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
participating in these bodily pains, and harassed 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 assistance; 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 assistance, 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 Σόφοι, 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
class 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 institutions 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 principally 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?
_A._ You must look out for something new, if you would do any good. These
things have very little effect on me, not merely from their being common,
but principally because, like certain light wines, that will not bear
water, these arguments of the Stoics are pleasanter to taste than to
swallow. As when that assemblage of virtues is committed to the rack, it
raises so reverend a spectacle before our eyes, that happiness seems to
hasten on towards them, and not to suffer them to be deserted by her. But
when you take your attention off from this picture and these images of the
virtues, to the truth and the reality, what remains without disguise is,
the question whether any one can be happy in torment? Wherefore let us now
examine that point, and not be under any apprehensions, lest the virtues
should expostulate and complain, that they are forsaken by happiness. For
if prudence is connected with every virtue, then prudence itself discovers
this, that all good men are not therefore happy; and she recollects many
things of Marcus Atilius,(104) Quintus Cæpio,(105) Marcus Aquilius;(106)
and prudence herself, if these representations are more agreeable to you
than the things themselves, restrains happiness, when it is endeavouring
to throw itself into torments, and denies that it has any connexion with
pain and torture.
VI. _M._ I can easily bear with your behaving in this manner, though it is
not fair in you to prescribe to me, how you would have me carry on this
discussion; but I ask you if I have effected anything or nothing in the
preceding days?
_A._ Yes, something was done, some little matter indeed.
_M._ But if that is the case, this question is settled, and almost put an
end to.
_A._ How so?
_M._ Because turbulent motions and violent agitations of the mind, when it
is raised and elated by a rash impulse, getting the better of reason,
leave no room for a happy life. For who that fears either pain or death,
the one of which is always present, the other always impending, can be
otherwise than miserable? Now supposing the same person, which is often
the case, to be afraid of poverty, ignominy, infamy, or weakness, or
blindness; or lastly, slavery, which doth not only befal individual men,
but often even the most powerful nations; now can any one under the
apprehension of these evils be happy? What shall we say of him who not
only dreads these evils as impending, but actually feels and bears them at
present? Let us unite in the same person, banishment, mourning, the loss
of children; now how can any one who is broken down and rendered sick in
body and mind by such affliction be otherwise than very miserable indeed?
What reason again can there be, why a man should not rightly enough be
called miserable, whom we see inflamed and raging with lust, coveting
everything with an insatiable desire, and in proportion as he derives more
pleasure from anything, thirsting the more violently after them? And as to
a man vainly elated, exulting with an empty joy, and boasting of himself
without reason, is not he so much the more miserable in proportion as he
thinks himself happier? Therefore, as these men are miserable, so on the
other hand those are happy, who are alarmed by no fears, wasted by no
griefs, provoked by no lusts, melted by no languid pleasures that arise
from vain and exulting joys. We look on the sea as calm when not the least
breath of air disturbs its waves; and in like manner the placid and quiet
state of the mind is discovered when unmoved by any perturbation. Now if
there be any one who holds the power of fortune, and everything human,
everything that can possibly befal any man, as supportable, so as to be
out of the reach of fear or anxiety; and if such a man covets nothing, and
is lifted up by no vain joy of mind, what can prevent his being happy? and
if these are the effects of virtue, why cannot virtue itself make men
happy?
VII. _A._ But the other of these two propositions is undeniable, that they
who are under no apprehensions, who are no ways uneasy, who covet nothing,
who are lifted up by no vain joy, are happy: and therefore I grant you
that; but as for the other, that is not now in a fit state for discussion;
for it has been proved by your former arguments that a wise man is free
from every perturbation of mind.
_M._ Doubtless, then, the dispute is over; for the question appears to
have been entirely exhausted.
_A._ I think indeed that that is almost the case.
_M._ But yet, that is more usually the case with the mathematicians than
philosophers. For when the geometricians teach anything, if what they have
before taught relates to their present subject, they take that for granted
which has been already proved; and explain only what they had not written
on before. But the philosophers, whatever subject they have in hand, get
together everything that relates to it; notwithstanding they may have
dilated on it somewhere else. Were not that the case, why should the
Stoics say so much on that question, whether virtue was abundantly
sufficient to a happy life? when it would have been answer enough, that
they had before taught, that nothing was good but what was honourable; for
as this had been proved, the consequence must be, that virtue was
sufficient to a happy life: and each premise may be made to follow from
the admission of the other, so that if it be admitted that virtue is
sufficient to secure a happy life, it may also be inferred that nothing is
good except what is honourable. They however do not proceed in this
manner; for they would separate books about what is honourable, and what
is the chief good: and when they have demonstrated from the one that
virtue has power enough to make life happy, yet they treat this point
separately; for everything, and especially a subject of such great
consequence, should be supported by arguments and exhortations which
belong to that alone. For you should have a care how you imagine
philosophy to have uttered anything more noble, or that she has promised
anything more fruitful or of greater consequence: for, good Gods! doth she
not engage, that she will render him who submits to her laws so
accomplished as to be always armed against fortune, and to have every
assurance within himself of living well and happily; that he shall, in
short, be for ever happy. But let us see what she will perform? In the
meanwhile I look upon it as a great thing, that she has even made such a
promise. For Xerxes, who was loaded with all the rewards and gifts of
fortune, not satisfied with his armies of horse and foot, nor the
multitude of his ships, nor his infinite treasure of gold, offered a
reward to any one who could find out a new pleasure: and yet, when it was
discovered, he was not satisfied with it, nor can there ever be an end to
lust. I wish we could engage any one by a reward, to produce something the
better to establish us in this belief.
VIII. _A._ I wish that indeed myself; but I want a little information. For
I allow, that in what you have stated, the one proposition is the
consequence of the other; that as, if what is honourable be the only good,
it must follow, that a happy life is the effect of virtue: so that if a
happy life consists in virtue, nothing can be good but virtue. But your
friend Brutus, on the authority of Aristo and Antiochus, does not see
this: for he thinks the case would be the same, even if there were
anything good besides virtue.
_M._ What then? do you imagine that I am going to argue against Brutus?
_A._ You may do what you please: for it is not for me to prescribe what
you shall do.
