M. It may be said, “What! do you imagine Epicurus really meant this, and that he maintained anything so sensual?” Indeed, I do not imagine so, for I am sensible that he has uttered many excellent things and sentiments, and delivered maxims of great weight. Therefore, as I said before, I am speaking of his acuteness, not of his morals.
Though he should hold those pleasures in contempt which he just now commended, yet I must remember wherein he places the chief good. For he was not contented with barely saying this, but he has explained what he meant: he says that taste, and embraces, and sports, and music, and those forms which affect the eyes with pleasure, are the chief good. Have I invented this? Have I misrepresented him? I should be glad to be confuted; for what am I endeavoring at but to clear up truth in every question?
Well, but the same man says that pleasure is at its height where pain ceases, and that to be free from all pain is the very greatest pleasure. Here are three very great mistakes in a very few words.
One is, that he contradicts himself; for, but just now, he could not imagine anything good unless the senses were in a manner tickled with some pleasure; but now he says that to be free from pain is the highest pleasure. Can anyone contradict himself more?
The next mistake is, that where there is naturally a threefold division—the first, to be pleased; next, to be in pain; the last, to be affected neither by pleasure nor pain—he imagines the first and the last to be the same, and makes no difference between pleasure and a cessation of pain.
The last mistake he falls into in common with some others, which is this: that as virtue is the most desirable thing, and as philosophy has been investigated with a view to the attainment of it, he has separated the chief good from virtue. But he commends virtue, and that frequently; and indeed C. Gracchus, when he had made the largest distributions of the public money, and had exhausted the treasury, nevertheless spoke much of defending the treasury.
What signifies what men say when we see what they do? That Piso, who was surnamed Frugal, had always harangued against the law that was proposed for distributing the corn; but when it had passed, though a man of consular dignity, he came to receive the corn. Gracchus observed Piso standing in the court, and asked him, in the hearing of the people, how it was consistent for him to take corn by a law he had himself opposed. “It was,” said he, “against your distributing my goods to every man as you thought proper; but, as you do so, I claim my share.”
Did not this grave and wise man sufficiently show that the public revenue was dissipated by the Sempronian law? Read Gracchus’s speeches, and you will pronounce him the advocate of the treasury.
Epicurus denies that anyone can live pleasantly who does not lead a life of virtue; he denies that fortune has any power over a wise man; he prefers a spare diet to great plenty, and maintains that a wise man is always happy. All these things become a philosopher to say, but they are not consistent with pleasure.
But the reply is, that he does not mean that pleasure: let him mean any pleasure, it must be such a one as makes no part of virtue. But suppose we are mistaken as to his pleasure; are we so, too, as to his pain?
I maintain, therefore, the impropriety of language which that man uses, when talking of virtue, who would measure every great evil by pain.
Though he should hold those pleasures in contempt which he just now commended, yet I must remember wherein he places the chief good. For he was not contented with barely saying this, but he has explained what he meant: he says that taste, and embraces, and sports, and music, and those forms which affect the eyes with pleasure, are the chief good. Have I invented this? Have I misrepresented him? I should be glad to be confuted; for what am I endeavoring at but to clear up truth in every question?
Well, but the same man says that pleasure is at its height where pain ceases, and that to be free from all pain is the very greatest pleasure. Here are three very great mistakes in a very few words.
One is, that he contradicts himself; for, but just now, he could not imagine anything good unless the senses were in a manner tickled with some pleasure; but now he says that to be free from pain is the highest pleasure. Can anyone contradict himself more?
The next mistake is, that where there is naturally a threefold division—the first, to be pleased; next, to be in pain; the last, to be affected neither by pleasure nor pain—he imagines the first and the last to be the same, and makes no difference between pleasure and a cessation of pain.
The last mistake he falls into in common with some others, which is this: that as virtue is the most desirable thing, and as philosophy has been investigated with a view to the attainment of it, he has separated the chief good from virtue. But he commends virtue, and that frequently; and indeed C. Gracchus, when he had made the largest distributions of the public money, and had exhausted the treasury, nevertheless spoke much of defending the treasury.
What signifies what men say when we see what they do? That Piso, who was surnamed Frugal, had always harangued against the law that was proposed for distributing the corn; but when it had passed, though a man of consular dignity, he came to receive the corn. Gracchus observed Piso standing in the court, and asked him, in the hearing of the people, how it was consistent for him to take corn by a law he had himself opposed. “It was,” said he, “against your distributing my goods to every man as you thought proper; but, as you do so, I claim my share.”
Did not this grave and wise man sufficiently show that the public revenue was dissipated by the Sempronian law? Read Gracchus’s speeches, and you will pronounce him the advocate of the treasury.
Epicurus denies that anyone can live pleasantly who does not lead a life of virtue; he denies that fortune has any power over a wise man; he prefers a spare diet to great plenty, and maintains that a wise man is always happy. All these things become a philosopher to say, but they are not consistent with pleasure.
But the reply is, that he does not mean that pleasure: let him mean any pleasure, it must be such a one as makes no part of virtue. But suppose we are mistaken as to his pleasure; are we so, too, as to his pain?
I maintain, therefore, the impropriety of language which that man uses, when talking of virtue, who would measure every great evil by pain.
—from Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 3.20
As much as I aspire to serve philosophy, I must keep a constant watch on my own motives, for whenever things don’t work out exactly as I had hoped, I am inclined to let my wishing get ahead of my understanding. The sad irony is then a man who claims to be reasonable, but actually ends up allowing the eagerness of his willing to cover up any inconvenient truths.
