CHAPTER
IX.
THE SUPREME PROBLEMS.
THE SUPREME PROBLEMS.
217. The ‘mauvais pas.’ In the preceding chapter we have discussed
the universe from the scientific standpoint. ‘Such,’ say the Stoics, ‘we find
that the universe is; such and such it was in the beginning, and such it will
be to the end.’ Their conclusions are reached by observation, classification,
and analysis; and yet not entirely by these, for we must admit that there is
also employed that power of scientific imagination which the ancients call
‘divination.’ Still on the whole the investigation has been that of the
student, and the method that of speculation or contemplation dissociated from
any consideration of the usefulness of the results attained. In the study we
now undertake all this is changed. Our philosophy proceeds to assert that the
universe is good, that it is directed by wise purpose, and that it claims the
reverence and obedience of mankind. It calls upon its adherents to view the
world with moral approval, and to find in it an ethical standard. Such
conclusions cannot be reached by purely discursive reason; but they are such as
are everywhere sought by practical men. They appeal to a side of human nature
different from that which passes judgment on the conclusions previously
reached. From the first position ‘the universe is’ to the second ‘the universe
is good’ the step is slippery. We are on the dizzy heights of philosophical
speculation, where the most experienced climbers find their way they know not
how, and can hardly hold out a hand to help those who are in distress. The
Stoic teachers did not perhaps always follow the same track, and now and again
they stumbled on the way. Reasoning often proved a weak support, but resolution
carried them through somehow to the refuges on which their eyes were all along
set.
218. Fate, providence, and fortune. To the problem of the meaning and
government of the universe three answers were current in the epoch with which
we are dealing. Either all things take place by fate; or the world is ruled by
a divine providence; or else fortune is supreme. These three terms are not
always mutually exclusive: Virgil speaks commonly of the ‘fates of the gods’;
and ‘fortune’ is frequently personified, not only in common speech, as when the
Romans spoke of the ‘fortune of the city,’ but even by a philosopher like
Lucretius, who speaks of ‘Fortune the pilot,’ with a half-humorous abandonment
of exactitude. The Stoics have the merit of not only recognising fully these
three powers, but also of using the terms with relative consistency. By fate
then we mean an abstract necessity, an impersonal tendency, according to which
events flow; by providence a personal will; by fortune the absence of both
tendency and purpose, which results in a constant shifting to and fro, as when
a man stands upon a ball, and is carried this way and that. All explanations,
both of general tendencies and of particular events, must ultimately resolve
themselves into one or other of these three; every constructive system must
necessarily aim at shewing that the three ultimately coincide, and that
philosophy is the guardian and guide of mankind in the understanding of their
relations one to another.
219. Fate. The Stoics hold that ‘all things
happen by fate.’ To this conclusion they are brought by the same reasoning that
moved the Chaldaeans. The visible universe is, and has motion. The heavenly
bodies move incessantly in their orbits; there is no force either within or
without them that can turn them aside a hair’s breadth, or make their pace
quicker or slower. No prayers of men, no prerogatives of gods can make them
change. Without cause there is no effect and each effect is in its turn a new
cause. Thus is constructed an endless chain, in which all things living and
inanimate are alike bound: If a man knew all the causes that exist, he could
trace out all the consequences. What will be, will be; what will not be, cannot
be. This first Stoic interpretation of the universe is that of Determinism; it
reiterates and drives home the principle that is here our starting-point, ‘the
universe is.’ ‘Chrysippus, Posidonius, and Zeno say that all things take place
according to fate; and fate is the linked cause of things that are, or the
system by which the universe is conducted.’ This ‘fate’ is only another name
for ‘necessity’; fates cannot be changed.
220. The ‘fallacies’ of determinism. The doctrine of fate appears to contradict
directly the belief in human free will, and to lead up to the practical
doctrine of laziness (ἀργὸς λόγος, ignava ratio). Once we allow it to be
true that ‘what will be, will be,’ it becomes useless to make any effort. As at
the present time, this argument was familiar in cases of sickness. One says to
the sick person, ‘if it is your fate to recover, then you will recover whether
you call in the physician or not; and if it is your fate not to recover, then
you will not recover in either case. But it is your fate either to recover or
not to recover; therefore it will be useless to call in the physician.’ To
which another will reply: ‘you may as well argue that if it is your fate to
beget a son, you will beget one equally whether you consort with your wife or
not; therefore it will be useless to consort with your wife.’ With such verbal
disputes Chrysippus delighted to deal; his reply to the ‘lazy argument’ was
that certain things go together by fate (iuncta fato, confatalia).
Thus in the above cases it may be determined by fate that you should both call
in a physician and recover, both consort with your wife and beget a son. So
once more when Nestor says to the watchmen by his ships:
Keep watch, my lads: let sleep seize no
man’s eyes,
Lest foes, loud laughing, take us by surprize.
Lest foes, loud laughing, take us by surprize.
Some one then replies, ‘No, they will
not, even if we sleep, if it is predestined that the dock be not seized.’ To
such an objection any one can give the right answer: ‘all these things are
equally predestined, and go together by fate. There is no such thing as a watch
kept by sleepers, a victory won by runaways, or a harvest reaped except after
sowing good clean soil.’
221. Logic of possibility. The doctrine of fate also seems to
conflict with some of the commonest forms of speech. For if it is correct to
say ‘Either this will happen, or it will not happen,’ it seems incorrect to say
‘it may happen’; and still more of the past, since we must admit of any event
that ‘it has happened’ or ‘it has not happened,’ there seems no room for the
statement ‘it might have happened.’ Chrysippus however maintains that the words
‘may’ and ‘might’ are correctly used, or (in other words) that we may assert
that it is or was ‘possible’ for things to happen, whether or not they will
happen or have happened. For example, the pearl here is breakable, and may be
broken, though fate has ordained that it never will be broken. Cypselus might
not have been tyrant of Corinth, though the oracle at Delphi declared a
thousand years before the time that he would be. This view had been sharply
contested by Diodorus the Megarian; and the controversy was summed up in the
‘master argument.’ This is stated as follows: there are three propositions in
conflict with one another in the sense that if any two of them are true, the
third is false. They are these: (i) every past event is necessary; (ii) the
impossible cannot follow on the possible; (iii) there are things possible that
neither are nor will be true. Diodorus accepted the first two; he therefore
drew the conclusion that there is nothing possible except that which is or will
be true; or in other words he denied the existence of any category of ‘things
possible’ distinct from that of facts past or future. Cleanthes and Antipater
accepted the second and third propositions: Chrysippus accepted the first and
third, but denied the second; that is he admitted that the possible thing (e.g.
the breaking of the pearl) might become the impossible because fate had decided
to the contrary. The choice intimates much; it shows that the Stoics, however
strongly they assert the rule of fate or necessity, intend so to interpret
these terms as to reconcile them with the common use of words, that is, with
the inherited belief in divine and human will, breaking through the chain of
unending cause and effect.
222. Definitions of fate. The next step is professedly taken by
way of definition of the word ‘fate’ (εἱμαρμένη, fatum). Exactly as the
stuff of the universe, fire, has been explained to be no mere passive or
destructive element, but one possessed of creative force and reason, so is fate
declared to be no blind or helpless sequence of events, but an active and wise
power which regulates the universe. Fate is in fact but another name for the
Logos or World-reason. On this point all Stoic teachers are in the main agreed.
‘Fate,’ said Zeno, ‘is a power which stirs matter by the same laws and in the
same way; it may equally well be called providence or nature.’ Chrysippus gives
us several alternative definitions: ‘the essence of fate is a spiritual force,
duly ordering the universe’; it is ‘the Logos of the universe,’ or ‘the law of
events providentially ordered in the universe’; or, ‘the law by which things
that have been have been, that are are, that will be will be.’ But an important
difference appears between the views of Cleanthes and Chrysippus. They are
agreed that all that happens by providence also happens by fate. But Cleanthes
will not allow, as Chrysippus is prepared to do, that all things that happen by
fate happen providentially. With Cleanthes the conception of fate is wider than
that of providence, just as in Virgil the fates are more powerful than Jove.
Cleanthes, being deeply conscious of the evil existing in the universe, refused
to hold providence responsible for it. Chrysippus on the other hand identifies
fate with the deity.
223. Providence. Providence (πρόνοια, providentia)
differs from fate, if at all, by including an element of personality. It is a principal
dogma of the Stoics that ‘the universe is ruled by providence.’ Cicero indeed
assures us that the word ‘providence’ is merely an abbreviation for ‘the
providence of the gods,’ and that the dogma really asserts that ‘the universe
is ruled by the gods with foresight’; and Balbus, the Stoic advocate, in his
treatise, rebukes his opponent Cotta for having travestied the Stoic doctrine
by speaking of providence as ‘a fortune-telling hag,’ as though she were some
kind of goddess governing the world. But the travesty is at least as
instructive as the exposition. If ‘providence’ is on the one hand interpreted
as God’s providence, it is on the other hand equivalent to Nature, and again to
the Mind of the universe; it is the Logos, the universal Law, the creative
force; not merely an attribute, but a manifestation and bodily presentment of
deity. After the final conflagration three joining in one will be left, Zeus,
providence, and the creative fire. Lastly, if we consider the process of
logical demonstration, it is from the reality of providence that the Stoics
deduce the existence of the gods; only from the standpoint of dogmatic
instruction is the order reversed.
224. Beauty of the universe. The work and functions of Providence
are open to our view, for it has an aim and pathway of its own, the universe.
Its first aim is to create a universe capable of enduring; next, it makes that
universe complete; thirdly, it endows it with every beauty and excellence. The
beauty of the world is a favourite theme upon which Stoic orators discourse at
length; this is, in their view, the best world that could possibly have been
created. This sense of beauty appears to be derived from two sources, the
admiration and awe felt in contemplating the sky, the sun moon and stars moving
in it, lofty mountains, rushing rivers, and deep caves; and the gentler delight
stirred by the sight of the fertile field, the vine-clad hill, the
river-pathway, the flocks and herds, which all subserve the convenience of man.
Thus from beauty we pass to usefulness, and the Stoics now maintain that the
world has been created and is maintained for the use of man. In strict
language, however, we must say that the universe is made for the use of
rational beings, that is, for gods and men, that it is a home or city in which
gods and men alike have a share. From the protection of providence the animals,
according to the Stoic view, are in principle entirely excluded. Yet it did not
escape notice that nature has often provided for their comfort in particulars,
giving them instincts that enable them to maintain life, and an outward shape
conformable to the conditions of their existence. And Seneca especially found
that man was apt to swell himself too greatly, as if that world were made for
him, of which only a small part is adapted for him to dwell in, and where day
and night, summer and winter would continue of themselves, even if no man
observed them. On the other hand zealots like Chrysippus worked out the
detailed application of this theory in a way that provoked the amusement of
their critics.
225. Particular providence. Providence cares for mankind in
general, and therefore for the parts of mankind, the various continents,
nations, and cities. The Stoics are also inclined to hold that it cares for the
individual. The difficulty of this belief is great. Busy cities are overthrown
by the earthquake; the crops of the careful farmer are blasted by the
hailstorm; Socrates is condemned to death by the Athenians; Pythagoras, Zeno
and Antiphon meet with violent ends. Yet we may not think that in any of these
cases the sufferers were hated or neglected by the gods; it is rather an
inevitable necessity that has worked their ruin. The gods who have great things
in their charge, must sometimes overlook small matters; they must save the
community by sacrificing the individual. The storm may rage in the valley, yet
there is peace on the mountain heights. The philosopher who is absorbed in
contemplating the great whole cannot even see the flaws in its details. ‘If the
gods care for all men,’ says Cicero’s authority, ‘it follows logically that
they care for each single man.’ ‘Nothing occurs on earth, nor in the heaven
above, nor in the sea, apart from thee, O God,’ sings Cleanthes. ‘It is
impossible,’ says Chrysippus, ‘that even the least of particulars can fall out
otherwise than in accordance with the will of God, with his Word, with law,
with justice, and with providence.’
226. Existence of evil. The doctrine of providence, carried to
a logical extreme, leads to the denial of the existence of evil. But the Stoics
did not draw this conclusion; had they done so, their whole treatment of ethics
would have become futile. We have therefore to scrutinize carefully the
language that they employ. If we meet with the paradox that ‘this is the best
of all possible worlds,’ we must remember that all paradoxes need for their
interpretation some sense of humour, and that the ‘best possible’ is not the
same as the ‘best imaginable.’ Somewhere or other there is, in a sense, a
limitation to the sphere of providence. If again in poetical passages we learn
that ‘nothing occurs without God,’ we must not forget the doctrine that good and
evil are alike brought in the end into harmony with the divine nature. The most
exact statement of Stoic doctrine would seem to be that evil exists indeed, but
is not the equal of the good either in intensity or in duration; it is an
incident, not a first principle of the universe. From this point of view it
becomes possible to ‘plead the cause of the gods,’ to defend providence from
the heavy accusations men bring forward against it. Thus the Stoics set about
to prove that, in spite of the existence of evil, the universe is ruled by the
foresight of a beneficent deity.
227. Logical solutions. The first argument for the defence is
logical, and is pressed by Chrysippus. Good implies its opposite, evil. ‘There
could be no justice, unless there were also injustice; no courage, unless there
were cowardice; no truth, unless there were falsehood.’ Just in the same way we
find coarse wit in a comedy, which is objectionable in itself, and yet somehow
contributes to the charm of the poem as a whole. The second argument is based
upon the doctrine of ‘necessary consequence’ (παρακολούθησις). The general
design of the human head required that it should be compacted of small and
delicate bones, accompanying which is the inevitable disadvantage that the head
may easily be injured by blows. War is an evil, but it turns to good by ridding
the world of superfluous population.
In many other cases there may be
explanations that are beyond our present knowledge, just as there are many
kinds of animals of which we do not yet know the use.
228. Moral solutions. More important are those arguments
which introduce moral considerations. In the first place the generous
intentions of providence, are often thwarted by the perverseness of wicked men,
just as many a son uses his inheritance ill, and yet his father in bequeathing
it to him did him a service. The Deity treats good men as a Roman father his
children, giving them a stern training, that they may grow in virtue; those
that he loves, he hardens. Earthquakes and conflagrations may occur on earth,
and perhaps similar catastrophes in the sky, because the world needs to be
purified from the wickedness that abounds. The punishment of the wicked, for
instance by pestilence and famine, stands for an example to other men, that
they may learn to avoid a like disaster. Often, if the wicked have gone
unpunished, the penalty descends on their children, their grandchildren, and
their descendants.
229. Divine power limited. The very multiplicity of these
explanations or excuses betrays the weakness of the case, and the Stoics are in
the last resort driven to admit that the Deity is neither all-knowing nor all-powerful,
and that the sphere of providence is limited by an all-encircling necessity.
Thus Chrysippus explains blunders in divination by saying that ‘the Deity
cannot know everything,’ and though he ascribes to the Deity all power, yet
when hard pressed he admits that he cannot do everything, and that ‘there is a
good deal of necessity in the matter.’ In this way he is forced back to the
position which the shrewder Cleanthes had taken from the first. After we have
taken away from fate all that has life or meaning, there remains a residuum,
which we can but vaguely assign to some ‘natural necessity.’ This point once
granted, we realize that it includes many of the detailed explanations
previously given. Thus it is by ‘natural necessity’ that good cannot exist
without evil; that the past cannot be altered; that the one must suffer for the
many; that the good cannot always be separated from the bad; that character
grows by the defiance of pain; that the individual is everywhere exposed to
disaster from tyranny, war, pestilence, famine, and earthquake.
230. God and men allied. The recognition of the limitations of
divine power creates a new tie between gods and men. Men are no longer the mere
instruments of providence, they are its fellow-workers; we may even go further,
and boldly call them its fellow-sufferers. God has given man what he could, not
what he would; he could not change the stuff on which he had to work; if
anything has not been granted to us, it could not have been granted. Under such
circumstances a sensible man will not find fault with the gods, who have done
their best; nor will he make appeals to them to which they cannot respond. Even
less will he quarrel with a destiny that is both blind and deaf.
231. Fortune. In the Stoic explanation of the
universe fortune plays no part; it has no existence in the absolute sense of
the term. But in practical life, and from the limited point of view of the
individuals concerned, fortune is everywhere met with. Her actions are the same
as we have just seen to be ascribed to ‘natural necessity’; storms, shipwrecks,
plagues, wars, and tyranny. Fortune therefore by no means excludes causality,
but includes all events which are without meaning from the point of view of the
individual; all advantages or disadvantages which he has not personally
merited, and which are not designed for his individual discipline. So great is
the sphere of Fortune, that it appears at first that she is mistress of human
life; and we may picture her as a tyrant, mocking and merciless, without
principle and without policy. The further consideration of Fortune belongs to
the department of Ethics.
232. Has God or man free will? The supreme problems of philosophy, in
their relation to gods and men, the fellow-citizens of this universe, centre in
the question of free will. If we grant that the divine power is to some extent
less in range than the power of necessity, does it still remain open to us to
attribute to it within that range some real choice between alternatives,
something of that individual power which common opinion attributes to kings? or
must we on the other hand regard the divinity as a mere symbol of an unchanging
law, girt with the trappings of a royalty from which all real share in
government has been withdrawn? Is man again a mere puppet under the control
either of fate or of fortune, or has he too some share in creating the destiny
to which he must submit? Supposing him to have this power of will, is it bound
up with his privilege of reason, or do the animals also possess it?
233. The Stoics incline towards free
will. To such questions
the Stoics do not give the direct answer ‘Yes’ or ‘No.’ The critics who wish to
tie them down to one or other of the opposing views complain that they wriggle
and grow flushed and excited about their answer. They accept apparently both
views as dogmas, asserting that ‘all things take place by destiny’ and that
‘something rests with us.’ To the first dogma the whole of their treatment of
physics points; but the second is required as a postulate for any science of
ethics. The Stoics were in no way disposed to cut the knot by sacrificing one
or the other of the principal parts of their philosophy. They go back upon the
terms in which the questions are propounded, and endeavour by fresh
investigation and more precise definition to do away with the obvious
contradiction. In this work they were observed to have a bias in favour of free
will. The first sign of this bias we have already noticed in the vindication of
the word ‘possible.’ If our eyes are fixed merely on the movement of the
heavenly bodies, we shall hardly need a term which prints on future events a
character which it denies to those that are past. The astronomer can describe
to us with equal precision an eclipse taking place a thousand years before the
battle of Salamis or a thousand years after. But the word ‘possible’ opens the
door to the emotions of hope and fear, to the sense of right and wrong, with
regard to the whole range of future events. However delicately the doctrine may
be shaded, the main issue is determined when we say of gods and men that they
‘can.’
234. Proximate and principal causes. In order to reconcile the doctrines of
causality and possibility, we must first distinguish between outer and inner
compulsion, between ‘proximate’ and ‘principal’ causes. If a boy starts a
cylinder rolling down hill, he gives it an opportunity without which it could
not have rolled; this is the proximate cause (προκαταρκική, proxima).
But the cylinder would not continue rolling except by an inner compulsion, a
law within itself, by which it is the nature of cylinders to roll downwards.
This is the leading or principal cause (προηγουμένη, antecedens or principalis).
So neither in thought nor in action can a man form a judgment, unless there be
a picture (φαντασία, visum) presented to his mind. The picture is a
proximate cause. But assent to the picture rests with the man himself; the man
himself, his reason, his will, is the principal cause. Here we touch on the
dogma which is the foundation of ethics: ‘assent is in our power.’ Upon this
rests the right of the philosopher to praise or blame, the right of the
lawgiver to reward and punish.
235. The divine nature immutable. We have to investigate further the
inner compulsion, the principal cause. With regard to the gods their own
disposition is a law to them, their character holds them to their purpose,
their majesty makes their decrees immutable. This is the final answer of philosophy,
even though men cannot content themselves with it. Even amongst those most
disposed to accept Stoic principles, there is a wish that the gods should be
allowed a little play, a choice at any rate in small matters not
hampered by considerations of destiny and morality; and upon this issue the
poet may deviate a little from the sterner creed of the philosopher. Nor must
we so interpret the wisdom and benevolence of the gods as to deny the efficacy
of prayer.
236. Man’s wickedness. In the case of men free will comes
accompanied by a heavy burden of responsibility; for by its exercise men have
defied the gods and brought evil into the world. In vain they accuse the gods
and destiny, when their own perverseness has exaggerated their destiny, as
Homer bears witness:
‘Lo you now, how vainly mortal men do
blame the gods! For of us they say comes evil, whereas they even of themselves,
through the blindness of their own hearts, have sorrows beyond that which is
ordained.’
‘Through the blindness of their own hearts
they perished, fools.’
Equally in vain it is that they protest
against the penalties prescribed by the lawgiver for acts to which they allege
fate has drawn them. Of their wrong-doing the ‘principal cause’ lies in their
own natures; if these are from the first wholesome, the blows of fate are
deadened; if they are boorish and undisciplined, they rush of themselves into
sin and error. Into the further question, whether a man is responsible for his
own nature, our authorities do not enter. It is sufficient that in ethics a way
will be pointed out, by which all men, if only they consent to undergo the
necessary training, may bring their wills into harmony with the will of the
universe. As to the animals, they act upon impulse, but cannot be said in a strict
sense to possess will, nor are they proper subjects for praise and blame.