_M._ How these things agree together shall be examined somewhere else: for
I frequently discussed that point with Antiochus, and lately with Aristo,
when, during the period of my command as general, I was lodging with him
at Athens. For to me it seemed that no one could possibly be happy under
any evil: but a wise man might be afflicted with evil, if there are any
things arising from body or fortune, deserving the name of evils. These
things were said, which Antiochus has inserted in his books in many
places: that virtue itself was sufficient to make life happy, but yet not
perfectly happy: and that many things derive their names from the
predominant portion of them, though they do not include everything, as
strength, health, riches, honour, and glory: which qualities are
determined by their kind, not their number: thus a happy life is so called
from its being so in a great degree, even though it should fall short in
some point. To clear this up, is not absolutely necessary at present,
though it seems to be said without any great consistency: for I cannot
imagine what is wanting to one that is happy, to make him happier, for if
anything be wanting to him he cannot be so much as happy; and as to what
they say, that everything is named and estimated from its predominant
portion, that may be admitted in some things. But when they allow three
kinds of evils; when any one is oppressed with every imaginable evil of
two kinds, being afflicted with adverse fortune, and having at the same
time his body worn out and harassed with all sorts of pains, shall we say
that such a one is but little short of a happy life, to say nothing about
the happiest possible life?
IX. This is the point which Theophrastus was unable to maintain: for after
he had once laid down the position, that stripes, torments, tortures, the
ruin of one’s country, banishment, the loss of children, had great
influence on men’s living miserably and unhappily, he durst not any longer
use any high and lofty expressions, when he was so low and abject in his
opinion. How right he was is not the question; he certainly was
consistent. Therefore I am not for objecting to consequences where the
premises are admitted. But this most elegant and learned of all the
philosophers, is not taken to task very severely when he asserts his three
kinds of good; but he is attacked by every one for that book which he
wrote on a happy life, in which book he has many arguments, why one who is
tortured and racked cannot be happy. For in that book he is supposed to
say, that a man who is placed on the wheel, (that is a kind of torture in
use among the Greeks,) cannot attain to a completely happy life. He
nowhere, indeed, says so absolutely, but what he says amounts to the same
thing. Can I, then, find fault with him; after having allowed, that pains
of the body are evils, that the ruin of a man’s fortunes is an evil, if he
should say that every good man is not happy, when all those things which
he reckons as evils may befal a good man? The same Theophrastus is found
fault with by all the books and schools of the philosophers, for
commending that sentence in his Callisthenes:
Fortune, not wisdom, rules the life of man.
They say, never did philosopher assert anything so languid. They are
right, indeed, in that: but I do not apprehend anything could be more
consistent: for if there are so many good things that depend on the body,
and so many foreign to it that depend on chance and fortune, is it
inconsistent to say that fortune, which governs everything, both what is
foreign and what belongs to the body, has greater power than counsel. Or
would we rather imitate Epicurus? who is often excellent in many things
which he speaks, but quite indifferent how consistent he may be, or how
much to the purpose he is speaking. He commends spare diet, and in that he
speaks as a philosopher; but it is for Socrates or Antisthenes to say so,
and not for one who confines all good to pleasure. He denies that any one
can live pleasantly unless he lives honestly, wisely, and justly. Nothing
is more dignified than this assertion, nothing more becoming a
philosopher, had he not measured this very expression of living honestly,
justly, and wisely, by pleasure. What could be better than to assert that
fortune interferes but little with a wise man? But does he talk thus, who
after he has said that pain is the greatest evil, or the only evil, might
himself be afflicted with the sharpest pains all over his body, even at
the time he is vaunting himself the most against fortune? And this very
thing, too, Metrodorus has said, but in better language: “I have
anticipated you, Fortune; I have caught you, and cut off every access, so
that you cannot possibly reach me.” This would be excellent in the mouth
of Aristo the Chian, or Zeno the Stoic, who held nothing to be an evil but
what was base; but for you, Metrodorus, to anticipate the approaches of
fortune, who confine all that is good to your bowels and marrow,—for you
to say so, who define the chief good by a strong constitution of body, and
a well assured hope of its continuance,—for you to cut off every access of
fortune? Why, you may instantly be deprived of that good. Yet the simple
are taken with these propositions, and a vast crowd is led away by such
sentences to become their followers.
X. But it is the duty of one who would argue accurately, to consider not
what is said, but what is said consistently. As in that very opinion which
we have adopted in this discussion, namely, that every good man is always
happy; it is clear what I mean by good men: I call those both wise and
good men, who are provided and adorned with every virtue. Let us see,
then, who are to be called happy. I imagine, indeed, that those men are to
be called so, who are possessed of good without any alloy of evil: nor is
there any other notion connected with the word that expresses happiness,
but an absolute enjoyment of good without any evil. Virtue cannot attain
this, if there is anything good besides itself: for a crowd of evils would
present themselves, if we were to allow poverty, obscurity, humility,
solitude, the loss of friends, acute pains of the body, the loss of
health, weakness, blindness, the ruin of one’s country, banishment,
slavery, to be evils: for a wise man may be afflicted by all these evils,
numerous and important as they are, and many others also may be added; for
they are brought on by chance, which may attack a wise man: but if these
things are evils, who can maintain that a wise man is always happy, when
all these evils may light on him at the same time? I therefore do not
easily agree with my friend Brutus, nor with our common masters, nor those
ancient ones, Aristotle, Speusippus, Xenocrates, Polemon, who reckon all
that I have mentioned above as evils, and yet they say that a wise man is
always happy; nor can I allow them, because they are charmed with this
beautiful and illustrious title, which would very well become Pythagoras,
Socrates, and Plato, to persuade my mind, that strength, health, beauty,
riches, honours, power, with the beauty of which they are ravished, are
contemptible, and that all those things which are the opposites of these
are not to be regarded. Then might they declare openly, with a loud voice,
that neither the attacks of fortune, nor the opinion of the multitude, nor
pain, nor poverty, occasion them any apprehensions; and that they have
everything within themselves, and that there is nothing whatever which
they consider as good but what is within their own power. Nor can I by any
means allow the same person, who falls into the vulgar opinion of good and
evil, to make use of these expressions, which can only become a great and
exalted man. Struck with which glory, up starts Epicurus, who, with
submission to the Gods, thinks a wise man always happy. He is much charmed
with the dignity of this opinion, but he never would have owned that, had
he attended to himself: for what is there more inconsistent, than for one
who could say that pain was the greatest or the only evil, to think also
that a wise man can possibly say in the midst of his torture, How sweet is
this! We are not, therefore, to form our judgment of philosophers from
detached sentences, but from their consistency with themselves, and their
ordinary manner of talking.
