well, but the orator acts better than the player,
provided he be really an orator; but then they carry it on without
passion, and with a composed mind. But what wantonness is it to commend
lust? You produce Themistocles and Demosthenes; to these you add
Pythagoras, Democritus, and Plato. What, do you then call studies lust?
But these studies of the most excellent and admirable things, such as
those were which you bring forward on all occasions, ought to be composed
and tranquil; and what kind of philosophers are they who commend grief,
than which nothing is more detestable? Afranius has said much to this
purpose—
Let him but grieve, no matter what the cause.
But he spoke this of a debauched and dissolute youth; but we are inquiring
into the conduct of a constant and wise man. We may even allow a
centurion, or standard-bearer, to be angry, or any others, whom, not to
explain too far the mysteries of the rhetoricians, I shall not mention
here; for to touch the passions, where reason cannot be come at, may have
its use; but my inquiry, as I often repeat, is about a wise man.
XXVI. But even envy, detraction, pity, have their use. Why should you pity
rather than assist, if it is in your power to do so? Is it because you
cannot be liberal without pity? We should not take sorrows on ourselves
upon another’s account; but we ought to relieve others of their grief if
we can. But to detract from another’s reputation, or to rival him with
that vicious emulation, which resembles an enmity, of what use can that
conduct be? Now envy implies being uneasy at another’s good because one
does not enjoy it oneself; but detraction is the being uneasy at another’s
good, merely because he enjoys it. How can it be right that you should
voluntarily grieve, rather than take the trouble of acquiring what you
want to have; for it is madness in the highest degree to desire to be the
only one that has any particular happiness. But who can with correctness
speak in praise of a mediocrity of evils? Can any one in whom there is
lust or desire, be otherwise than libidinous or desirous? or can a man who
is occupied by anger avoid being angry? or can one who is exposed to any
vexation escape being vexed? or if he is under the influence of fear, must
he not be fearful? Do we look, then, on the libidinous, the angry, the
anxious, and the timid man, as persons of wisdom, of excellence? of which
I could speak very copiously and diffusely, but I wish to be as concise as
possible. And so I will merely say that wisdom is an acquaintance with all
divine and human affairs, and a knowledge of the cause of everything.
Hence it is, that it imitates what is divine, and looks upon all human
concerns as inferior to virtue. Did you, then, say that it was your
opinion that such a man was as naturally liable to perturbation as the sea
is exposed to winds? What is there that can discompose such gravity and
constancy? Anything sudden or unforeseen? How can anything of this kind
befal one, to whom nothing is sudden and unforeseen that can happen to
man? Now, as to their saying that redundancies should be pared off, and
only what is natural remain; what, I pray you, can be natural, which may
be too exuberant?
XXVII. All these assertions proceed from the roots of errors, which must
be entirely plucked up and destroyed, not pared and amputated. But as I
suspect that your inquiry is not so much respecting the wise man as
concerning yourself, (for you allow that he is free from all
perturbations, and you would willingly be so too yourself,) let us see
what remedies there are which may be applied by philosophy to the diseases
of the mind. There is certainly some remedy; nor has nature been so unkind
to the human race, as to have discovered so many things salutary to the
body, and none which are medicinal to the mind. She has even been kinder
to the mind than to the body; inasmuch as you must seek abroad for the
assistance which the body requires; while the mind has all that it
requires within itself. But in proportion as the excellency of the mind is
of a higher and more divine nature, the more diligence does it require;
and therefore reason, when it is well applied, discovers what is best, but
when it is neglected it becomes involved in many errors. I shall apply,
then, all my discourse to you; for though you pretend to be inquiring
about the wise man, your inquiry may possibly be about yourself. Various,
then, are the cures of those perturbations which I have expounded, for
every disorder is not to be appeased the same way;—one medicine must be
applied to the man who mourns, another to the pitiful, another to the
person who envies, for there is this difference to be maintained in all
the four perturbations; we are to consider whether our discourse had
better be directed to perturbations in general, which are a contempt of
reason, or a somewhat too vehement appetite; or whether it would be better
applied to particular descriptions, as, for instance, to fear, lust, and
the rest, and whether it appears preferable to endeavour to remove that
which has occasioned the grief, or rather to attempt wholly to eradicate
every kind of grief. As, should any one grieve that he is poor, the
question is, would you maintain poverty to be no evil, or would you
contend that a man ought not to grieve at anything? Certainly this last is
the best course; for should you not convince him with regard to poverty,
you must allow him to grieve; but if you remove grief by particular
arguments, such as I used yesterday, the evil of poverty is in some manner
removed.
XXVIII. But any perturbation of the mind of this sort may be, as it were,
wiped away by this method of appeasing the mind, if you succeed in showing
that there is no good in that which has given rise to joy and lust, nor
any evil in that which has occasioned fear or grief. But certainly the
most effectual cure is to be achieved by showing that all perturbations
are of themselves vicious, and have nothing natural or necessary in them.
