THE DIVINE INSTITUTES. BOOK III--OF THE FALSE WISDOM OF PHILOSOPHERS (CHAP. I
TO CHAP. XV)
THE DIVINE INSTITUTES
BOOK III.
OF THE FALSE WISDOM OF PHILOSOPHERS.
CHAP. I.--A COMPARISON OF THE TRUTH WITH ELOQUENCE: WHY THE PHILOSOPHERS DID
NOT ATTAIN TO IT. OF THE SIMPLE STYLE OF THE SCRIPTURES.
SINCE. it is supposed that the truth still lies hidden in
obscurity--either through the error and ignorance of the common people, who are the slaves of
various and foolish superstitions, or through the philosophers, who by the
perverseness of their minds confuse rather than throw light upon it--I could wish
that the power of eloquence had fallen to my lot, though not such as it was in
Marcus Tullius, for that was extraordinary and admirable, but in some degree
approaching it;(1) that, being supported as much by the strength of talent as it
has weight by its own force, the truth might at length come forth, and having
dispelled and refuted public errors, and the errors of those who are considered
wise, might introduce among the human race a brilliant light. And I could wish
that this were so, for two reasons: either that men might more readily believe
the truth when adorned with embellishments, since they even believe falsehood,
being captivated by the adornment of speech and the enticement of words; or, at
all events, that the philosophers themselves might be overpowered by us, most
of all by their own arms, in which they are accustomed to pride themselves and
to place confidence. But since God has willed this to be the nature of the
case, that simple and undisguised truth should be more clear, because it has
sufficient ornament of itself, and on this account it is corrupted when
embellished(2) with adornings from without, but that falsehood should please by means of
a splendour not its own, because being corrupt of itself it vanishes and melts
away, unless it is set off(3) and polished with decoration sought from another
source; I bear it with equanimity that a moderate degree of talent has been
granted to me. But it is not in reliance upon eloquence, but upon the truth, that
I have undertaken this work,--a work, perhaps, too great to be sustained by my
strength; which, however, even if I should fail, the truth itself will
complete, with the assistance of God, whose office this is. For when I know that the
greatest orators have often been overcome by pleaders of moderate ability,
because the power of truth is so great that it defends itself even in small things by
its own clearness: why should I imagine that it will be overwhelmed in a cause
of the greatest importance by men who are ingenious and eloquent, as I admit,
but who speak false things; and not that it should appear bright and
illustrious, if not by our speech, which is very feeble, and flows from a slight
fountain, but by its own light? Nor, if there have been philosophers worthy of
admiration on account of their literary erudition, should I also yield to them the
knowledge and learning of the truth, which no one can attain to by reflection or
disputation. Nor do I now disparage the pursuit of those who wished to know the
truth, because God has made the nature of man most desirous of arriving at the
truth; but I assert and maintain this against them, that the effect did not
follow their honest and well-directed will, because they neither knew what was true
in itself, nor how, nor where, nor with what mind it is to be sought. And
thus, while they desire to remedy the errors of men, they have become entangled in
snares and the greatest errors. I have therefore been led to this task of
refuting philosophy by the very order of the subject which I have undertaken.
For since all error arises either from false religion or from wisdom,(4)
in refuting error it is necessary to overthrow both. For inasmuch as it has been
handed down to us in the sacred writings that the thoughts of philosophers are
foolish, this very thing iS to be proved by fact and by arguments, that no
one, induced by the honourable name of wisdom, or deceived by the splendour of
empty eloquence, may prefer to give credence to human rather than to divine
things. Which things, indeed, are related in a concise and simple manner. For it was
not befitting that, when God was speaking to man, He should confirm His words
by arguments, as though He would not otherwise(1) be regarded with confidence:
but, as it was right, He spoke as the mighty Judge of all things, to whom it
belongs not to argue, but to pronounce sentence. He Himself, as God, is truth. But
we, since we have divine testimony for everything, will assuredly show by how
much surer arguments truth may be defended, when even false things are so
defended that they are accustomed to appear true. Wherefore there is no reason why
we should give so much honour to philosophers as to fear their eloquence. For
they might speak well as men of learning; but they could not speak truly, because
they had not learned the truth from Him in whose power it was. Nor, indeed,
shall we effect anything great in convicting them of ignorance, which they
themselves very often confess. Since they are not believed in that one point alone in
which alone they ought to have been believed, I will endeavour to show that
they never spoke so truly as when they uttered their opinion respecting their own
ignorance.
CHAP. II.--OF PHILOSOPHY, AND HOW VAIN WAS ITS OCCUPATION IN SETTING FORTH THE
TRUTH.
Now, since the falsehood of superstitions(2) has been shown in the two
former books, and the origin itself of the whole error has been set forth, it is
the business of this book to show the emptiness and falsehood of philosophy
also, that, all error being removed, the truth may be brought to light and become
manifest. Let us begin, therefore, from the common name of philosophy, that
when the head itself is destroyed, an easier approach may be open to us for
demolishing the whole body; if indeed that can be called a body, the parts and
members of which are at variance with one another, and are not united together by any
connecting link,(3) but, as it were, dispersed and scattered, appear to
palpitate rather than to live. Philosophy is (as the name indicates, and they
themselves define it) the love of wisdom. By what argument, then, can I prove that
philosophy is not wisdom, rather than by that derived from the meaning of the name
itself? For he who devotes himself to wisdom is manifestly not yet wise, but
devotes himself to the subject that he may be wise. In the other arts it appears
what this devotedness effects, and to what it tends: for when any one by
learning has attained to these, he is now called, not a devoted follower of the
profession, but an artificer. But it is said it was on account of modesty that they
called themselves devoted to wisdom, and not wise. Nay, in truth, Pythagoras,
who first invented this name, since he had a little more wisdom than those of
early times, who regarded themselves as wise, understood that it was impossible
by any human study to attain to wisdom, and therefore that a perfect name ought
not to be applied to an incomprehensible and imperfect subject. And,
therefore, when he was asked what was his profession,(4) he answered that he was a
philosopher, that is, a searcher after wisdom. If, therefore, philosophy searches
after wisdom, it is not wisdom itself, because it must of necessity be one thing
which searches, and another which is searched for; nor is the searching itself
correct, because it can find nothing.
But I am not prepared to concede even that philosophers are devoted to
the pursuit of wisdom, because by that pursuit there is no attaining to wisdom.
For if the power of finding the truth were connected(5) with this pursuit, and
if this pursuit were a kind of road to wisdom, it would at length be found. But
since so much time and talent have been wasted in the search for it, and it has
not yet been gained, it is plain that there is no wisdom there. Therefore they
who apply themselves to philosophy do not devote themselves to the pursuit of
wisdom; but they themselves imagine that they do so, because they know not
where that is which they are searching for, or of what character it is. Whether,
therefore, they devote themselves to the pursuit of wisdom or not, they are not
wise, because that can never be discovered which is either sought in an improper
manner, or not sought at all. Let us look to this very thing, whether it is
possible for anything to be discovered by this kind of pursuit, or nothing.
CHAP. III.--OF WHAT SUBJECTS PHILOSOPHY CONSISTS, AND WHO WAS THE CHIEF
FOUNDER OF THE ACADEMIC SECT.
Philosophy appears to consist of two subjects, knowledge and conjecture,
and of nothing more. Knowledge cannot come from the understanding, nor be
apprehended by thought; because to have knowledge in oneself as a peculiar property
does not belong to man, but to God. But the nature of mortals does not receive
knowledge, except that which comes from without. For on this account the divine
intelligence has opened the eyes and ears and other senses in the body, that by
these entrances knowledge might flow through to the mind. For to investigate
or wish to know the causes of natural things,--whether the sun is as great as it
appears to be, or is many times greater than the whole of this earth; also
whether the moon be spherical or concave; and whether the stars are fixed to the
heaven, or are borne with free course through the air; of what magnitude the
heaven itself is, of what material it is composed; whether it is at rest and
immoveable, or is turned round with incredible swiftness; how great is the thickness
of the earth, or on what foundations it is poised and suspended,--to wish to
comprehend these things, I say, by disputation and conjectures, is as though we
should wish to discuss what we may suppose to be the character of a city in
some very remote country, which we have never seen, and of which we have heard
nothing more than the name. If we should claim to ourselves knowledge in a matter
of this kind, which cannot be known, should we not appear to be mad, in
venturing to affirm that in which we may be refuted? How much more are they to be
judged mad and senseless, who imagine that they know natural things, which cannot
be known by man! Rightly therefore did Socrates, and the Academics(1) who
followed him, take away knowledge, which is not the part of a disputant, but of a
diviner. It remains that there is in philosophy conjecture only; for that from
which knowledge is absent, is entirely occupied by conjecture. For every one
conjectures that of which he is ignorant. But they who discuss natural subjects,
conjecture that they are as they discuss them. Therefore they do not know the
truth, because knowledge is concerned with that which is certain, conjecture with
the uncertain.