XI. _A._ You compel me to be of your opinion; but have a care that you are
not inconsistent yourself.
_M._ In what respect?
_A._ Because I have lately read your fourth book on Good and Evil: and in
that you appeared to me, while disputing against Cato, to be endeavouring
to show, which in my opinion means to prove, that Zeno and the
Peripatetics differ only about some new words; but if we allow that, what
reason can there be, if it follows from the arguments of Zeno, that virtue
contains all that is necessary to a happy life, that the Peripatetics
should not be at liberty to say the same? For, in my opinion, regard
should be had to the thing, not to words.
_M._ What? you would convict me from my own words, and bring against me
what I had said or written elsewhere. You may act in that manner with
those who dispute by established rules: we live from hand to mouth, and
say anything that strikes our mind with probability, so that we are the
only people who are really at liberty. But, since I just now spoke of
consistency, I do not think the inquiry in this place is, if the opinion
of Zeno and his pupil Aristo be true, that nothing is good but what is
honourable; but, admitting that, then, whether the whole of a happy life
can be rested on virtue alone. Wherefore, if we certainly grant Brutus
this, that a wise man is always happy, how consistent he is, is his own
business: for who indeed is more worthy than himself of the glory of that
opinion? Still we may maintain that such a man is more happy than any one
else.
XII. Though Zeno the Cittiæan, a stranger and an inconsiderable coiner of
words, appears to have insinuated himself into the old philosophy; still
the prevalence of this opinion is due to the authority of Plato, who often
makes use of this expression, “that nothing but virtue can be entitled to
the name of good,” agreeably to what Socrates says in Plato’s Gorgias; for
it is there related that when some one asked him if he did not think
Archelaus the son of Perdiccas, who was then looked upon as a most
fortunate person, a very happy man: “I do not know,” replied he, “for I
never conversed with him.” “What, is there no other way you can know it
by?” “None at all.” “You cannot, then, pronounce of the great king of the
Persians, whether he is happy or not?” “How can I, when I do not know how
learned or how good a man he is?” “What! do you imagine that a happy life
depends on that?” “My opinion entirely is, that good men are happy, and
the wicked miserable.” “Is Archelaus, then, miserable?” “Certainly, if
unjust.” Now does it not appear to you, that he is here placing the whole
of a happy life in virtue alone? But what does the same man say in his
funeral oration? “For,” saith he, “whoever has everything that relates to
a happy life so entirely dependent on himself as not to be connected with
the good or bad fortune of another, and not to be affected by, or made in
any degree uncertain by, what befals another; and whoever is such a one
has acquired the best rule of living; he is that moderate, that brave,
that wise man, who submits to the gain and loss of everything, and
especially of his children, and obeys that old precept; for he will never
be too joyful or too sad, because he depends entirely upon himself.”
XIII. From Plato, therefore, all my discourse shall be deduced, as if from
some sacred and hallowed fountain. Whence can I, then, more properly begin
than from nature, the parent of all? For whatsoever she produces (I am not
speaking only of animals, but even of those things which have sprung from
the earth in such a manner as to rest on their own roots) she designed it
to be perfect in its respective kind. So that among trees and vines, and
those lower plants and trees which cannot advance themselves high above
the earth, some are evergreen, others are stripped of their leaves in
winter, and, warmed by the spring season, put them out afresh, and there
are none of them but what are so quickened by a certain interior motion,
and their own seeds enclosed in every one, so as to yield flowers, fruit,
or berries, that all may have every perfection that belongs to it,
provided no violence prevents it. But the force of nature itself may be
more easily discovered in animals, as she has bestowed sense on them. For
some animals she has taught to swim, and designed to be inhabitants of the
water; others she has enabled to fly, and has willed that they should
enjoy the boundless air; some others she has made to creep, others to
walk. Again, of these very animals, some are solitary, some gregarious,
some wild, others tame, some hidden and buried beneath the earth, and
every one of these maintains the law of nature, confining itself to what
was bestowed on it, and unable to change its manner of life. And as every
animal has from nature something that distinguishes it, which every one
maintains and never quits; so man has something far more excellent, though
everything is said to be excellent by comparison. But the human mind,
being derived from the divine reason, can be compared with nothing but
with the Deity itself, if I may be allowed the expression. This, then, if
it is improved, and when its perception is so preserved as not to be
blinded by errors, becomes a perfect understanding, that is to say,
absolute reason, which is the very same as virtue. And if everything is
happy which wants nothing, and is complete and perfect in its kind, and
that is the peculiar lot of virtue; certainly all who are possessed of
virtue are happy. And in this I agree with Brutus, and also with
Aristotle, Xenocrates, Speusippus, Polemon.
XIV. To me such are the only men who appear completely happy; for what can
he want to a complete happy life who relies on his own good qualities, or
how can he be happy who does not rely on them? But he who makes a
threefold division of goods must necessarily be diffident, for how can he
depend on having a sound body, or that his fortune shall continue? but no
one can be happy without an immovable, fixed, and permanent good. What,
then, is this opinion of theirs? So that I think that saying of the
Spartan may be applied to them, who, on some merchant’s boasting before
him, that he had despatched ships to every maritime coast, replied, that a
fortune which depended on ropes was not very desirable. Can there be any
doubt that whatever may be lost, cannot be properly classed in the number
of those things which complete a happy life? for of all that constitutes a
happy life, nothing will admit of withering, or growing old, or wearing
out, or decaying; for whoever is apprehensive of any loss of these things
cannot be happy; the happy man should be safe, well fenced, well
fortified, out of the reach of all annoyance, not like a man under
trifling apprehensions, but free from all such. As he is not called
innocent who but slightly offends, but he who offends not at all; so it is
he alone who is to be considered without fear who is free from all fear,
not he who is but in little fear. For what else is courage but an
affection of mind, that is ready to undergo perils, and patient in the
endurance of pain and labour without any alloy of fear? Now this certainly
could not be the case, if there were anything else good but what depended
on honesty alone. But how can any one be in possession of that desirable
and much-coveted security (for I now call a freedom from anxiety a
security, on which freedom a happy life depends) who has, or may have, a
multitude of evils attending him? How can he be brave and undaunted, and
hold everything as trifles which can befal a man, for so a wise man should
do, unless he be one who thinks that everything depends on himself? Could
the Lacedæmonians without this, when Philip threatened to prevent all
their attempts, have asked him, if he could prevent their killing
themselves? Is it not easier, then, to find one man of such a spirit as we
are inquiring after, than to meet with a whole city of such men? Now, if
to this courage I am speaking of we add temperance, that it may govern all
our feelings and agitations, what can be wanting to complete his happiness
who is secured by his courage from uneasiness and fear; and is prevented
from immoderate desires and immoderate insolence of joy, by temperance? I
could easily show that virtue is able to produce these effects, but that I
have explained on the foregoing days.
