Paradox 5: That the Wise Man Alone Is Free, and That Every Fool Is a Slave
Here let a general be celebrated, or let him be honored with that title, or let him be thought worthy of it. But how or over what free man will he exercise control who cannot command his own passions?
Let him in the first place bridle his lusts, let him despise pleasures, let him subdue anger, let him get the better of avarice, let him expunge the other stains on his character, and then when he himself is no longer in subjection to disgrace and degradation, the most savage tyrants, let him then, I say, begin to command others.
But while he is subservient to these, not only is he not to be regarded as a general, but he is by no means to be considered as even a free man.
This is nobly laid down by the most learned men, whose authority I should not make use of were I now addressing myself to an assembly of rustics. But as I speak to the wisest men, to whom these things are not new, why should I falsely pretend that all the application I have bestowed upon, this study has been lost?
It has been said, then, by the most learned men, that none but the wise man is free. For what is liberty? The power of living as you please.
Here let a general be celebrated, or let him be honored with that title, or let him be thought worthy of it. But how or over what free man will he exercise control who cannot command his own passions?
Let him in the first place bridle his lusts, let him despise pleasures, let him subdue anger, let him get the better of avarice, let him expunge the other stains on his character, and then when he himself is no longer in subjection to disgrace and degradation, the most savage tyrants, let him then, I say, begin to command others.
But while he is subservient to these, not only is he not to be regarded as a general, but he is by no means to be considered as even a free man.
This is nobly laid down by the most learned men, whose authority I should not make use of were I now addressing myself to an assembly of rustics. But as I speak to the wisest men, to whom these things are not new, why should I falsely pretend that all the application I have bestowed upon, this study has been lost?
It has been said, then, by the most learned men, that none but the wise man is free. For what is liberty? The power of living as you please.
—from Cicero, Stoic Paradoxes 5
We like to lay it on thick when we praise our glorious leaders, but no man is able to rule over others until he can first rule over himself. For all of his subtle skills at diplomacy, has the statesman tamed his own appetites? For all of his victories on the battlefield, has the general conquered his own vanity? The character on the inside will determine any greatness on the outside; there will no excellence in the public things if there is only mediocrity in the private things.
Though I suspect my friends will roll their eyes, I think once again of George Washington, and how vastly he differed from Napoleon Bonaparte. Indeed, the teacher in me has already dreamed up a possible class discussion, in which we might compare two paintings: John Trumbull’s General George Washington Resigning His Commission and Jacques-Louis David’s The Coronation of Napoleon. Please bear with me, because it is my own peculiar way to make some sense of the contrast.
While I cannot, of course, know the inner workings of such historical figures, I can still discern something of their motives through the consistency of their words and deeds. Nor should I distort them into being angels or demons, for the struggle between good and evil exists within all of us, in subtle ways that others will rarely see. Instead, I ask myself how their examples, for better or for worse, can guide me toward what is ideal.
At the height of his personal influence, Washington wishes to surrender his authority, much like Cincinnatus. Behind him is an empty chair, as if it were a throne that must rightly go unoccupied. His country later elects him as its first President, and yet he refuses to run for a third term, knowing full well what becomes of a nation run by self-serving tyrants.
At the height of his personal influence, Napoleon wishes to immortalize his authority, much like Julius Caesar. He has already crowned himself, in a perversion of tradition, and now proceeds to crown Josephine. Over the next decade, he bleeds his country dry in constant foreign wars, refusing until the bitter end to temper his ambitions or to swallow his pride.
David was commissioned to produce his work by Napoleon himself, who was very specific about how he should be represented. I am more inclined to be impressed by the words of Trumbull, when he described the distinct moment he was hoping to capture:
What a dazzling temptation was here to earthly ambition! Beloved by the military, venerated by the people, who was there to oppose the victorious chief, if he had chosen to retain that power, which he had so long held with universal approbation? The Caesars, the Cromwells, the Napoleons, yielded to the charm of earthly ambition, and betrayed their country; but Washington aspired to loftier, imperishable glory—to that glory which virtue alone can give, and which no power, no effort, no time, can ever take away or diminish.
You must forgive me when I say that I do not find these words to be exaggerated. Washington died in his bed at Mount Vernon, and Napoleon died in exile on Saint Helena, but their ultimate dispositions were far more important than their final locations. One strove to become free in his virtues, while the other remained enslaved to his vices.
We like to lay it on thick when we praise our glorious leaders, but no man is able to rule over others until he can first rule over himself. For all of his subtle skills at diplomacy, has the statesman tamed his own appetites? For all of his victories on the battlefield, has the general conquered his own vanity? The character on the inside will determine any greatness on the outside; there will no excellence in the public things if there is only mediocrity in the private things.
Though I suspect my friends will roll their eyes, I think once again of George Washington, and how vastly he differed from Napoleon Bonaparte. Indeed, the teacher in me has already dreamed up a possible class discussion, in which we might compare two paintings: John Trumbull’s General George Washington Resigning His Commission and Jacques-Louis David’s The Coronation of Napoleon. Please bear with me, because it is my own peculiar way to make some sense of the contrast.
While I cannot, of course, know the inner workings of such historical figures, I can still discern something of their motives through the consistency of their words and deeds. Nor should I distort them into being angels or demons, for the struggle between good and evil exists within all of us, in subtle ways that others will rarely see. Instead, I ask myself how their examples, for better or for worse, can guide me toward what is ideal.
At the height of his personal influence, Washington wishes to surrender his authority, much like Cincinnatus. Behind him is an empty chair, as if it were a throne that must rightly go unoccupied. His country later elects him as its first President, and yet he refuses to run for a third term, knowing full well what becomes of a nation run by self-serving tyrants.
At the height of his personal influence, Napoleon wishes to immortalize his authority, much like Julius Caesar. He has already crowned himself, in a perversion of tradition, and now proceeds to crown Josephine. Over the next decade, he bleeds his country dry in constant foreign wars, refusing until the bitter end to temper his ambitions or to swallow his pride.
David was commissioned to produce his work by Napoleon himself, who was very specific about how he should be represented. I am more inclined to be impressed by the words of Trumbull, when he described the distinct moment he was hoping to capture:
What a dazzling temptation was here to earthly ambition! Beloved by the military, venerated by the people, who was there to oppose the victorious chief, if he had chosen to retain that power, which he had so long held with universal approbation? The Caesars, the Cromwells, the Napoleons, yielded to the charm of earthly ambition, and betrayed their country; but Washington aspired to loftier, imperishable glory—to that glory which virtue alone can give, and which no power, no effort, no time, can ever take away or diminish.
You must forgive me when I say that I do not find these words to be exaggerated. Washington died in his bed at Mount Vernon, and Napoleon died in exile on Saint Helena, but their ultimate dispositions were far more important than their final locations. One strove to become free in his virtues, while the other remained enslaved to his vices.
—Reflection written in 5/1999
IMAGES:
John Trumbull, General George Washington Resigning His Commission (1824)
Jacques-Louis David, The Coronation of Napoleon (1807)
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