Let us return to the example before mentioned. Come, let us conjecture
about the state and character of that city which is unknown to us in all respects
except in name. It is probable that it is situated on a plain, with walls of
stone, lofty buildings, many streets, magnificent and highly adorned temples. Let
us describe, if you please, the customs and deportment of the citizens. But
when we shall have described these, another will make opposite statements; and
when he also shall have concluded, a third will arise, and others after him; and
they will make very different conjectures to those of ours. Which therefore of
all is more true? Perhaps none of them. But all things have been mentioned
which the nature of the circumstances admits, so that some one of them must
necessarily be true. But it will not be known who has spoken the truth. It may
possibly be that all have in some degree erred in their description, and that all have
in some degree attained to the truth. Therefore we are foolish if we seek this
by disputation; for some one may present himself who may deride our
conjectures, and esteem us as mad, since we wish to conjecture the character of that
which we do not know. But it is unnecessary to go in quest of remote cases, from
which perhaps no one may come to refute us. Come, let us conjecture what is now
going on in the forum, what in the senate-house. That also is too distant. Let
us say what is taking place with the interposition of a single wall;(2) no one
can know this but he who has heard or seen it. No one therefore ventures to say
this, because he will immediately be refuted not by words, but by the presence
of the fact itself. But this is the very thing which philosophers do, who
discuss what is taking place in heaven, but think that they do that with impunity,
because there is no one to refute their errors. But if they were to think that
some one was about to descend who would prove them to be mad and false, they
would never discuss those subjects at all which they cannot possibly know. Nor,
however, is their shamelessness and audacity to be regarded as more successful
because they are not refuted; for God refutes them to whom alone the truth is
known, although He may seem to connive at their conduct, and He reckons such
wisdom of men as the greatest folly.
CHAP.IV.--THAT KNOWLEDGE IS TAKEN AWAY BY SOCRATES, AND CONJECTURE BY ZENO.
Zeno and the Stoics, then, were right in repudiating conjecture. For to
conjecture that you know that which you do not know, is not the part of a wise, but
rather of a rash and foolish man. Therefore if nothing can be known, as Socrates
taught, or ought to be conjectured, as Zeno taught, philosophy is entirely
removed. Why should I say that it is not only overthrown by these two, who were
the chiefs of philosophy, but by all, so that it now appears to have been long
ago destroyed by its own arms? Philosophy has been divided into many sects; and
they all entertain various sentiments. In which do we place the truth? It
certainly cannot be in all. Let us point out some one; it follows that all the others
will be without wisdom. Let us pass through them separately; in the same
manner, whatever we shall give to one we shall take away from the others. For each
particular sect overturns all others, to confirm itself and its own doctrines:
nor does it allow wisdom to any other, lest it should confess that it is itself
foolish; but as it takes away others, so is it taken away itself by all others.
For they are nevertheless philosophers who accuse it of folly. Whatever sect
you shall praise and pronounce true, that is censured by philosophers as false.
Shall we therefore believe one which praises itself and its doctrine, or the
many which blame the ignorance of each other? That must of necessity be better
which is held by great numbers, than that which is held by one only. For no one
can rightly judge concerning himself, as the renowned poet testifies;(1) for the
nature of men is so arranged, that they see and distinguish the affairs of
others better than their own. Since, therefore, all things are uncertain, we must
either believe all or none: if we are to believe no one, then the wise have no
existence, because while they separately affirm different things they think
themselves wise; if all, it is equally true that there are no wise men, because
all deny the wisdom of each individually. Therefore all are in this manner
destroyed; and as those fabled sparti(2) of the poets, so these men mutually slay one
another, so that no one remains of all; which happens on this account, because
they have a sword, but have no shield. If, therefore, the sects individually
are convicted of folly by the judgment of many sects, it follows that all are
found to be vain and empty; and thus philosophy consumes and destroys itself. And
since Arcesilas the founder of the Academy understood this, he collected
together the mutual censures of all, and the confession of ignorance made by
distinguished philosophers, and armed himself against all. Thus he established a new
philosophy of not philosophizing. From this founder, therefore, there began to
be two kinds of philosophy: one the old one, which claims to itself knowledge;
the other a new one, opposed to the former, and which detracts from it. Between
these two kinds of philosophy I see that there is disagreement, and as it were
civil war. On which side shall we place wisdom, which cannot be torn
asunder?(3) If the nature of things can be known, this troop of recruits will perish; if
it cannot, the veterans will be destroyed: if they shall be equal, nevertheless
philosophy, the guide of all, will still perish, because it is divided; for
nothing can be opposed to itself without its own destruction. But if, as I have
shown, there can be no inner and peculiar knowledge in man on account of the
frailty of the human condition, the party of Arcesilas prevails. But not even will
this stand firm, because it cannot be the case that nothing at all is known.
CHAP. V.--THAT THE KNOWLEDGE OF MANY THINGS IS NECESSARY.
For there are many things which nature itself, and frequent use, and the
necessity of life, compel us to know. Accordingly you must perish, unless you
know what things are useful for life, in order that you may seek them; and what
are dangerous, that you may shun and avoid them. Moreover, there are many things
which experience finds out. For the various courses of the sun and moon, and
the motions of the stars, and the computation of times, have been discovered,
and the nature of bodies, and the strength of herbs by students of medicine, and
by the cultivators of the land the nature of soils, and signs of future rains
and tempests have been collected. In short, there is no art which is not
dependent on knowledge. Therefore Arcesilas ought, if he had any wisdom, to have
distinguished the things which were capable of being known, and those which were
incapable. But if he had done this, he would have reduced himself to the common
herd. For the common people have sometimes more wisdom, because they are only so
far wise as is necessary. And if you inquire of them whether they know
anything or nothing, they will say that they know the things which they know, and will
confess that they are ignorant of what they are ignorant. He was right,
therefore, in taking away the systems of others, but he was not right in laying the
foundations of his own. For ignorance of all things cannot be wisdom, the
peculiar property of which is knowledge. And thus, when he overcame the philosophers,
and taught that they knew nothing, he himself also lost the name of
philosopher, because his system is to know nothing. For he who blames others because they
are ignorant, ought himself to have knowledge; but when he knows nothing, what
perverseness or what insolence it is, to constitute himself a philosopher on
account of that very thing for which he takes away the others! For it is in
their power to answer thus: If you convict us of knowing nothing, and therefore of
being unwise because we know nothing, does it follow that you are not wise,
because you confess that you know nothing? What progress, therefore, did Arcesilas
make, except that, having despatched all the philosophers, he pierced himself
also with the same sword?
CHAP. VI.--OF WISDOM, AND THE ACADEMICS, AND NATURAL PHILOSOPHY.