XV. But as the perturbations of the mind make life miserable, and
tranquillity renders it happy; and as these perturbations are of two
sorts, grief and fear, proceeding from imagined evils, and as immoderate
joy and lust arise from a mistake about what is good, and as all these
feelings are in opposition to reason and counsel; when you see a man at
ease, quite free and disengaged from such troublesome commotions, which
are so much at variance with one another can you hesitate to pronounce
such an one a happy man? Now the wise man is always in such a disposition,
therefore the wise man is always happy. Besides, every good is pleasant;
whatever is pleasant may he boasted and talked of; whatever may he boasted
of, is glorious, but whatever is glorious is certainly laudable, and
whatever is laudable doubtless, also, honourable; whatever, then, is good
is honourable; (but the things which they reckon as goods, they themselves
do not call honourable;) therefore what is honourable alone is good. Hence
it follows that a happy life is comprised in honesty alone. Such things,
then, are not to be called or considered goods, when a man may enjoy an
abundance of them, and yet be most miserable. Is there any doubt but that
a man who enjoys the best health, and who has strength and beauty, and his
senses flourishing in their utmost quickness and perfection; suppose him
likewise, if you please, nimble and active, nay, give him riches, honours,
authority, power, glory; now, I say, should this person, who is in
possession of all these, be unjust, intemperate, timid, stupid, or an
idiot, could you hesitate to call such an one miserable? What, then, are
those goods, in the possession of which you may be very miserable? Let us
see if a happy life is not made up of parts of the same nature, as a heap
implies a quantity of grain of the same kind. And if this be once
admitted, happiness must be compounded of different good things which
alone are honourable; if there is any mixture of things of another sort
with these, nothing honourable can proceed from such a composition; now,
take away honesty, and how can you imagine anything happy? For whatever is
good is desirable on that account; whatever is desirable must certainly be
approved of; whatever you approve of must be looked on as acceptable and
welcome. You must consequently impute dignity to this; and if so, it must
necessarily be laudable; therefore, everything that is laudable is good.
Hence it follows, that what is honourable is the only good. And should we
not look upon it in this light, there will be a great many things which we
must call good.
XVI. I forbear to mention riches, which, as any one, let him be ever so
unworthy, may have them, I do not reckon amongst goods; for what is good
is not attainable by all. I pass over notoriety, and popular fame, raised
by the united voice of knaves and fools. Even things which are absolute
nothings may be called goods; such as white teeth, handsome eyes, a good
complexion, and what was commended by Euryclea, when she was washing
Ulysses’s feet, the softness of his skin and the mildness of his
discourse. If you look on these as goods, what greater encomiums can the
gravity of a philosopher be entitled to than the wild opinion of the
vulgar and the thoughtless crowd? The Stoics give the name of excellent
and choice to what the others call good: they call them so, indeed; but
they do not allow them to complete a happy life. But these others think
that there is no life happy without them; or, admitting it to be happy,
they deny it to be the most happy. But our opinion is, that it is the most
happy; and we prove it from that conclusion of Socrates. For thus that
author of philosophy argued: that as the disposition of a man’s mind is,
so is the man: such as the man is, such will be his discourse: his actions
will correspond with his discourse, and his life with his actions. But the
disposition of a good man’s mind is laudable; the life, therefore, of a
good man is laudable: it is honourable, therefore, because laudable: the
unavoidable conclusion from which is, that the life of good men is happy.
For, good Gods! did I not make it appear, by my former arguments,—or was I
only amusing myself and killing time in what I then said,—that the mind of
a wise man was always free from every hasty motion which I call a
perturbation, and that the most undisturbed peace always reigned in his
breast? A man, then, who is temperate and consistent, free from fear or
grief, and uninfluenced by any immoderate joy or desire, cannot be
otherwise than happy: but a wise man is always so, therefore he is always
happy. Moreover, how can a good man avoid referring all his actions and
all his feelings to the one standard of whether or not it is laudable? But
he does refer everything to the object of living happily: it follows,
then, that a happy life is laudable; but nothing is laudable without
virtue: a happy life, then, is the consequence of virtue.—And this is the
unavoidable conclusion to be drawn from these arguments.
XVII. A wicked life has nothing which we ought to speak of or glory in:
nor has that life which is neither happy nor miserable. But there is a
kind of life that admits of being spoken of, and gloried in, and boasted
of; as Epaminondas saith,—
The wings of Sparta’s pride my counsels clipt.
And Africanus boasts,—
Who, from beyond Mæotis to the place
Where the sun rises, deeds like mine can trace?
If, then, there is such a thing as a happy life, it is to be gloried in,
spoken of, and commended by the person who enjoys it: for there is nothing
excepting that which can be spoken of, or gloried in; and when that is
once admitted, you know what follows. Now, unless an honourable life is a
happy life, there must of course be something preferable to a happy life:
for that which is honourable, all men will certainly grant to be
preferable to anything else. And thus there will be something better than
a happy life; but what can be more absurd than such an assertion? What!
when they grant vice to be effectual to the rendering life miserable, must
they not admit that there is a corresponding power in virtue to make life
happy? For contraries follow from contraries. And here I ask, what weight
they think there is in the balance of Critolaus, who, having put the goods
of the mind into one scale, and the goods of the body and other external
advantages into the other, thought the goods of the mind outweighed the
others so far, that they would require the whole earth and sea to equalise
the scale.
XVIII. What hinders Critolaus, then, or that gravest of philosophers,
Xenocrates (who raises virtue so high, and who lessens and depreciates
everything else), from not only placing a happy life, but the happiest
possible life, in virtue? and, indeed, if this were not the case, virtue
would be absolutely lost. For whoever is subject to grief, must
necessarily be subject to fear too; for fear is an uneasy apprehension of
future grief: and whoever is subject to fear is liable to dread, timidity,
consternation, cowardice. Therefore, such a person may, some time or
other, be defeated, and not think himself concerned with that precept of
Atreus,—
And let men so conduct themselves in life,
As to be always strangers to defeat.