As we see grief itself is easily softened when we charge those who grieve
with weakness and an effeminate mind; or when we commend the gravity and
constancy of those who bear calmly whatever befals them here, as accidents
to which all men are liable; and, indeed, this is generally the feeling of
those who look on these as real evils, but yet think they should be borne
with resignation. One imagines pleasure to be a good, another money; and
yet the one may be called off from intemperance, the other from
covetousness. The other method and address, which, at the same time that
it removes the false opinion, withdraws the disorder, has more subtilty in
it; but it seldom succeeds, and is not applicable to vulgar minds, for
there are some diseases which that medicine can by no means remove. For,
should any one be uneasy because he is without virtue, without courage,
destitute of a sense of duty, or honesty; his anxiety proceeds from a real
evil, and yet we must apply another method of cure to him; and such a one
as all the philosophers, however they may differ about other things, agree
in. For they must necessarily agree in this, that commotions of the mind
in opposition to right reason are vicious; and that even admitting those
things to be evils, which occasion fear or grief, and those to be goods
which provoke desire or joy, yet that very commotion itself is vicious;
for we mean by the expressions magnanimous and brave, one who is resolute,
sedate, grave, and superior to everything in this life: but one who either
grieves, or fears, or covets, or is transported with passion, cannot come
under that denomination; for these things are consistent only with those
who look on the things of this world as things with which their minds are
unequal to contend.
XXIX. Wherefore, as I before said, the philosophers have all one method of
cure, so that we need say nothing about what sort of thing that is which
disturbs the mind, but we must speak only concerning the perturbation
itself. Thus, first, with regard to desire itself, when the business is
only to remove that the inquiry is not to be, whether that thing be good
or evil which provokes lust, but the lust itself is to be removed; so that
whether whatever is honest is the chief good, or whether it consists in
pleasure, or in both these things together, or in the other three kinds of
goods, yet should there be in any one too vehement an appetite for even
virtue itself, the whole discourse should be directed to the deterring him
from that vehemence. But human nature, when placed in a conspicuous point
of view, gives us every argument for appeasing the mind, and to make this
the more distinct, the laws and conditions of life should be explained in
our discourse. Therefore, it was not without reason that Socrates is
reported, when Euripides was exhibiting his play called Orestes, to have
repeated the first three verses of that tragedy—
What tragic story men can mournful tell,
Whate’er from fate or from the gods befel,
That human nature can support——(101)
But, in order to persuade those to whom any misfortune has happened, that
they can and ought to bear it, it is very useful to set before them an
enumeration of other persons who have borne similar calamities. Indeed,
the method of appeasing grief was explained in my dispute of yesterday,
and in my book on Consolation, which I wrote in the midst of my own grief;
for I was not myself so wise a man as to be insensible to grief, and I
used this, notwithstanding Chrysippus’s advice to the contrary, who is
against applying a medicine to the agitations of the mind while they are
fresh; but I did it, and committed a violence on nature, that the
greatness of my grief might give way to the greatness of the medicine.
XXX. But fear borders upon grief, of which I have already said enough; but
I must say a little more on that. Now, as grief proceeds from what is
present, so does fear from future evil; so that some have said that fear
is a certain part of grief: others have called fear the harbinger of
trouble, which, as it were, introduces the ensuing evil. Now, the reasons
that make what is present supportable, make what is to come very
contemptible; for, with regard to both, we should take care to do nothing
low or grovelling, soft or effeminate, mean or abject. But,
notwithstanding we should speak of the inconstancy, imbecility, and levity
of fear itself, yet it is of very great service to speak contemptuously of
those very things of which we are afraid. So that it fell out very well,
whether it was by accident or design, that I disputed the first and second
day on death and pain,—the two things that are the most dreaded: now, if
what I then said was approved of, we are in a great degree freed from
fear. And this is sufficient, as far as regards the opinion of evils.