237. No result without cause. Thus free will, which at first sight
appears equivalent to the negation of cause, is by the Stoics identified with
the highest type of cause. Action without cause (τὸ ἀναίτιον), effect which is
self-caused (τὸ αὐτὸματον), are totally denied. Even if a man be given the
choice between two actions which appear exactly equivalent, as when he must
begin walking either with the right or with the left foot, there is always a
cause which determines between them, though (as in all cases of ‘chance’) it is
not discernible by human reasoning. In this way destiny, cause, will are all
brought into harmony; the dualism (which after all cannot be entirely avoided)
is thrust out of sight. ‘All things take place according to destiny, but not
all things according to necessity’; thus is saved the principle of free choice
(τὸ ἐφ᾽ ἡμῖν). In other words, the Stoic fixes his attention on the pulsating,
living, willing powers of the universe, and refuses to dwell upon any blind
non-moral unbending ‘necessity’ of things, even whilst he admits that such
necessity is there.
238. Pons Stoicus. Now that the various steps have been
decided upon, by which our philosophy progresses from physics to ethics, it
remains to connect them by a pathway in the form of a chain of reasoning. We
cannot affirm that the steps have been reached by any logical process, or that
the show of reasoning makes them any safer to tread in. But the logical form is
a convenient method of impressing dogmatic instruction on the memory, and if it
cannot remove difficulties inherent in the subject-matter, it at least so
distributes them that they may be overlooked by the zealous and defied by the
adventurous. Thus then the argument runs: —
‘If all things are determined by fate,
then the ordering of the universe must be smooth and unhindered; if this is so,
there must be an ordered universe; and if so, there must be gods. Now if there are
gods, the gods are good; and if they are good, goodness exists; and if goodness
exists, so also does wisdom. And goodness and wisdom are the same for gods and
for men. If this is so, there must be a science of things to be done and to be
avoided, that is of right actions and of sins. But right actions are
praiseworthy, and sins blameable. Things praiseworthy deserve reward and things
blameable deserve punishment.
Therefore if all things are determined
by fate, there must be rewards and punishments.’
All this chain of argument is convincing
to the man who is already a Stoic; to his opponent it seems to display its
weakness at every joint.
CHAPTER
X.
RELIGION.
RELIGION.
239. Philosophy crystallized. We now turn from the supreme problems
of philosophy to the formulation of religious belief and practice, a complete
change comes over the spirit of our study. Until now we have been reaching out
to observe, to define in words, to coordinate in a monistic system every
object, every statement, every generalisation of which the human mind can
rightly take account. We have kept eyes and ears open to learn from the East
and from the West, from the idealist and the materialist, from the poet and
from the critic. At last we have reached our highest point in the dogmas of the
providential ordering of the universe and the moral obligation of the
individual man; dogmas which, as we have seen, are expounded in logical form,
but are essentially such as logic can neither establish nor refute. Stoicism,
having once breathed in the mountain air of supreme principles, now begins to
descend to the plains of common life, and to find the due application of its
theories in the ordering of practical affairs. The theory of religion is
treated as the first stage in this downward path; it is the adaptation of
philosophy to the language of social life and individual aspiration. By
‘religion’ we mean here the theory of the existence and character of the gods;
the practice of ceremonies in their honour and of prayers for their favour; and
further, the theory and practice of divination. Upon all these questions
philosophy sits as the supreme judge: external authority, embodied in the
traditions of Greece and Rome respectively, may claim consideration, but not
submission, from the intellect.
240. Historical changes of view. In this attitude of the Stoics towards
religion we can easily distinguish certain historical changes. Zeno represents
in the main the critical temper; his tone is revolutionary and atheistic; he
contemplates the entire subversion of existing religious practices to make room
for a purer system. The principles of Cleanthes are the same, but find
expression in a more cheerful spirit; he has no bitterness as to the present,
and much confidence in the future. With Chrysippus there sets in a tide of
reconciliation; the ingenuities of etymology and allegorical interpretation are
set to work to prove that the old religion contains, at least in germ, the
substance of the new. The practical dangers of this method are obvious, and
have not escaped the notice of the critics of Stoicism. It may be well to
smoothe the path of the convert by allowing him to use old formulas and
practices with a new meaning; it is not so easy to excuse the acceptance of a
purely formal conversion, by which philosophy enrols as its nominal adherents
men who give it no real submission, and increases its numbers at the cost of
its sincerity. Posidonius stands out as the type of this weakness; with him
begins the subordination of philosophic principle to religious sentiment. In
the first period of Roman Stoicism the struggle was acute; many of the Stoics
had the courage to defy the inherited prejudices of their fellow-countrymen,
others bowed before the storm. Those who condemn the Stoics in a body as having
sacrificed their convictions, in order that they might hold the honoured and
lucrative positions of defenders of the national religion, show a lack both of
sympathy and of critical discernment. All through the Roman period the Stoics
held in theory a definite and consistent position, which will be expounded in
this chapter; in the application of their principles to practical problems they
showed that variation of standard and temperament which history has always to
record even of societies of honourable and intelligent men. But it must be
admitted that as the Stoics increase in numbers, their devotion to vital
principles grows weaker, till at last we recognise in Marcus Aurelius both the
most critical of Stoic thinkers, and the man in whom the powers of thought are
most definitely subjected to the play of old associations and prejudices.
241. Dogmas of natural religion. The theoretic teaching of the Stoics
upon theology follows a very definite programme. Four dogmas need to be
established: (i) that gods exist; (ii) that they are living, benevolent, and
immortal; (iii) that they govern the universe; and (iv) that they seek the good
of men. To each of these dogmas is attached a series of ‘proofs,’ such as are
still in vogue as ‘evidences of natural religion.’ The whole of this body of
teaching may be treated by us as an exposition in popular language of the
central dogma that ‘the universe is ordered by providence.’ We have therefore
first to consider whether the language used is really appropriate to the
philosophical position, or whether it concedes too much to accepted beliefs.
Secondly we have to consider whether the ‘proofs’ employed really correspond to
the monistic point of view as understood by the Stoics, or whether dualisms
abandoned in principle are regaining their old position in connexion with
practical problems. Now the third and fourth dogmas, so far as they add to the
first two, import nothing more than the general doctrine of providence. The
first two dogmas, taken together, substitute for the abstract term ‘providence’
the more concrete, and (as we should phrase it) the more personal conception of
a ‘god’ or ‘gods.’ The supreme question of the Stoic religion is therefore
whether these terms are rightly used; and it falls into two parts, the use of
the singular ‘god,’ carrying with it associations derived from Persism and
Judaism; and the use of the plural ‘gods,’ which carries with it a qualified
approval of the polytheism of the Greek and Roman pantheons. In accordance with
the general principles of our philosophy, the wider question must be first
determined.
242. The ‘nature’ of gods. The ‘gods,’ according to the Stoics,
form a ‘natura,’ a department of the universe, a category including one or more
individuals. Hence the title of Cicero’s work, ‘de natura deorum’; that is, ‘of
the class of beings called gods.’ Each department of philosophy, according to
the Stoic interpretation, brings us in the end into touch with this world of
deities. In dialectics we are led up to the supreme Reason, the Logos or Word,
whose divine being permeates the universe. Metaphysics points us to Body in its
purest form; to Spirit which reaches from end to end of the universe; to a
first Cause, a Cause of causes, the initial link in the unending chain of
events. If we look to the elements in their unceasing interchange, we find
deity in all things that shift and suffer metamorphosis, in water, in earth,
and in air; how much more then in fire, which in one aspect is the purest of
the elements, and in another is the creative rational substance from which the
whole universe issues? God is indeed the universe, and all that is in it,
though not in the pantheistic sense that he is evenly diffused throughout all
things. Look towards this earth, which lies at the centre of the world-order;
even in its most repulsive contents, in its grossest matter, there is deity.
Lift up your eyes to the heavens; God is the all-encircling sea of fire called
Aether; he is sun and stars. Consider the universe in its history; God is its
creator, its ruler, its upholder. Analyze it; he is its soul, its mind. Strain
your sight to perceive the meaning of all things: he is fate; he is nature; he
is providence; he is necessity. And if we look forward to the problems of
politics and ethics, we must say that God is the Universal Law that calls for
the reverence of gods and men as a community, and equally demands, under the
name of conscience, the unhesitating obedience of the individual. Lastly, in
the history of mankind, in its great men and useful discoveries, the Stoic
masters recognised the element of divinity. In the language of to-day, God is
the pole in which all the parallels of human inquiry merge, the x of the
problem of the universe, the unknown that is known in his works.
243. Unity of God. That God is one is a doctrine which
the Stoics take over from the Cynics (who therein follow Socrates), and the
general opinion; without making this a formal dogma, they constantly assume it
tacitly by using the term ‘God’ (ὁ θεός, deus). With equal readiness
they accept in use plural and abstract nouns for the same conception, as di
immortales, vis divina. The interpretation of this apparent conflict
of language must be found in the general principles of the Stoic monism. Just
as the elements are four, and yet are all the creative fire in its changing
shapes: just as the virtues are many, and yet there is but one Virtue appearing
under different circumstances: so there is but one Deity, appearing under many
names. This view the assailants of Stoicism reduce to the absurdity that some
Stoic gods are created and mortal, whilst others are uncreated; and again that
Zeus is worse than a Proteus, for the latter changed into a few shapes only and
those seemly, whilst Zeus has a thousand metamorphoses, and there is nothing so
foul that he does not in turn become. No one however who is familiar with the
many points of view from which Greek philosophers approach the problem of ‘the
one and the many’ will be readily disturbed by this, rather superficial
criticism.
244. Zeus. In its practical application the
belief in the one-ness of God assimilated itself to the worship of the Greek
Ζεύς and the Latin Jove or Juppiter. It would be impossible within the limits
of this work to trace the growth of monotheistic feeling in the Greco-Roman
world in connexion with the names of these two deities, which in the
mythologies are members of societies. We have already suggested that the most
direct impulse came from Persism: but in connexion with Roman history it is
important to notice that a similar impulse arrived through the Tuscan religion.
The nature of the Stoic worship of Zeus is abundantly illustrated by the Hymn
of Cleanthes; the intimate sense of companionship between Zeus and his
worshipper comes to light, perhaps with a tinge of Cynic sentiment, in all the
discourses of Epictetus. A special emphasis is laid on the fatherhood of Zeus.
This attribute could be traced back to the poems of Homer, and is prominent
throughout Virgil’s Aeneid. It can be explained in connexion with the
growth of all living substances, but has a more lofty meaning in that man alone
shares with the gods the inheritance of reason. But the Homeric association of
Zeus with mount Olympus entirely disappears in Stoicism in favour of the
Persian conception of a god dwelling in heaven. Further the Stoics agree with
the Persians that this god must not be thought of having the form of any animal
or man; he is without form, but capable of assuming all forms.
245. Definition of ‘god.’ In the Stoic system the conception of
godhead as one and supreme much exceeds in importance the conception of a
multiplicity of gods. We may therefore reasonably consider at this point the
four dogmas of the Stoic theology. The first point to be examined is the
definition of the word ‘god.’ As adopted by the Stoic school generally it runs
thus: ‘a rational and fiery spirit, having no shape, but changing to what it
wills and made like to all things.’ This definition corresponds satisfactorily
to the Stoic system of physics; but even so we must notice that the statement
‘God is necessity’ is an exaggeration, since ‘necessity’ is entirely devoid of
the qualities of reasonableness and plasticity. We find a different definition
in Antipater of Tarsus, which is emphasized by the Stoics of the transition
period generally: — ‘God is a living being, blessed, imperishable, the
benefactor of mankind.’ This definition points clearly the way to the Stoic
system of religion. The difference between the two definitions marks then the
step that has here to be taken. There is an accentuation of the property of
personality; we pass from a ‘rational spirit’ to a ‘living being.’ There is the
addition of a moral quality; we pass from a plastic substance to a beneficent
will. The existence of deity in the first sense has been displayed to us by our
whole analysis of the universe; it is with regard to the existence of deity in
the second sense that we need the constant support of the dogma of providence,
expounded in the technical proofs which we now proceed to examine.
246. Gods exist: the proof from
consent.
The first Stoic dogma is ‘that gods exist’; and of this the first and most
familiar ‘proof’ is that which depends upon common consent. Amongst all men and
in all nations there is a fixed conviction that gods exist; the conception is
inborn, indeed we may say graven on the minds of all men. To this proof the
Stoics attach the highest possible importance; but its justification, as we
have seen, presents great difficulties. Cleanthes, the most religiously minded
of the early Stoics, had not troubled to conceal his contempt for the opinions
of the crowd; and the ridiculous belief in Tartarus is as widespread as that in
the gods. Here then we must distinguish; it is not sufficient that a conception
should be universal, if it appeals most to foolish folk, and even so is
decaying. We must not however at this moment inquire into the causes of this
belief; for this is to pass from the question at issue to other proofs of the
dogma. It seems clear that the value of this particular proof depends upon the
Stoic doctrine of ‘inborn conceptions,’ which we have already discussed.
Without going over the whole ground again, the substance of the argument as
applied to the present question may be thus stated. The mind of each individual
man is by descent akin to the universal reason (κοινὸς λόγος, universa ratio).
Therefore all men carry with them from their birth predispositions in favour of
certain pre-conceptions; and the fact th at these pre-conceptions are common to
all is evidence of their divine origin. These predispositions by the growth and
training of the individual on the one hand, by his contact with the outer world
on the other hand through the organs of sense, ripen into reason. Now all men
are born with a predisposition to explain what is beyond their own reasoning
powers by the hypothesis of a living and reasoning agent. The belief in gods is
therefore a ‘preconception’; and if it is confirmed by growth and experience,
it must be of divine origin and therefore self-proving. In the language of our
own times, the belief in deity cannot be dispensed with as a working
hypothesis; its omission lames human reason.
247. The proof of the ‘higher Being.’ The second proof ‘that gods exist’ is
particularly associated with the name of Chrysippus; it may be summed up by
saying ‘there must be a Being higher than man.’ We begin by assuming that
reason is the highest power in the universe; an axiom which is always subject
to limitation on account of the existence of ‘natural necessity.’ According to
the Stoics, reason is common to gods and men; if, for the sake of argument,
this is denied, then reason is possessed by men alone, for we can certainly
find no better name than ‘god’ for higher reasoning beings. If then there
exists something greater than human reason can produce, it must be the work of
some reasoning being greater than man, that is, it must be the work of the
gods. But the heavenly constellations are such a work; therefore they are the
work of the gods, and therefore gods exist. To this argument two others are
supplementary. First, human reason itself must be derived from some source, and
what other can we name but the deity? Secondly, if there are no gods, man must
be the supreme being; but such a claim is an arrogant infatuation. The same
arguments are attributed in substance to Zeno; nay, so cogent are they that
they are in part accepted even by Epicurus.
248. .The proofs from the elements and
the universe.
There follow two proofs connected with gradations in the scale of being. Earth
and water are the two lower and grosser elements; and since temperament depends
greatly upon climate, we find that men and the animals are all of somewhat
heavy character. Air and fire are the higher and more refined elements; how
then can we think otherwise than that they are the home of more lofty beings?
Then again the universe is either a simple or a composite body. That it is not
composite is shown by the harmony (συμπάθεια, concentus) of its parts;
it is therefore simple. A simple body must be held together by spirit in some
one of its grades, either as unity, growth, or soul. Bodies held together
merely by unity, like stones or logs, admit of very simple changes only; but
the universe admits of every kind of change and development, and yet keeps
together; it must therefore be held together by spirit in its highest grade,
that is by soul and by reason. Being a whole, it must be greater than its
parts, and include all that its parts possess. But a nature greater than man,
and possessing soul and reason, is god.
249. The proof from providence. The proof from the good gifts of
providence has been already given in substance; we may however notice the sharp
reply given to Epicurus, who maintains that the wondrous contrivances of the
Creator for the benefit of man result from the chance clashings of particles.
‘As well contend,’ replies the Stoic, ‘that words and verses come from the
chance shifting of the twenty-one letters of the alphabet, and that the poems
of Ennius could be produced by shaking together a sufficient quantity of these
in a box, and then pouring them out on the ground! Chance would hardly produce
a single verse.’ The terrors of the universe, its storms, earthquakes, deluges,
pestilences and wars, which seem to militate against this proof, are themselves
turned into a fourth proof. A further proof, which depends on the contemplation
of the movements of the heavenly bodies, we have sufficiently considered in
connexion with the influence of Chaldaean and Persian thought.
250. The proof from worship. There remain two proofs, which at
first sight may appear singular, but are nevertheless very strongly urged, the
proofs from worship and divination; which according to the Stoics are practices
that must be justified, but cannot be justified without the postulate of the existence
of gods. The proof from worship is best known in the paradoxical form, ‘if
there are altars, there are gods,’ which is attributed to Chrysippus. This
proof is fused by Seneca with the proof from general consent; but its true
character seems to be different. ‘Without gods there can be no piety, for piety
is the right worship of the gods. Without gods there can be no holiness, for
holiness is a right attitude towards the gods. Without gods there can be no
wisdom, for wisdom is the knowledge of things human and divine. But without
piety, holiness, and wisdom a reasonable philosophy cannot be constructed.
Therefore gods exist.’ The argument in its simplest form is attributed to Zeno
himself. ‘It is reasonable to honour the gods. But it is not reasonable to
honour the non-existent. Therefore gods exist.’
251. The proof from divination. The final argument is that from
divination; which is remarkable in view of the close association between
divination and astrology, and the derivation of the latter from a scientific
system which finds no place for divine interpositions. But both in Greece and
Rome the forecasting of the future had long been reconciled with theology, upon
the hypothesis that the gods warn men for their good of coming events. In accepting
the truth of divination the Stoics were following the Socratic tradition. This
belief was accepted by all the great Stoic masters, and was a ‘citadel’ of
their philosophy. It is true that on this point Panaetius exercised the
privilege of a suspense of judgment; but all the more did his pupil, the pious
Posidonius, lay stress upon the subject, on which he composed five books, of
which the spirit is preserved to us in Cicero’s books de Divinatione. To
Roman writers their inherited State practice of augury, with its elaborate
though half-forgotten science, was long a motive for maintaining this belief;
but the ancient reputation of the oracle at Delphi maintained its hold still
more persistently, and was abandoned with even greater reluctance. Nevertheless
the whole group of beliefs was quietly pushed aside by the Romans of the times
of the empire, if we may judge from the words of Epictetus — what need have I
to consult the viscera of victims and the flight of birds, and why do I submit
when he (the diviner) says “it is for your interest?” Have I not within me a
diviner?’
252. Divine qualities. Our next enquiry is ‘of what kind are
the gods?’ ‘what are their qualities?’ Here the Stoics break more decidedly
with tradition. Antipater of Tarsus, as we have seen, defined the deity as ‘a
living being, happy, immortal and benevolent towards men.’ It is clear that
this description can only be applied in its fulness to the supreme deity, for
all other gods are destined to pass away in the general conflagration. That the
supreme deity is possessed of life and of reason has already been assumed in
the proofs of his existence; but we have here a reaffirmation of Stoic doctrine
as against those that hold that the world is governed by blind destiny and
chance. In stating that the gods are happy the Stoics agree with Epicurus; but
according to them this happiness consists not in rest, but in activity. In this
distinction the whole difference between the Stoic and Epicurean ideals of
happiness, that is, between their ethical ends, comes into sight. The Stoics
affirm that the gods are occupied, and that with matters of the greatest
concern: and that any other conception is unworthy of them. That the activity
of the gods has for its aim the happiness of men is plainly the doctrine of providence;
and in making benevolence an attribute of deity the Stoics turn their backs for
ever upon the belief, in gods that are greedy, jealous, mischievous, and
haughty; that is, not merely on such deities as were still a part of the creed
of the rustic, but also such as had provided the problems of the whole of Greek
tragedy, and given the opportunity for the stinging attacks of Epicurus on
religion. In examining these attributes of the gods we have anticipated the
enquiries which belong to the third and fourth categories; namely as to the
disposition and the relativity of the gods. Incidentally we have obtained an
excellent illustration of the logical importance of definition and the four
categories. Definition implies in advance what is contained in each of the
categories, and each category contains implicitly what is contained in the
other three; but the logical mechanism enables us so to express the doctrine
that it is for ever fixed on the memory. Nor can we easily imagine that the
world will ever forget this conception of a Supreme God, in his essence a
living all-wise Being; in his attributes immortal, immutable, active and
benevolent; in his disposition occupied in contemplating and controlling his
great work the universe, and in his relation to his creatures constantly
concerned for their comfort and happiness.