Does wisdom therefore nowhere exist? Yes, indeed, it was amongst them, but
no one saw it. Some thought that all things could be known: these were
manifestly not wise. Others thought that nothing could be known; nor indeed were these
wise: the former, because they attributed too much to man; the latter, because
they attributed too little. A limit was wanting to each on either side. Where,
then, is wisdom? It consists in thinking neither that you know all things,
which is the property of God; nor that you are ignorant of all things, which is
the part of a beast. For it is something of a middle character which belongs to
man, that is, knowledge united and combined with ignorance. Knowledge in us is
from the soul, which has its origin from heaven; ignorance from the body, which
is from the earth: whence we have something in common with God, and with the
animal creation. Thus, since we are composed of these two elements, the one of
which is endowed with light, the other with darkness, a part of knowledge is
given to us, and a part of ignorance. Over this bridge, so to speak, we may pass
without any danger of falling; for all those who have inclined to either side,
either towards the left hand or the right, have fallen. But I will say how each
part has erred. The Academics argued from obscure subjects, against the natural
philosophers, that there was no knowledge; and satisfied with the examples of a
few incomprehensible subjects, they embraced ignorance as though they had
taken away the whole of knowledge, because they had taken it away in part. But
natural philosophers, on the other hand, derived their argument from those things
which are open, and inferred that all things could be known, and, satisfied with
things which were manifest, retained knowledge; as if they had defended it
altogether, because they had defended it in part. And thus neither the one saw
what was clear, nor the others what was obscure; but each party, while they
contended with the greatest ardour either to retain or to take away knowledge only,
did not see that there would be placed in the middle that which might guide them
to wisdom.
But Arcesilas, who teaches that there is no knowledge,(1) when he was
detracting from Zeno, the chief of the Stoics, that he might altogether overthrow
philosophy on the authority of Socrates, undertook this opinion to affirm that
nothing could be known. And thus he disproved the judgment of the philosophers,
who had thought that the truth was drawn forth,(2) and found out by their
talents,--namely, because that wisdom was mortal, and, having been instituted a few
ages before, had now attained to its greatest increase, so that it was now
necessarily growing old and perishing, the Academy(3) suddenly arose, the old age,
as it were, of philosophy, which might despatch it now withering. And Arcesilas
rightly saw that they are arrogant, or rather foolish, who imagine that the
knowledge of the truth can be arrived at by conjecture. But no one can refute one
speaking falsely, unless he who shall have previously known what is true; but
Arcesilas, endeavouring to do this without a knowledge of the truth, introduced
a kind of philosophy which we may call unstable or inconstant.(4) For, that
nothing may be known, it is necessary that something be known. For if you know
nothing at all, the very knowledge that nothing can be known will be taken away.
Therefore he who pronounces as a sentiment that nothing is known, professes,
as it were, some conclusion already arrived at and known: therefore it is
possible for something to be known.
Of a similar character to this is that which is accustomed to be proposed
in the schools as an example of the kind of fallacy called asystaton; that some
one had dreamt that he should not believe dreams. For if he did believe them,
then it follows that he ought not to believe them. But if he did not believe
them, then it follows that he ought to believe them. Thus, if nothing can be
known, it is necessary that this fact must be known, that nothing is known. But if
it is known that nothing can be known, the statement that nothing can be known
must as a consequence be false. Thus there is introduced a tenet opposed to
itself, and destructive of itself. But the evasive(5) man wished to take away
learning from the other philosophers, that he might conceal it at his home. For
truly he is not for taking it from himself who affirms anything that he may take
it from others: but he does not succeed; for it shows itself, and betrays its
plunderer. How much more wisely and truly he would act, if he should make an
exception, and say that the causes and systems of heavenly things only, or natural
things, because they are hidden, cannot be known, for there is no one to teach
them; and ought not to be inquired into. for they cannot be found out by
inquiry! For if he had brought forward this exception, he would both have
admonished the natural philosophers not to search into those things which exceeded the
limit of human reflection; and would have freed himself from the ill-will
arising from calumny, and would certainly have left us something to follow. But now,
since he has drawn us back from following others, that we may not wish to know
more than we are capable of knowing, he has no less drawn us back from himself
also. For who would wish to labour lest he should know anything? or to
undertake learning of this kind that he may even lose ordinary knowledge? For if this
learning exists, it must necessarily consist of knowledge; if it does not exist,
who is so foolish as to think that that is worthy of being learned, in which
either nothing is learned, or something is even unlearned? Wherefore, if all
things cannot be known, as the natural philosophers thought, nor nothing, as the
Academics taught, philosophy is altogether extinguished.
CHAP. VII.--OF MORAL PHILOSOPHY, AND THE CHIEF GOOD.
Let us now pass to the other part of philosophy, which they themselves
call moral, in which is contained the method of the whole of philosophy, since in
natural philosophy there is only delight, in this there is utility also. And
since it is more dangerous to commit a fault in arranging the condition of life
and in forming the character, greater diligence must be used, that we may know
how we ought to live. For in the former subject(1) some indulgence may be
granted: for whether they say anything, they bestow no advantage; or if they
foolishly rave, they do no injury. But in this subject there is no room for difference
of opinion, none for error. All must entertain the same sentiments, and
philosophy itself must give instructions as it were with one mouth; because if any
error shall be committed, life is altogether overthrown. In that former part, as
there is less danger, so there is more difficulty; because the obscurity of the
subject compels us to entertain different and various opinions. But in this, as
there is more danger, so there is less difficulty; because the very use of the
subjects and daily experiments are able to teach what is truer and better. Let
us see, therefore, whether they agree, or what assistance they give us for the
better guidance of life. It is not necessary to enlarge on every point; let us
select one, and especially that which is the chief and principal thing, in
which the whole of wisdom centres and depends.(2) Epicurus deems that the chief
good consists in pleasure of mind, Aristippus in pleasure of the body. Callipho
and Dinomachus united virtue with pleasure, Diodorus with the privation of pain,
Hieronymus placed the chief good in the absence of pain; the Peripatetics,
again, in the goods of the mind, the body, and fortune. The chief good of Herillus
is knowledge; that of Zeno, to live agreeably to nature; that of certain
Stoics, to follow virtue. Aristotle placed the chief good in integrity and virtue.
These are the sentiments of nearly all. In such a difference of opinions, whom
do we follow? whom do we believe? All are of equal authority. If we are able to
select that which is better, it follows that philosophy is not necessary for
us; because we are already wise, inasmuch as we judge respecting the opinions of
the wise. But since we come for the sake of learning wisdom, how can we judge,
who have not yet begun to be wise? especially when the Academic is close at
hand, to draw us back by the cloak, and forbid us to believe any one, without
bringing forward that which we may follow.
CHAP. VIII.--OF THE CHIEF GOOD, AND THE PLEASURES OF THE SOUL AND BODY, AND OF
VIRTUE.
What then remains, but that we leave raving and obstinate wranglers, and
come to the judge, who is in truth the giver of simple and calm wisdom? which is
able not only to mould us, and lead us into the way, but also to pass an
opinion on the controversies of those men. This teaches us what is the true and
highest good of man; but before I begin to speak on this subject, all those
opinions must be refuted, that it may appear that no one of those philosophers was
wise. Since the inquiry is respecting the duty of man, the chief good of the chief
animal ought to be placed in that which it cannot have in common with the
other animals. But as teeth are the peculiar property of wild beasts, horns of
cattle, and wings of birds, so something peculiar to himself ought to be attributed
to man, without which he would lose the fixed(3) order of his condition. For
that which is given to all for the purpose of life or generation, is indeed a
natural good; but still it is not the greatest, unless it be peculiar to each
class. Therefore he was not a wise man who believed that pleasure of the mind is
the chief good, since that, whether it be freedom from anxiety or joy, is common
to all. I do not consider Aristippus even worthy of an answer; for since he is
always rushing into pleasures of the body, and is only the slave of sensual
indulgences, no one can regard him as a man: for he lived in such a manner that
there was no difference between him and a brute, except this only, that he had
the faculty of speech. But if the power of speaking were given to the ass, or
the dog, or swine, and you were to inquire from these why they so furiously
pursue the females, that they can scarcely be separated from them, and even neglect
their food and I drink; why they either drive away other males, or do not
abstain from the pursuit even when vanquished, but often, when bruised by stronger
animals, they are more determined in their pursuit; why they dread neither rain
nor cold; why they undertake labour, and do not shrink from danger;--what other
answer will they give, but that the chief good is bodily pleasure?--that they
eagerly seek it, in order that they may be affected with the most agreeable
sensations; and that these are of so much importance, that, for the sake of
attaining them, they imagine that no labour, nor wounds, nor death itself, ought to
be refused by them? Shall we then seek precepts of living from these men, who
have no other feelings than those of the irrational creatures?
