"But," says our adversary,
"you yourself only practice virtue because you hope to obtain some
pleasure from it." In the first place, even though virtue may afford us
pleasure, still we do not seek after her on that account: for she does not
bestow this, but bestows this to boot, nor is this the end for which she
labors, but her labor wins this also, although it be directed to another end.
As
in a tilled field, when ploughed for corn, some flowers are found amongst it,
and yet, though these posies may charm the eye, all this labor was not spent in
order to produce them—the man who sowed the field had another object in view, he
gained this over and above it—so pleasure is not the reward or the cause of
virtue, but comes in addition to it. Nor do we choose virtue because she gives
us pleasure, but she gives us pleasure also if we choose her.
The highest good lies in the act of
choosing her, and in the attitude of the noblest minds, which when once it has
fulfilled its function and established itself within its own limits has
attained to the highest good, and needs nothing more. For there is nothing
outside of the whole, any more than there is anything beyond the end. . . .
—Seneca
the Younger, On the happy life,
Chapter 9 (tr Stewart)
The
ancient Epicureans, or the modern Utilitarians, or the sensualists of any time
or place, might still insist that we desire virtue because we understand that
it leads to what is pleasurable. We can simply employ our reason, they claim,
to see that being a bad man is actually not very satisfying at all, and that
being a good man will give us the satisfaction we crave. By all means, the
argument goes, practice virtue, but in the knowledge of why we should practice
it.
Seneca
will still not budge in this matter, because I suspect he recognizes the
gravity of what is at stake. There can be no confusion as to whether good
actions or good feelings are the complete goal, and there can be no circularity
in stating that not all pleasures are desirable, while at the same time saying
actions are desirable precisely because they are pleasurable. The fundamental issue
is whether the highest good of human nature, toward which all other goods are
ordered, is defined by how we live, or by how we feel.
Remember
that the Stoic does not deny us pleasure, or ask that it be removed from our
lives. The Stoic will gladly embrace the reality that a good man can fell
pleasure through his virtue, and that such pleasure can be of the most
wonderful and the most beautiful sort. What matters is not only what we do and
what we feel, but why we do what we do, and how our actions and passions are
rightly related.
I often
think not only of whether I should help my neighbor, but also of why I should
help my neighbor, and toward what end my deeds are ordered. Perhaps I want my
neighbor’s gratitude, or a favor in return down the line, or the respect of the
community, or maybe just that warm and fuzzy feeling that comes from having
made a difference. I may or may not receive such benefits, but as soon as I
have any of them in mind as my purpose, I haven’t really helped my neighbor at
all, but done something for the sake of my own passions. The giving became a
means to the receiving, and in this sense the giving became entirely
accidental.
Virtue
is only virtuous when it is for its own sake, just as love is only love for the
sake of the beloved. Once I have passed the good on, so to speak, to something
beyond itself, I have compromised and relativized both virtue and love.
Is the
farmer right to enjoy the beauty of wild flowers in his cultivated field? Yes,
but that is not why he should have cultivated the field. Is the worker right to
enjoy praise and promotion for his efforts? Yes, but that is not why he should
have worked hard. Is any man right to feel pleasure for having done the right
thing? Yes, but that is not why he should have done the right thing. The
pleasure is not the end itself, but something that can accompany the end. My
own variation of Seneca’s lesson is that I should gladly enjoy a good life, but
it hardly became good because I enjoyed it.
My own
experience has taught me that I will sometimes initially feel a certain pain
when I have followed my conscience, but that such pain will usually be replaced
by rather unexpected pleasures when I can think through why anything I did
really mattered. A worry about the things outside of my power gives way to an
appreciation for the things within my power.
Yet as
soon as I treat feeling itself as a cause of what is good in life, or as the
end of what is good in life, I have thrown away any and all of the benefits. By
deliberately seeking only an incomplete good, I have lost all of what is good.
Written in 11/2004
Image: Vincent van Gogh, Wheat Field (1888)
No comments:
Post a Comment