253. Stoicism and the old mythology. It must by this time be plain that the
whole atmosphere of Stoic religion was alien to that in which the gods of the
Greek and Roman mythology had taken root. The nominal absorption of these gods
in the Stoic system has therefore no theoretical importance; it was a work of
political adaptation. The Stoics themselves doubtless believed that they were
restoring the original meaning of the pantheon, and freeing it from corruptions
for which the poets were responsible. The original meaning was also, in their
judgment, the true meaning. Public opinion was already in revolt against the
old theology, both on scientific and on moral grounds. The current tales of the
gods were both incredible and revolting; the worship of them too often an
attempt to silence the voice of conscience. The Stoics proposed to make the
myths symbols of scientific truths, and the ritual an incentive to honest
living. Their interpretation was in the main physical the gods represent
respectively the heavenly bodies, the elements, the plants; the amours of the
gods represent the continuous work of the great creative forces of nature. To a
lesser extent explanations are found in society and in history. These
interpretations are greatly assisted by etymologies, according to the doctrine
of dialectics that wisdom lies hid in words. The whole process may seem to the
modern critic puerile, because the practical occasion for it has passed away;
but there are still to be found thinkers who hold that by such processes alone
it is possible for human thought to progress without civil society being
disrupted.
254. The Stoic metamorphoses. According to this system Juppiter
becomes the fiery heaven, the chief of the elements, the source of all life;
Juno is the softer air, into which the fire enters to become the germinating
seed. Thus she is called sister as a fellow-element, and wife as an instrument
in the creative process. From a slightly different point of view Chrysippus
interpreted Zeus as God, and Hera as matter; and their union as the
commencement of the Creation, when God spread throughout matter the seed Logoi.
So again Hephaestus (Vulcan) represents fire; Poseidom (Neptune) is the sea;
Dis (Pluto) and Rhea alike stand for the earth. Demeter (Ceres) again is the
corn-land, and Persephone (Proserpine) the growing crop; as such she is lost to
her mother and lamented by her for six months in every year. Apollo is the sun,
Luna or Diana the moon; Cronus, son of Earth and Heaven, is Chronos (χρόνος) or
Time, and he is said to devour his children, because all that is begotten of
time is in turn consumed by time. Athene or Minerva is the daughter of Zeus, to
whom he has given birth without a partner, because she is the divine Reason by
which he made the universe. Chrysippus wrote at length on the allegorical
interpretation of the three Graces; and the work of Cornutus entirely consists
of expositions of this system.
Other gods are recognised by the Stoics
as personifications of actions or feelings; Eros (Cupid), Aphrodite (Venus) and
Pothos (regret) of feelings; Hope (Ἐλπίς, Spes), Justice (Δίκη, Iustitia),
and Wise Law (Εὐνομία) of actions. So in particular Ares (Mars) stands for war,
or the setting of array against array.
255. Minor deities. We have alread noticed that the gods
that are borrowed from the popular mythology do not possess the divine
attribute of mortality; and in some of them the attribute of benevolence is not
prominent. There was thus a constant tendency to assign them to an order of
nature of lower rank than the deity. Such an order was already constituted by
the popular belief, adopted by the Stoics, that the whole universe is full of
spirits or daemons, some kindly, others mischievous. Highest in the former
class stand the divine messengers, who everywhere throughout the universe keep
watch over the affairs of men and bring report thereof to God. This was a
widespread belief, most in harmony with the principles of Persism, but also met
with in the Rigveda and in the poems of Hesiod. These watchmen are however not
the spies of a cruel tyrant, but the officers of a benevolent sovereign; we
find them early in Roman literature identified with the stars, and this may
account for the special recognition of the twins Castor and Pollux, as kindly
daemons that protect sailors from shipwreck. There are also spirits which are
careless, idle, or mischievous; these the deity may employ as his executioners.
A daemon which is solely the embodiment of an evil or mischievous principle,
such as the Druh of Persism or the Satan of Judaism, is however not to be found
in the Stoic system. Amongst daemons are also to be recognised the souls of men
parted from their bodies, some good and some evil. All beliefs of this kind are
specially characteristic of the type of Stoicism introduced by Posidonius. We
may specially note the belief in the Genius which accompanies each man from his
birth to his death, (and which closely corresponds to the guardian angel of
Persism,) because of the special vogue it obtained in the Roman world.
256. Deified men. The Stoics never failed to close their
list of deities with the recognition of men raised to the sky for their
services to their fellow-men. Such were Hercules, who rid the earth of
monsters; Castor and Pollux; Aesculapius the inventor of medicine; Liber the
first cultivator of the vine, and (amongst the Romans) Romulus the founder of
the city. These are deities established by the laws of each city. The Stoics do
not raise their own leaders to this position, but (as we shall see in dealing
with the question of the ‘wise man’) they assign to them almost equal honours.
This part of their theory appears to open the door to great practical abuses,
since it might be used to justify the claims of the sovereigns of Egypt to be
honoured as gods during their lifetime, and those of the Roman emperors that
their predecessors should be worshipped as such after their death. But it does
not seem that such an abuse actually occurred; and this part of the theory of
gods always seems to have been regarded by the Stoics rather as an explanation
of historical facts than as a principle of civic submission.
257. Worship. Questions as to the worship of the
gods belong strictly to the department of politics, so far as public worship is
concerned, and of ethics, so far as individuals are concerned. It may however
be convenient to anticipate the discussion of them, since we cannot properly appreciate
the Stoic views of religion apart from their practical application. We must
therefore notice that Stoicism in its beginnings, in accordance with its Cynic
origin, was revolutionary, unorthodox, in the popular language atheistic. Not
only did it follow the principles of Persism in condemning altogether the
worship of images, but it also poured scorn upon the building of temples and
the offering of sacrifices. Thus Zeno in his book on ‘the State’ forbids the
making of temples and images, because they are unworthy of the deity; an idea
which the Romans recognised as not altogether strange to their own history,
seeing that for a hundred and seventy years (presumably during the Etruscan
supremacy) no images had been known at Rome. The Stoic condemnation of
sacrifice is mostly expressed by silence, but it finds words in Seneca.
Although they thus denounced in principle the whole existing system of public
worship, the Stoics did not feel themselves prevented from taking part in it as
a seemly and ancient custom; and the Roman Stoics took a special pride in the
reputation of the city for attention to ‘religion,’ that is to say, to the
ritual observances due to the gods.
258. Stoic hymnology. Meanwhile the Stoics actively
developed their own ideal of worship, namely the rendering of praise and honour
to the gods by means of hymns. ‘It is reasonable,’ said Zeno, ‘to honour the
gods.’ The hymn of Cleanthes shows the form in which this honour could find
expression, and though in the main it is an outburst of individual conviction,
yet it contains the germ of public hymnology. The value of music in public
worship was recognised by Diogenes of Babylon. Posidonius laid it down that the
best and most pious worship of the gods is to honour them with pure mind and
voice. Epictetus speaks continually in this spirit, and gives us examples of
prose hymnology: ‘great is God, who has given us implements with which we shall
cultivate the earth.’; ‘I give thee all thanks that thou hast allowed me to
join in this thy assemblage of men, and to see thy works, and to comprehend
this thy administration.’ Thus ought we ‘to sing hymns to the deity, and bless
him, and tell of his benefits.’
259. Prayer. Prayer to the gods may be taken as
more characteristic of private and individual worship, though the paradox is
worthy of attention that men should ask nothing of the gods that they cannot
ask publicly. The whole problem of prayer is so fully and admirably treated
upon Stoic lines by Juvenal in his Tenth Satire, that nothing can be added to
his exposition but the evidence that his teaching is in fact Stoic. Let us then
enter the temples and listen to men’s prayers. First they beg the doorkeeper
for admission, though the deity is equally near to them outside; then they
raise their hands to the sky, or press their mouths close to the ear of an
image. To the unlistening deity they pour out wishes so shameful that they
could not let a fellow-man share their secret. Decrepit old men babble prayers
for long life, and make themselves out younger than they are. Another prays for
riches, or for some other thing that will do him harm. Undertakers pray for a
busy season. Parents and nurses (and these are the nearest to innocence) pray
for the success of their children in life. They may be excused, but the
thoughtful man should know that the advantages for which friends have prayed
have often in the end proved a man’s destruction. He should examine his own
heart, and recognise that his prayers till now have been unworthy and foolish.
Since the gods wish us well, let us leave it to them to choose what is best for
us. ‘Look up to God, and say; — deal with me for the future as thou wilt: I am
of the same mind as thou art. I am thine, I refuse nothing that pleases thee.’
‘Seek not that the things which happen should happen as you wish but wish the
things that happen to be as they are: and you will have a tranquil flow of
life.’
260. Self-examination. Prayer so regarded becomes not merely
an act of self-resignation, in which a man ceases to battle against a destiny
that is too strong for him; it is a daily examination of his soul, to know
whether it is in tune with the purposes of the universe. This examination is a
religious exercise, never to be omitted before sleep. It is inculcated both by
Seneca and Epictetus. ‘How beautiful’ says Seneca, ‘is this custom of reviewing
the whole day! how quiet a sleep follows on self-examination! The mind takes
its place on the judgment-seat, investigates its own actions, and awards praise
or blame according as they are deserved.’ And Epictetus adopts the verses
ascribed to Pythagoras:
‘Let sleep not come upon thy languid
eyes
Before each daily action thou hast scanned;
What’s done amiss, what done, what left undone;
From first to last examine all, and then
Blame what is wrong, in what is right rejoice.’
Before each daily action thou hast scanned;
What’s done amiss, what done, what left undone;
From first to last examine all, and then
Blame what is wrong, in what is right rejoice.’
261. Religious duty. We are now in a position to sum up in
technical language the obligations of religion freed from superstition. Our
duty towards the gods is rightly to believe in them, to acknowledge their
greatness and benevolence, to submit to them as the creators and rulers of the
universe. We may not light lamps in their honour on sabbath-days, nor crowd
round their temples in the early hours of the morning; we may not offer Jove a
towel nor Juno a mirror. Our service to them is to make ourselves like to them;
he who would win their favour, must be a good man. Wheresoever they call us, we
must follow with gladness, for they are wiser than we. Without God we must
attempt nothing, but we must always reflect, examine ourselves, and seek to
learn the divine will. We came here when it pleased God, and we must depart
when he shall please. ‘So live,’ says the Stoic teacher, ‘with your fellow-men,
as believing that God sees you: so hold converse with God, as to be willing
that all men should hear you.’
CHAPTER
XI.
THE KINGDOM OF THE SOUL.
THE KINGDOM OF THE SOUL.
262. Man a part of the universe. From the contemplation of the universe
as a whole, both from the purely scientific standpoint in the study of physics,
and from the more imaginative point of view in the dogmas of religion, we now
pass on to the more intimate study of the individual man, consisting of body
and soul. In its main outlines the Stoic theory has already been sketched. Thus
it follows from the monistic standpoint that man is not ultimately an
‘individual’ or unit of the universe; for the universe itself is the only true
unit, and a man is a part of it which cannot even for a moment break itself off
completely from the whole. It is therefore only in a secondary and subordinate
sense, and with special reference to the inculcation of ethics, that we can
treat Zeno or Lucilius as separate and independent beings. Again, when we say
that man ‘consists of body and soul,’ we are merely adopting popular language;
for body and soul are ultimately one, and differ only in the gradation of
spirit or tone which informs them. Then we have already learnt in dialectics
that the highest power of man is that of ‘assent’ or free choice, which is
displayed in every exercise of reason; and the same power, though in a
different aspect, is at work in every moral act. The doctrine of the universe
is based upon the postulate that it is a living rational being on the largest
scale; and it follows that each man is a ‘microcosm,’ and contains in himself a
complete representation of the universe in miniature. Lastly, we see that man
takes his place in the universe, a little lower than gods and daemons, and as
greatly higher than animals as these in their turn surpass plants and inanimate
objects; and that his nature, considered as composite, includes all the varying
gradations of spirit to which these orders correspond within the universe. In
all his parts alike the divine element is immanent and it binds them together
in a coherent unity (συμπάθεια τῶν μέρων). It remains for us to put together
from these and like points of departure a complete picture of human nature.
263. The soul’s kingdom. To indicate the general trend of Stoic
thought on this subject we propose the title ‘the kingdom of the soul.’
Starting with the popular distinction between body and soul, we find that the
biologist and the physician alike are preoccupied with the study of the body,
that is, of physiology. Only as an afterthought and supplement to their work
are the functions of soul considered; and they are treated as far as possible
by the methods suggested by the study of the body. All this is reversed in the
Stoic philosophy. The study of the soul stands in the front, and is treated by
methods directly suggested by observation of the soul’s functions. The body is
not entirely ignored, but is considered of comparatively small importance.
Further, the soul itself is manifold, and is likened to a State, in which all
is well if the governing part have wisdom and benevolence proportionate to its
power, and if the lower parts are content to fulfil their respective duties;
but if the balance of the State is upset, all becomes disorder and misery.
Lastly, this kingdom is itself a part of a greater whole, namely of the
Cosmopolis or universal State. By the comparison with a kingdom we are also
directed towards right moral principle. For as the citizen of Corinth or Sparta
ought not to repine because his city is of less grandeur than Athens, so no man
should be anxious because his external opportunities are limited. He has a
kingdom in his own mind and soul and heart. Let him be content to find his
happiness in rightly administering it.
264. Man a picture of the universe. The doctrine that man is a
representation or reflection of the universe is of unknown antiquity. It seems
to be clearly implied by the teaching of Heraclitus, in so far as he lays it
down that both the universe and man are vivified and controlled by the Logos.
The technical terms ‘macrocosm’ (μέγας κόσμος) and ‘microcosm’ (μικρὸς κόσμος),
are, as we have seen, employed by Aristotle. But even if we suppose that this conception
is a commonplace of Greek philosophy, it is in Stoicism alone that it is of
fundamental importance, and knit up with the whole framework of the system. And
accordingly we find that all the Stoic masters laid stress upon this principle.
The words of Zeno suggest to Cicero that ‘the universe displays all impulses of
will and all corresponding actions just like ourselves when we are stirred
through the mind and the senses.’ Cleanthes used the dogma of the soul of the
universe to explain the existence of the human soul as a part of it. Chrysippus
found a foundation for ethics in the doctrine that man should study and imitate
the universe. Diogenes of Babylon says boldly that God penetrates the universe,
as soul the man; and Seneca that the relation of God to matter is the same as
that of the soul to the body. It is little wonder therefore if by Philo’s time
the analogy had become a commonplace, and philosophers of more than one school
were accustomed to say that ‘man is a little universe, and the universe a big
man.’ God is therefore the soul of the universe; on the other hand the soul is
God within the human body, a self-moving force encased in relatively inert
matter, providence at work within the limitations of natural necessity.
265. Soul and body. The dualism of body and soul appears
in a sharply defined shape in Persism, and upon it depends the popular dogma of
the immortality of the soul, which (as we have already noticed) reached the
Greco-Roman world from a Persian source. It appears to be rooted in the more
primitive ways of thinking termed ‘Animism’ and ‘Spiritism,’ in which men felt
the presence both in natural objects and within themselves of forces which they
conceived as distinct beings. According to this system a man’s soul often
assumes bodily shape, and quits his body even during life, either in sleep or
during a swoon; sometimes indeed it may be seen to run away and return in the
shape of a mouse or a hare. At death it is seen to leave the man as a breath of
air, and to enter the atmosphere. But besides his soul a man possesses a
shadow, a likeness, a double, a ghost, a name; and all these in varying degrees
contribute to form what we should call his personality. In the animistic system
the soul survives the man, and why not? But this survival is vaguely conceived,
and only credited so far as the evidence of the senses supports it. Its
formulation in the doctrine of immortality belongs to a more advanced stage of
human thought.
266. Soul and body are one. This dualistic conception could be and
was incorporated in the Stoic system to the same extent as the dualism of God
and matter, but no further. Ultimately, as we have already learnt, soul and
body are one; or, in the language of paradox, ‘soul is body.’ This follows not
only from the general principles of our philosophy, but also specifically from
observation of the facts of human life.’ ‘The incorporeal,’ argued Cleanthes,
‘cannot be affected by the corporeal, nor the corporeal by the incorporeal, but
only the corporeal by the corporeal. But the soul is affected by the body in
disease and in mutilation, and the body by the soul, for it reddens in shame
and becomes pale in fear: therefore the soul is body.’ And similarly Chrysippus
argues: ‘death is the separation of soul from body. Now the incorporeal neither
joins with nor is separated from body, but the soul does both. The soul
therefore is body.’ This doctrine is commonly adduced as evidence of the
‘materialism’ of the Stoics: yet the Stoics do not say that ‘soul is matter,’
and (as we shall see) they explain its workings upon principles quite different
to the laws of physics or chemistry. The essential unity of body and soul
follows also from the way in which we acquire knowledge of them. For we
perceive body by the touch; and we learn the workings of the soul by a kind of
touch, called the inward touch (ἐντὸς ἁφή).
267. Mind, soul, and body. Having realised that the division of
man into soul and body is not ultimate, we may more easily prepare ourselves to
make other divisions. A division into three parts, (i) body, (ii) soul or life
(ψυχή, anima), and (iii) mind (νοῦς, animus), was widely accepted
in Stoic times, and in particular by the school of Epicurus; the mind being
that which man has, and the animals have not. The Stoics develop this division
by the principle of the microcosm. Mind is that which man has in common with
the deity; life that which he has in common with the animals; growth (φύσις, natura),
that which he has in common with the plants, as for instance is shown in the
hair and nails. Man also possesses cohesion (ἕξις, unitas) but never
apart from higher powers. Further these four, mind, soul, growth, and cohesion,
are not different in kind, but all are spirits (πνεύματα) which by their
varying degrees of tension (τόνος, intentio) are, to a less or greater
extent, removed from the divine being, the primal stuff. In this sense man is
not one, nor two, but multiple, as the deity is multiple.
268. The soul is fire and air. The soul in its substance or stuff is
fire, identical with the creative fire which is the primal stuff of the
universe. But the popular conception, according to which the soul is air or
breath, and is seen to leave the body at death, is also not without truth.
There is a very general opinion that the soul is a mixture of fire and air, or
is hot air. By this a Stoic would not mean that the soul was a compound of two
different elements, but that it was a variety of fire in the first stage of the
downward path, beginning to form air by relaxation of its tension: but even so
this form of the doctrine was steadily subordinated to the older doctrine of
Heraclitus, that the soul is identical with the divine fire. Formally the soul
is defined, like the deity himself, as a ‘fiery intelligent spirit’; and in
this definition it would seem that we have no right to emphasize the connexion
between the word ‘spirit’ (πνεῦμα) and its original meaning ‘breath,’ since the
word has in our philosophy many other associations. It is further a Stoic
paradox that ‘the soul is an animal,’ just as God is an animal. But the soul
and the man are not on that account two animals; all that is meant is that men
and the brutes, by reason of their being endowed with soul, become animals.
269. The temperaments. According to another theory, which is
probably not specifically Stoic, but derived from the Greek physicians, the
soul is compounded of all four elements in varying proportion, and the
character of each soul (subject, in the Stoic theory, to the supreme control of
reason) is determined by the proportion or ‘temperament’ (κρᾶσις, temperatura)
of the four elements. There are accordingly four temperaments, the fervid, the
frigid, the dry, and the moist, according to the preponderance of fire, air,
earth, and water respectively. Dull and sleepy natures are those in which there
is an excess of the gross elements of earth and water; whilst an excess of cold
air makes a man timorous, and an excess of fire makes him passionate. These
characters are impressed upon a man from birth and by his bodily conditions,
and within the limits indicated above are unalterable. The ‘temperaments’ have
always been a favourite subject of discussion in popular philosophy.
270. The soul’s parts. The characteristic attribute of the
soul is that it is self-moved (αὐτοκίνητον). Although in this point the Stoics
agree with Plato, they do not go on to name life as another attribute, for they
do not agree with the argument of the Phaedo that the soul, having life
as an inseparable attribute, is incapable of mortality. We pass on to the
dispositions of the soul, which correspond to its ‘parts’ in other
philosophies, and are indeed often called its parts. But the soul has not in
the strict sense parts; what are so called are its activities, which are
usually reckoned as eight in number, though the precise reckoning is of no
importance. The eight parts of the soul are the ruling part or ‘principate,’
the five senses, and the powers of speech and generation. The seven parts or
powers other than the principate are subject to it and do its bidding, so that
the soul is, as we have called it, a kingdom in itself. These seven parts are
associated each with a separate bodily organ, but at the same time each is connected
with the principate. They may therefore be identified with ‘spirits which
extend from the principate to the organs, like the arms of an octopus,’ where
by a ‘spirit’ we mean a pulsation or thrill, implying incessant motion and
tension. The principate itself, that is the mind, is also a spirit possessed of
a still higher tension; and the general agreement of the Stoics places its
throne conveniently at the heart and in the centre of the body. Accordingly
Posidonius defined the soul’s parts as ‘powers of one substance seated at the
heart.’
