M. Shall I not, then, prefer the life of Plato and Archytas, manifestly wise and learned men, to his, than which nothing can possibly be more horrid, or miserable, or detestable?
I will present you with an humble and obscure mathematician of the same city, called Archimedes, who lived many years after; whose tomb, overgrown with shrubs and briers, I in my quaestorship discovered, when the Syracusans knew nothing of it, and even denied that there was any such thing remaining; for I remembered some verses, which I had been informed were engraved on his monument, and these set forth that on the top of the tomb there was placed a sphere with a cylinder.
When I had carefully examined all the monuments (for there are a great many tombs at the gate Achradinae), I observed a small column standing out a little above the briers, with the figure of a sphere and a cylinder upon it; whereupon I immediately said to the Syracusans—for there were some of their principal men with me there—that I imagined that was what I was inquiring for.
Several men, being sent in with scythes, cleared the way, and made an opening for us. When we could get at it, and were come near to the front of the pedestal, I found the inscription, though the latter parts of all the verses were effaced almost half away.
Thus one of the noblest cities of Greece, and one which at one time likewise had been very celebrated for learning, had known nothing of the monument of its greatest genius, if it had not been discovered to them by a native of Arpinum.
But to return to the subject from which I have been digressing. Who is there in the least degree acquainted with the Muses, that is, with liberal knowledge, or that deals at all in learning, who would not choose to be this mathematician rather than that tyrant?
If we look into their methods of living and their employments, we shall find the mind of the one strengthened and improved with tracing the deductions of reason, amused with his own ingenuity, which is the one most delicious food of the mind; the thoughts of the other engaged in continual murders and injuries, in constant fears by night and by day.
Now imagine a Democritus, a Pythagoras, and an Anaxagoras; what kingdom, what riches, would you prefer to their studies and amusements? For you must necessarily look for that excellence which we are seeking for in that which is the most perfect part of man; but what is there better in man than a sagacious and good mind?
The enjoyment, therefore, of that good which proceeds from that sagacious mind can alone make us happy; but virtue is the good of the mind: it follows, therefore, that a happy life depends on virtue.
Hence proceed all things that are beautiful, honorable, and excellent, as I said above (but this point must, I think, be treated of more at large), and they are well stored with joys. For, as it is clear that a happy life consists in perpetual and unexhausted pleasures, it follows, too, that a happy life must arise from honesty.
I will present you with an humble and obscure mathematician of the same city, called Archimedes, who lived many years after; whose tomb, overgrown with shrubs and briers, I in my quaestorship discovered, when the Syracusans knew nothing of it, and even denied that there was any such thing remaining; for I remembered some verses, which I had been informed were engraved on his monument, and these set forth that on the top of the tomb there was placed a sphere with a cylinder.
When I had carefully examined all the monuments (for there are a great many tombs at the gate Achradinae), I observed a small column standing out a little above the briers, with the figure of a sphere and a cylinder upon it; whereupon I immediately said to the Syracusans—for there were some of their principal men with me there—that I imagined that was what I was inquiring for.
Several men, being sent in with scythes, cleared the way, and made an opening for us. When we could get at it, and were come near to the front of the pedestal, I found the inscription, though the latter parts of all the verses were effaced almost half away.
Thus one of the noblest cities of Greece, and one which at one time likewise had been very celebrated for learning, had known nothing of the monument of its greatest genius, if it had not been discovered to them by a native of Arpinum.
But to return to the subject from which I have been digressing. Who is there in the least degree acquainted with the Muses, that is, with liberal knowledge, or that deals at all in learning, who would not choose to be this mathematician rather than that tyrant?
If we look into their methods of living and their employments, we shall find the mind of the one strengthened and improved with tracing the deductions of reason, amused with his own ingenuity, which is the one most delicious food of the mind; the thoughts of the other engaged in continual murders and injuries, in constant fears by night and by day.
Now imagine a Democritus, a Pythagoras, and an Anaxagoras; what kingdom, what riches, would you prefer to their studies and amusements? For you must necessarily look for that excellence which we are seeking for in that which is the most perfect part of man; but what is there better in man than a sagacious and good mind?
The enjoyment, therefore, of that good which proceeds from that sagacious mind can alone make us happy; but virtue is the good of the mind: it follows, therefore, that a happy life depends on virtue.
Hence proceed all things that are beautiful, honorable, and excellent, as I said above (but this point must, I think, be treated of more at large), and they are well stored with joys. For, as it is clear that a happy life consists in perpetual and unexhausted pleasures, it follows, too, that a happy life must arise from honesty.
—from Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 5.23
I’m afraid that if I asked the people around me whether they would prefer to be tyrants or philosophers, I wouldn’t be terribly pleased with their answers, so that’s why I don’t bother to ask. Now they might have to admit how the life of the bigwig requires a fair amount of scheming and backstabbing, but they will assume it is a price worth paying for all the comforts it brings, and the life of an egghead hardly seems to offer any benefits worth mentioning.
As one of my students so eloquently expressed it, “The problem with philosophy is that it won’t get you laid!” I couldn’t bear to tell him how this said far more about his own shortcomings than those of the mindful man, since I was sure the irony would be lost on him. He is certainly not alone in measuring our human worth by its worst instincts—which of us has not reached for a diversion when we are laid low by a gnawing emptiness?