The Cyrenaics say that virtue itself is to be praised on this account,
because it is productive of pleasure. True, says the filthy dog, or the swine
wallowing in the mire.(1) For it is on this account that I contend with my
adversary with the utmost exertion of strength, that my valour may procure for me
pleasure; of which I must necessarily be deprived if I shall come off vanquished.
Shall we therefore learn wisdom from these men, who differ from cattle and the
brutes, not in feeling, but in language? To regard the absence of pain as the
chief good, is not indeed the part of Peripatetic and Stoic, but of clinical
philosophers. For who would not imagine that the discussion was carried on by those
who were ill, and under the influence of some pain? What is so ridiculous, as
to esteem that the chief good which the physician is able to give? We must
therefore feel pain in order that we may enjoy good; and that, too, severely and
frequently, that afterwards the absence of pain may be attended with greater
pleasure. He is therefore most wretched who has never felt pain, because he is
without that which is good; whereas we used to regard him as most happy, because he
was without evil. He was not far distant from this folly, who said that the
entire absence of pain was the chief good. For, besides the fact that every animal
avoids pain, who can bestow upon himself that good, towards the obtaining of
which we can do no more than wish? But the chief good cannot make any one happy,
unless it shall be always in his power; and it is not virtue, nor learning,
nor labour, which affords this to man, but nature herself bestows it upon all
living creatures. They who joined pleasure with virtuous principle, wished to
avoid this common blending together of all, but they made a contradictory kind of
good; since he who is abandoned to pleasure must of necessity be destitute of
virtuous principle, and he who aims at principle must be destitute of pleasure.
The chief good of the Peripatetics may possibly appear excessive, various,
and--excepting those goods which belong to the mind, and what they are is a
great subject of dispute--common to man with the beasts. For goods belonging to
the body--that is, safety, freedom from pain, health--are no less necessary for
dumb creatures than for man; and I know not if they are not more necessary for
them, because man can be relieved by remedies and services, the dumb animals
cannot. The same is true of those which they call the goods of fortune; for as
man has need of resources for the support of life, so have they(2) need of prey
and pasture. Thus, by introducing a good which is not within the power of man,
they made man altogether subject to the power of another. Let us also hear Zeno,
for he at times dreams of virtue. The chief good, he says, is to live in
accordance with nature. Therefore we must live after the manner of the brutes. For
in these are found all the things which ought to be absent from man: they are
eager for pleasures, they fear, they deceive, they lie in wait, they kill; and
that which is especially to the point, they have no knowledge of God. Why,
therefore, does he teach me to live according to nature, which is of itself prone to
a worse course, and under the influence of some more soothing blandishments
plunges headlong into vices? Or if he says that the nature of brutes is different
from the nature of man, because man is born to virtue, he says something to the
purpose; but, however, it will not be a definition of the chief good, because
there is no animal which does not live in accordance with its nature.
He who made knowledge the chief good, gave something peculiar to man; but
men desire I knowledge for the sake of something else, and not for its own
sake. For who is contented with knowing, without seeking some advantage from his
knowledge? The arts are learned for the purpose of being put into exercise; but
they are exercised either for the support of life, or pleasure, or for glory.
That, therefore, is not the chief good which is not sought for on its own
account. What difference, therefore, does it make, whether we consider knowledge to be
the chief good, or those very things which knowledge produces from itself,
that is, means of subsistence, glory, pleasure? And these things are not peculiar
to man, and therefore they are not the chief goods; for the desire of pleasure
and of food does not exist in man alone, but also in the brutes. How is it with
regard to the desire of glory? Is it not discovered in horses, since they
exult in victory, and are grieved when vanquished? "So great is their love of
praises, so great is their eagerness for victory."(3) Nor without reason does that
most excellent poet say that we must try "what grief they feel when overcome,
and how they rejoice in victory." But if those things which knowledge produces
are common to man with other animals, it follows that knowledge is not the chief
good. Moreover, it is no slight fault of this definition that bare knowledge is
set forth. For all will begin to appear happy who shall have the knowledge of
any art, even those who shall know mischievous subjects; so that he who shall
have learned to mix poisons, is as happy as he who has learned to apply
remedies. I ask, therefore, to what subject knowledge is to be referred. If to the
causes of natural things, what happiness will be proposed to me, if I shall know
the sources of the Nile, or the vain dreams of the natural philosophers
respecting the heaven? Why should I mention that on these subjects there is no
knowledge, but mere conjecture, which varies according to the abilities of men? It only
remains that the knowledge of good and evil things is the chief good. Why,
then, did he call knowledge the chief good more than wisdom, when both words have
the same signification and meaning? But no one has yet said that the chief good
is wisdom, though this might more properly have been said. For knowledge is
insufficient for the undertaking of that which is good and avoiding that which is
evil, unless virtue also is added. For many of the philosophers, though they
discussed the nature of good and evil things, yet from the compulsion of nature
lived in a manner different from their discourse, because they were without
virtue. But virtue united with knowledge is wisdom.
It remains that we refute those also who judged virtue itself to be the
chief good, and Marcus Tullius was also of this opinion; and in this they were
very inconsiderate.(1) For virtue itself is not the chief good, but it is the
contriver and mother of the chief good; for this cannot be attained without
virtue. Each point is easily understood. For I ask whether they imagine that it is
easy to arrive at that distinguished good, or that it is reached only with
difficulty and labour? Let them apply their ingenuity, and defend error. If it is
easily attained to, and without labour, it cannot be the chief good. For why
should we torment ourselves, why wear ourselves out with striving day and night,
seeing that the object of our pursuit is so close at hand, that any one who wishes
may grasp it without any effort of the mind? But if we do not attain even to a
common and moderate good except by labour, since good things are by their
nature arduous and difficult,(2) whereas evil things have a downward tendency, it
follows that the greatest labour is necessary for the attainment of the greatest
good. And if this is most true, then there is need of another virtue, that we
may arrive at that virtue which is called the chief good; but this is
incongruous and absurd, that virtue should arrive at itself by means of itself. If no
good can be reached unless by labour, it is evident that it is virtue by which it
is reached, since the force and office of virtue consist in the undertaking
and carrying through of labours. Therefore the chief good cannot be that by which
it is necessary to arrive at another. But they, since they were ignorant of
the effects and tendency of virtue, and could discover nothing more honourable,
stopped at the very name of virtue, and said that it ought to be sought, though
no advantage was proposed from it; and thus they fixed for themselves a good
which it self stood in need of a good. From these Aristotle was not far removed,
who thought that virtue together with honour was the chief good; as though it
were possible for any virtue to exist unless it were honourable, and as though
it would not cease to be virtue if it had any measure of disgrace. But he saw
that it might happen that a bad opinion is entertained respecting virtue by a
depraved judgment, and therefore he thought that deference should be paid to what
in the estimation of men constitutes a departure from what is right and good,
because it is not in our power that virtue should be honoured simply for its own
deserts. For what is honourable(3) character, except perpetual honour,
conferred on any one by the favourable report of the people? What, then, will happen,
if through the error and perverseness of men a bad reputation should ensue?
Shall we cast aside virtue because it is judged to be base and disgraceful by the
foolish? And since it is capable of being oppressed and harassed, in order that
it may be of itself a peculiar and lasting good, it ought to stand in need of
no outward assistance, so as not to depend by itself upon its own strength, and
to remain stedfast. And thus no good is to be hoped by it from man, nor is any
evil to be refused.
CHAP. IX.--OF THE CHIEF GOOD, AND THE WORSHIP OF THE TRUE GOD, AND A
REFUTATION OF ANAXAGORAS.