271. Aspects of the principate. If we now fix our attention on the
principate itself, we find it no more simple than the universe, the deity, the
man, or the soul. In particular it resembles the deity in that, although
essentially one, it is called by many names. It is the soul in its reasoning
aspect, the reason, the intellect (λογικὴ ψυχή, διάνοια); it is also the ‘ego,’
that is, the will, the energy, the capacity for action. It is in one aspect the
divinity in us, world-wide, universal; in another the individual man with his
special bent and character; so that we may even be said to have two souls in
us, the world-soul and each man’s particular soul. The principate becomes also
in turn each of the other functions or parts of the soul, for each of them is
an aspect of the principate (ἠγεμονικόν πως ἔχον). In addition the principate
has many titles of honour, as when Marcus Aurelius terms it the Pilot, the King
and Lawgiver, the Controller and Governor, the God within.
272. The principate as reason. Although for the purpose of discussion
we may distinguish between reason and will, they are in fact everywhere
intermingled. Thus the principate as the reasoning part of the soul includes
the powers of perception, assent, comprehension, and of reason in the narrower
sense, that is, the power of combining the various conceptions of the mind, so
as ultimately to form a consistent system. But amongst these powers assent is
equally an act of the will; and on the other hand the judgments formed by the
reasoning mind are not purely speculative, but lead up to action; so that it is
the reasoning power which must be kept pure, in order that it may duly control
the soul’s inclinations and aversions, its aims and shrinkings, its plans, interests
and assents. If in the Stoic theory the greater emphasis always appears to be
laid on the reason, it is the more necessary in interpreting it to bear in mind
that we are speaking of the reason of an active and social being.
273. The principate as will. The maintenance of the principate as
will in a right condition is the problem of ethics; and it is important to
understand what this right condition is. The answer is to be found in a series
of analogies, drawn from all departments of philosophy. Thus from the
standpoint of physics the right condition is a proper strain or tension, as
opposed to slackness or unsteadiness. In theology it is the agreement of the
particular will with the divine or universal will. From the point of view of
the will itself it is the strength and force (ἰσχὺς καὶ κράτος) of the will,
the attitude that makes a man say ‘I can.’ Again it is that state of the soul
which corresponds to health in the body; and in a quiet mood the Stoic may
describe it as a restful and calm condition. Finally, if the soul as a whole is
compared to a State, the principate in its function as the will may at its best
be compared to a just and kind sovereign; but if this aim is missed, it may
turn into a greedy and ungovernable tyrant.
274. The principate, divine and human. The principate, as it is of divine
origin, and destined, as we shall see, to be reabsorbed in the deity, may
rightly be called god: it is a god making its settlement and home in a human
body: it keeps watch within over the moral principle. In the language of
paradox we may say to each man, ‘You are a god.’ Of this principle we see the
proof in that man interests himself in things divine, and in it we find the first
incentive to a lofty morality. As however the deity is not conceived in human
form, and is not subject to human weaknesses, there comes a point at which, in
the study of the human principate, we part company with the divine; and this
point we reach both when we consider the principate with regard to its seven
distinctly human manifestations, and when we consider its possible degradation
from the standard of health and virtue. We now turn to the seven parts or
powers of the human soul which are subordinate to the reasoning faculty.
275. Powers of the principate. The first five powers of the
principate are those which are recognised in popular philosophy as the ‘five
senses.’ To materialistic philosophers nothing is plainer than that these are
functions of the body; is it not the eye which sees, and the ear which hears?
This the Stoic denies. The eye does not see, but the soul sees through the eye
as through an open door. The ear does not hear, but the soul hears through the
ear. Sensation therefore is an activity of the principate, acting in the manner
already described in the chapter on ‘Reason and Speech.’ The soul is actively
engaged, and sends forth its powers as water from a fountain; the sense-organs
are passively affected by the objects perceived. Subject to this general
principle, sensation (αἴσθησις, sensus) may be variously defined. It is
‘a spirit which penetrates from the principate to the sensory processes’; it
includes alike the mind-picture (φαντασία, visum), that is, the first
rough sketch which the mind shapes when stimulated by the sense-organ; the assent
(συγκατάθεσις, adsensus), which the mind gives or refuses to this
sketch; and the final act of comprehension (κατάληψις, comprehensio) by
which this assent is sealed or ratified. Of these the middle stage is the most
important, so that we may say paradoxically ‘sense is assent.’ Only in a
secondary and popular way can we use the word sensation to denote the physical
apparatus of the sensory organs (αἰσθητήρια), as when we say of a blind man ‘he
has lost the sense of sight.’
276. The five senses. The nature of sensation is more
particularly described in the case of sign and hearing. In the first case there
proceed from the eyes rays, which cause tension in the air, reaching towards
the object seen; this tension is cone-shaped, and as the distance from the
pupil of the eye increases, the base of the cone is increased in size, whilst
the vigour of the sight diminishes. This human activity effects vision of
itself in one case; for we say ‘darkness is visible,’ when the eye shoots forth
light at it, and correctly recognises that it is darkness. But in complete
vision there is an opposing wave-motion coming from the object, and the two
waves become mutually absorbed: hence Posidonius called sight ‘absorption’
(σύμφυσις). Similarly, in the case of hearing, the pulsation (which, as we have
seen, comes in the first instance from the principate) spreads from the ear to
the speaker, and (as is now more distinctly specified) from the speaker to the hearer;
this reverse pulsation being circular in shape, like the waves excited on the
surface of a lake by throwing a stone into the water. Of the sensations of
smell, taste and touch we only hear that they are respectively (i) a spirit
extending from the principate to the nostrils, (ii) a spirit extending from the
principate to the tongue, and (iii) a spirit extending to the surface of the
body and resulting in the easily-appreciated touch of an object.
277. Other activities. The Stoic account of the functions of
the soul displayed in the ordinary activities of life is either defective or
mutilated; for even a slight outline of the subject should surely include at
least breathing, eating (with drinking), speech, walking, and lifting. We need
not however doubt that these, equally with the five senses, are all ‘spirits
stretching from the principate’ to the bodily organs. This is expressly stated
of walking. Of all such activities we must consider voice to be typical, when
it is described as the sixth function of the soul. Voice is described as
‘pulsating air,’ set in motion by the tongue; but we can trace it back through
the throat to some source below, which we can without difficulty identify with
the heart, the seat of the principate. The voice is indeed in a special
relationship to the principate, since the spoken word is but another aspect of
the thought which is expressed by it.
278. Procreation. The seventh and last of the
subordinate powers of the soul, according to the Stoics, is that of
procreation. This part of their system is of great importance, not only for the
study of human nature, but even in a higher degree for its indirect bearing
upon the question of the development of the universe through ‘procreative
principles’ (σπερματικοὸ λὸγοι), or, as we have termed them above, ‘seed
powers.’ That all things grow after their kind is of course matter of common
knowledge; no combination of circumstances, no scientific arrangement of
sustenance can make of an acorn anything but an oak, or of a hen’s egg anything
but a chicken. But in the common view this is, at least primarily, a corporeal
or material process; whereas the Stoics assert that it is not only a property
of the soul, but one so primary and fundamental that it must be also assumed as
a first principle of physical science. Before approaching the subject from the
Stoic standpoint, it may be well to see how far materialistic theories, ancient
and modern, can carry us.
279. Heredity. Lucretius finds this a very simple
matter:
‘Children often resemble not only their
parents, but also their grandparents and more remote ancestors. The explanation
is that the parents contain in their bodies a large number of atoms, which they
have received from their ancestors and pass on to their descendants. In the
chance clashing of atoms in procreation Venus produces all kinds of effects,
bringing about resemblances between children and their forebears, not only in
the face and person, but also in the look, the voice, and the hair.’
This account has a generally plausible
sound until we bear in mind that it is the fundamental property of atoms that,
though their own variety is limited, they can form things in infinite variety
by changes in their combination and arrangement. They are like the letters out
of which words, sentences, and poems are made up; and we can hardly expect to
reproduce the voice or the spirit of an Aeschylus by a fresh shuffling of the
letters contained in the Agamemnon. On the contrary, seeing that the
atoms contained in the bodies of parents have largely been drawn from plants
and animals, we could confidently reckon upon finding the complete fauna and
flora of the neighbourhood amongst their offspring. Lucretius in effect
postulates in his theory that particular atoms have a representative and
creative character, passing from father to child in inseparable association with
the marks of the human race, and endowed with a special capacity of combining
with other like atoms to form the substratum of specifically human features. In
giving his atoms these properties he is insensibly approximating to the Stoic
standpoint.
280. Modern theories. Modern biologists deal with this
subject with the minuteness of detail of which the microscope is the
instrument, and with the wealth of illustration which results from the
incessant accumulation of ascertained facts. But they are perhaps open to the
criticism that where they reach the borders of their own science, they are apt
to introduce references to the sciences of chemistry and physics as explaining
all difficulties, even in regions to which these sciences do not apply. The
following account is taken from one of the most eminent of them:
‘Hertwig discovered that the one
essential occurrence in impregnation is the coalescence of the two sexual cells
and their nuclei. Of the millions of male spermatozoa which swarm round a
female egg-cell, only one forces its way into its plasmic substance. The nuclei
of the two cells are drawn together by a mysterious force which we conceive as a
chemical sense-activity akin to smell, approach each other and melt into
one. So there arises through the sensitiveness of the two sexual nuclei, as
a result of erotic chemotropism, a new cell which unites the inherited
capacities of both parents; the spermatozoon contributes the paternal, the
egg-cell the maternal characteristics to the primary-cell, from which the child
is developed.’
In another passage the same author sums
up his results in bold language from which all qualifications and admissions of
imperfect knowledge have disappeared:
‘Physiology has proved that all the
phenomena of life may be reduced to chemical and physical processes. The
cell-theory has shown us that all the complicated phenomena of the life of the
higher plants and animals may be deduced from the simple physico-chemical
processes in the elementary organism of the microscopic cells, and the material
basis of them is the plasma of the cell-body.’
281. Their inadequacy. These utterances may be considered
typical of modern materialistic philosophy in its extreme form. We may
nevertheless infer from the references to a ‘mysterious force,’ ‘chemical
sense-activity akin to smell,’ and ‘erotic chemotropism,’ that the analogies to
biological facts which the writer finds in chemical science stand in need of
further elucidation. We may notice further that the ‘atom’ has entirely
disappeared from the discussion, and that the ‘material basis’ of the facts is
a ‘plasma’ or ‘plasmic substance,’ something in fact which stands related to a
‘protoplasm’ of which the chemical and physical sciences know nothing, but
which distinctly resembles the ‘fiery creative body’ which is the foundation of
the Stoic physics. Further we must notice that the old problem of ‘the one and
the many’ reappears in this modern description; for the cell and its nucleus
are neither exactly one nor exactly two, but something which passes from two to
one and from one to two; further the nuclei of the two cells, being drawn
together, coalesce, and from their union is developed a ‘new cell’ which unites
the capacities of its ‘parents.’ Modern science, therefore, although it has
apparently simplified the history of generation by reducing it to the
combination of two units out of many millions that are incessantly being
produced by parent organisms, has left the philosophical problem of the manner
of their combination entirely unchanged. In these microscopic cells is latent
the whole physical and spiritual inheritance of the parents, whether men,
animals or plants, from which they are derived just as the atoms of Epicurus
possess the germ of free; will, so the cells of Haeckel smell and love,
struggle for marriage union, melt away in each other’s embrace, and lose their
own individuality at the moment that a new being enters the universe.
282. Creation and procreation. If then the phenomena of reproduction
are essentially the same, whether we consider the relations of two human beings
or those of infinitesimal elements which seem to belong to another order of
being, we are already prepared for the Stoic principle that the creation of the
universe is repeated in miniature in the bringing into life of each individual
amongst the millions of millions of organic beings which people it. From this
standpoint we gain fresh light upon the Stoic theory of creation, and
particularly of the relation of the eternal Logos to the infinite multitude of
procreative principles or ‘seed-powers.’ Again, it is with the general theory
of creation in our minds that we must revert to the Stoic explanation of
ordinary generation. This is to him no humble or unclean function of the
members of the body; it is the whole, man, in his divine and human nature, that
is concerned. The ‘procreative principle’ in each man is a part of his soul;
‘the seed is a spirit’ (or pulsation) ‘extending from the principate to the
parts of generation.’ It is an emanation from the individual in which one
becomes two, and two become one. Just as the human soul is a ‘fragment’ of the
divine, so is the seed a fragment torn away, as it were, from the souls of
parents and ancestors.
283. Motherhood. In the seed is contained the whole
build of the man that is to be. It is therefore important to know whether the
procreative principle in the embryo is derived from one or both parents, and if
the latter, whether in equal proportion. The Stoics do not appear to have kept
entirely free from the common prepossession, embodied in the law of paternal
descent, according to which the male element is alone active in the development
of the organism; and so they allege that the female seed is lacking in tone and
generative power. On the other hand observation appeared to them to show that
children inherit the psychical and bodily qualities of both parents, and the
general tendency of their philosophy was towards the equalization of the sexes.
On the whole the latter considerations prevailed, so that the doctrine of
Stoicism, as of modern times, was that qualities, both of body and soul, are
inherited from the seed of both parents; wherein the possibility remains open,
that in particular cases the debt to one parent may be greater than to the
other.
284. Impulses. The Stoic psychology is in its
fundamental principles wholly distinct from that of Plato; which does not at
all prevent its exponents, and least of all those like Panaetius and Posidonius
who were admirers of Plato, from making use of his system as an auxiliary to
their own. Plato divided the soul into three parts; the rational part, the
emotional (and volitional) part, and the appetitive. Both the two latter parts
need the control of the reason, but the emotional part inclines to virtue, the
appetitive to vice. The rational part, as with the Stoics, is peculiar to man;
the other two are also possessed by the animals, and the appetitive soul even
by plants. The Stoics do not however seriously allow any kinship between virtue
and the emotions, and they deal with this part of the subject as follows.
Nature has implanted in all living things certain impulses which are directed
towards some object. An impulse towards an object is called ‘appetite’ (ὁρμή, appetitus
or impetus); an impulse to avoid an object is called ‘aversion’ (ἀφορμή,
alienatio). In man appetite should be governed by reason; if this is so,
it becomes ‘reasonable desire’ (ὄρεξις εὔλογος, recta appetitio); if
otherwise, it becomes ‘unreasonable desire’ (ὄρεξις ἀπειθὴς λόγῳ) or
‘concupiscence’ (ἐπιθυμία, libido). To living things lower in the scale
than man terms that are related to reason can of course not apply.
285. Will and responsibility. Practical choice is, according to the
Stoics, exactly analogous to intellectual decision. Just as the powers of
sensation never deceive us, so also the impulses are never in themselves
irrational. An impulse is an adumbration of a course of action as proper to be
pursued; to this the will gives or refuses its assent. It is the will, and the
will only, which is liable to error, and this through want of proper tone and
self-control. If there is this want, it appears in a false judgment, a weak
assent, an exaggerated impulse; and this is what we call in ethics a
perturbation. A healthy assent leads up to a right action: a false assent to a
blunder or sin. Hence we hold to the Socratic paradox that ‘no one sins
willingly’ (οὐδεὶς ἑκὼν ἁμαρτάνει); for the true and natural will cannot sin;
it must first be warped to a false judgment and weakened by slackness of tone.
We can equally use the paradox that ‘every voluntary action is a judgment of
the intellect,’ or (in few words) that ‘virtue is wisdom’ (φρόνησις ἡ ἀρετή).
In such views we find a starting-point for dealing with the problems of ethics,
including those of the ethical ideal or supreme good, its application to daily
duties, and its failure through ignorance or weakness of soul.
286. The body. We pass on to consider the body, but
at no great length; partly because many functions often considered as bodily
are by the Stoics treated as belonging to the soul (as sensations and
impulses), partly because the study of the body is rather the task of the
physician than of the philosopher. In the body we may notice separately (i) the
bones, sinews, and joints, constituting the framework on which the whole is
built up; (ii) the surface, including beauty of outline and features, and (iii)
the complexion, which suffuses a glow over the surface and most attracts the
attention. No absolute distinction can be made between body and soul. Generally
speaking, we may say that body is composed of the two grosser elements, earth
and water, whilst soul (as we have seen) rests on the two higher elements of
air and fire; of the gradations of spirit body possesses distinctively (but not
exclusively) that of coherence (ἕξις), whilst it shares with the soul the
principle of growth (φύσις). Yet these contrasts are after all only secondary.
As surely as soul is body so body is soul, and divinity penetrates into its
humblest parts. In its practical applications Stoicism dwells so little on the
body that the wise man seems hardly conscious of its existence.
287. ‘The flesh.’ Side by side with the strictly Stoic
view of the body we find in all the Roman literature another conception which
is strongly dualistic, and which we cannot but think to be drawn from some
non-Stoic source. According to this view the body, often called the ‘flesh,’ is
essentially evil; it is the prison-house of the soul, the source of corruption
of the will, the hindrance to a clear insight of the intelligence. In the
language picturesquely adopted in the Pilgrim’s Progress (after St
Paul), it is a burden which the enlightened man longs to shake off. For the
body so understood we find abusive names; it is the husk in which the grain is
concealed, the ass from which the owner should be ready to part at any moment.
This language tends to be exaggerated and morbid, and leads in practice to
asceticism. It appealed in ancient as in modern times to a widespread
sentiment, but is not reconcileable with the main teaching of the Stoic
philosophy.
288. Dignity of the body. According to the true Stoic view, the
body is a dwelling-place or temple inhabited for a time by the principate, its
divinity. Therefore the body as such is deserving of respect, even of
veneration. In particular the erect form of the human body is a mark of divine
favour, by which it is hinted that man is fitted to contemplate the operations
of the heavens. The whole framework of the body, from the organs of sensation
to those by which we breathe, swallow, and digest, is a masterpiece of divine
skill, and an evidence of the care of providence for man. And even as an
architect provides that those parts of the house which are offensive to sight
and smell should be out of sight, so has nature hidden away those parts of the
body which are necessarily offensive, at a distance from the organs of sense.
The Stoic conception of the dignity of the body is symbolized in practical
ethics by the culture of the beard, in which is latent the broad principle of
attention to the cleanliness and healthy development of every part of the body.
It is a mark of the Oriental
associations of Stoicism that this respect for the body is never associated
with the Hellenic cult of the body as displayed in art and gymnastics.
289. Junction of soul and body. Having now studied man in all his
parts, it is time to consider how those parts are compacted together, how man
grows and decays, and what varieties of mankind exist. First then the
principate is combined with the lower functions of the soul, and every part of
the soul, by the process of interpenetration (σῶμα διὰ σώματος χωρεῖ); or (from
a slightly different point of view) upon body which has cohesion (ἕξις) is
overlaid growth, on growth soul, and on soul reason; so that the higher tension
presupposes the lower, but not vice versa. In the act of generation the
soul loses its higher tensions; and consequently the embryo possesses neither
human nor animal soul, but only the principles of cohesion and growth. It is in
fact a vegetable, but necessarily differs from other vegetables in having the
potentiality of rising to a higher grade of spirit. At the moment of birth its
growth-power (φύσις) is brought into contact with the cold air, and through
this chill it rises to the grade of animal life, and becomes soul (ψυχή from
ψῦξις). This etymological theory provokes the ridicule of opponents, who do not
fail to point out that soul, standing nearer to the divine fire than growth,
ought to be produced by warmth rather than by coolness; but the Stoics probably
had in mind that contact with either of the two higher elements must raise the
gradation of spirit. The infant, according to this theory, is an animal, but
not yet a man; it has not the gift of reason. To attain this higher stage there
is need both of growth from within, and of association with reasonable beings
without; in these ways reason may be developed in or about the seventh year. In
the whole of its growth the soul needs continually to be refreshed by the
inbreathing of air, and to be sustained by exhalations from the blood. Here we
touch upon one of those fundamental doctrines of the system, derived by Zeno
from Heraclitus, which bind toother the great and the little world. Just as the
heavenly bodies are maintained by exhalations from the Ocean, so the soul is
dependent upon the body for its daily food. Hence follows the important
consequence that weakness and disease of the body react upon the soul the
philosopher must keep his body in health for the soul’s good, if for no other
reason. If the Stoics in discussing problems of ethics constantly maintain that
the health of the soul is independent of that of the body, such statements are
paradoxical and need qualification.
290. Sleep and death. The mutual action of body and soul is
most readily illustrated by sleep. The Stoics do not hold, as the Animists do,
that the soul quits the body in sleep; nor do they agree with another popular
view, that the soul then quits the extremities of the body and concentrates
itself at the heart. Sleep is due to a relaxation, contraction, or weakening of
the spirit; a lowering of its grade, which nevertheless is clearly no sign of
ill health. In old age there is often an imperfection of the reason, and this
is also seen in the sick, the tired, and the anaemic. In death there is a
complete relaxation of tone in the breath that we can feel, that is, in such
spirit as belongs to the body; there follows the separation of soul from body.
