Now this resemblance is more remarkable in beasts, whose souls are void of reason. But the likeness in men consists more in the configuration of the bodies: and it is of no little consequence in what bodies the soul is lodged; for there are many things which depend on the body that give an edge to the soul, many which blunt it.
Aristotle, indeed, says that all men of great genius are melancholy; so that I should not have been displeased to have been somewhat duller than I am. He instances many, and, as if it were matter of fact, brings his reasons for it. But if the power of those things that proceed from the body be so great as to influence the mind (for they are the things, whatever they are, that occasion this likeness), still that does not necessarily prove why a similitude of souls should be generated.
I say nothing about cases of unlikeness. I wish Panaetius could be here: he lived with Africanus. I would inquire of him which of his family the nephew of Africanus’s brother was like? Possibly he may in person have resembled his father; but in his manners he was so like every profligate, abandoned man, that it was impossible to be more so. Whom did the grandson of P. Crassus, that wise and eloquent and most distinguished man, resemble? Or the relations and sons of many other excellent men, whose names there is no occasion to mention?
But what are we doing? Have we forgotten that our purpose was, when we had sufficiently spoken on the subject of the immortality of the soul, to prove that, even if the soul did perish, there would be, even then, no evil in death?
A. I remembered it very well; but I had no dislike to your digressing a little from your original design, while you were talking of the soul’s immortality.
I’m afraid I don’t know anything about the Platonist philosopher Pauaestius, and I haven’t managed to uncover any other references to him, though it’s quite possible I’m not looking in the right places. This leads my mind down a tangential path, where I wonder about why some receive fame and others are forgotten, and I remember that the former is not necessarily any finer than the latter. Whether the life itself was noble or base, does the posthumous record really change any of it?
So while I can’t approach this from the point of view of Pauaestius, Cicero’s reaction has me considering how a mind should not be so open as to allow just about anything to fly into it, and that precise distinctions, as infuriating as they can be, are essential to making any progress.
Seeking out the broader synthesis I previously described, where one pursues a harmony of agreement instead of falling into to petty bickering, can go too far, and easily ends up devolving into a hazy relativism. There comes a point where my thinking is so broad that it carelessly admits of contradictions: where every proposition is true, then every proposition must also be equally false.
When I catch myself succumbing to this sort of lazy thinking, I turn to a critical lesson I learned from studying St. Thomas Aquinas: always distinguish terms, map the various senses in which something may be defined, and charitably discern similarities and differences in light of such subtle yet crucial contrasts.
Concerning the soul, I must be careful not to confuse its range of powers, or to conflate its varied aspects. It isn’t that I have many souls, for otherwise I would be many people, but rather that my single form contains within itself degrees of activity, the higher having authority over the lower. While admittedly an imperfect analogy, I visualize this like the layers of an onion.
At the very core of who I am are the intellect and the will, though these do no not exist in some sort of isolation. They are constantly engaged with the array of the senses and the spectrum of the passions, such that the inner consciousness is always working through the medium of the outer impressions. In theory I can consider them separately, yet in practice they are interwoven. This can make it difficult to avoid lumping them all together.
Now a thorough account of the powers of the soul is a mammoth task, and for the purposes of this chapter it is hopefully sufficient to note that some of these acts are more closely bound to the functions of the body than others. The instincts of hunger or aggression are, so to speak, not as subtle and refined as engaging in deliberation or contemplation, and only the most unreflective of people will fail to discriminate between lust and love.
Pauaestius seems to be referring to our appetites when he argues for the weakness and corruptibility of the soul, and so Cicero suggests that this does not need to infringe upon the more spiritual properties of the mind. The body is subject to decay, while thought and choice can still remain simple and pure. Distinguish!
The observations about the similarities of temperament between blood relatives fascinate me, and it is helpful to note how family members can closely resemble one another in some ways while being completely different in others.
When I look at my four uncles, for example, I see obvious signs of a shared lineage and upbringing, and yet each one of them has followed a unique path when it comes to the conscious choices of interests and values. I would stand with Cicero that their dispositions may have been inherited, but their convictions are distinctly of their own making. I further find that I too am like all of them, and also like none of them.
The body may be moved by its callings, and the mind will nevertheless make its own way.
I do wonder if Aristotle was correct to say that the wisest folks tend to be melancholic. Being about as melancholic as a fellow can get, I rush ahead and hope that I too will become brilliant, though I am forgetting that an inclination alone will not make it so. I must deliberately mold my own attitude, regardless of the circumstances.
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