But such a man, as I have said, will be defeated; and not only defeated,
but made a slave of. But we would have virtue always free, always
invincible; and were it not so, there would be an end of virtue. But if
virtue has in herself all that is necessary for a good life, she is
certainly sufficient for happiness: virtue is certainly sufficient, too,
for our living with courage; if with courage, then with a magnanimous
spirit, and indeed so as never to be under any fear, and thus to be always
invincible.—Hence it follows, that there can be nothing to be repented of,
no wants, no lets or hindrances. Thus all things will be prosperous,
perfect, and as you would have them; and consequently happy: but virtue is
sufficient for living with courage, and therefore virtue is able by
herself to make life happy. For as folly, even when possessed of what it
desires, never thinks it has acquired enough: so wisdom is always
satisfied with the present, and never repents on her own account.
XIX. Look but on the single consulship of Lælius,—and that, too, after
having been set aside (though when a wise and good man, like him, is
outvoted, the people are disappointed of a good consul, rather than he
disappointed by a vain people); but the point is, would you prefer, were
it in your power, to be once such a consul as Lælius, or be elected four
times, like Cinna? I have no doubt in the world what answer you will make,
and it is on that account I put the question to you.
I would not ask every one this question; for some one perhaps might answer
that he would not only prefer four consulates to one, but even one day of
Cinna’s life to whole ages of many famous men. Lælius would have suffered
had he but touched any one with his finger; but Cinna ordered the head of
his colleague consul, Cn. Octavius, to be struck off; and put to death P.
Crassus(107) and L. Cæsar,(108) those excellent men, so renowned both at
home and abroad; and even M. Antonius,(109) the greatest orator whom I
ever heard; and C. Cæsar, who seems to me to have been the pattern of
humanity, politeness, sweetness of temper, and wit. Could he, then, be
happy who occasioned the death of these men? So far from it, that he seems
to be miserable, not only for having performed these actions, but also for
acting in such a manner, that it was lawful for him to do it, though it is
unlawful for any one to do wicked actions; but this proceeds from
inaccuracy of speech, for we call whatever a man is allowed to do,
lawful.—Was not Marius happier, I pray you, when he shared the glory of
the victory gained over the Cimbrians with his colleague Catulus (who was
almost another Lælius, for I look upon the two men as very like one
another,) than when, conqueror in the civil war, he in a passion answered
the friends of Catulus, who were interceding for him, "Let him die"? And
this answer he gave, not once only, but often. But in such a case, he was
happier who submitted to that barbarous decree than he who issued it. And
it is better to receive an injury than to do one; and so it was better to
advance a little to meet that death that was making its approaches, as
Catulus did, than, like Marius, to sully the glory of six consulships, and
disgrace his latter days, by the death of such a man.
XX. Dionysius exercised his tyranny over the Syracusans thirty-eight
years, being but twenty-five years old when he seized on the government.
How beautiful and how wealthy a city did he oppress with slavery! And yet
we have it from good authority, that he was remarkably temperate in his
manner of living, that he was very active and energetic in carrying on
business, but naturally mischievous and unjust; from which description,
every one who diligently inquires into truth must inevitably see that he
was very miserable. Neither did he attain what he so greatly desired, even
when he was persuaded that he had unlimited power; for, notwithstanding he
was of a good family and reputable parents (though that is contested by
some authors), and had a very large acquaintance of intimate friends and
relations, and also some youths attached to him by ties of love after the
fashion of the Greeks, he could not trust any one of them, but committed
the guard of his person to slaves, whom he had selected from rich men’s
families and made free, and to strangers and barbarians. And thus, through
an unjust desire of governing, he in a manner shut himself up in a prison.
Besides, he would not trust his throat to a barber, but had his daughters
taught to shave; so that these royal virgins were forced to descend to the
base and slavish employment of shaving the head and beard of their father.
Nor would he trust even them, when they were grown up, with a razor; but
contrived how they might burn off the hair of his head and beard with
red-hot nut-shells. And as to his two wives, Aristomache his countrywoman,
and Doris of Locris, he never visited them at night before everything had
been well searched and examined. And as he had surrounded the place where
his bed was with a broad ditch, and made a way over it with a wooden
bridge, he drew that bridge over after shutting his bedchamber door. And
as he did not dare to stand on the ordinary pulpits from which they
usually harangued the people, he generally addressed them from a high
tower. And it is said, that when he was disposed to play at ball,—for he
delighted much in it,—and had pulled off his clothes, he used to give his
sword into the keeping of a young man whom he was very fond of. On this,
one of his intimates said pleasantly, “You certainly trust your life with
him;” and as the young man happened to smile at this, he ordered them both
to be slain, the one for showing how he might be taken off, the other for
approving of what had been said by smiling. But he was so concerned at
what he had done, that nothing affected him more during his whole life;
for he had slain one to whom he was extremely partial. Thus do weak men’s
desires pull them different ways, and whilst they indulge one, they act
counter to another.
XXI. This tyrant, however, showed himself how happy he really was: for
once, when Damocles, one of his flatterers, was dilating in conversation
on his forces, his wealth, the greatness of his power, the plenty he
enjoyed, the grandeur of his royal palaces, and maintaining that no one
was ever happier,—“Have you an inclination,” said he, “Damocles, as this
kind of life pleases you, to have a taste of it yourself, and to make a
trial of the good fortune that attends me?” And when he said that he
should like it extremely, Dionysius ordered him to be laid on a bed of
gold with the most beautiful covering, embroidered and wrought with the
most exquisite work, and he dressed out a great many sideboards with
silver and embossed gold. He then ordered some youths, distinguished for
their handsome persons, to wait at his table, and to observe his nod, in
order to serve him with what he wanted. There were ointments and garlands;
perfumes were burned; tables provided with the most exquisite meats.
Damocles thought himself very happy. In the midst of this apparatus,
Dionysius ordered a bright sword to be let down from the ceiling,
suspended by a single horsehair, so as to hang over the head of that happy
man. After which he neither cast his eye on those handsome waiters, nor on
the well wrought plate; nor touched any of the provisions: presently the
garlands fell to pieces. At last he entreated the tyrant to give him leave
to go, for that now he had no desire to be happy.(110) Does not Dionysius,
then, seem to have declared there can be no happiness for one who is under
constant apprehensions? But it was not now in his power to return to
justice, and restore his citizens their rights and privileges; for, by the
indiscretion of youth, he had engaged in so many wrong steps, and
committed such extravagances, that had he attempted to have returned to a
right way of thinking he must have endangered his life.