291. The beyond. We are thus brought to the critically
important question of the existence of the soul after death. On this point we
shall not expect to find that all Stoic teachers agree in their language. In
Zeno himself we shall be sure to find that variety of suggestion which is
accounted for by his eagerness to learn from all sources; and later writers
will also differ according to their respective inclinations either to draw
strictly logical conclusions from the Stoic physics, or to respect the common
opinion of mankind and to draw from it conclusions which may be a support to
morality. These variations need not discourage us from the attempt to trace in
general outline the common teaching of the school. We have already seen that
the various parts of the Stoic system are not bound together by strictly
logical processes; where two conclusions appear contradictory, and yet both
recommend themselves to the judgment, the Stoics are not prepared to sacrifice
either the one or the other, but always seek to lessen, if they cannot
altogether remove, the difficulties which stand in the way of accepting both.
On the other hand, we need not too readily admit the charge of insincerity,
whether it is found in the candid admission of its temptations by Stoic
teachers, or in the less sympathetic criticisms of ancient or modern exponents
of the system.
292. The Stoic standpoint. On certain points all Stoic teachers
seem to be agreed; first that the soul is, as regards its substance,
imperishable; secondly, that the individual soul cannot survive the general
conflagration; lastly, that it does not of necessity perish with the body. The
first two dogmas follow immediately from the fundamental principles of the
Stoic physics, and point out that every soul will find its last home by being
absorbed in the divine being. The third dogma leaves play for ethical
principles; subject to the monistic principle of an ultimate reconciliation,
there is room for some sharp distinction between the destiny of good and bad
souls, such as stands out in the Persian doctrine of rewards and punishments
after death. And so we find it generally held that the souls of the good
survive till the conflagration, whilst those of the wicked have but a short
separate existence, and those of the lower and non-rational animals perish with
their bodies. If this difference in duration will satisfy the moral sense, the
nature of the further existence of the soul may be determined on physical
principles.
293. The released soul. In the living man the soul, as we have
already seen reason to suppose, derives its cohesion (ἕξις) and shape from its
association with the body. Separated from the body, it must assume a new shape,
and what should that be but the perfect shape of a sphere? Again, the soul
being compounded of the elements of air and fire must by its own nature, when
freed from the body, pierce through this murky atmosphere, and rise to a
brighter region above, let us ay to that sphere which is just below the moon.
Here then souls dwell like the stars, finding like them their food in
exhalations from the earth. Here they take rank as daemons or heroes (of such
the air is full), and as such are joined in the fulfilment of the purposes of
divine providence. Yet it must be admitted that this bright destiny, if
substantiated by the laws of physics, is also subject to physical difficulties.
Suppose for instance that a man is crushed by the fall of a heavy rock; his
soul will not be able to escape in any direction, but will be at once squeezed
out of existence. To fancies of this kind, whether attractive or grotesque, we
shall not be inclined to pay serious attention.
294. Tartarus. In this general theory hope is perhaps
held out before the eyes of good souls, but there is little to terrify the
wicked, even if it be supposed that their souls neither survive so long, nor
soar so high, as those of the good. As against it we are told by a Church
Father that Zeno accepted the Persian doctrine of future rewards and
punishments, and with it the primitive belief in an Inferno in its crudest
form. We must agree with the first English editor of the fragments of Zeno that
‘it is hardly credible that Zeno can have attached any philosophical importance
to a theory stated in these terms’; they can at the best only have occurred in
some narration in the style of the Platonic myths, intended to illustrate a
principle but not to Convey a literal truth. For just as the whole Hellenistic
world, including the Stoics, stood aloof from the Persian doctrine of a spirit
of evil, so it firmly rejected the dogma of a hell. Lucretius makes it a
principal argument in favour of the philosophy of Epicurus that it drives out
of men’s hearts the fear of Tartarus; but writers partly or wholly Stoic are
not less emphatic. ‘Ignorance of philosophy,’ says Cicero, ‘has produced the
belief in hell and its terrors.’ In the mouth of the representative of Stoicism
he places the words ‘Where can we find any old woman so silly as to believe the
old stories of the horrors of the world below?’ ‘Those tales’ says Seneca
‘which make the world below terrible to us, are poetic fictions. There is no
black darkness awaiting the dead, no prison-house, no lake of fire or river of
forgetfulness, no judgment-seat, no renewal of the rule of tyrants.’
295. Purgatory of Virgil. Of far more importance to us is the
theory of purgatory, familiar through the description in Virgil’s Aeneid:
‘In the beginning the earth and the
sky, and the spaces of night,
Also the shining moon, and the sun Titanic and bright
Feed on an inward life, and, with all things mingled, a mind
Moves universal matter, with Nature’s frame is combined.
Thence man’s race, and the beast, and the feathered creature that flies,
All wild shapes that are hidden the gleaming waters beneath.
Each elemental seed has a fiery force from the skies,
Each its heavenly being, that no dull clay can disguise,
Bodies of earth ne’er deaden, nor limbs long destined to death.
Hence their fears and desires, their sorrows and joys; for their sight,
Blind with the gloom of a prison, discerns not the heavenly light.
Nor, when life at last leaves them, do all sad ills, that belong
Unto the sinful body, depart; still many survive
Lingering within them, alas! for it needs must be that the long
Growth should in wondrous fashion at full completion arrive.
So due vengeance racks them, for deeds of an earlier day
Suffering penance; and some to the winds hang viewless and thin,
Searched by the breezes; from others the deep infection of sin
Swirling water washes, or bright fire purges, away.
Each in his own sad ghost we endure; then, chastened aright,
Into Elysium pass. Few reach to the fields of delight
Till great time, when the cycles have run their courses on high,
Takes the inbred pollution, and leaves to us only the bright
Sense of the heaven’s own ether, and fire from the springs of the sky.’
Also the shining moon, and the sun Titanic and bright
Feed on an inward life, and, with all things mingled, a mind
Moves universal matter, with Nature’s frame is combined.
Thence man’s race, and the beast, and the feathered creature that flies,
All wild shapes that are hidden the gleaming waters beneath.
Each elemental seed has a fiery force from the skies,
Each its heavenly being, that no dull clay can disguise,
Bodies of earth ne’er deaden, nor limbs long destined to death.
Hence their fears and desires, their sorrows and joys; for their sight,
Blind with the gloom of a prison, discerns not the heavenly light.
Nor, when life at last leaves them, do all sad ills, that belong
Unto the sinful body, depart; still many survive
Lingering within them, alas! for it needs must be that the long
Growth should in wondrous fashion at full completion arrive.
So due vengeance racks them, for deeds of an earlier day
Suffering penance; and some to the winds hang viewless and thin,
Searched by the breezes; from others the deep infection of sin
Swirling water washes, or bright fire purges, away.
Each in his own sad ghost we endure; then, chastened aright,
Into Elysium pass. Few reach to the fields of delight
Till great time, when the cycles have run their courses on high,
Takes the inbred pollution, and leaves to us only the bright
Sense of the heaven’s own ether, and fire from the springs of the sky.’
Although we cannot accept Virgil as a
scientific exponent of Stoic teaching, yet there is much reason to suppose that
he is here setting forth a belief which met with very general acceptance in our
school, and of which the principle is that the sufferings of the disembodied
are not a punishment for past offences, but the necessary means for the
purification of the soul from a taint due to its long contact with the body.
296. Probable Stoic origin. The language in which Virgil first
describes the creation and life of the universe closely resembles that of
Stoicism; the phrases ‘elemental seed,’ ‘fiery force,’ ‘heavenly being’ might
be used by any Stoic teacher. The conception of the body as a ‘prison-house,’
even though it does not express the most scientific aspect of Stoic physics,
was nevertheless, as we have seen, familiar to Stoics of the later centuries.
The ethical conception, again, of the doctrine of purgatory is exactly that of
which the Stoics felt a need in order to reconcile the dualism of good and evil
souls with the ultimate prevalence of the divine will. Again, we can have no
difficulty in supposing that Virgil drew his material from Stoic sources,
seeing that he was characteristically a learned poet, and reflects Stoic
sentiment in many other passages of his works. We have also more direct
evidence. The Church Father whom we have already quoted not only ascribes to
the Stoics in another passage the doctrine of purgatory, but expressly quotes
this passage from Virgil as an exposition of Stoic teaching. And here he is
supported to some extent by Tertullian, who says that the Stoics held that the
souls of the foolish after death receive instruction from the souls of the
good. Finally, we have the doctrine definitely accepted by Seneca.
297. Views of Greek Stoics. We may now consider more particularly
the views and feelings of individual Stoic teachers. It appears to us
accordingly that Zeno left his followers room for considerable diversity of
opinion, and quoted the Persian doctrine because of its suggestiveness rather
than for its literal truth. Of Cleanthes we are told that he held that all
souls survived till the conflagration, whilst Chrysippus believed this only of
the souls of the wise. Panaetius, although a great admirer of Plato, is nevertheless
so strongly impressed by the scientific principle that ‘all which is born must
die,’ that he is here again inclined to break away from Stoicism, and to
suspend his judgment altogether as to the future existence of the soul; the
belief in a limited future existence was meaningless to a philosopher who
disbelieved in the conflagration. Of the views of Posidonius we have the
definite hint, that he taught that the ‘air is full of immortal souls’; and
this is in such harmony with the devout temper of this teacher that we may
readily believe that he enriched the somewhat bare speculations of his
predecessors by the help of an Oriental imagination, and that he introduced
into Stoicism not only the doctrine of daemons but also that of purgatory,
holding that souls were both pre-existent and post-existent.
298. View of Seneca. In the period of the Roman principate
the question of the future existence of the soul acquires special prominence.
Seneca is criticized the ground that he affects at times a belief which he does
not sincerely entertain, partly in order to make his teaching more popular,
partly to console his friends in times of mourning. The facts stand otherwise.
At no time does Seneca exceed the limits of the accepted Stoic creed; he bids
his friends look forward to the period of purgation, the life of pure souls in
the regions of the aether, and the final union with the divine being. It is
after purgation that the soul by the refinement of the elements of which it is
built forces its way to higher regions; it finds a quiet and peaceful home in
the clear bright aether; it has cast off the burden of the flesh; it is parted
by no mountains or seas from other happy souls; it daily enjoys free converse
with the great ones of the past; it gazes on the human world below, and on the
sublime company of the stars in its own neighbourhood. At a later epoch all
blessed souls will be re-absorbed in the primal elements, suffering change but
not forfeiting their immortal nature. The somewhat exuberant language of Seneca
has frequently been adopted by Christian writers, to express a belief which is
not necessarily identical; but for the associations thus created Seneca must
not be held responsible.
299. Personality cannot survive. With the decay of interest in the
Stoic physics there begins a tendency to overlook the intermediate stage of the
soul’s life, and to dwell solely on its final absorption; whilst at the same
time it is urged from the ethical standpoint that no possible opinion as to the
soul’s future should disturb the calm of the virtuous mind. On one further, but
important, point the Stoic teaching becomes clearer. In no case is the soul
that survives death to be identified with the man that once lived. Cut off from
all human relations, from the body and its organs, and from its own subordinate
powers, it is no longer ‘you,’ but is something else that takes your place in
the due order of the universe. In all this the Stoic doctrine remains formally
unchanged; but its expression is now so chastened that it seems only to give a
negative reply to the inherited hope, and the chief comfort it offers is that
‘death is the end of all troubles.’ This change of tone begins in Seneca
himself; it is he who says to the mourner ‘your loved one has entered upon a
great and never-ending rest’; ‘death is release from all pain and its end’;
‘death is not to be. I know all its meaning. As things were before I was born,
so they will be after I am gone.’ ‘If we perish in death, nothing remains.’ In
Epictetus and Marcus Aurelius this new tone rings out much more clearly; if we
like so to speak, more unrelentingly. To the characteristic passages from these
writers which are quoted above may be added the following, perhaps the most
precise of all:
‘If souls survive death, how can the air
hold them from all eternity? How, we reply, does earth hold the bodies of
generation after generation committed to the grave? Just as on earth, after a
certain term of survival, change and dissolution of substance makes room for
other dead bodies, so too the souls transmuted into air, after a period of
survival, change by processes of diffusion and of ignition, and are resumed
into the seminal principle of the universe, arid in this way make room for
others to take up their habitation in their stead. Such is the natural answer,
assuming the survival of souls.’
Such are the last words of Stoicism,
not wholly satisfying either to knowledge or to aspiration, but assuredly based
on a wide outlook and a keen discrimination.
300. Men and women. The whole, nature of man, as discussed
up to this point, is common to every individual born into the world, with some
exceptions dependent on age or temperament which have been explained
incidentally. It remains to discuss shortly the important differences which
result from sex, nationality, and location. There seems every reason to believe
that the equality of men and women, though at the time seemingly paradoxical,
was generally accepted by the earlier Stoics, and adopted as a practical
principle in Stoic homes. The whole treatment of human nature by the Stoics
applies equally to man and woman, and points to the conclusion that as moral
agents they have the same capacities and the same responsibilities. Seneca in
writing to a great lady of philosophical sympathies states this as his firm
conviction, and the lives of many Stoic wives and daughters (to whom we shall
refer in a later chapter) showed it to have a firm basis in fact. We need
attach no great importance to those more distinctively masculine views which
Seneca occasionally expresses, to the effect that woman is hot-tempered,
thoughtless, and lacking in self-control, or to the Peripatetic doctrine that
man is born to rule, women to obey; for these sentiments, however welcome to
his individual correspondents, were not rooted in Stoic theory nor exemplified
in the Roman society of his own days.
301. Class and race. It follows with equal certainty from
the early history of Stoicism, and in particular from the doctrine of the
Cosmopolis, that differences of class and race were hardly perceived by its
founders. For this there was further historical cause in the spread of
Hellenistic civilisation, which was of an entirely catholic spirit and welcomed
disciples from all nationalities. The doctrine of Aristotle, that some nations
are by nature fitted only for slavery, finds no echo in the Stoic world. There
we look in vain for any trace of that instinctive feeling of national
difference, that sensitiveness to race and colour, which can easily be
recognised in the early history of Greece and Rome, and which has become so
acute in the development of modern world-politics. The Roman Stoics, as we
shall see later, might individually be proud of advantages of birth, but they
never associated this feeling with their philosophy. Here and there, however, we
find signs of a scientific interest in the question of differences of national
character, which are generally ascribed to the influences of climate. Seneca,
for instance, remarks that the inhabitants of northern climates have characters
as rude as their sky; hence they make good fighters, but poor rulers. Yet when
he contemplates the northern barbarians, his mind is mainly occupied by
admiration; and, like other pro-Germans of the period, he foresees with
prophetic clearness a danger threatening the Roman empire. ‘Should the Germans
once lay aside their fierce domestic quarrels, and add to their courage reason
and discipline, Rome will indeed have cause to resume the virtues of its early
history.’ The roots of true greatness of soul, then, lie deeper than in
literary culture or philosophic insight. It is a part of the irony of history
that Stoicism, which aimed above all things at being practical, should diagnose
so correctly the growing weakness of the Roman world, and yet fail to suggest
any remedy other than a reversion to an epoch in which philosophy was unknown.
CHAPTER
XII.
THE LAW FOR HUMANITY.
THE LAW FOR HUMANITY.
302. The Right Law. The department of Ethics contains two
divisions ethics (in the stricter sense) which is concerned with the action of
the individual; and politics, which has to do with the order of the State. It
has been maintained that in Stoicism the latter is altogether subordinated, and
that the central aim of this philosophy is to erect a shelter for the
individual. The truth of this view is more than doubtful. Stoic ethics are not
based on the needs of the individual, but on the demands of the supreme Law.
‘If there is a universe, then there is a universal law, bidding us do this and
refrain from that.’ ‘If there are gods, there is virtue.’ We have already
noticed that Zeno’s earliest work was ‘on the State,’ and that it is an attempt
to show how a state can be ordered by wise laws. The whole theory of the Logos
leads up to the same point. The same eternal Wisdom through which the primal
stuff took shape is, in another function, the Right Rule (ὀρθὸς λόγος, vera
ratio) which commands and forbids. Right Rule and Common Law (κοινὸς νόμος,
lex communis) are terms of identical meaning, by which a standard of
supreme authority is set up; State law and conventional morality, though always
of narrower range, and often of inferior purity, are yet a reflection of
universal Law. The moral law must therefore first be studied in its bearings on
man as a political and social animal.
303. The Cosmopolis. The root-principle of the Stoic State
is that it is worldwide, a cosmopolis. This title arose from the practice,
attributed to Socrates and Diogenes (as well as others), of replying to the
current question ‘Of what city are you?’ by the answer ‘Of the universe.’ We
must therefore regard ourselves as members not of a clan or city, but of a
worldwide society. In this society all distinctions of race, caste and class
are to be subordinated to the sense of kinship and brotherhood. This principle
is equally opposed to the nationalist prejudices which rank Hellene above
barbarian, to philosophical theories (such as that of Aristotle) which
distinguish intelligent peoples fitted by nature to rule and others only fitted
to obey, and to ideal states (such as that of Plato) in which a ruling class is
to be developed by artifice and schooling. Only the brute animals are excluded
from this community, for they are not possessed of reason; they have therefore
no rights, but exist for the service of men. All human beings are capable of
attaining to virtue, and as such are natural-born citizens of the Cosmopolis.
Loyalty to this state, however, in no wise hinders a due loyalty to existing
states which may be regarded as partial realizations of it. Socrates submitted
to the laws of Athens even when they bade him die; Zeno and Cleanthes declined
the citizenship of that famous city, lest they should be thought to hold cheap
the places of their birth; and amongst the Romans Seneca frequently insists
that every man is born into two communities, the cosmopolis and his native
city.
304. The law of nature. The world-state is not held together
either by force or by state-craft, but by goodwill. We must be able to say
‘Love is god there, and is a helpmate to make the city secure.’ This feeling of
love and friendship grows up naturally between wise men, because they partake
in the reason of the universe; so that we may equally well say that the bond of
the state is the Logos (ratio atque oratio). Since reason and the
universal law exist in the community from the beginning, law does not need to
be created; it exists of itself, and by natural growth (φύσει). The writing
down of laws is only a stage in their development
305. Zeno’s revolutionary views. The theory of the world-state, as
first sketched by Zeno, found no place for any of the cherished institutions of
the Athens in which it was preached. In the heavenly city must be neither
temples nor images; so far the aims of the Persian invader are to be carried
out. The reason given is far from flattering to the artistic pride of the
Athenians, for they are told that their magnificent buildings and statues of
world-wide renown are only the work of common builders and workmen. Nor must
there be law-courts or gymnasia. The practice of hearing both sides in a law-court
is unreasonable, because if the plaintiff has proved his case it is useless to
hear the defendant, and if he has not proved it, it is superfluous? The
training of the youth in grammar, music, and gymnastic is worthless, for the
true education is in virtue. Coined money, as in modern communistic Utopias,
should not be required either for commerce or for travel.
306. Women to be in common. With regard to the position of women
Zeno, agreeing to some extent with Plato, asserted the startling doctrine that
‘women should be in common, and men should mate with them as they pleased.’
That Zeno was suggesting, even for an imaginary state, any sort of loose
living, need not for a moment be supposed; his continence was notable; he
expressly approves of marriage; and the members of his school were honourably
known by their aversion to adultery. But Zeno could not base his theory of the
relation of the sexes merely upon established practice. We may assume that he
observed that in the world of animals and of birds mating was free, whereas in
human society it was encumbered by national prejudices, class privilege, and
personal jealousy; and in particular that woman was regarded as a chattel,
contrary to the fundamental principle of his state. By his doctrine of ‘free mating’
he aimed at the root of these evils. The gradual abolition at Rome of the
restrictions on ‘connubium’ illustrates the application of his principle, just
as the prohibition of ‘miscegenation’ in modern America illustrates its denial.
Zeno may well have perceived how deeply the potentiality of marriage affects
all social relations, and it is probable that the progress of Stoicism did much
to break down the racial barriers that existed in Zeno’s time, but which had
almost completely disappeared five centuries later throughout the civilized
world. Another application of his doctrine is found in the life of Cato of
Utica. But its general meaning is clear: marriage exists not by nature, but by
institution (θέσει); its law is human and mutable, but nevertheless within
proper limits is one that may not be transgressed. By the side of the text of
Zeno we still have the authorized comment of Epictetus.
307. Incest no abomination. The Stoics did not shrink from
insisting upon the abstract principle of the community of women even in an
extreme case in which their doctrine encountered a violent prejudice. No
natural law, they maintained, prohibits marriage relationship between near
relatives. The tale of Oedipus and Jocasta, which is so prominent a theme in
the great Athenian tragedies, appears to Zeno to be a matter about which too
much ado has been made. For suppose the case that all the world were destroyed
by flood except one man and his daughter; would it not be better that he should
beget children by her, and that the whole human race should not perish? In this
reference to the traditional flood we may readily trace one reason why the
Stoics insisted on their principle. For at the beginning of human history we
are compelled to postulate an Adam and an Eve, a human pair related in their
birth and at the same time united as parents of the race. Go back to the
beginnings of the universe; there too we must postulate the same combination of
relationships, and so only can we understand the poets when they speak of Hera
as ‘wife and sister of Zeus.’