I now come to the chief good of true wisdom, the nature of which is to be
determined in this manner: first, it must be the property of man alone, and not
belong to any other animal; secondly, it must belong to the soul only, and not
be shared with the body; lastly, it cannot fall to the lot of any one without
knowledge and virtue. Now this limitation excludes and does away with all the
opinions of those whom I have mentioned; for their sayings contain nothing of
this kind. I will now say what this is, that I may show, as I designed, that all
philosophers were blind and foolish, who could neither see, nor understand, nor
surmise at any time what was fixed as the chief good for man. Anaxagoras, when
asked for what purpose he was born, replied that he might look upon the heaven
and the sun. This expression is admired by all, and judged worthy of a
philosopher. But I think that he, being unprepared with an answer, uttered this at
random, that he might(1) not be silent. But if he had been wise, he ought to have
considered and reflected with himself; for if any one is ignorant of his own
condition, he cannot even he a man. But let us imagine that the saying was not
uttered on the spur of the moment. Let us see how many and what great errors he
Committed in three words. First, he erred in placing the whole duty of man in
the eyes alone, referring nothing to the mind, but everything to the body. But if
he had been blind, would he lose the duty of a man, which cannot happen
without the ruin(2) of the soul? What of the other parts of the body? Will they be
destitute, each of its own duty? Why should I say that more depends upon the ears
than upon the eye, since learning and wisdom can be gained by the ears only,
but not by the eyes only? Were you born for the sake of seeing the heaven and
the sun? Who introduced you to this(3) sight? or what does your vision contribute
to the heaven and the nature of things? Doubtless that you may praise this
immense and wonderful work. Therefore confess that God is the Creator of all
things, who introduced you into this world, as a witness and praiser of His great
work. You believe that it is a great thing to behold the heaven and the sun: why,
therefore, do you not give thanks to Him who is the author of this benefit?
why do you not measure with your mind the excellence, the providence, and the
power of Him whose works you admire? For it must be, that He who created objects
worthy of admiration, is Himself much more to be admired. If any one had invited
you to dinner, and you had been well entertained, should you appear in your
senses, if you esteemed the mere pleasure more highly than the author of the
pleasure? So entirely do philosophers refer all things to the body, and nothing at
all to the mind, nor do they see beyond that which fails under their eyes. But
all the offices of the body being put aside, the business of man is to be
placed in the mind alone. Therefore we are not born for this purpose, that we may
see those things which are created, but that we may contemplate, that is, behold
with our mind, the Creator of all things Himself. Wherefore, if any one should
ask a man who is truly wise for what purpose he was born, he will answer
without fear or hesitation, that he was born for the purpose of worshipping God, who
brought us into being for his cause, that we may serve Him. But to serve God is
nothing else than to maintain and preserve justice by good works. But he, as a
man ignorant of divine things, reduced a matter of the greatest magnitude to
the least, by selecting two things only, which he said were to be beheld by him.
But if he had said that he was born to behold the world, although he would
comprise all things in this, and would use an expression of greater(4) sound, yet
he would not have completed the duty of man; for as much as the soul excels the
body, so much does God excel the world, for God made and governs the world.
Therefore it is not the world which is to be contemplated by the eye, for each is
a body;(5) but it is God who is to be contemplated by the soul: for God, being
Himself immortal, willed that the soul also should be everlasting. But the
contemplation of God is the reverence and worship of the common Parent of mankind.
And if the philosophers were destitute of this, and in their ignorance of
divine things prostrated themselves to the earth, we must suppose that Anaxagoras
neither beheld the heaven nor the sun, though he said that he was born that he
might behold them. The object proposed to man is therefore plain(6) and easy, if
he is wise; and to it especially belongs humanity.(7) For what is humanity
itself, but justice? what is justice, but piety? And piety(8) is nothing else than
the recognition of God as a parent.
CHAP.X.--IT IS THE PECULIAR PROPERTY OF MAN TO KNOW AND WORSHIP GOD.
Therefore the chief good of man is in religion only; for the other things,
even those which are supposed to be peculiar to man, are found in the other
animals also. For when they discern and distinguish their own voices(9) by
peculiar marks among themselves, they seem to converse: they also appear to have a
kind of smile, when with soothed ears, and contracted mouth, and with eyes
relaxed to sportiveness, they fawn upon man, or upon their own mates and young. Do
they not give a greeting which bears some resemblance to mutual love and
indulgence? Again, those creatures which look forward to the future and lay up for
themselves food, plainly have foresight. Indications of reason are also found in
many of them. For since they desire things useful to themselves, guard against
evils, avoid dangers, prepare for themselves lurking-places standing open in
different places with various outlets, assuredly they have some understanding. Can
any one deny that they are possessed of reason, since they often deceive man
himself? For those which have the office of producing honey, when they inhabit
the place assigned to them, fortify a camp, construct dwellings with unspeakable
skill, and obey their king; I know not if there is not in them perfect
prudence. It is therefore uncertain whether those things which are given to man are
common to him with other living creatures: they are certainly without religion. I
indeed thus judge, that reason is given to all animals, but to the dumb
creatures only for the protection of life, to man also for its prolongation. And
because reason itself is perfect in man, it is named wisdom, which renders man
distinguished in this respect, that to him alone it is given to comprehend divine
things. And concerning this the opinion of Cicero is true: "Of so many kinds of
animals," he says, "there is none except man which has any knowledge of God; and
among men themselves, there is no nation either so uncivilized or so savage,
which, even if it is ignorant of due conceptions of the Deity, does not know
that some conception of Him ought to be entertained." From which it is effected,
that he acknowledges God, who, as it were, calls to mind the source from which
he is sprung. Those philosophers, therefore, who wish to free the mind from all
fear, take away even religion, and thus deprive man of his peculiar and
surpassing good, which is distinct from living uprightly, and from everything
connected with man, because God, who made all living creatures subject to man, also
made man subject to Himself. What reason is there why they should also maintain
that the mind is to be turned in the same direction to which the countenance is
raised? For if we must look to the heaven, it is undoubtedly for no other
reason than on account of religion; if religion is taken away, we have nothing to do
with the heaven. Therefore we must either look in that direction or bend down
to the earth. We are not able to bend down to the earth, even if we should
wish, since our posture is upright. We must therefore look up to the heaven, to
which the nature of the body calls us. And if it is admitted that this must be
done, it must either be done with this view, that we may devote ourselves to
religion, or that we may know the nature of the heavenly objects. But we cannot by
any means know the nature of the heavenly objects, because nothing of that kind
can be found out by reflection, as I have before shown. We must therefore
devote ourselves to religion, and he who does not undertake this prostrates himself
to the ground, and, imitating the life of the brutes, abdicates the office of
man. Therefore the ignorant are more wise; for although they err in choosing
religion, yet they remember their own nature and condition.
CHAP. XI.--OF RELIGION, WISDOM, AND THE CHIEF GOOD.
It is agreed upon, therefore, by the general consent of all mankind, that
religion ought to be undertaken; but we have to explain what errors are
committed on this subject. God willed this to be the nature of man, that he should be
desirous and eager for two things, religion and wisdom. But men are mistaken in
this, that they either undertake religion and pay no attention to wisdom, or
they devote themselves to wisdom alone, and pay no attention to religion, though
the one cannot be true without the other. The consequence is, that they fall
into a multiplicity of religions, but false ones, because they have left wisdom,
which could have taught them that there cannot be many gods; or they devote
themselves to wisdom, but a false wisdom, because they have paid no attention to
the religion of the Supreme God, who might have instructed them to the
knowledge of the truth. Thus men who undertake either of these courses follow a devious
path, and one full of the greatest errors, inasmuch as the duty of man, and
all truth, are included in these two things which are inseparably connected. I
wonder, therefore, that there was none at all of the philosophers who discovered
the abode and dwelling-place of the chief good. For they might have sought it
in this manner. Whatever the greatest good is, it must be an object proposed to
all men. There is pleasure, which is desired by all; but this is common also to
man with the beasts, and has not the force of the honourable, and brings a
feeling of satiety, and when it is in excess is injurious, and it is lessened by
advance of age, and does not fall to the lot of many: for they who are without
resources, who constitute the greater part of men, must also be without
pleasure. Therefore pleasure is not the chief good; but it is not even a good. What
shall we say of riches? This is much more(1) true of them. For they fall to the
lot of fewer men, and that generally by chance; and they often fall to the
indolent, and sometimes by guilt, and they are desired by those who already possess
them. What shall we say of sovereignty itself? That does not constitute the
chief good: for all cannot reign, but it is necessary that all should be capable of
attaining the chief good.