XXII. Yet, how desirous he was of friendship, though at the same time he
dreaded the treachery of friends, appears from the story of those two
Pythagoreans: one of these had been security for his friend, who was
condemned to die; the other, to release his security, presented himself at
the time appointed for his dying: “I wish,” said Dionysius, “you would
admit me as the third in your friendship.” What misery was it for him to
be deprived of acquaintance, of company at his table, and of the freedom
of conversation; especially for one who was a man of learning, and from
his childhood acquainted with liberal arts, very fond of music, and
himself a tragic poet,—how good a one is not to the purpose, for I know
not how it is, but in this way, more than any other, every one thinks his
own performances excellent. I never as yet knew any poet (and I was very
intimate with Aquinius), who did not appear to himself to be very
admirable. The case is this; you are pleased with your own works, I like
mine. But to return to Dionysius: he debarred himself from all civil and
polite conversation, and spent his life among fugitives, bondmen, and
barbarians; for he was persuaded that no one could be his friend who was
worthy of liberty or had the least desire of being free.
XXIII. Shall I not, then, prefer the life of Plato and Archytas,
manifestly wise and learned men, to his, than which nothing can possibly
be more horrid, or miserable, or detestable?
I will present you with an humble and obscure mathematician of the same
city, called Archimedes, who lived many years after; whose tomb, overgrown
with shrubs and briars, I in my quæstorship discovered, when the
Syracusans knew nothing of it, and even denied that there was any such
thing remaining: for I remembered some verses, which I had been informed
were engraved on his monument, and these set forth that on the top of the
tomb there was placed a sphere with a cylinder. When I had carefully
examined all the monuments (for there are a great many tombs at the gate
Achradinæ), I observed a small column standing out a little above the
briars, with the figure of a sphere and a cylinder upon it; whereupon I
immediately said to the Syracusans, for there were some of their principal
men with me there, that I imagined that was what I was inquiring for.
Several men being sent in with scythes, cleared the way, and made an
opening for us. When we could get at it, and were come near to the front
of the pedestal, I found the inscription, though the latter parts of all
the verses were effaced almost half away. Thus one of the noblest cities
of Greece, and one which at one time likewise had been very celebrated for
learning, had known nothing of the monument of its greatest genius, if it
had not been discovered to them by a native of Arpinum. But to return to
the subject from which I have been digressing. Who is there in the least
degree acquainted with the Muses, that is, with liberal knowledge, or that
deals at all in learning, who would not choose to be this mathematician
rather than that tyrant? If we look into their methods of living and their
employments, we shall find the mind of the one strengthened and improved
with tracing the deductions of reason, amused with his own ingenuity,
which is the one most delicious food of the mind; the thoughts of the
other engaged in continual murders and injuries, in constant fears by
night and by day. Now imagine a Democritus, a Pythagoras, and an
Anaxagoras; what kingdom, what riches would you prefer to their studies
and amusements? for you must necessarily look for that excellence which we
are seeking for in that which is the most perfect part of man; but what is
there better in man than a sagacious and good mind? The enjoyment,
therefore, of that good which proceeds from that sagacious mind, can alone
make us happy: but virtue is the good of the mind; it follows, therefore,
that a happy life depends on virtue. Hence proceed all things that are
beautiful, honourable, and excellent, as I said above (but this point
must, I think, be treated of more at large), and they are well stored with
joys. For, as it is clear that a happy life consists in perpetual and
unexhausted pleasures, it follows too, that a happy life must arise from
honesty.
XXIV. But that what I propose to demonstrate to you may not rest on mere
words only, I must set before you the picture of something, as it were,
living and moving in the world, that may dispose us more for the
improvement of the understanding and real knowledge. Let us, then, pitch
upon some man perfectly acquainted with the most excellent arts; let us
present him for a while to our own thoughts, and figure him to our own
imaginations. In the first place, he must necessarily be of an
extraordinary capacity; for virtue is not easily connected with dull
minds. Secondly, he must have a great desire of discovering truth, from
whence will arise that threefold production of the mind; one of which
depends on knowing things, and explaining nature: the other in defining
what we ought to desire, and what to avoid: the third in judging of
consequences and impossibilities: in which consists both subtilty in
disputing, and also clearness of judgment. Now with what pleasure must the
mind of a wise man be affected, which continually dwells in the midst of
such cares and occupations as these, when he views the revolutions and
motions of the whole world, and sees those innumerable stars in the
heavens, which, though fixed in their places, have yet one motion in
common with the whole universe, and observes the seven other stars, some
higher, some lower, each maintaining their own course, while their
motions, though wandering, have certain defined and appointed spaces to
run through, the sight of which doubtless urged and encouraged those
ancient philosophers to exercise their investigating spirit on many other
things. Hence arose an inquiry after the beginnings, and, as it were,
seeds from which all things were produced and composed; what was the
origin of every kind of thing, whether animate or inanimate, articulately
speaking or mute; what occasioned their beginning and end, and by what
alteration and change one thing was converted into another: whence the
earth originated, and by what weights it was balanced: by what caverns the
seas were supplied: by what gravity all things being carried down tend
always to the middle of the world, which in any round body is the lowest
place.
XXV. A mind employed on such subjects, and which night and day
contemplates them, contains in itself that precept of the Delphic God, so
as to “know itself,” and to perceive its connexion with the divine reason,
from whence it is filled with an insatiable joy. For reflections on the
power and nature of the Gods raise in us a desire of imitating their
eternity. Nor does the mind, that sees the necessary dependences and
connexions that one cause has with another, think it possible that it
should be itself confined to the shortness of this life. Those causes,
though they proceed from eternity to eternity, are governed by reason and
understanding. And he who beholds them and examines them, or rather he
whose view takes in all the parts and boundaries of things, with what
tranquillity of mind does he look on all human affairs, and on all that is
nearer him! Hence proceeds the knowledge of virtue; hence arise the kinds
and species of virtues; hence are discovered those things which nature
regards as the bounds and extremities of good and evil; by this it is
discovered to what all duties ought to be referred, and which is the most
eligible manner of life. And when these and similar points have been
investigated, the principal consequence which is deduced from them, and
that which is our main object in this discussion, is the establishment of
the point—that virtue is of itself sufficient to a happy life.