XXXI. Proceed we now to what are goods—that is to say, to joy and desire.
To me, indeed, one thing alone seems to embrace the question of all that
relates to the perturbations of the mind—the fact, namely, that all
perturbations are in our own power; that they are taken up upon opinion,
and are voluntary. This error, then, must be got rid of; this opinion must
be removed: and, as with regard to imagined evils, we are to make them
more supportable, so with respect to goods, we are to lessen the violent
effects of those things which are called great and joyous. But one thing
is to be observed, that equally relates both to good and evil: that,
should it be difficult to persuade any one that none of those things which
disturb the mind are to be looked on as good or evil, yet a different cure
is to be applied to different feelings; and the malevolent person is to be
corrected by one way of reasoning, the lover by another, the anxious man
by another, and the fearful by another: and it would be easy for any one
who pursues the best approved method of reasoning, with regard to good and
evil, to maintain that no fool can be affected with joy, as he never can
have anything good. But, at present, my discourse proceeds upon the common
received notions. Let, then, honours, riches, pleasures, and the rest, be
the very good things which they are imagined to be; yet a too elevated and
exulting joy on the possession of them is unbecoming; just as though it
might be allowable to laugh, to giggle would be indecent. Thus, a mind
enlarged by joy is as blameable as a contraction of it by grief; and eager
longing is a sign of as much levity in desiring as immoderate joy is in
possessing; and, as those who are too dejected are said to be effeminate,
so they who are too elated with joy are properly called volatile; and as
feeling envy is a part of grief, and the being pleased with another’s
misfortune is a kind of joy both these feelings are usually corrected by
showing the wildness and insensibility of them: and as it becomes a man to
be cautious, but it is unbecoming in him to be fearful; so to be pleased
is proper, but to be joyful improper. I have, in order that I might be the
better understood, distinguished pleasure from joy. I have already said
above, that a contraction of the mind can never be right, but that an
elation of it may; for the joy of Hector in Nævius is one thing,—
’Tis joy indeed to hear my praises sung
By you, who are the theme of honour’s tongue:
but that of the character in Trabea another:—“The kind procuress, allured
by my money, will observe my nod, will watch my desires, and study my
will. If I but move the door with my little finger, instantly it flies
open; and if Chrysis should unexpectedly discover me, she will run with
joy to meet me, and throw herself into my arms.”
Now he will tell you how excellent he thinks this:—
Not even fortune herself is so fortunate.
XXXII. Any one who attends the least to the subject will be convinced how
unbecoming this joy is. And as they are very shameful who are immoderately
delighted with the enjoyment of venereal pleasures, so are they very
scandalous who lust vehemently after them. And all that which is commonly
called love (and, believe me, I can find out no other name to call it by)
is of such a trivial nature that nothing, I think, is to be compared to
it: of which Cæcilius says—
I hold the man of every sense bereaved,
Who grants not Love to be of Gods the chief:
Whose mighty power whate’er is good effects,
Who gives to each his beauty and defects:
Hence, health and sickness; wit and folly, hence,
The God that love and hatred doth dispense!
An excellent corrector of life this same poetry, which thinks that love,
the promoter of debauchery and vanity, should have a place in the council
of the Gods! I am speaking of comedy, which could not subsist at all
without our approving of these debaucheries. But what said that chief of
the Argonauts in tragedy?—
My life I owe to honour less than love
What, then, are we to say of this love of Medea?—what a train of miseries
did it occasion! and yet the same woman has the assurance to say to her
father, in another poet, that she had a husband—
Dearer by love than ever fathers were.
XXXIII. However, we may allow the poets to trifle, in whose fables we see
Jupiter himself engaged in these debaucheries: but let us apply to the
masters of virtue,—the philosophers who deny love to be anything carnal;
and in this they differ from Epicurus, who, I think, is not much mistaken.
For what is that lore of friendship? How comes it that no one is in love
with a deformed young man, or a handsome old one? I am of opinion that
this love of men had its rise from the Gymnastics of the Greeks, where
these kinds of loves are admissible and permitted; therefore Ennius spoke
well:—
The censure of this crime to those is due,
Who naked bodies first exposed to view.
Now, supposing them chaste, which I think is hardly possible, they are
uneasy and distressed, and the more so because they contain and refrain
themselves. But, to pass over the love of women, where nature has allowed
more liberty, who can misunderstand the poets in their rape of Ganymede,
or not apprehend what Laius says, and what he desires, in Euripides?
Lastly, what have the principal poets and the most learned men published
of themselves in their poems and songs? What doth Alcæus, who was
distinguished in his own republic for his bravery, write on the love of
young men? and as for Anacreon’s poetry, it is wholly on love. But Ibycus
of Rhegium appears, from his writings, to have had this love stronger on
him than all the rest.
XXXIV. Now we see that the loves of all these writers were entirely
libidinous. There have arisen also some amongst us philosophers (and Plato
is at the head of them, whom Dicæarchus blames not without reason), who
have countenanced love. The Stoics in truth say, not only that their wise
man may be a lover, but they even define love itself as an endeavour to
originate friendship out of the appearance of beauty. Now, provided there
is any one in the nature of things without desire, without care, without a
sigh,—such a one may be a lover; for he is free from all lust: but I have
nothing to say to him, as it is lust of which I am now speaking. But
should there be any love,—as there certainly is,—which, is but little, or
perhaps not at all, short of madness, such as his is in the Leucadia,—
Should there be any God whose care I am:
it is incumbent on all the Gods 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, assist 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 lust, to have regard to
anything else, as if he himself had not said and committed these shameful
things from lust.
XXXV. 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 pass 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.
XXXVI. 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 passion?”
XXXVII. 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 lust of revenge should cease
before it has revenged itself? or that any one should repent of what he
had done in a passion? 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 assurance 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 constitutionally, 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 assembly, 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 constitution, 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 prone 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.
XXXVIII. 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 assured, 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 assistance for living well and happily.