Let us therefore seek something which is held forth to all. Is it virtue?
It cannot be denied that virtue is a good, and undoubtedly a good for all men.
But if it cannot be happy because its power and nature consist in the endurance
of evil, it assuredly is not the chief good. Let us seek something else. But
nothing can be found more beautiful than virtue, nothing more worthy of a wise
man. For if vices are to be avoided on account of their deformity, virtue is
therefore to be desired on account of its beauty. What then? Can it be that that
which is admitted to be good and honourable should be requited with no reward,
and be so unproductive as to procure no advantage from itself? That great labour
and difficulty and struggling against evils with which this life is filled,
must of necessity produce some great good. But what shall we say that it is?
Pleasure? But nothing that is base can arise from that which is honourable. Shall
we say that it is riches? or commands? But these things are frail and
uncertain.(1) Is it glory? or honour? or a lasting name? But all these things are not
contained in virtue itself, but depend upon the opinion and judgment of others.
For virtue is often hated and visited with evil. But the good which arises from
it ought to be so closely united with it as to be incapable of being separated
or disunited from it; and it cannot appear to be the chief good in any other way
than if it belongs peculiarly to virtue, and is such that nothing can be added
to it or taken from it. Why should I say that the duties of virtue consist in
the despising of all these things? For not to long for, or desire, or love
pleasures, riches, dominions, and honours, and all those things which are esteemed
as goods, as others do overpowered by desire, that assuredly is virtue.
Therefore it effects something else more sublime and excellent; nor does anything
struggle against these present goods but that which longs for greater and truer
things. Let us not despair of being able to find it, if we turn our thoughts in
all directions; for no slight or trifling rewards are sought.
CHAP. XII.--OF THE TWOFOLD CONFLICT OF BODY AND SOUL; AND OF DESIRING VIRTUE
ON ACCOUNT OF ETERNAL LIFE.
But our inquiry is as to the object for which we are born: and thus we are
able to trace out what is the effect of virtue. There are two(2) parts of
which man is made up, soul and body. There are many things peculiar to the soul,
many peculiar to the body, many common to both, as is virtue itself; and as often
as this is referred to the body, it is called fortitude for the sake of
distinction. Since, therefore, fortitude is connected with each, a contest is
proposed to each, and victory held forth to each from the contest: the body, because
it is solid, and capable of being grasped, must contend with objects which are
solid and can be grasped; but the soul, on the other hand, because it is slights
and subtle, and invisible, contends with those enemies who cannot be seen and
touched. But what are the enemies of the soul, but lusts, vices, and sins? And
if virtue shall have overcome and put to flight these, the soul will be pure
and free from stain. Whence, then, are we able to collect what are the effects of
fortitude of soul? Doubtless from that which is closely connected with it, and
resembles it, that is, from fortitude of the body; for when this has come to
any encounter and contest, what else does it seek from victory but life? For
whether you contend with a man or beast, the contest is for safety. Therefore, as
the body obtains by victory its preservation from destruction, so the soul
obtains a continuation of its existence; and as the body, when over come by its
enemies, suffers death, so the soul, when overpowered by vices, must die. What
difference, therefore, will there be between the contest carried on by the soul
and that carried on by the body, except that the body seeks for temporal, but the
soul eternal life? If, therefore, virtue is not happy by itself, since its
whole force consists, as I have said, in the enduring of evils; if it neglects all
things which are desired as goods; if in its highest condition it is exposed
to death, inasmuch as it often refuses life, which is desired by others, and
bravely undergoes death, which others fear; if it must necessarily produce some
great good from itself, because labours, endured and overcome even until death,
cannot fail of obtaining a reward; if no reward, such as it deserves, is found
on earth, inasmuch as it despises all things which are frail and transitory,
what else remains but that it may effect some heavenly reward, since it treats
with contempt all earthly things, and may aim at higher things, since it despises
things that are humble? And this reward can be nothing else but immortality.
With good reason, therefore, did Euclid, no obscure philosopher, who was
the founder of the system of the Megareans, differing from the others, say that
that was the chief good which was unvarying and always the same. He certainly
understood what is the nature of the chief good, although he did not explain in
what it consisted; but it consists of immortality, nor anything else at all,
inasmuch as it alone is incapable of diminution, or increase, or change. Seneca
also unconsciously happened to confess that there is no other reward of virtue
than immortality. For in praising virtue in the treatise which he wrote on the
subject of premature death, he says: "Virtue is the only thing which can confer
upon us immortality, and make us equal to the gods." But the Stoics also, whom
he followed, say that no one can be made happy without virtue. Therefore, the
reward of virtue is a happy life, if virtue, as it is rightly said, makes a
happy life. Virtue, therefore, is not, as they say, to be sought on its own
account, but on account of a happy life, which necessarily follows virtue. And this
argument might have taught them in what the chief good consisted. But this
present and corporeal life cannot be happy, because it is subjected to evils through
the body. Epicurus calls God happy and incorruptible, because He is
everlasting. For a state of happiness ought to be perfect, so that there may be nothing
which can harass, or lessen, or change it. Nor can anything be judged happy in
other respects, unless it be incorruptible. But nothing is incorruptible but that
which is immortal. Immortality therefore is alone happy, because it can
neither be corrupted nor destroyed. But if virtue falls within the power of man,
which no one can deny, happiness also belongs to him. For it is impossible for a
man to be wretched who is endued with virtue. If happiness falls within his
power, then immortality, which is possessed of the attribute of happiness, also
belongs to him.
The chief good, therefore, is found to be immortality alone, which
pertains to no other animal or body; nor can it happen to any one without the virtue
of knowledge, that is, without the knowledge of God and justice. And how true
and right is the seeking for this, the very desire of this life shows: for
although it be but temporary, and most full of labour, yet it is sought and desired
by all; for both old men and boys, kings and those of the lowest station, in
fine, wise as well as foolish, desire this. Of such value, as it seemed to
Anaxagoras, is the contemplation of the heaven and the light itself, that men
willingly undergo any miseries on this account. Since, therefore, this short and
laborious life, by the general consent not only of men, but also of other animals, is
considered a great good, it is manifest that it becomes also a very great and
perfect good if it is without an end and free from all evil. In short, there
never would have been any one who would despise this life, however short it is,
or undergo death, unless through the hope of a longer life. For those who
voluntarily offered themselves to death for the safety of their countrymen, as
Menoeceus did at Thebes, Codrus at Athens, Curtius and the two Mures at Rome, would
never have preferred death to the advantages of life, unless they had thought
that they should attain to immortality through the estimation of their
countrymen; and although they were ignorant of the life of immortality, yet the reality
itself did not escape their notice. For if virtue despises opulence and riches
because they are frail, and pleasures because they are of brief continuance, it
therefore despises a life which is frail and brief, that it may obtain one
which is substantial and lasting. Therefore reflection itself, advancing by regular
order, and weighing everything, leads us to that excellent and surpassing
good, on account of which we are born. And if philosophers had thus acted, if they
had not preferred obstinately to maintain that which they had once apprehended,
they would undoubtedly have arrived at this truth, as I have lately shown. And
if this was not the part of those who extinguish the heavenly souls together
with the body, yet those who discuss the immortality of the soul ought to have
understood that virtue is set before us on this account, that, lusts having been
subdued, and the desire of earthly things overcome, our souls, pure and
victorious, may return to God, that is, to their original source. For it is on this
account that we alone of living creatures are raised to the sight of the heaven,
that we may believe that our chief good is in the highest place. Therefore we
alone receive religion, that we may know from this source that the spirit of
man is not mortal, since it longs for and acknowledges God, who is immortal.