As a result, I catch myself overlooking blatant contradictions in my thinking, which is, of course, hardly good thinking at all. I have not overthought the problem, I have rather underthought it by confusing my preferences with my principles. So I catch myself claiming that I am urgently obliged to do what is just, and yet I have added so many conditions and footnotes that I have now completely abandoned the original premise. It remains, so to speak, in name only.
It's not that I’m being malicious, it’s just that I get lazy about my commitments by trying to have it both ways. And when Cicero here further explains his critique of Epicurus, I wonder if he is describing a similar situation, a philosopher with good intentions, who has nevertheless gotten tripped up by his own arguments.
I certainly enjoy feeling good, and yet at the same time I recognize a profound responsibility for doing good. Now how am I supposed to relate these two dispositions? Might they be one and the same thing? No, for I quickly learn how often they stand in conflict with one another. Can I learn which should come first in my estimation, and find the value of the one through the meaning of the other? There’s the rub, and there’s one of the basic principles necessary for grasping the happy life!
Cicero points out how Epicurus did much to promote good morals, and so his integrity of character is not in question. Rather, he seems to have gotten turned around about the primacy of virtue or pleasure, of which is the measure, and which is the thing measured. The result, however inadvertent, is a philosophy that wishes to have its cake and eat it too.
Now it may well be that virtue will ultimately also bring with it the deepest joy, but this is not the same as saying that things are good merely because they are pleasurable. Plato and Aristotle understood this, and the Stoics understood this, and yet the Epicureans are getting the priorities backwards. A mind and a will in bondage to the appetites can only accidentally end up doing something right for all of the wrong reasons.
I am grateful I am not alone in noting some of the fundamental inconsistencies of the Epicurean school:
First, I cannot say that I require some gratification, however humble and moderated, in order to be happy, and then also say that the mere absence of pain is sufficient to fulfill my needs. Nothing comes from nothing.
Second, while it is one thing to feel pleasure, and another to feel pain, and yet another to feel neither pleasure nor pain, I am making an unwarranted assumption if I claim that the lack of any feeling at all is somehow equivalent to a good feeling. Absence is not the same as presence.
Third, I can encourage virtue, and I can seek pleasure, but everyday experience immediately reveals how and why there will be many times when these two stand in opposition. Distinguish the good from the gratifying.
Apparently, there were Roman politicians who liked to talk about cutting the budget while simultaneously reaping the benefits of heightened spending. We still have such leaders today. This also reminds me of our esteemed Senator, who insists that all children go to a public school, even as he sends his own children to a private school.
Epicurus is something like a philosophical equivalent of the inconsistent lawmaker. As much as he would like to make all pleasure virtuous, or all virtue pleasurable, he is failing to discern the working of the parts within the nature of the human whole.
As much as I aspire to serve philosophy, I must keep a constant watch on my own motives, for whenever things don’t work out exactly as I had hoped, I am inclined to let my wishing get ahead of my understanding. The sad irony is then a man who claims to be reasonable, but actually ends up allowing the eagerness of his willing to cover up any inconvenient truths.
As a result, I catch myself overlooking blatant contradictions in my thinking, which is, of course, hardly good thinking at all. I have not overthought the problem, I have rather underthought it by confusing my preferences with my principles. So I catch myself claiming that I am urgently obliged to do what is just, and yet I have added so many conditions and footnotes that I have now completely abandoned the original premise. It remains, so to speak, in name only.
It's not that I’m being malicious, it’s just that I get lazy about my commitments by trying to have it both ways. And when Cicero here further explains his critique of Epicurus, I wonder if he is describing a similar situation, a philosopher with good intentions, who has nevertheless gotten tripped up by his own arguments.
I certainly enjoy feeling good, and yet at the same time I recognize a profound responsibility for doing good. Now how am I supposed to relate these two dispositions? Might they be one and the same thing? No, for I quickly learn how often they stand in conflict with one another. Can I learn which should come first in my estimation, and find the value of the one through the meaning of the other? There’s the rub, and there’s one of the basic principles necessary for grasping the happy life!
Cicero points out how Epicurus did much to promote good morals, and so his integrity of character is not in question. Rather, he seems to have gotten turned around about the primacy of virtue or pleasure, of which is the measure, and which is the thing measured. The result, however inadvertent, is a philosophy that wishes to have its cake and eat it too.
Now it may well be that virtue will ultimately also bring with it the deepest joy, but this is not the same as saying that things are good merely because they are pleasurable. Plato and Aristotle understood this, and the Stoics understood this, and yet the Epicureans are getting the priorities backwards. A mind and a will in bondage to the appetites can only accidentally end up doing something right for all of the wrong reasons.
I am grateful I am not alone in noting some of the fundamental inconsistencies of the Epicurean school:
First, I cannot say that I require some gratification, however humble and moderated, in order to be happy, and then also say that the mere absence of pain is sufficient to fulfill my needs. Nothing comes from nothing.
Second, while it is one thing to feel pleasure, and another to feel pain, and yet another to feel neither pleasure nor pain, I am making an unwarranted assumption if I claim that the lack of any feeling at all is somehow equivalent to a good feeling. Absence is not the same as presence.
Third, I can encourage virtue, and I can seek pleasure, but everyday experience immediately reveals how and why there will be many times when these two stand in opposition. Distinguish the good from the gratifying.
Apparently, there were Roman politicians who liked to talk about cutting the budget while simultaneously reaping the benefits of heightened spending. We still have such leaders today. This also reminds me of our esteemed Senator, who insists that all children go to a public school, even as he sends his own children to a private school.
Epicurus is something like a philosophical equivalent of the inconsistent lawmaker. As much as he would like to make all pleasure virtuous, or all virtue pleasurable, he is failing to discern the working of the parts within the nature of the human whole.
—Reflection written in 10/1996
IMAGE: Raphael, Detail of Epicurus from The School of Athens (1511)
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