The third qualification of our wise man is the next to be considered,
which goes through and spreads itself over every part of wisdom; it is
that whereby we define each particular thing, distinguish the genus from
its species, connect consequences, draw just conclusions, and distinguish
truth from falsehood, which is the very art and science of disputing;
which is not only of the greatest use in the examination of what passes in
the world, but is likewise the most rational entertainment, and that which
is most becoming to true wisdom. Such are its effects in retirement. Now
let our wise man be considered as protecting the republic; what can be
more excellent than such a character? By his prudence he will discover the
true interests of his fellow-citizens, by his justice he will be prevented
from applying what belongs to the public to his own use; and in short, he
will be ever governed by all the virtues which are many and various? To
these let us add the advantage of his friendships; in which the learned
reckon not only a natural harmony and agreement of sentiments throughout
the conduct of life, but the utmost pleasure and satisfaction in
conversing and passing our time constantly with one another. What can be
wanting to such a life as this, to make it more happy than it is? Fortune
herself must yield to a life stored with such joys. Now if it be a
happiness to rejoice in such goods of the mind, that is to say, in such
virtues, and if all wise men enjoy thoroughly these pleasures, it must
necessarily be granted that all such are happy.
XXVI. _A._ What, when in torments and on the rack?
_M._ Do you imagine I am speaking of him as laid on roses and violets? Is
it allowable even for Epicurus (who only puts on the appearance of being a
philosopher, and who himself assumed that name for himself,) to say,
(though as matters stand, I commend him for his saying,) that a wise man
might at all times cry out, though he be burned, tortured, cut to pieces,
“How little I regard it!” Shall this be said by one who defines all evil
as pain, and measures every good by pleasure; who could ridicule whatever
we call either honourable or base, and could declare of us that we were
employed about words, and uttering mere empty sounds; and that nothing is
to be regarded by us, but as it is perceived to be smooth or rough by the
body? What, shall such a man as this, as I said, whose understanding is
little superior to the beasts, be at liberty to forget himself; and not
only to despise fortune, when the whole of his good and evil is in the
power of fortune, but to say, that he is happy in the most racking
torture, when he had actually declared pain to be not only the greatest
evil, but the only one? Nor did he take any trouble to provide himself
with those remedies which might have enabled him to bear pain; such as
firmness of mind, a shame of doing anything base, exercise, and the habit
of patience, precepts of courage, and a manly hardiness: but he says that
he supports himself on the single recollection of past pleasures, as if
any one, when the weather was so hot as that he was scarcely able to bear
it, should comfort himself by recollecting that he was once in my country
Arpinum, where he was surrounded on every side by cooling streams: for I
do not apprehend how past pleasures can allay present evils. But when he
says that a wise man is always happy, who would have no right to say so if
he were consistent with himself, what may they not do, who allow nothing
to be desirable, nothing to be looked on as good but what is honourable?
Let, then, the Peripatetics and old Academics follow my example, and at
length leave off muttering to themselves; and openly and with a clear
voice let them be bold to say, that a happy life may not be inconsistent
with the agonies of Phalaris’s bull.
XXVII. But to dismiss the subtleties of the Stoics, which I am sensible I
have employed more than was necessary, let us admit of three kinds of
goods: and let them really be kinds of goods, provided no regard is had to
the body, and to external circumstances, as entitled to the appellation of
good in any other sense than because we are obliged to use them: but let
those other divine goods spread themselves far in every direction, and
reach the very heavens. Why, then, may I not call him happy, nay, the
happiest of men, who has attained them? Shall a wise man be afraid of
pain? which is, indeed, the greatest enemy to our opinion. For I am
persuaded that we are prepared and fortified sufficiently, by the
disputations of the foregoing days, against our own death, or that of our
friends, against grief and the other perturbations of the mind. But pain
seems to be the sharpest adversary of virtue: that it is which menaces us
with burning torches; that it is which threatens to crush our fortitude,
and greatness of mind, and patience. Shall virtue then yield to this?
Shall the happy life of a wise and consistent man succumb to this? Good
Gods! how base would this be! Spartan boys will bear to have their bodies
torn by rods without uttering a groan. I myself have seen at Lacedæmon,
troops of young men, with incredible earnestness contending together with
their hands and feet, with their teeth and nails, nay even ready to
expire, rather than own themselves conquered. Is any country of barbarians
more uncivilized or desolate than India? Yet they have amongst them some
that are held for wise men, who never wear any clothes all their life
long, and who bear the snow of Caucasus, and the piercing cold of winter,
without any pain: and who if they come in contact with fire endure being
burned without a groan. The women too, in India, on the death of their
husbands have a regular contest, and apply to the judge to have it
determined which of them was best beloved by him; for it is customary
there for one man to have many wives. She in whose favour it is determined
exults greatly, and being attended by her relations is laid on the funeral
pile with her husband: the others, who are postponed, walk away very much
dejected. Custom can never be superior to nature: for nature is never to
be got the better of. But our minds are infected by sloth and idleness,
and luxury, and languor, and indolence: we have enervated them by
opinions, and bad customs. Who is there who is unacquainted with the
customs of the Egyptians? Their minds being tainted by pernicious
opinions, they are ready to bear any torture, rather than hurt an ibis, a
snake, a cat, a dog, or a crocodile: and should any one inadvertently have
hurt any of these animals, he will submit to any punishment. I am speaking
of men only. As to the beasts, do they not bear cold and hunger, running
about in woods, and on mountains and deserts? will they not fight for
their young ones till they are wounded? Are they afraid of any attacks or
blows? I mention not what the ambitious will suffer for honour’s sake, or
those who are desirous of praise on account of glory, or lovers to gratify
their lust. Life is full of such instances.
XXVIII. But let us not dwell too much on these questions, but rather let
us return to our subject. I say, and say again, that happiness will submit
even to be tormented; and that in pursuit of justice, and temperance, and
still more especially and principally fortitude, and greatness of soul,
and patience, it will not stop short at sight of the executioner; and when
all other virtues proceed calmly to the torture, that one will never halt,
as I said, on the outside and threshold of the prison: for what can be
baser, what can carry a worse appearance, than to be left alone, separated
from those beautiful attendants? not however that this is by any means
possible: for neither can the virtues hold together without happiness, nor
happiness without the virtues: so that they will not suffer her to desert
them, but will carry her along with them, to whatever torments, to
whatever pain they are led. For it is the peculiar quality of a wise man
to do nothing that he may repent of, nothing against his inclination: but
always to act nobly, with constancy, gravity, and honesty: to depend on
nothing as certainty: to wonder at nothing, when it falls out, as if it
appeared strange and unexpected to him: to be independent of every one,
and abide by his own opinion. For my part, I cannot form an idea of
anything happier than this. The conclusion of the Stoics is indeed easy;
for since they are persuaded that the end of good is to live agreeably to
nature, and to be consistent with that,—as a wise man should do so, not
only because it is his duty, but because it is in his power, it must of
course follow, that whoever has the chief good in his power, has his
happiness so too. And thus the life of a wise man is always happy. You
have here what I think may be confidently said of a happy life, and as
things now stand, very truly also, unless you can advance something
better.