Therefore, of all the philosophers, those who have embraced either
knowledge or virtue as the chief good, have kept the way of truth, but have not
arrived at perfection. For these are the two things which together make up that which
is sought for. Knowledge causes us to know by what means and to what end we
must attain; virtue causes us to attain to it. The one without the other is of no
avail; for from knowledge arises virtue, and from virtue the chief good is
produced. Therefore a happy life, which philosophers have always sought, and still
do seek, has no existence either in the worship of the gods or in philosophy;
and on this account they were unable to find it, because they did not seek the
highest good in the highest place, but in the lowest. For what is the highest
but heaven, and God, from whom the soul has its origin? And what is the lowest
but the earth, from which the body is made? Therefore, although some
philosophers have assigned the chief good, not to the body, but to the soul, yet, inasmuch
as they have referred it to this life, which has its ending with the body,
they have gone back to the body, to which the whole of this time which is passed
on earth has reference. Therefore it was not without reason that they did not
attain to the highest good; for whatever looks to the body only, and is without
immortality, must necessarily be the lowest. Therefore happiness does not fall
to the condition of man in that manner in which philosophers thought; but it so
falls to him, not that he should then be happy, when he lives in the body,
which must undoubtedly be corrupted in order to its dissolution; but then, when,
the soul being freed from intercourse with the body, he lives in the spirit only.
In this one thing alone can we be happy in this life, if we appear to be
unhappy; if, avoiding the enticements of pleasures, and giving ourselves to the
service of virtue only, we live in all labours and miseries, which are the means of
exercising and strengthening virtue; if, in short, we keep to that rugged and
difficult path which has been opened for us to happiness. The chief good
therefore which makes men happy cannot exist, unless it be in that religion and
doctrine to which is annexed the hope of immortality.
CHAP. XIII.--OF THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL, AND OF WISDOM, PHILOSOPHY, AND
ELOQUENCE.
The subject seems to require in this place, that since we have taught that
immortality is the chief good, we should prove this also, that the soul is
immortal. On which subject there is great disputation among philosophers; nor have
they who held true opinions respecting the soul been able to explain or prove
anything: for, being destitute of divine knowledge, they neither brought
forward true arguments by which they might overcome, nor evidence by which they might
convince. But we shall treat of this question more conveniently in the last
book, when we shall have to discuss the subject of a happy life. There remains
that third part of philosophy, which they call Logic, in which the whole subject
of dialectics and the whole method of speaking are contained. Divine learning
does not stand in need of this, because the seat of wisdom is not the tongue,
but the heart; and it makes no difference what kind of language you employ, for
the question is not about words,(1) but facts. And we are not disputing about
the grammarian or the orator, whose knowledge is concerned with the proper manner
of speaking, but about the wise man, whose learning is concerned with the
right manner of living. But if that system of natural philosophy before mentioned
is not necessary, nor this of logic, because they are not able to render a man
happy, it remains that the whole force of philosophy is contained in the ethical
part alone, to which Socrates is said to have applied himself, laying aside
the others. And since I have shown that philosophers erred in this part also, who
did not grasp the chief good, for the sake of gaining which we are born; it
appears that philosophy is altogether false and empty, since it does not prepare
us for the duties of justice, nor strengthen the obligations and settled course
of man's life. Let them know, therefore, that they are in error who imagine
that philosophy is wisdom; let them not be drawn away by the authority of any
one; but rather let them incline to the truth, and approach it. There is no room
for rashness here; we must endure the punishment of our folly to all eternity,
if we shall be deceived either by an empty character or a false opinion. But
man,(2) such as he is, if he trusts in himself, that is, if he trusts in man, is
(not to say foolish, in that he does not see his own error) undoubtedly
arrogant, in venturing to claim for himself that which the condition of man does not
admit of.
And how much that greatest author of the Roman language is deceived, we
may see from that sentiment of his; for when, in his "Books on Offices,"(3) he
had said that philosophy is nothing else than the desire of wisdom, and that
wisdom itself is the knowledge of things divine and human, added: "And if any one
censures the desire Of this, I do not indeed understand what there is which he
imagines praiseworthy. For if enjoyment of the mind and rest from cares is
sought, what enjoyment can be compared with the pursuits of those who are always
inquiring into something which has reference to and tends to promote a good and
happy life? Or if any account is taken of consistency and virtue, either this is
the study(4) by which we may attain them, or there is none at all. To say that
there is no system in connection with the greatest subjects, when none of the
least is without a system, is the part of men speaking inconsiderately, and
erring in the greatest subjects. But if there is any discipline of virtue, where
shall it be sought when you have departed from that kind of learning?" For my own
part, although I endeavoured to attain in some degree to the means of
acquiring learning, on account of my desire to teach others, yet I have never been
eloquent, inasmuch as I never even engaged in public speaking; but the goodness of
the cause cannot fail of itself to make me eloquent, and for its clear and
copious defence the knowledge of divinity and the truth itself are sufficient. I
could wish, therefore, that Cicero might for a short time rise from the dead,
that a man of such consummate eloquence might be taught by an insignificant person
who is devoid of eloquence, first, what that is which is deemed worthy of
praise by him who blames that study which is called philosophy; and in the next
place, that it is not that study by which virtue and justice are learned, nor any
other, as he thought; and lastly, that since there is a discipline of virtue,
he might be taught where it is to be sought, when you have laid aside that kind
of learning, which he did not seek for the sake of hearing and learning. For
from whom could he hear when no one knew it? But, as his usual practice was in
pleading causes, he wished to press his opponent by questioning, and thus to lead
him to confession, as though he were confident that no answer could be given
to show that philosophy was not the instructress of virtue. And in the Tusculan
disputations he openly professed this, turning his speech to philosophy, as
though he was showing himself off by a declamatory style of speaking. "O
philosophy, thou guide of life," he says; "O thou investigator of virtue, and expeller
of vices; what could not only we, but the life of men, have effected at all
without thee? Thou hast been the inventor of laws, thou the teacher of morals and
discipline;"--as though, indeed, she could perceive anything by herself, and he
were not rather to be praised who gave her. In the same manner he might have
given thanks to food and drink, because without these life could not exist; yet
these, while they minister to sense, confer no benefit. But as these things are
the nourishment of the body, so wisdom is of the soul.
CHAP. XIV.--THAT LUCRETIUS AND OTHERS HAVE ERRED, AND CICERO HIMSELF, IN
FIXING THE ORIGIN OF WISDOM.
Lucretius, accordingly, acts more correctly in praising him who was the
first discoverer of wisdom; but he acts foolishly in this, that he supposed it to
be discovered by a man,--as though that man whom he praises had found it lying
somewhere as flutes at the fountain,(1) according to the legends of the poets.
But if he praised the inventor of wisdom as a god,--for thus he speaks:(2)--
"No one, I think, who is formed of mortal body. For if we must speak, as
the acknowledged majesty of the subject itself demands, he was a god, he was a
god, most noble Memmius,"--
yet God ought not to have been praised on this account, because He discovered
wisdom, but because He created man, who might be capable of receiving wisdom.
For he diminishes the praise who praises a part only of the whole. But he
praised Him as a man; whereas He ought to have been esteemed as a God on this very
account, because He found out wisdom. For thus he speaks:(3)--
"Will it not be right that this man should be enrolled among the gods?"
From this it appears, either that he wished to praise Pythagoras, who was the
first, as I have said,(4) to call himself a philosopher; or Thales of Miletus,
who is reported to have been the first who discussed the nature of things.
Thus, while he seeks to exalt, he has depressed the thing itself. For it is not
great if it could have been discovered by man. But he may be pardoned as a poet.
But that same accomplished orator, that same consummate philosopher, also
censures the Greeks, whose levity he always accuses, and yet imitates. Wisdom itself,
which at one time he calls the gift, at another time the invention, of the
gods, he fashions after the manner of the poets, and praises on account of its
beauty. He also grievously complains that there have been some who disparaged it.
"Can any one," he says, "dare to censure the parent of life, and to defile
himself with this guilt of parricide, and to be so impiously ungrateful?"
Are we then parricides, Marcus Tullius, and in your judgment worthy to be
sewed(5) up in a bag, who deny that philosophy is the parent of life? Or you,
who are so impiously ungrateful towards God (not this god whose image you
worship as he sits in the Capitol, but Him who made the world and created man, who
bestowed wisdom also among His heavenly benefits), do you call her the teacher of
virtue or the parent of life, having learned(6) from whom, one must be in much
greater uncertainty than he was before? For of what virtue is she the teacher?