308. Burial a convention. Perhaps even more shocking to Hellenic
feeling was Zeno’s indifference to the treatment of the dead. Burial was to him
no sacred duty to the departed one; it was equally right to throw the body to the
fire, as the Indians, or to the vultures, as the Persians. Nor is there any
need to condemn those nations amongst which the dead are eaten by their own
relatives, for all these things are matters not of principle but of
convenience, and to eat human flesh may still be desirable if circumstances
require it, as for instance in shipwreck, or if a limb is amputated. The
problem of the disposal of the dead became a favourite subject of discussion in
Stoic circles. Chrysippus wrote at length on the subject, comparing the customs
of various nations as well as the habits of animals, in order to ascertain the
law of nature. He reaches the conclusion that dead bodies should be disposed of
in the simplest possible way, not being regarded as of more importance than the
hair or nail-parings from which we part in life. Cicero shortly sums up this
discussion in the Tusculan disputations, and draws the conclusion that
whilst the living must consider what it is fitting for them to do, to the dead
man it is a matter totally indifferent. In the imperial period this
consideration is of importance as showing that the tyrant has no power after
death.
309. Slavery. The Stoic view of slavery can readily
be inferred. Without proposing the immediate abolition of this social institution,
the Stoics treated it as essentially contrary to nature. The earliest teachers
seem to have passed over the subject in silence; Panaetius (as might be
expected from his social position), justified slavery by the arguments of Plato
and Aristotle in exceptional cases: ‘all those who through the infirmity of
their nature are unfit to govern themselves, are rightly made slaves’.
According to this theory we may speak of a ‘natural slave’ (φύσει δοῦλος), who
as such can no more have rights in the community than the lower animals. The
true Stoic theory appears however to be formulated by a definition of
Chrysippus, who says that a slave is a ‘labourer hired for life.’ This
definition makes of slavery a contract, to which there are two parties; and
Seneca rightly uses this definition to argue that the relations of master to
slave are those of man to man, and that as the master may wrong his slave, so
the slave may do a service to his master. All this is really implied in the
dogma that ‘women and slaves may become philosophers,’ as is realized by the
Church Father Lactantius.
310. Constitutions. The Stoic principles of politics may
be realized under any form of government, and the theory of Constitutions, like
that of grammar, belongs to a neutral ground on which philosophers of different
schools may work in harmony. The Peripatetics appear first to have taken up
this study; of the Stoics Diogenes of Babylon, who himself acted as a political
representative of Athens, is stated to have shown interest in this subject; and
after him Panaetius developed a complete theory, of which the substance is
preserved for us in Cicero’s de Re publica. According to this theory,
which Cicero puts in the mouth of Scipio Africanus, surrounded by Roman Stoics
of distinction such as Laelius, Tubero, and Furius Philo, the best constitution
is one in which the elements of monarchy, aristocracy and democracy are
combined, though a bias remains in favour of monarchy. This mixed constitution,
according to the teaching of Panaetius and his pupil Polybius, is best
illustrated in the Roman state; whereas tyranny, the perversion of monarchy, is
the worst of all governments. By such reasoning the Roman nobles of the first
century B.C. and the first century A.D. alike persuaded themselves easily that
Stoic teaching supported the position of the republican party. But in fact they
were maintaining Peripatetic theories of government, and the real Stoic theory
was far more in accord with that practice of the principate, according to which
all citizens are treated with respect, and the government of them is placed in
the hands of men selected for their personal merit. We shall discuss the whole
question of the relation of Stoicism to Roman politics in a later chapter; but
we may notice here that those Stoics practically abandoned the theory of
providence who looked into the history of their own times with the intention of
seeing nowhere the ‘king,’ and everywhere the ‘tyrant.’ On the other hand the
practical statesmen who set about to re-create Roman law on the principle of
substituting everywhere human rights for class privileges were men thoroughly
imbued with the Stoic spirit, whether or not they were avowed disciples of this
philosophy.
311. The citizen. We must therefore maintain that the
true Stoic state, whether it be called monarchy or democracy, calls for a
revolt against nationalism, antiquity, custom, pride, and prejudice; and a new
construction based upon universal reason and individual liberty. For the
realization of this state it is first necessary to build up the individual, to
fill his mind with the conception of reason and love, to strengthen his will to
a true independence: for it is not buying or selling that makes the slave, but
the will within. All are in truth slaves except the wise man; for freedom is
the power of directing one’s own actions. Here then we pass from the community
to the individual, from politics to ethics in the narrower sense.
312. The supreme good. For the individual man the ethical
problem is to bring himself, a part of nature, into harmony with the whole.
Whether we think of destiny, of providence, of the gods, or of the state,
success for the individual is to agree and to cooperate; to struggle and to
rebel is to fail. This success is the end (τέλος) for which man exists, the
supreme good (summum bonum), the ultimate good (ultimum bonorum),
that towards which all other right action works, whilst it works itself for no
other end. Its name in the individual is virtue (ἀρετή, virtus), and it
is an active and firmly-established disposition of the soul. It follows from
the monistic principle that the end for man is one, and that virtue is one; but
nevertheless each is capable of being regarded in many aspects. The harmony of
the ethical end with other parts of the Stoic philosophy is marked by such
phrases as ‘life according to nature,’ the rule ‘keep company with God,’ and
the identification of virtue and reason.
313. Consistency with nature. Because virtue is one thing and not
many, it makes a man’s life one consistent whole, and stands in sharp contrast
to the changing and undecided ways of the crowd. Virtue is therefore frequently
defined as consistency in life, an even steady course of action,
self-consistency, a principle in agreement with its applications. The opposite of
virtue is the unending restlessness and indecision of the man in the crowd.
Accordingly we are told that the earliest Stoics thought it a sufficient
definition of wisdom or virtue that it was something simple; and similarly Zeno
said that the end of life was ‘to live consistently.’ To this short definition
the words ‘with nature’ were soon added, whereby the distinctiveness of the
original definition was diminished: for all the philosophical schools are
agreed that the right life must be guided by nature (φύσει), not by convention
(θέσει). From the time of Chrysippus the relation of right living to nature was
further analyzed. Chrysippus defined the ‘nature’ referred to as ‘universal and
human nature,’ thereby further approximating to the teaching of rival schools;
but on the other hand he gave this new and more characteristic explanation ‘to
live virtuously is to live according to scientific knowledge of the phenomena
of nature, doing nothing which the Universal Law forbids, which is the Right
Reason which pervades all things, and is the same as Zeus, the Lord of the
ordering of this world.’ Diogenes of Babylon introduced the words ‘to take a
reasonable course in choosing or refusing things in accordance with nature.’
Antipater’s definition is ‘to live with preference for what is natural, and
aversion to what is against nature,’ thus throwing the stress on the doctrine
of the ‘things of high degree.’ Panaetius made a distinct step forward when he
admitted the claims of universal nature to be supreme, but (subject to them)
held that each man should follow the pointings of his individual nature; this
teaching however comes rather near to naming a twofold end. Cicero follows Panaetius
in his de Officiis, but in the de Finibus adheres more closely to
Chrysippus, and Seneca agrees with him in laying stress on the need of
scientific knowledge of natural events. In the main therefore ‘life according
to nature’ means to the Stoics life in accordance with the general, movement of
the universe, to which the particular strivings of the individual must be
subordinated.
314. Obedience to God. From the religious standpoint virtue
is willing cooperation with the deity, in preference to that unwilling
cooperation to which even evil-doers are forced. This conception, first set
forth by Cleanthes in a poem that we have quoted above, is enforced by Seneca
and Epictetus also in varying phrases. ‘I do not obey God,’ says Seneca, ‘I
agree with him. I go with him heart and soul, and not because I must.’ With a
slight change of language this leads us to the paradox that ‘obedience to God
is liberty.’ ‘I have placed my impulses,’ says Epictetus, ‘in obedience to God.
Is it his will that I shall have fever? It is my will too. Is it his will that
I should obtain anything? It is my wish also. Does he not wish it? I do not
wish it.’ The personal bent of Epictetus leads him to develop this idea in the
direction of suffering rather than of acting. ‘If the good man had
foreknowledge of what would happen, he would cooperate towards his own sickness
and death and mutilation, since he knows that these things are assigned to him
in accordance with the universal arrangement.’ The proof that this must be so
rests on the unity of the Divine and individual purposes: ‘Good cannot be one
thing, and that at which we are rationally delighted another thing.’
315. Social duty. It is not perhaps quite so clearly
stated that the virtue of the individual is that disposition which will make
him the best possible member of society, that is, the best possible citizen of
the Cosmopolis. Yet this is everywhere implied. In the first place the wise man
will take part in the life of the community, he will marry and bring up
children. In the second place the virtue of man differs first from the
corresponding quality in the animals in that man is formed by nature for social
union; hence his reason only comes into play simultaneously with the
recognition that he is a member of a community, and as such bound to prefer the
good of the whole to that of a part. ‘Nature,’ says Panaetius, ‘through reason
unites man to man, so that they have a common bond in conversation and life; it
induces men to approve and take part in public gatherings and festivals, and to
collect the materials for a social and cultivated life for themselves, their
children, and all whom they hold dear.’
316. Health of soul. Virtue, as a disposition of the soul,
reflects all the aspects in which the soul itself is regarded. Since the
principate is both wisdom and will, so virtue is wisdom, according to the paradox
of Socrates and the Cynics. Because virtue is wisdom, it can be taught; in
fact, it can only be acquired by teaching; and equally evil-doing can be cured
by teaching. But no less virtue is will. Cleanthes emphasized this aspect, and
identified virtue both with the Socratic ‘strength of character’ and with the
Stoic ‘tone.’ In so far as virtue is will, it is to be acquired by constant
practice. A true judgment is endangered by hasty assent; a healthy will by
slackness of the soul’s sinews. In the Stoic system vigour and strength of mind
is everywhere identified with the ‘true tone’ (εὐτονία); the possibility of
overstrain is not considered. But in the development of the ideal we have two
varying aspects of virtue presented to us. At one moment we see the man of
action, engaged in the thick of the battle, sun-browned, dusty, horny-handed;
with this model before him we find Musonius objecting altogether to relaxation
of moral tone as being equivalent to its loss. At another moment we see the man
of quiet conviction, who goes his way unmoved in the face of the howls of the
mob or the threats of the tyrant; he is distinguished by a mental calm which no
storms can shake. Any discrepancy between these views is finally reconciled by
introducing a comparison between the soul and the body. The philosophers had at
all times been greatly influenced by the theories and practice of the
physicians; and they were proud to call themselves ‘physicians of the soul.’
Chrysippus spent much time in comparing diseases of the soul to those of the
body. Equally there must be a healthy state of the soul corresponding to that
of the body, in which all its parts are in harmony. Hence in the Stoic prayer health
of soul is asked for, side by side with health of body; and Seneca bases a singularly
complete statement of the Stoic conception of happiness upon a permanently
healthy condition of the mind.
317. Virtue lies in intention. Virtue is a state of the mind, a
disposition of the soul; it is not an act. Hence the bent of the mind (inclinatio),
its aim (intentio), its desire (βούλησις, voluntas) is
everything; the performance through the organs of the body is nothing. This
Stoic dogma is to-day so familiar in divinity, law, and society that it is not
easy to realize how paradoxical it seemed when first stated. By its
proclamation the Stoics defied the whole system of tabu by which the
ancient world prohibited certain acts as in themselves dangerous and detestable;
a system still in force in many departments of life and theoretically defended
by the ‘intuitive system of morals.’ The defenders of tabu were bitterly
affronted, and indignantly asked questions which mostly concerned the sexual
relations, with regard to which tabu appears to have been at the time
most vigorous. ‘Is there nothing wrong in cannibalism? in foul language? in
incest? in the accursed relations with boy favourites (παιδικά)?’ To these
questions firm-minded Stoics were bound to give a negative answer, thereby
laying themselves open to the charge of being defenders of immorality. This
charge however is never to be taken seriously; the high practical morality of
the Stoics placed them beyond reproach. But it was also easy to raise a laugh
by quotations from these austere moralists which sounded like a defence of
licentiousness. The solution of the difficulty in each individual case follows
exactly the same lines as in politics; and there is the same divergence of
method between the early Stoics, who assert their principles at all costs, and
those of the transition period, who are intent upon adapting them to the
existing conditions of society. Here we need only discuss the questions of
principle, as we deal with questions affecting practical life in another
chapter.
318. Tabus. The principal tabus affecting
the individual have to do with cannibalism, the sexual relations, nudity, and
obscenity. Of the first we have already spoken; the other three appeared to the
Stoics partly due to inherited prejudices, partly to the theory that the body
is in itself vile and corrupt. Of neither point of view could the Stoics
approve. Hence their repeated assertions that no sexual act, whether commonly
described as natural or as unnatural, is in itself to be condemned, but
only according as it is seemly or unseemly for the individual. It was perhaps
unnecessary to explain to Greeks that the naked body is in itself no offensive
sight, but doubtless the Stoics had to make this clear to their Oriental
pupils; Zeno at any rate laid down the principle when he said that men and
women should wear the same clothes (meaning such as nature requires for warmth
and not such as fashion prescribes), and hide no part of the body. As to
decency of language, it did not occur to the Stoics to discuss this question in
connexion with the history of literature. Since truth is always good, and the
very purpose of language is to express truth, a wise man will always say
straight out what he needs to say.
319. Virtue in its applications. Up to this point we find a broad
resemblance between the ethical principles of the Stoics and the Cynics. Both
assert the sole supremacy of virtue, ridicule traditional prejudices, and bid
defiance to external circumstances. But there is at the same time divergence.
To the Cynics virtue stands out as alone, needing no theory, and by itself in
the universe. To the Stoics virtue is but one expression of that universal
reason which is equally at work in the universe and in the human mind. The
Stoics are therefore under the obligation of bringing virtue into touch with
circumstances, the soul into harmony with the body. From this arises their
doctrine that virtue is bound up with the study both of universal and of
individual nature, and that amongst things indifferent there an some that the
good man must seek, and others that he must avoid. The critics of Stoicism, both
ancient and modern, regard this doctrine as an afterthought, suggested by
practical difficulties, and alien from the original teaching of Zeno. This
seems to be a misapprehension. Undoubtedly Zeno had said: ‘some things are
good, some are evil, some indifferent. Good are wisdom, temperance, justice,
fortitude, everything that is virtue or an aspect of virtue; evil are folly,
intemperance, injustice, cowardice, everything that is vice or an aspect of
vice. Indifferent are life and death, glory and disgrace, pain and pleasure,
riches and wealth, disease, health, and so forth.’ But there is a difference
between a principle and its application; and this very list of things
indifferent indicates by its contrasts an underlying difference, though it is
not the difference between good and evil. Zeno was therefore quite consistent
in proceeding to examine the nature of this difference.
320. Worth and Unworth. This secondary difference is termed by
the Stoics a difference of worth (ἀξία, aestimatio). Health, life,
riches, have positive worth in greater or less degree; disease, death, poverty,
have negative worth (ἀπαξία inaestimabile). Between these lie things that
are absolutely indifferent, as, for example, whether the number of hairs on
one’s head is odd or even, or whether we take up one or the other of two coins
that have the same general appearance and the same stamp. Even here a slight
distinction has to be made; as to whether the hairs on the head are odd or even
in number we have not the slightest concern; but in the matter of the coins we
must make a choice, and that quickly. Let us then settle the matter anyhow, by
chance as common folk say; ‘for a reason that is not clear to us,’ as the
Stoics say, not willing to admit an effect without a cause, and yet leaving the
matter much where it was. And now as to the things that have ‘worth’; it is
clear that in some sense they are ‘according to nature,’ and in the same sense
those things that have ‘negative worth’ are opposed to nature; and the former
in some way approximate to the character of the good. It is then necessary to
describe them by some term other than ‘good.’ Zeno selected the term προηγμένον
‘of high degree,’ which Cicero translates variously by producta, promota,
praecipua, praelata, and praeposita. This term, we are
told, Zeno borrowed from court life: ‘for no one would think of calling a king
“of high degree,” but only those who are of a rank next to his, though far
below.’ The opposites were described as ἀποπροηγμένα (remota, reiecta)
‘thing of low degree.’ Seneca, who states the theory with great clearness,
commonly uses the handier terms commoda (‘advantages’) and incommoda
(‘disadvantages’). In their treatment of the separate matters which fall under
these divisions the Stoics were in close agreement with the Peripatetic theory
of natural ends (τὰ κατὰ φύσιν): but their loyalty to their own school came
into question, if they actually termed them ‘good’ or ‘evil,’ as Chrysippus
thought permissible if sufficient precaution were taken, and as Seneca often
describes them in his lesl careful moods.
321. The aim of virtue. The advocates of Stoicism maintain
that the theory of ‘advantages’ is essential to their system, because without
it virtue has no meaning, and practical life no guide; whereas as soon as this
theory is established, we can assign to virtue the permanent and distinctive
character, that it aims at securing ‘advantages’ and avoiding ‘disadvantages.’
Now we are able to enlarge, though we do not alter, our definition of the
supreme good; the ‘consistent life,’ the ‘life consistent with nature,’ is the
‘life which is accompanied by a true knowledge of the things that happen by
nature’; to which words we now add ‘choosing those things which are in
accordance with nature, and avoiding those things which are against nature.’
Nevertheless, virtue consists wholly in the aiming at the mark, and not at all
in the hitting it. As the true sportsman finds all his pleasure in throwing his
quoit according to the rules of the game, and in aiming his arrow at the centre
of the target, but cares not in the least (so it would seem) whether he
succeeds; so the wise man, even though (by those circumstances which he cannot
control, and which in this connexion we call ‘the play of fortune’) he gain no
‘advantage’ at all, but suffer dishonour, captivity, mutilation, and death,
still possesses the supreme good, still is as completely happy as though he
enjoyed all things. This is the Stoic doctrine of the ‘sufficiency of virtue,’
expressed in the language of paradox, but nevertheless the central point of their
whole ethical system; and its force is really intensified by the doctrine of
‘advantages,’ which to a superficial critic appears to relax it.
322. Sufficiency of virtue. The doctrine of the sufficiency
(αὐτάρκεια, sufficientia) of virtue was consistently taught by the
Stoics of all periods, though in ever-varying phraseology. Zeno adopted the
Cynic phrase ‘virtue is sufficient for happiness,’ or in other words ‘virtue
needs but herself for a happy life.’ Chrysippus maintains that there are only
three logical views as to the supreme good, that it is virtue or pleasure or
both, and for himself he chooses the first. Happiness therefore is not made
greater if advantages are added to virtue; or rather, virtue does not permit
addition (accessio). In the transition period Antipater of Tarsus is
said to have faltered, and to have attributed a little importance, though very
little, to external advantages; but, as we have seen above, his definition of
the supreme good is in full accord with the general teaching of the school.
Panaetius and Posidonius held to the orthodox doctrine both in word and deed,
if we may trust the direct statements of Cicero; nevertheless they were so
anxious to assimilate their expressions to those of ordinary life, that the
conclusion could easily be drawn that in their hearts they too attached
importance to external goods. One authority indeed states that they held
health, strength, and estate to be ‘needful’ for happiness, thus abandoning the
sufficiency of virtue; but in the absence of direct quotation we shall hardly
be willing to accept this statement as implying anything different from the
distinction of Chrysippus, viz. that ‘the wise man needs nothing, but has
use for everything.’ But any faltering shown by the transition writers was
more than made good by the zeal of the teachers under the principate. Seneca
enforces the paradox in a score of phrases; in the form of a proverb ‘virtue is
its own reward’; in rhetorical exuberance ‘virtue can defy death, ill fortune,
and tyranny’; it is ‘independent even of the deity’; and ‘no circumstances can
increase or impair its perfection.’ Epictetus often dwells on the same theme,
and the whole work of Marcus Aurelius is a meditation upon it. Nor is the dogma
merely scholastic; the teachers of the Roman period lay special emphasis on the
practical importance of upholding the ideal of virtue, as alike single and
complete in itself.
323. Virtue and the virtues. But virtue, though single in its
essence, is manifold in its applications; though it can only be possessed as a
whole, it is attached by stages. By this amplification of the Stoic doctrine
the way is prepared for that adaptation of ethical doctrine to varieties of
circumstance which will be the special subject of our next chapter. By the side
of virtue stand ‘the virtues,’ sometimes conceived as virtue herself endowed
with various qualities, more often as virtue at work in different spheres of
action. In this way virtue assumes in turn the shape of each one of the four
virtues as commonly understood, namely Wisdom, Justice, Courage, and Soberness
we may, if we please, reckon with a smaller or greater number; yet we must
always remember that the virtues are so knit together, that he who truly
possesses one, possesses all. Virtue again is displayed in single acts, each of
which (whatever its sphere) is a ‘right action’ (κατόρθωμα, recte factum).
In proportion as virtue is displayed in its various qualities and spheres, and
in successive right actions, it gains itself a large field; it cannot be said
to increase, but it is in a way spread out and broadened.
324. How virtue is won. Virtue, as it is displayed in
individual men, has also a history. This follows clearly from Stoic principles,
since virtue is an aspect of reason, and children are not possessed of reason.