Is it really much of a surprise that the Syracusans no longer remembered the tomb of Archimedes? I think of the celebrities from my own generation, or those from the past whom we still hold in a formulaic esteem, and I am ashamed to admit how easily I am swept away by style instead of substance. Yet I suspect that Archimedes might not have been so troubled about his untended grave, as his sense of what was honorable ran far deeper.
It is said that Archimedes was most proud of his mathematical discoveries, though he was most commonly known for his inventions, and my students only recognize him for his hack to test the purity of gold. How telling that we find a man useful for making us richer, while we are bored when he strives to increase our understanding!
Perhaps that is a big part of our confusion: we fail to distinguish between being clever and being wise. That a wheeler-dealer like Dionysius has to be “smart” is clear enough, in an attempt to manipulate the circumstances to his advantage; how different this is from learning to master oneself, aiming only at the improvement of the soul.
When Cicero describes the consolation of the philosophical life, we are inclined to mistake this for a life of theoretical vanities, when the joys of the mind, however private or unassuming they may be, proceed rather from the pure exercise of our rational nature, and thereby become the fulfillment of our very essence. It is precisely when understanding is present that all the other conditions of our lives are revealed in their rightful context, and this is why the sage never needs to ask for anything more than the dignity of his own conscience.
The happiest people I have known have always been deeply aware, though they have not always been, as they say, the sharpest tools in the shed. They do not define themselves by the quantity of their winnings, but by the quality of their virtues, and so they are not in a rush to meet a quota, or desperate to gain the approval of others. Their “liberal” arts are concerned with the freedom of an inner discipline, far from the politics of lording it over their neighbors.
If being a Democritus, a Pythagoras, or an Anaxagoras means being a stuck-up nerd, I don’t want anything to do with it either. It doesn’t mean that, however, because the genuine philosopher, whether he studies at the academy or plows in the fields, is more concerned with his character than with his credentials. While I am highly unlikely to develop the insight of a Plato or the ingenuity of an Archytas, I do aim to follow them in their commitment to learning, which is the source for all other blessings.
Happiness flows from the practice of the virtues, and the virtues are honed by the pursuit of wisdom. Let the tyrant gamble with his fortune, and I will be content to be at peace with my principles. My honor does not call for any further monument.
I’m afraid that if I asked the people around me whether they would prefer to be tyrants or philosophers, I wouldn’t be terribly pleased with their answers, so that’s why I don’t bother to ask. Now they might have to admit how the life of the bigwig requires a fair amount of scheming and backstabbing, but they will assume it is a price worth paying for all the comforts it brings, and the life of an egghead hardly seems to offer any benefits worth mentioning.
As one of my students so eloquently expressed it, “The problem with philosophy is that it won’t get you laid!” I couldn’t bear to tell him how this said far more about his own shortcomings than those of the mindful man, since I was sure the irony would be lost on him. He is certainly not alone in measuring our human worth by its worst instincts—which of us has not reached for a diversion when we are laid low by a gnawing emptiness?
Is it really much of a surprise that the Syracusans no longer remembered the tomb of Archimedes? I think of the celebrities from my own generation, or those from the past whom we still hold in a formulaic esteem, and I am ashamed to admit how easily I am swept away by style instead of substance. Yet I suspect that Archimedes might not have been so troubled about his untended grave, as his sense of what was honorable ran far deeper.
It is said that Archimedes was most proud of his mathematical discoveries, though he was most commonly known for his inventions, and my students only recognize him for his hack to test the purity of gold. How telling that we find a man useful for making us richer, while we are bored when he strives to increase our understanding!
Perhaps that is a big part of our confusion: we fail to distinguish between being clever and being wise. That a wheeler-dealer like Dionysius has to be “smart” is clear enough, in an attempt to manipulate the circumstances to his advantage; how different this is from learning to master oneself, aiming only at the improvement of the soul.
When Cicero describes the consolation of the philosophical life, we are inclined to mistake this for a life of theoretical vanities, when the joys of the mind, however private or unassuming they may be, proceed rather from the pure exercise of our rational nature, and thereby become the fulfillment of our very essence. It is precisely when understanding is present that all the other conditions of our lives are revealed in their rightful context, and this is why the sage never needs to ask for anything more than the dignity of his own conscience.
The happiest people I have known have always been deeply aware, though they have not always been, as they say, the sharpest tools in the shed. They do not define themselves by the quantity of their winnings, but by the quality of their virtues, and so they are not in a rush to meet a quota, or desperate to gain the approval of others. Their “liberal” arts are concerned with the freedom of an inner discipline, far from the politics of lording it over their neighbors.
If being a Democritus, a Pythagoras, or an Anaxagoras means being a stuck-up nerd, I don’t want anything to do with it either. It doesn’t mean that, however, because the genuine philosopher, whether he studies at the academy or plows in the fields, is more concerned with his character than with his credentials. While I am highly unlikely to develop the insight of a Plato or the ingenuity of an Archytas, I do aim to follow them in their commitment to learning, which is the source for all other blessings.
Happiness flows from the practice of the virtues, and the virtues are honed by the pursuit of wisdom. Let the tyrant gamble with his fortune, and I will be content to be at peace with my principles. My honor does not call for any further monument.
—Reflection written in 2/1999
IMAGES:
Domenico Fetti, Archimedes (c. 1620)
Benjamin West, Cicero Discovering the Tomb of Archimedes (1804)
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