For philosophers to the present time do not explain where she is situated. Of
what life is she the parent? since the teachers themselves have been worn out
by old age and death before they have determined upon the befitting course of
life. Of what truth can you hold her forth as an explorer? since you often
testify that, in so great a multitude of philosophers, not a single wise man has yet
existed. What, then, did that mistress of life teach you? Was it to assail with
reproaches the most powerful consul,(7) and by your envenomed speeches to
render him the enemy of his country? But let us pass by those things, which may be
excused under the name of fortune. You applied yourself, in truth, to the study
of philosophy, and so, indeed, that no one ever applied himself more
diligently; since you were acquainted with all the systems of philosophy, as you
yourself are accustomed to oast, and elucidated the subject itself in Latin writings,
and displayed yourself as an imitator of Plato. Tell us, therefore, what you
have learned, or in what sect you have discovered the truth. Doubtless it was in
the Academy which you followed and approved. But this teaches nothing,
excepting that you know your own ignorance.(1) Therefore your own books refute you, and
show the nothingness of the learning which may be gained from philosophy for
life. These are your words: "But to me we appear not only blind to wisdom, but
dull and obtuse to those very things which may appear in some degree to be
discerned." If, therefore, philosophy is the teacher of life, why did you appear to
yourself blind, and dull, and obtuse? whereas you ought, under her teaching,
both to perceive and to be wise, and to be engaged in the clearest light. But how
you confessed the truth of philosophy we learn from the letters addressed to
your son, in which you advise him that the precepts of philosophy ought to be
known, but that we must live as members of a community.(2)
What can be spoken so contradictory? If the precepts of philosophy ought
to be known, it is on this account that they ought to be known, in order to our
living well and wisely. Or if we must live as members of a community, then
philosophy is not wisdom, if it is better to live in accordance with society than
with philosophy. For if that which is called philosophy be wisdom, he assuredly
lives foolishly who does not live according to philosophy. But if he does not
live foolishly who lives in accordance with society, it follows that he who
lives according to philosophy lives foolishly. By your own judgment, therefore,
philosophy is condemned of folly and emptiness. And you also, in your Consolation,
that is, not in a work of levity and mirth, introduced this sentiment
respecting philosophy: "But I know not what error possesses us, or deplorable ignorance
of the truth." Where, then, is the guidance of philosophy? or what has that
parent of life taught you, if you are deplorably ignorant of the truth? But if
this confession of error and ignorance has been extorted almost against your will
from your innermost breast, why do you not at length acknowledge to yourself
the truth, that philosophy which, though it teaches nothing, you extolled with
praises to the heavens, cannot be the teacher of virtue?
CHAP. XV.--THE ERROR OF SENECA IN PHILOSOPHY, AND HOW THE SPEECH OF
PHILOSOPHERS IS AT VARIANCE WITH THEIR LIFE.
Under the influence of the same error (for who could keep the right course
when Cicero is in error?), Seneca said: "Philosophy is nothing else than the
right method of living, or the science of living honourably, or the art of
passing a good life. We shall not err in saying that philosophy is the law of living
well and honourably. And he who spoke of it as a rule of life, gave to it that
which was its due." He evidently did not refer to the common name of
philosophy; for, since this is diffused into many sects and systems, and has nothing
certain--nothing, in short, respecting which all agree with one mind and one
voice,--what can be so false as that philosophy should be called the rule of life,
since the diversity of its precepts hinders the right way and causes confusion?
or the law of living well, when its subjects are widely discordant? or the
science of passing life, in which nothing else is effected by its repeated
contradictions than general(3) uncertainty? For I ask whether he thinks that the
Academy is philosophy or not? I do not think that he will deny it. And if this is so,
none of these things, therefore, is in agreement with philosophy; which
renders all things uncertain, abrogates law, esteems art as nothing, subverts method,
distorts rule, entirely takes away knowledge. Therefore all those things are
false, because they are inconsistent with a system which is always uncertain,
and up to this time explaining nothing. Therefore no system, or science, or law
of living well, has been established, except in this the only true and heavenly
wisdom, which had been unknown to philosophers. For that earthly wisdom, since
it is false, becomes varied and manifold, and altogether opposed to itself. And
as there is but one founder and ruler of the world, God, and as truth is one;
so wisdom must be one and simple, because, if anything is true and good, it
cannot be perfect unless it is the only one of its kind. But if philosophy were
able to form the life, no others but philosophers would be good, and all those
who had not learned it would be always bad. But since there are, and always have
been, innumerable persons who are or have been good without any learning, but
of philosophers there has seldom been one who has done anything praiseworthy in
his life; who is there, I pray, who does not see that those men are not
teachers of virtue, of which they themselves are destitute? For if any one should
diligently inquire into their character, he will find that they are passionate,
covetous, lustful, arrogant, wanton, and, concealing their vices under a show of
wisdom, doing those things at home which they had censured in the schools.(1)
Perhaps I speak falsely for the sake of bringing an accusation. Does not
Tullius both acknowledge and complain of the same thing? "How few," he says, "of
philosophers are found of such a character, so constituted in soul and life,
as reason demands! how few who think true instruction not a display of
knowledge, but a law of life! how few who are obedient to themselves, and submit to
their own decrees! We may see some of such levity and ostentation, that it would be
better for them not to have learned at all; others eagerly desirous of money,
others of glory; many the slaves of lusts, so that their speech wonderfully
disagrees with their life." Cornelius Nepos also writes to the same Cicero: "So
far am I from thinking that philosophy is the teacher of life and the completer
of happiness, that I consider that none have greater need of teachers of living
than many who are engaged in the discussion of this subject. For I see that a
great part of those who give most elaborate precepts in their school
respect-modesty and self-restraint, live at the same time in the unrestrained desires of
all lusts." Seneca also, in his Exhortations, says: "Many of the philosophers
are of this description, eloquent to their own condemnation: for if you should
hear them arguing against avarice, against lust and ambition, you would think
that they were making a public disclosure(2) of their own character, so entirely
do the censures which they utter in public flow back upon themselves; so that it
is right to regard them in no other light than as physicians, whose
advertisements(3) contain medicines, but their medicine chests poison. Some are not
ashamed of their vices; but they invent defences for their baseness, so that they
may appear even to sin with honour." Seneca also says: "The wise man will even do
things which he will not approve of, that he may find means of passing to the
accomplishment of greater things; nor will he abandon good morals, but will
adapt them to the occasion; and those things which others employ for glory or
pleasure, he will employ for the sake of action." Then he says shortly afterwards:
"All things which the luxurious and the ignorant do, the wise man also will do,
but not in the same manner, and with the same purpose. But it makes no
difference with what intention you act, when the action itself is vicious; because
acts are seen, the intention is not seen."
Aristippus, the master of the Cyrenaics, had a criminal intimacy with
Lais, the celebrated courtesan; and that grave teacher of philosophy defended this
fault by saying, that there was a great difference between him and the other
lovers of Lais, because he himself possessed Lais, whereas others were possessed
by Lais. O illustrious wisdom, to be imitated by good men! Would you, in truth,
entrust your children to this man for education, that they might learn to
possess a harlot? He said that there was some difference between himself and the
dissolute, that they wasted their property, whereas he lived in indulgence
without any cost. And in this the harlot was plainly the wiser, who had the
philosopher as her creature, that all the youth, corrupted by the example and authority
of the teacher, might flock together to her without any shame. What difference
therefore did it make, with what intention the philosopher betook himself to
that most notorious harlot, when the people and his rivals saw him more depraved
than all the abandoned? Nor was it enough to live in this manner, but he began
also to teach lusts; and he transferred his habits from the brothel to the
school, contending that bodily pleasure was the chief good. Which pernicious and
shameful doctrine has its origin not in the heart of the philosopher, but in the
bosom of the harlot.
For why should I speak of the Cynics, who practised licentiousness in
public? What wonder if they derived their name and title from dogs,(4) since they
also imitated their life? Therefore there is no instruction of virtue in this
sect, since even those who enjoin more honourable things either themselves do not
practise what they advise; or if they do (which rarely happens), it is not the
system which leads them to that which is right, but nature which often impels
even the unlearned to praise.