Virtue therefore come by training, not by birth; by art, not by nature. In the
period that precedes the attainment of virtue, there exist state of the soul
which are the semblances and the forerunners of virtue; and he who is on his
way towards wisdom, and whom we call ‘the probationer’ (προκόπτων, roficiens),
by learning and practice comes daily nearer to his goal, till in the crowning
moment he wins it as a whole; for virtue is no sum of lesser dispositions
reached by a gradual addition of item to item, but a thing complete in itself.
Can virtue thus won be lost at a later time? Virtue, it may seem, is not really
such, unless it is indestructible; and the Cynics and the earlier Stoics taught
accordingly that virtue cannot be lost, that it is a ‘possession for ever.’ In
this point, as in so many others, Chrysippus yielded to criticism, and admitted
that virtue might be lost through intoxication or indigestion, to which causes
might well be added the failure of the reason through insanity or old age. But
in spite of these difficulties the general feeling of the Stoic school held
firmly to the doctrine that virtue once acquired is acquired for ever.
325. Wise men. Virtue and vice are not mere theories
of the philosopher; they exist and can be studied in human shape, in the wise
and foolish men of myth, history, and society. The lesson of virtue in
particular can best be learnt by considering virtuous men. Here the Stoics
followed closely the teaching of their predecessors the Cynics. As the best of
models they accepted Hercules, the man rightly deemed a god, who travelled over
all the world, purging it of every lawlessness, and bringing with him justice,
holiness, and peace. Next comes Ulysses, who like Hercules was untiring in his
labours, triumphant over pain, and a conqueror throughout all the world; an
example to all men of endurance and vigour. To barbarians Cyrus, king of
Persia, was a like example to prove that suffering is a good. Many such are
counted amongst the philosophers; first Heraclitus, not for his insight into
nature, but for his control over his passions; then Socrates, who in life and
death was equally a model as a man and as a citizen. Diogenes the Cynic is
worthy of special honour, for he was so filled with love for mankind and
obedience to God, that he willingly undertook a life of labour and bodily
suffering, and thus won himself the true freedom, and became truly happy, truly
divine. Zeno the most temperate of philosophers, and Cleanthes the most
enduring, were men of like type within the Stoic school itself.
326. Wise Romans. To the list of wise men recognised by
the Greeks the Romans were proud to add other names from their own history,
thereby associating their philosophic principles with patriotic pride. From
their mythology Aeneas was selected, the man who crushes his desires that he
may loyally cooperate with the destiny of his people; from the times of the
republic Scipio Africanus minor and his gentle companion Laelius; whilst in
Publius Rutilius Rufus a Roman could be found who, like Socrates, would not
when on his trial consent to any other defence than a plain statement of the
facts, in which he neither exaggerated his own merits nor made any plea for
mercy. But amongst all Romans Cato of Utica was preeminent. If Cicero, as a
contemporary and a colleague in political life, was little liable to illusions
as to his character and success, his testimony to Cato’s sincerity is all the
more valuable; nor can we believe that Cato’s voluntary death would so soon and
so greatly have stirred Roman feeling, had it not come as the climax of a life
worthily spent. The period of the principate brought to the front both men and
women whose fearless lives and quiet self-approved deaths proved them to be
worthy successors to the heroes of the past; and at the same time we notice a
disposition to find some at least of the elements of the heroic character in
simple uneducated folk, as in the soldier, the athlete, and the gladiator, so
that these too serve in their degree as models for those that seek wisdom.
327. Wise men are few. The founders of Stoicism never doubted
that wise men had existed and did exist; they looked forward to a time not far
distant when there should be a Cosmopolis in which every citizen should be
wise. This robust belief was not maintained by their successors. According to
Chrysippus, only one or two wise men have ever existed; and he expressly denies
that he himself or any of his acquaintance are amongst the number. The Stoics
of the transition period avoided the topic as troublesome; and their opponents
naturally pressed it on them all the more. Zeno had said ‘It is reasonable to
honour the gods: it is not reasonable to honour the non-existent: therefore the
gods exist.’ This was now parodied: ‘It is reasonable to honour wise men: it is
not reasonable to honour the non-existent: therefore wise men exist.’ If this
argument was unsatisfactory, as we are told, to the Stoics, because they had
not yet discovered their wise man anywhere, we are not surprised to find that sometimes
they refer him to the golden age, at other times convert him into an ideal. The
Stoics under the Roman principate re-affirmed vigorously the existence of the
wise man. Seneca however admits that his appearance is as rare as that of the
phoenix, and altogether disclaims any such character for himself individually.
Epictetus is far more true to the spirit of the old doctrine, when he not only
abstains from any morbid depreciation of his own character, but also urges his
pupils never to give up the hope of reaching perfection.
328. The glory of virtue. Thus the Stoics founded their moral
ideal on the triple basis of the good citizen, the healthily-disposed soul, and
the examples of wise men. In impressing this part of their system on their
pupils, they made little use of definitions or syllogisms, but all the more
they resorted to rhetorical description. As in their physics the Logos became
almost a person, so here the picture of Virtue is drawn, as by Prodicus in the
old allegory of the choice of Hercules, drawing men to her not by the pleasures
she offers but by her majesty and beauty. Cleanthes in particular heaps
epithets of praise on virtue; more usually it is sufficient to insist that
virtue is good, praiseworthy, and expedient. That ‘the wise man is a king’
almost ceases to be a paradox, since the soul is rightly compared to a kingdom;
that he is rich, handsome, free, and invincible can equally be argued on Stoic
principles. To carry such statements further seems to savour of pedantry, to
ridicule them at any stage is easy. Yet the statement that seems the boldest of
all, that ‘the wise man is happy even on the rack,’ was many a time verified by
the experience of individual Stoics. That the wise man is a god, though subject
to the limitations of mortality, is maintained without hesitation.
329. Stoic ethics. The Stoic morality differs not only in
form and in its reasoned basis, but in substance, both from the popular
morality of the time and the ideals of rival philosophical schools. The Stoic
heroes differ from those of Homer by a world-age; they possess what the Romans
called humanitas, powers of reasoning and of sympathizing unknown to an
age of warriors. The Epicurean sage was not, as popular criticism and that of
many Stoics unjustly described him, a man of gross tastes and reckless
selfishness; but he was essentially easy-going and a quietist, little inclined
to risk his peace of mind by meddling with the troubles of others. To the
Cynics the Stoics owed much in their principles, to the Academics (as we shall
see) much in their application of them; they stood between the two, more
reasonable and judicious than the former, firmer in principle than the latter,
possessed of a breadth of outlook which neither of these schools could claim.
CHAPTER
XIII.
DAILY DUTIES.
DAILY DUTIES.
330. From principles to practice. As in our study of the Stoic
philosophy we turn aside from the supreme problems of the universe, such as
gather round the questions of the divine purpose, the existence of evil, and
unfettered choice, our way becomes easier. Our new problems, dealing with the
constitution of the human soul, and the ideals of human life in the state and
in the individual, are perhaps not simpler in themselves, but they are of
narrower range, and in finding our way over the first rough ground we learn to
tread with some assurance, so that we now feel ourselves, as it were, on a
downward path. For all that, the problems of the universal law and the perfect
man must still be compared to mountain tops, if not to the highest peaks of
all. But from this point on we steadily descend towards the plains, to that
common and practical life by which the worth of philosophy is tested. We no
longer gaze on the same bright sunlight or breathe the same invigorating air
philosophy enters a region; of mists and shadows, and even learns to adapt her
language to new neighbours. But her meaning is the same as before, and the
pathway to the heights is not closed behind her.
331. The daily round. The region we have no reached is that
of ‘daily duties,’ by which phrase we propose to translate here the Greek
καθήκοντα and the Latin officia. This word is defined by Zeno as meaning
‘that which it comes in one’s way to do,’ and its quiet sound at once brings it
into contrast with the proud claims of Virtue. The contrast is in fact great.
Virtue, displaying itself in Right Action, is only possible for reasoning
beings, that is, for gods and men; and within our view it is only attained, if
at all, by the wise man. But daily duty is common to the wise and the unwise;
it not only extends to children, but also to the unreasoning animals and to
plants. Virtue always contemplates the Universal law; for daily duty it is
sufficient to follow the individual nature. Virtue cannot even be understood
except by the trained philosopher, whilst the principles of daily duty may be
explained to the simple. To use a comparison from mathematics, daily duty is
the projection of virtue upon the plane of ordinary life. Between the two there
always remains an assured correspondence. Each Right Action which Virtue
achieves is at the same time the performance of a daily duty, and that in the
most complete manner; each daily duty performed by the unwise is a step by
which he may in the end climb to Wisdom.
332. First laws of nature. The subject of ‘daily duties’ was
treated both by Zeno and by Cleanthes, and is implied in the theory of Stoic
ethics as a whole; it has also a special relation to the doctrine of advantages
and disadvantages. Nevertheless the Stoics do not directly say that daily duty
consists in the seeking of advantages, but that it is based upon primary ends
which nature sets up (πρῶτα κατὰ φύσιν, principia naturae). This phrase
indicates the source of this part of the Stoic philosophy; it marks teaching
common to the Peripatetic school and the Academy, and accepted by Zeno from his
teacher Polemo. We are not informed how Zeno and Cleanthes elaborated this
subject; and when we find it taken up in earnest, the spirit of the Academy is
firmly established. Thus the Stoic demand for certain knowledge is here set
aside; and we are told that the standard of daily duty is ‘that which when done
can reasonably be defended’; which definition closely corresponds with the
definition of the supreme good by Diogenes of Babylon ‘to take a reasonable
course in the choice of things according to nature.’ Thus strong will and
assured conviction are no longer required; the door is thrown open for
convention, opportunism, and respectability. The daring moral theories and bold
paradoxes of the founders of Stoicism tend to disappear from sight, and are
replaced by shrewd good sense and worldly wisdom: in short, by the doctrine of
‘making the best of both worlds.’ The subject was therefore congenial to
Panaetius, who was both a practical statesman and an admirer of Plato and
Aristotle; and it was from this standpoint that Stoicism so rapidly won its way
with the Roman nobility of the last century of the republic. Panaetius’ book
περὶ καθηκόντων was the basis of Cicero’s work de Officiis, which is the
only systematic treatise which we possess on Stoic ethics, and therefore
generally the most convenient source of information. As however this work leans
very strongly towards Peripatetic views, it will frequently be necessary to
refer to other authorities, amongst which Cicero’s de Finibus best
represents the older Stoics, and Seneca and Epictetus the Stoics of the Roman
principate.
333. From the animals to man. It is no departue from the fundamental
principles of Stoicism when we learn that the ‘first lessons of nature’ are
those which are imprinted upon every animal at its birth; Zeno himself had
sought for the natural law of marriage by a like method. The first natural
lesson is that each animal seeks, not indeed pleasure as the Epicureans hold,
but its own preservation and the maintenance of its life in its completeness.
At a later stage is imparted the desire of sexual union for procreation’s sake,
and with it some kind of affection for each one’s offspring. But nature’s best
lessons are reserved for man; as to look into the future, and regard life as a
whole; to interest himself in his fellows, to attend public festivities, and to
procure the amenities of a civilized life for himself and those dependent upon
him; in spare hours, to acquire information on points of historical or
philosophical interest; in riper life to claim freedom, and to refuse to submit
to any arbitrary commands; and finally, to perceive in all things harmony and
beauty, and to avoid any disturbance of it by wilful action. ‘Such,’ says Cicero,
‘is the picture of a beautiful life; and could we see it with our eyes (as
Plato says), great would be our desire to possess Wisdom for a bride.’
334. Wavering as to the standard. In this general sketch we miss a clear
ethical standard. The first lessons of nature may easily be perverted, so far
as they are common to men and animals, for they point towards the acts of
eating, drinking, and sexual union, all of which are associated by the ordinary
man with pleasure in a vicious sense. Hence arises a danger (from which many
Stoics do not keep clear), that we may fall into the terrible error of the
Epicureans, and hold that pleasure itself is a first law of nature. It is
therefore necessary to lay it down that man should aim specially at those
results which are characteristic of human nature, that is at the development of
powers which he does not share with the lower animals. So far the Academy and
the Porch might travel together. But the only higher capacities recognised by
the Stoics are reason and the political sense, which is an aspect of the
universal reason; such matters as antiquarian interests and the appreciation of
beauty could only be introduced under Academic influence. The last, however, as
we shall see, is to become with Panaetius the predominant consideration.
335. The four virtues. From the enunciation of general
principles we pass on to the separate virtues. Virtue in the strict sense can
only be possessed by the wise man; he therefore alone can practise the virtues;
nevertheless we may use this and like terms in a secondary sense to describe
those adumbrations or reflections of virtue which fall within the reach of the
ordinary man. The classification of the virtues varies. Panaetius divided
virtue into two parts, theoretical and practical, and Seneca follows him on
this point. It was perhaps Chrysippus who distinguished between virtues that
are ‘arts’ (τέχναι) and which are based on theoretical principles, and those
which are ‘acquirements’ (δυνάμεις), being attained by practice. But generally
speaking the division of Virtue into the four cardinal virtues of Wisdom,
Justice, Courage, and Soberness is accepted as sufficient; by subdivision the
number of virtues may be increased to any extent; and in scholastic
classifications of virtue we find lists which have multiplicity for their
direct aim.
336. Wisdom. Wisdom (φρόνησις, prudentia) is
considered by Zeno not only as the first of the virtues, but as the foundation
of all; so that Courage is wisdom in suffering, Justice is wisdom in distribution,
and Soberness is wisdom in enjoyment. His successors treated Science (ἐπιστήμη,
scientia) as the parent virtue, thus placing Wisdom side by side with
the other cardinal virtues, yet losing the point of Zeno’s genealogy. The
writers of the later periods desired to recognise separately contemplative
wisdom, and therefore introduced as a subdivision of the first cardinal virtue
‘Speculation’ (σοφία, sapientia). But the Stoics generally held that all
wisdom must justify itself by practical results. The study of the so-called
‘liberal arts’ has a value for children, for it prepares the way for virtuous
training. Logic is needed to protect us against fallacious reasoning, and
physics that we may rightly understand the universe and its providential
government, upon which the conception of duty depends; in this sense we may
speak of logic and physics as virtues, that is, as subdivisions of the virtue
of wisdom. The study of physics is also admirable because it elevates the soul.
Geometry, law, and astrology are useful in the several professions. But study
when carried to excess, as by antiquarians, bookworms, and other learned
time-wasters is nothing but folly.
337. Justice. The second cardinal virtue is Justice
(δικαιοσύνη, iustitia), of which Chrysippus drew a striking allegorical
picture. ‘She is of virgin form, to show that she is incorruptible and does not
give way to bad men; … of firm and fierce aspect, … inspiring fear in the
wicked, confidence in the good; her eyes are keen-sighted, her bearing is at
once sad and awe-inspiring.’ Cicero distinguishes Justice in the narrower sense
from ‘Beneficence.’ Justice proper is a political virtue, and consists in
respect for the rights and property of individuals. By nature indeed all things
are common; but since they have become private property by occupation,
conquest, law, contract, and so forth, individuals may keep their own, provided
they do not forget that they have always the duty of contributing to the common
good, and that even slaves have reasonable claims upon them. Beneficence needs
the guidance of principle, and must be determined by considerations of person
and occasion. The claims of persons upon us depend on propinquity; country,
parents, wife and children must be first considered, then other relatives, then
fellow-citizens, lastly men in general. The consideration of the degrees of
propinquity (σχέσεις) was a favourite subject with Epictetus, and a useful
defence against those who maintained that the Stoic sage was lacking in natural
affection. The virtue of Justice appealed specially to the statesman in both
its applications, and is dealt with fully by Panaetius, and by Cicero after
him.
338. Courage. The third cardinal virtue is Courage
(ἀνδρεία, fortitudo), which retains the tradition of the ‘strength and
force,’ of Socrates. This again, according to Cicero, has two parts, one
passive, which consists in despising fortune and its buffets, and is in harmony
with the picture of the wise man as usually drawn; the other part, which we may
call Greatness of Soul (μεγαλοψυχία, magnitudo animi) is shown in the
undertaking of great enterprises. The virtue of Courage is characteristically
Stoic, and may be considered, like its counterpart Wisdom, as the foundation
and source of all the virtues; the knowledge of good and evil can only be
attained by the soul that is duly strung to vigorous resolution. The Stoics of
the principate perhaps insist most of all on this virtue, which alone makes men
independent of all that it lies with Fortune to give and to take away. The man
of courage will therefore detach himself from fortune’s gifts; he will treat
them as household furniture lent to him which may be at any moment recalled.
339. Death not to be feared. Courage appears in its highest
development in the face of tyranny and death. It is the tyrant’s boast that he
has men in his power: but the brave man is an exception. His rank and his
property may be taken away; he may be subjected to the torture; his life may be
forfeited but the soul, that is the man himself, is beyond the tyrant’s reach.
To pain he answers ‘if I can bear it, it will be light; if I cannot bear it, it
cannot be long.’ Amidst all the extremities of fire and rack men have been
found who never groaned, never begged for mercy, never answered a question, and
indeed laughed heartily. Of death the Stoic has no fear; not only is it no
evil, but it is to be welcomed as part of the course of nature; it is the best
of friends, for it offers a release from all troubles, and in particular from
the oppression of the tyrant. We do not indeed deny that normally life is an
advantage, that nature’s first lesson is self-preservation, and that death in
itself is a thing terrible to contemplate; but life is not the more desirable
for its length; and when old age begins to shatter the powers of the mind, and
to degrade the man to the life of a vegetable, nature is calling him to quit
his mortal body. At no period is life worth purchasing at the cost of the loss
of honour, without which it loses its savour. The philosopher therefore will
not merely see with calm confidence the approach of death he will go forward to
meet it of his own free will, if only he is assured that reasonable choice
points that way.
340. Reasonable departure. The doctrine of ‘reasonable departure’
(εὔλογος ἐξαγωγή rationalis e vita excessus) plays a prominent part in
the Stoic ethics. It cannot rightly be described as the recommendation of
suicide; for the Stoics do not permit a man to pass sentence of death upon
himself, but only to cooperate in carrying out the decree of a higher power.
The doctrine is intended in the first instance to justify death gloriously met
in fighting for one’s country or one’s friends; next when intolerable pain or
incurable disease plainly indicates the will of the deity; in the development
of Roman history a third reason was found in the loss of political freedom.
These reasons are not added to, but only systematized, when we are told that it
is an ‘ordinary duty’ to quit life when a man’s natural advantages (τὰ κατὰ
φύσιν) are outweighed by the corresponding disadvantages; for amongst ‘natural
advantages’ are included in this connexion all those considerations of which an
honourable man will rightly take account; and the calculation may equally lead
him to the conclusion that, in spite of old age and suffering, and though he
has never attained to true wisdom, his simple duty is to wait quietly in life.
341. Its dangers. The practice of ‘reasonable departure’
was largely recommended to the Stoics by the examples of Socrates (whose death
they regarded as voluntary,) and of Cato; and it was at first no small matter
of pride to them to find that these examples found imitators, and that their
system thus showed its power over the greatest of the terrors that beset
humanity. But under the Roman principate ‘free departure’ soon became so common
that it was a reproach rather than a glory to its advocates, a social disease
pointing to morbidity of soul rather than to healthy resolution. Hence the
philosophers turned from recommendation to reproof. ‘A brave and wise man must
not flee from life, but quit it,’ says Seneca; ‘nothing is more disgraceful
than to long for death’. ‘Friends,’ says Epictetus, ‘wait for God; when he
shall give you the signal, then go to him.’
342. Courage is active. The ‘free departure’ is the most
striking illustration of passive courage, but even before it was abused Cicero
at least had perceived the attraction which this attitude of soul possesses,
and its opposition to the spirit of active enterprise which he calls Greatness
of Soul, and which he advocates perhaps more on Academic than on Stoic lines.
Still the Stoics had already denned Courage as ‘virtue fighting in the front
rank in defence of justice.’ A good man must indeed regard power and wealth as
things indifferent; but he is to be blamed if he makes this an excuse for
avoiding public life, and leaving to others magistracies at home or commands in
the wars. In the old world the love of glory and praise on the one hand, angry
feeling against enemies on the other, has led men to seek these positions; but
now they should seek them at home that they may have a wide field for the
exercise of their virtues, and in the wars in order that all war may be brought
to an end. By the older Stoics this Greatheartedness was advocated by precept
and example: Zeno had said that the wise man should take part in public life,
and his hearers Persaeus and Philonides had taken service under Antigonus
Gonatas, and Sphaerus with Cleomenes III, king of Sparta. We shall see later
how large was the part played in Roman political life by men who were Stoics or
inclined to Stoicism, in an age in which there was a strong current of fashion
in favour of a quiet life. We must therefore recognise in Courage, fully as
much as in Wisdom or Justice, a political as well as a private virtue.
