This fifth day, Brutus, shall put an end to our Tusculan Disputations: on which day we discussed your favorite subject. For I perceive from that book which you wrote for me with the greatest accuracy, as well as from your frequent conversation, that you are clearly of this opinion, that virtue is of itself sufficient for a happy life: and though it may be difficult to prove this, on account of the many various strokes of fortune, yet it is a truth of such a nature that we should endeavor to facilitate the proof of it.
For among all the topics of philosophy, there is not one of more dignity or importance. For as the first philosophers must have had some inducement to neglect everything for the search of the best state of life: surely, the inducement must have been the hope of living happily, which impelled them to devote so much care and pains to that study.
Now, if virtue was discovered and carried to perfection by them, and if virtue is a sufficient security for a happy life, who can avoid thinking the work of philosophizing excellently recommended by them, and undertaken by me?
But if virtue, as being subject to such various and uncertain accidents, were but the slave of fortune, and were not of sufficient ability to support herself, I am afraid that it would seem desirable rather to offer up prayers, than to rely on our own confidence in virtue as the foundation for our hope of a happy life.
And, indeed, when I reflect on those troubles with which I have been so severely exercised by fortune, I begin to distrust this opinion; and sometimes even to dread the weakness and frailty of human nature, for I am afraid lest, when nature had given us infirm bodies, and had joined to them incurable diseases and intolerable pains, she perhaps also gave us minds participating in these bodily pains, and harassed also with troubles and uneasinesses, peculiarly their own.
But here I correct myself for forming my judgment of the power of virtue more from the weakness of others, or of myself perhaps, than from virtue itself: for she herself (provided there is such a thing as virtue; and your uncle Brutus has removed all doubt of it) has everything that can befall mankind in subjection to her; and by disregarding such things, she is far removed from being at all concerned at human accidents; and, being free from every imperfection, she thinks that nothing which is external to herself can concern her.
But we, who increase every approaching evil by our fear, and every present one by our grief, choose rather to condemn the nature of things than our own errors.
—from Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 5.1
While popular culture tells me to mock the virtues, my pesky conscience is prodding me to cling to them all the more tightly. Intense passions rush ahead, but a serenity of understanding lags behind. If the good life really is as simple as doing everything with prudence, fortitude, temperance, and justice, then why is the world making it so hard for me to keep up?
Cicero was thankfully a grounded thinker, and so he was acutely aware of the obstacles we face in choosing character over convenience. How can we be truly certain about our assessment of human nature? Might the weight of fortune become so great as to make a genuine commitment impossible? Will there always be a conflict between our duties and our pleasures? It is one thing to read about this in a book, and quite another to attempt it in the daily grind.
I can, at least, begin with an awareness of happiness as the highest goal of my life, to which all other pursuits are subject. If philosophy does indeed seek to make some sense of this notion, however vague it may at first appear, then it ends up being the most important task on my to-do list. The love of wisdom may not help me to rise up the corporate ladder, but it will be the only hope for keeping me out of abject misery, regardless of the office they assign to me.
A student once asked me why the ancients wasted their time on philosophy, when merely managing to survive was so much harder for them than it is for us now—why even bother with such a luxury? I suggested that it was precisely because meaning and value are not indulgences at all, but absolute necessities, especially when the going gets tough.
Such “primitive” philosophers had their heads on straight, since the urgency of their calling was the source of its very purity. We are in good company when we follow from their examples, and when we build upon their insights.
Nevertheless, the cynical and jaded fellow inside of me continues to worry that we are on a fool’s errand. On my bad days, I am convinced that people are inherently wicked, and I end up sounding like a two-bit Bertrand Russell, when he scornfully claimed that he couldn’t find anyone who was reasonable, except, of course, for himself. I become convinced that my circumstances, far from being indifferent to me, are actually out to get me. I hear merely the criticisms, and so I have no confidence in my power to become a better man.
It doesn’t help when the folks who preach loudly about the virtues end up being sanctimonious vultures, filling their pockets and stroking their egos through the obedience of the confused and the desperate. The ideal of morality seems pathetic when it relies upon such foppish champions.
And then Cicero knocks the self-pity out of me, by reminding me what all of those complaints share in common. The have nothing to do with the choices other people happen to make, or with the grand design of the Universe, or with those who distort what is right in order to promote something wrong. They rather have everything to do with my own failings, my doubts and fears about my capacity to put my money where my mouth is.
I will not blame Nature; I will correct my unwillingness to follow her. There is no need to torture myself over it, just an acceptance of where the real responsibility lies. I am called to rise to the ideal, which is the fulfillment of who I am, instead of allowing the diversions to confuse me.
While popular culture tells me to mock the virtues, my pesky conscience is prodding me to cling to them all the more tightly. Intense passions rush ahead, but a serenity of understanding lags behind. If the good life really is as simple as doing everything with prudence, fortitude, temperance, and justice, then why is the world making it so hard for me to keep up?
Cicero was thankfully a grounded thinker, and so he was acutely aware of the obstacles we face in choosing character over convenience. How can we be truly certain about our assessment of human nature? Might the weight of fortune become so great as to make a genuine commitment impossible? Will there always be a conflict between our duties and our pleasures? It is one thing to read about this in a book, and quite another to attempt it in the daily grind.
I can, at least, begin with an awareness of happiness as the highest goal of my life, to which all other pursuits are subject. If philosophy does indeed seek to make some sense of this notion, however vague it may at first appear, then it ends up being the most important task on my to-do list. The love of wisdom may not help me to rise up the corporate ladder, but it will be the only hope for keeping me out of abject misery, regardless of the office they assign to me.
A student once asked me why the ancients wasted their time on philosophy, when merely managing to survive was so much harder for them than it is for us now—why even bother with such a luxury? I suggested that it was precisely because meaning and value are not indulgences at all, but absolute necessities, especially when the going gets tough.
Such “primitive” philosophers had their heads on straight, since the urgency of their calling was the source of its very purity. We are in good company when we follow from their examples, and when we build upon their insights.
Nevertheless, the cynical and jaded fellow inside of me continues to worry that we are on a fool’s errand. On my bad days, I am convinced that people are inherently wicked, and I end up sounding like a two-bit Bertrand Russell, when he scornfully claimed that he couldn’t find anyone who was reasonable, except, of course, for himself. I become convinced that my circumstances, far from being indifferent to me, are actually out to get me. I hear merely the criticisms, and so I have no confidence in my power to become a better man.
It doesn’t help when the folks who preach loudly about the virtues end up being sanctimonious vultures, filling their pockets and stroking their egos through the obedience of the confused and the desperate. The ideal of morality seems pathetic when it relies upon such foppish champions.
And then Cicero knocks the self-pity out of me, by reminding me what all of those complaints share in common. The have nothing to do with the choices other people happen to make, or with the grand design of the Universe, or with those who distort what is right in order to promote something wrong. They rather have everything to do with my own failings, my doubts and fears about my capacity to put my money where my mouth is.
I will not blame Nature; I will correct my unwillingness to follow her. There is no need to torture myself over it, just an acceptance of where the real responsibility lies. I am called to rise to the ideal, which is the fulfillment of who I am, instead of allowing the diversions to confuse me.
—Reflection written in 2/1999
IMAGE: Dirc van Delft, The Four Cardinal Virtues (c. 1400)
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