XXIX. _A._ Indeed I cannot; but I should be glad to prevail on you, unless
it is troublesome (as you are under no confinement from obligations to any
particular sect, but gather from all of them whatever strikes you most as
having the appearance of probability), as you just now seemed to advise
the Peripatetics and the Old Academy, boldly to speak out without reserve,
“that wise men are always the happiest,”—I should be glad to hear how you
think it consistent for them to say so, when you have said so much against
that opinion, and the conclusions of the Stoics.
_M._ I will make use, then, of that liberty which no one has the privilege
of using in philosophy but those of our school, whose discourses determine
nothing, but take in everything, leaving them, unsupported by the
authority of any particular person, to be judged of by others, according
to their weight. And as you seem desirous of knowing how it is that,
notwithstanding the different opinions of philosophers with regard to the
ends of goods, virtue has still sufficient security for the effecting of a
happy life,—which security, as we are informed, Carneades used indeed to
dispute against; but he disputed as against the Stoics, whose opinions he
combated with great zeal and vehemence,—I however shall handle the
question with more temper; for if the Stoics have rightly settled the
_ends_ of goods, the affair is at an end; for a wise man must necessarily
be always happy. But let us examine, if we can, the particular opinions of
the others, that so this excellent decision, if I may so call it, in
favour of a happy life, may be agreeable to the opinions and discipline of
all.
XXX. These then are the opinions, as I think, that are held and defended:
the first four are simple ones; “that nothing is good but what is honest,”
according to the Stoics: "nothing good but pleasure," as Epicurus
maintains: “nothing good but a freedom from pain,” as Hieronymus(111)
asserts: “nothing good but an enjoyment of the principal, or all, or the
greatest goods of nature,” as Carneades maintained against the
Stoics:—these are simple, the others are mixed propositions. Then there
are three kinds of goods; the greatest being those of the mind, the next
best those of the body, the third are external goods, as the Peripatetics
call them, and the old Academics differ very little from them.
Dinomachus(112) and Callipho(113) have coupled pleasure with honesty: but
Diodorus,(114) the Peripatetic, has joined indolence to honesty. These are
the opinions that have some footing; for those of Aristo,(115)
Pyrrho,(116) Herillus,(117) and of some others, are quite out of date. Now
let us see what weight these men have in them, excepting the Stoics, whose
opinion I think I have sufficiently defended; and indeed I have explained
what the Peripatetics have to say; excepting that Theophrastus, and those
who followed him, dread and abhor pain in too weak a manner. The others
may go on to exaggerate the gravity and dignity of virtue, as usual; and
then, after they have extolled it to the skies, with the usual
extravagance of good orators, it is easy to reduce the other topics to
nothing by comparison, and to hold them up to contempt. They who think
that praise deserves to be sought after, even at the expense of pain, are
not at liberty to deny those men to be happy, who have obtained it. Though
they may be under some evils, yet this name of happy has a very wide
application.
XXXI. For even as trading is said to be lucrative, and farming
advantageous, not because the one never meets with any loss, nor the other
with any damage from the inclemency of the weather, but because they
succeed in general: so life may be properly called happy, not from its
being entirely made up of good things, but because it abounds with these
to a great and considerable degree. By this way of reasoning, then, a
happy life may attend virtue even to the moment of execution; nay, may
descend with her into Phalaris’s bull, according to Aristotle, Xenocrates,
Speusippus, Polemon; and will not be gained over by any allurements to
forsake her. Of the same opinion will Calliphon and Diodorus be: for they
are both of them such friends to virtue, as to think that all things
should be discarded and far removed that are incompatible with it. The
rest seem to be more hampered with these doctrines, but yet they get clear
of them; such as Epicurus, Hieronymus, and whoever else thinks it worth
while to defend the deserted Carneades: for there is not one of them who
does not think the mind to be judge of those goods, and able sufficiently
to instruct him how to despise what has the appearance only of good or
evil. For what seems to you to be the case with Epicurus, is the case also
with Hieronymus and Carneades, and indeed with all the rest of them: for
who is there who is not sufficiently prepared against death and pain? I
will begin, with your leave, with him whom we call soft and voluptuous.
What! does he seem to you to be afraid of death or pain, when he calls the
day of his death happy; and who, when he is afflicted by the greatest
pains, silences them all by recollecting arguments of his own discovering?
And this is not done in such a manner as to give room for imagining that
he talks thus wildly from some sudden impulse: but his opinion of death
is, that on the dissolution of the animal, all sense is lost; and what is
deprived of sense is, as he thinks, what we have no concern at all with.
And as to pain too, he has certain rules to follow then: if it be great,
the comfort is, that it must be short; if it be of long continuance, then
it must be supportable. What then? Do those grandiloquent gentlemen state
anything better than Epicurus, in opposition to these two things which
distress us the most? And as to other things, do not Epicurus and the rest
of the philosophers seem sufficiently prepared? Who is there who does not
dread poverty? And yet no true philosopher ever can dread it.
XXXII. But with how little is this man himself satisfied? No one has said
more on frugality. For when a man is far removed from those things which
occasion a desire of money, from love, ambition, or other daily
extravagance, why should he be fond of money, or concern himself at all
about it? Could the Scythian Anacharsis(118) disregard money, and shall
not our philosophers be able to do so? We are informed of an epistle of
his, in these words: “Anacharsis to Hanno, greeting. My clothing is the
same as that with which the Scythians cover themselves; the hardness of my
feet supplies the want of shoes; the ground is my bed, hunger my sauce, my
food milk, cheese, and flesh. So you may come to me as to a man in want of
nothing. But as to those presents you take so much pleasure in, you may
dispose of them to your own citizens, or to the immortal gods.” And almost
all philosophers, of all schools, excepting those who are warped from
right reason by a vicious disposition, might have been of this same
opinion. Socrates, when on one occasion he saw a great quantity of gold
and silver carried in a procession, cried out, “How many things are there
which I do not want!”