343. Soberness. The fourth cardinal virtue is
Soberness (σωφροσύη, temperantia). Of this there are various
definitions, and amongst them that it is the principle which regulates our
natural appetites so that they are neither in excess nor in defect. From
Cicero’s point of view Soberness embraces all the virtues, for it is in the due
regulation of the impulses that virtue consists. The standard to be attained is
a healthy state of the soul; and this is to be judged, upon the analogy of the
body, by the canon of that which is beautiful, symmetrical, and becoming
(πρέπον, decorum). ‘Just as bodily beauty is symmetry established
between the limbs mutually, and also between each and the whole body, so beauty
of the soul is symmetry between the reasoning power and its parts, and mutually
between each of those parts.’ Although this is in principle a doctrine accepted
by the whole Stoic school, yet in its application we may easily find an
entirely new departure, that is, if the appeal is made to an artistic standard
which depends upon the taste of the individual. The door is then thrown open to
an abandonment of the Cynico-Stoic theory of life according to reason, and to
the acceptance of the standard of good feeling, which may easily be so
stretched as to include existing prejudices and conventions. This danger is
realized in Cicero’s treatment of the virtue of ‘decorum,’ which in its
distinctive sense is defined as having the element of ‘gentlemanliness’ in
itself. It begins with respect for the feelings and opinions of others; it
avoids all rough games and obscene jests; it makes choice of a profession adapted
to the natural character of the individual; it observes, as the actor does, the
proprieties of youth and age, rich and poor, citizen and foreigner; it
prescribes dignity as fitting for men, gracefulness for women. In particular
decorum is displayed in modesty (verecundia). This is shown by keeping
out of sight those parts of the body which nature, though she could not
dispense with them, has concealed and covered; in attending to their functions
with the utmost secrecy; and in referring both to these parts of the body and
to their uses by words that do not properly describe them.
344. Cynicism or ‘decorum’? Cicero’s treatment of ‘decorum’ is so
full of good sense that his de Officiis was the most widely-known
textbook of Greco-Roman ethics in medieval schools, and has retained its
importance in the classical public schools of the present day. But its logical
justification on Stoic principles is far from easy. We are therefore not
surprised to find that, just as Zeno and the main body of his followers had
proclaimed in advance that such doctrine was false in principle and ridiculous
in detail, so conversely the followers of Panaetius found it necessary
expressly to repudiate the teaching of a large number of Stoics. We have in
fact here a sharp conflict between the cultured and Platonizing Stoics on the
one side, and the general feeling of the school on the other. Cicero elsewhere
treats it as an accepted Stoic doctrine that ‘the wise man will blurt things
straight out’; and the theory of ‘gentlemanly professions’ can never have
appealed to any large social circle. In the period of the principate we find
the theory of ‘decorum,’ as a whole, abandoned. Seneca, personally as sensitive
as Cicero himself, recognises the absurdity of wasting time in hinting at a
plain meaning, nor does he limit his choice of illustration even when addressing
a lady of high social position. We must look then in some other direction than
the de Officiis for a duly proportioned exposition of the Stoic virtue
of Soberness.
345. The appetites. Reverting to the definitions of this
virtue, we find, amongst those that are generally accepted, first, that it is
‘the science of things that are to be sought or avoided or neither’; secondly,
that it is ‘concerned with the human appetites.’ Now the term ‘appetite’ or
‘impulse’ (ὁρμή, appetitus) includes in the Stoic philosophy all those
first movements of the soul which draw us on towards some object, and which are
adumbrations of right conduct requiring revision and control by reason. But it seems
clear that Soberness has little to do with those higher impulses that are
characteristic of man, such as the love of knowledge or of society, since other
virtues are concerned with these. It remains that Soberness is the virtue which
is concerned with the appetites common to men and the lower animals, which we
may shortly call the ‘lower appetites’; they are, as we have already stated,
the desires of eating, drinking, and sexual union. It is just in this sphere
that Pleasure arises, in the sense in which it is condemned by the Cynics and
popular moralists. We may therefore shortly define Soberness as a right
disposition of soul in relation to Pleasure. Its peculiar characteristic is
that it is in the main a negative virtue, displaying itself in abstinence from
indulgence.
346. Two views of pleasure. In order then rightly to understand
the virtue of Soberness, we need a clear idea of the attitude of the Stoics
towards Pleasure. Zeno, as we have seen, whilst definitely placing Pleasure in
the category of things indifferent, had nevertheless allowed it to be
understood that it might be an advantage (προηγμένον), and the seeking after it
natural (κατὰ φύσιν); and this is stated to have been the express teaching of
Hecato, Apollodorus, and Chrysippus. To other Stoics this appeared to be a
disastrous concession to Epicurean views. Cleanthes, who had scornfully
described the ideal of Epicurus by the picture of Pleasure enthroned as queen,
with the Virtues submissively attending as her handmaidens, interpreted the
word ‘indifferent’ more strictly; he refused to admit that pleasure was ‘natural’
or possessed any worth. In this view he was supported by a great many Stoics,
and practically by Archedemus, when he said that pleasure was natural but
valueless, like the hairs under the armpit. Hence followed the acceptable
conclusion that no sensible man would pay much attention to so trivial a
matter. Thus the one word ‘indifferent’ came to include two views which were
substantially opposed, the one inclining to the Academic standpoint, and the
other to Cynism.
347. Pleasure as an aftergrowth, or an
evil. From this
contradiction an escape was sought by making a distinction. In one sense
pleasure is an aftergrowth, affection of the body, namely a tickling (titillatio)
of the organs of sense, most readily illustrated in the eating of dainties.
This kind of pleasure, even if it is not an advantage naturally sought, yet has
some likeness to one; though it is not directly to be aimed at, yet it may be
welcomed when nature grants it to us as an extra. This new view practically
coincides with that of Aristotle, who calls pleasure an ‘aftergrowth’
(ἐπυγέννημα, accessio), which of itself follows on virtuous action, and
is attached to it as the scent to a flower. But much more commonly, in ethical
discussions, ‘pleasure’ denotes the excitement which is more strictly termed
‘hilarity’ (ἔπαρσις, sublatio animi), and is the unhealthy condition of
the soul when it is unduly attracted to an object of choice. For this mischief
Cicero suggests the Latin term laetitia, which is perhaps not altogether
adequate. This ‘pleasure’ may be unreservedly condemned as not merely
indifferent, but actually contrary to nature; whilst the virtuous and natural
disposition is that of the man who not only contemplates toil and pain with
calm mind, but actually welcomes them as possible stepping-stones towards his
own true advantage.
348. Active soberness. Although the prevailing tendency in
Stoic teaching is to consider Soberness as a negative virtue, and as opposed to
the perturbation of Hilarity, there is not wanting some recognition of its
positive side. For Soberness also demands that there shall be a healthy
activity of the soul in matters such as eating, drinking, and the relations of
sex; abstinence is not in itself an end, and if pursued out of season is both a
folly and a fault. But this point of view is not adequately treated by any
Stoic writer. Panaetius in discussing daily duties omitted to consider the
proper care of the body, as was afterwards noticed by Antipater of Tyre; and
Cicero gets little further than a general recommendation of common sense and
self-restraint in all the circumstances of life. The Romans of the principate
were disposed to leave the matter to the physician, suggesting only that food
should suffice to allay hunger, drink to put an end to thirst, and clothing to
keep away cold; but it is probable that popular moral discourses stopped short
of this, and favoured some amount of endurance as a discipline for the soul.
349. Sober love. With regard to the relations of sex,
the Socratic tradition was favourable to a more positive treatment. Accordingly
the Stoics (not without some feeling that they are adopting a paradoxical
position) assert that love (ἔρως, amor) is an essential, both for the
maintenance of the State and for the character of the good man. Zeno had laid
it down that ‘the wise man will love.’ We must, however, make a sharp
distinction between love as the desire of sexual union, and the higher Love
(ἐρωτικὴ ἀρετή) which is defined anew as ‘an effort to make friends suggested
by a beautiful object.’ Upon this impulse, which is natural in the widest
sense, is based friendship in the young, and the more lasting tie between
husband and wife. By imposing self-restraint on the man, and inviting the woman
to share the lessons of philosophy, the Stoics introduced a new relation
between husband and wife based upon equality and comradeship. A notable
precedent was furnished by the Cynic community, when the witty and learned
Hipparchia joined Crates in the life of the beggar-preacher; and Roman Stoicism
supplies us with numerous instances of the same companionship. Under such
conditions marriage is no longer a matter of free choice; it is a civic duty
incumbent on the young Stoic. The Stoics of the Roman principate well perceived
the danger that threatened the society in which they lived through the growing
practice of celibacy.
350. Of marriage. The Stoic attitude towards marriage is
well illustrated by the following extract from a discourse by Antipater of
Tarsus:
‘A youth of good family and noble soul,
who has a sense of social duty, will feel that no life and no household is
complete without wife and child. He will also bear in mind his duty towards the
State, for how can that be maintained unless, as the fathers decay and fall
away like the leaves of a fine tree, the sons marry in the flower of their age,
and leave behind them fresh shoots to adorn the city, thereby providing for its
protection against its enemies? He will look upon marriage also as a duty
towards the gods; for if the family dies out, who will perform the accustomed
sacrifices?
Besides this he who knows nothing of
wife and child has not tasted the truest joys of affection. For other
friendships are like platefuls of beans or other like mixtures of
juxtaposition, but the union of man and wife is like the mixing of wine and
water, or any other case of penetration (κρᾶσις δι᾽ ὅλων); for they are united
not only by the ties of substance and soul and the dearest bond of children,
but also in body. Other alliances are for occasion, this is bound up with the
whole purpose of life, so that the parents on each side gladly allow that the
wife should be first in her husband’s affection, and the husband in his wife’s.
But in these days of dissolution and anarchy all things change for the worse
and marriage is thought a hard thing; and men call the celibate life divine
because it gives opportunity for licentiousness and varied pleasures, and they
bar the door against a wife as against an enemy. Others have their fancy taken
by beauty or dowry, and no longer look for a wife who is piously brought up and
obedient and a good manager; nor do they trouble to instruct their wives in
these matters.
But if a man would attend to the
warnings of philosophers, of all burdens a lawful wife would be the lightest
and sweetest. Such a man would have four eyes instead of two, and four hands
instead of two, to supply all his needs: and if he desired leisure to write
books or take part in politics, he could hand over the whole business of
housekeeping to his partner.’
351. Advantages sought. The four cardinal virtues, however
widely they are interpreted, do not exhaust the field of daily duties. All
objects that are ‘advantages’ (προηγμένα) are prima facie such that the
good man aims at securing them although if sufficient reason appears, he will
entirely forego them. The advantages of the soul, good natural disposition,
‘art,’ and ‘progress’ are discussed elsewhere in this chapter; as advantages of
the body are reckoned life, health, strength, good digestion, good proportions,
and beauty; whilst external advantages are wealth, reputation, noble birth, and
the like. In all the details there is a lack of exactitude and of agreement
amongst the teachers. According to Seneca, men may reasonably wish for
tallness, and there is a kind of beauty (not dependent on youth) of which women
may be proud without blame. Fine clothes make no one the better man, but a
certain degree of neatness and cleanliness in dress is an advantage. For
nobility the Stoics have little regard; all men are derived through an equal
number of degrees from the same divine origin; virtue is the true nobility.
Good name (δόξα, gloria) is commonly reckoned amongst ‘advantages’; but
Chrysippus and Diogenes are said to have taught that a good man need not move a
finger for the sake of reputation, unless some advantage can be obtained by it.
Later teachers, influenced (as we are told) by the criticisms of Carneades,
made it absolutely plain that they reckoned good name (apart from anything
attainable by it) as an advantage, and they even considered it natural that a
man should think of posthumous reputation. The general feeling of the school
seems to be that the approval of others is too uncertain to be a fitting aim;
its place is taken by the approval of ‘conscience.’ This term, which originally
expressed the burden of a guilty secret, became in the Roman period modified in
meaning, and could thus express the approval awarded to a man by his inner and
personal consciousness, even when all the world disapproves his acts: this
self-approval is closely akin to peace of mind.
352. Wealth. On no subject would it be easier to
find apparently contradictory views among Stoic writers than on that of wealth.
To decry wealth and praise poverty is to some extent a commonplace with all the
philosophical schools; and with Seneca in particular this was so frequent a
practice that his hearers found some inconsistency between his words and his
deeds; for he was, as is well known, a rich man. But the position of the school
is clear. ‘Riches are not a good’ is a Stoic paradox, emphasized in a hundred
forms, and by every teacher; but nevertheless they are an ‘advantage,’ and thus
are rightly aimed at by the good man. To the wealthy Stoics generally, and to
the Romans of the republican period especially, the maintenance of the family
property (res familiaris) was a duty of high importance; and the wasting
of it in wholesale largess, a serious misdeed. The Stoic view was sufficiently
summed up in a proverb borrowed from Epicurus or one of his followers: ‘he who
feels the need of wealth least, can make the best use of it.’ Although Panaetius
did not write a special chapter on the acquisition and use of wealth yet his
views on the latter point are made sufficiently, plain in his treatment of the
virtue of Justice. The justification of wealth lies in the intention to use it
well, and this was a favourite subject with Hecato of Rhodes. As to its
acquisition and investment, Cicero is content to refer us to the
high-principled men who conduct the financial affairs of the capital.
353. Liberty. Amongst those popular terms which hold
an ambiguous place in the Stoic philosophy we must reckon ‘liberty’ (ἐλευθερία,
libertas). In one sense liberty is a condition of soul such as
characterizes the free-born citizen in contrast to the slave; this liberty
differs but little from the virtue of Greatness of Soul already described, and
in its full meaning is a good, which the wise man alone can possess. But in
another sense liberty is an external advantage, sometimes defined as ‘the power
of living as you wish,’ and as such eagerly desired by the slave; more often
perhaps it is conceived as ‘the right of saying what you please.’ In this sense
liberty is equivalent to the παῤῥησία which was the watchword of the democracy
of Athens, and was the equally cherished privilege of the nobility of Rome; in
a slightly different sense it was the boast of the Cynic missionary. The Stoics
take a middle position; whilst all recognise that some sort of liberty is a
precious privilege, and are prepared on occasion to sacrifice life or position
for its sake, there are not wanting voices to remind us that it is unreasonable
to speak out one’s mind without regard to persons or circumstances, that the
wrath of tyrants ought not lightly to be provoked, and that the most terrible
of all oppressors is the soul that has lost its self-control.
354. Disadvantages. Just as virtue chooses advantages in
accordance with natural laws so it refuses disadvantages in accordance with a
disinclination (ἔκκλσις, alienato), which is equally natural and right
so long as it is controlled by reason. Since to every advantage there is
opposed a corresponding disadvantage, to choose the one is necessarily to
refuse the other; and the doctrine of ‘reasonable refusal’ is that of
reasonable choice in its negative form. It will therefore be sufficient to give
a formal statement of the theory. Disadvantages, or things that have negative
value (ἀπαξία), may be subdivided according as they are disadvantages in
themselves, as an ungainly figure; or as they bring about other disadvantages,
as shortness of ready money; or for both reasons, as bad memory or ill-health.
They may also be subdivided into three classes, according as they affect the
soul, the body, or things external. Disadvantages of the soul are such things
as inborn vulgarity or dulness of wit; of the body, ill-health, and dulness of
the organs of sensation; of external things, poverty, loss of children, and the
contempt of our neighbours.
355. Healthy affections. Since the virtues are permanent
dispositions (διαθέσεις) of the soul, rooted in firm principles in which the
wise man never wavers, but to which none else can attain, some other name is
required to describe those more passing but yet wholesome moods which stand in
contrast with the evil ‘affections’ or perturbations of the soul which will be
discussed in our next chapter. A beginning is made in this direction with the
three ‘good affections’ (εὐπάθεαι, constantiae, sapientis affectiones).
Here a new use of terms is introduced. Strictly speaking an ‘affection’ is an
evil state of soul; but as we have no corresponding word for a good and calm
condition, the use of the word ‘affection’ is extended in this direction. Each
of these ‘good affections’ is introduced to us in contrast with a perturbation
to which it bears a superficial resemblance. Thus contrasted with Fear is
‘Caution’ (εὐλάβεια, cautio), which is right avoidance, and is entirely
consistent with Courage rightly understood. Subdivisions of Caution are (i)
‘Shame’ (αἰδώς, verecundia), the avoidance of deserved blame, and (ii)
‘Sanctity’ (ἁγνεία), the avoidance of offences against the gods. Contrasted
with Greed is ‘Readiness’ (βούλησις, voluntas), the reasonable
stretching out after future advantages; contrasted with Hilarity is Joy (χαρά, gaudium),
the reasonable appreciation of present advantages. Both Readiness and Joy are
entirely consistent with Soberness rightly understood. To the perturbation of
Grief no good affection is named as bearing any resemblance; but we need not
for that reason question but that the wise man may entertain some quiet form of
sympathy for the troubles of others, and of regret for the blows which fortune
deals to him in political disappointment or personal bereavement.
The ‘good affections’ are possessed by
the wise man only; but not all wise men possess them, nor any at all times. On
the other hand it is a daily duty to approximate to them, so that on this
ground the good citizen enters into competition with the wise man on not
altogether uneven terms. The whole doctrine of ‘good affections’ may be
conceived as an answer to those who accuse the Stoic of lack of feeling; for
the much derided ‘apathy’ of the school is substituted the doctrine of
‘eupathy.’ Wisdom is not to be compared to the surface of a frozen sea, but to
that of a rippling river. The lectures of Musonius and Epictetus bring out on
every point the meaning of ‘eupathy’ in its various applications.
356. The ethical motive. We have now sketched the Stoic system
of daily duties in its main features, and this sketch will be made more
complete in many particulars in the course of the next two chapters. To the
modern reader the question here suggests itself — what compelling force has
this system? what motive is supplied to the ordinary man for thus planning out
his life? To this question the ancient philosophers did not directly address
themselves; nevertheless their answers are implied in their teaching as a
whole. Thus the Stoics would doubtless reply, first, that daily duties are
prescribed to us by reason; not perhaps always by reason in its highest sense,
to which we must not appeal in every individual action, but at least by the
spirit of reasonableness (εὐλογιστία). Secondly, that the common opinion of
mankind, growing daily stronger, recommends them; they are, as we have seen
from the beginning, things that it comes in our way to do, that every good
citizen and good man will be sure to do. As to future rewards and punishments,
though these are not excluded by Stoicism, they are certainly never pressed as
motives for right living. But the strongest of all motives is undoubtedly the
mental picture of the wise man, the vision of that which is ‘absolutely good.’
Critics may urge: ‘it is a picture that never has been or will be realized in
men’s lives, a vision of that which is very far off and which you will never
see or touch.’ This the Stoics hardly care to deny, but the difficulty does not
disturb them. The vision attracts by its own beauty, the hope of attainment is
cherished by all but the worst. We have spoken of the ‘ordinary man,’ or, as
the Stoics put it, of ‘us who are not wise men.’ But, strictly speaking, there
is no room for the ordinary man in the system, but only for the ‘probationer’
(προκόπτων, proficiens). It remains for us to trace the upward path from
daily duty to virtue, along which every good man is endeavouring to advance.
357. Progress. The doctrine of progress (προκοπή, progressio)
is not peculiar to Stoicism, but it is nevertheless an essential feature of it.
Critics may indeed dispute as to whether virtue has ever been in practice attained;
but the Stoic must hold fast to the ethical principles that ‘virtue can be
taught’ and that ‘virtue is an art.’ Every man has from birth a capacity for
acquiring virtue which varies in degree according to his natural disposition of
soul; on this foundation every man builds by concurrent learning and practice.
The child is greatly helped if he possesses the trait of ‘modesty’ (αἰδώς, verecundia),
which is essentially a readiness to defer to others and to learn from those who
are older and wiser; though later it may turn to ‘false shame,’ which is a
hindrance. He will then learn to understand and perform his daily duties; and
as his character ripens, this performance will daily become easier and more
pleasurable to him, more certain and more steady in itself. And now daily
duties come near to Right Actions, which are indeed daily duties perfected
(τέλειον καθῆκον, perfectum officium), and complete in every point. In
order to rise to this higher standard the good man must first perform his duty
in all particulars; he must do so with regularity and in harmony with the order
of nature; he will then need only a certain fixity, conviction, and stability
to pass into the ranks of the wise.
358. Conversion. The stages of progress are variously
expounded by Stoic writers; but on one principle all are agreed. Progress is
not a half-way stage between vice and virtue, as the Peripatetics teach; it is
a long preparation, to be followed by a change sudden and complete (μεταβολή, conversio).
The final step, by which a foolish man becomes in an instant wise, is different
in kind to all that have gone before. This position is a necessary consequence
of the doctrine that ‘the good is not constituted by addition,’ and is enforced
by various illustrations. The probationer is like a man who has long been under
water; little by little he rises to the surface, but all in a moment he finds
himself able to breathe. He is like a puppy in whom the organ of sight has been
for days past developing; all at once he gains the power of vision. Just so
when progress reaches the end there dawns upon the eyes of the soul the
complete and dazzling vision of the good, of which till now only shadows and
reflections have been perceived. For a moment he is wise, but does not even yet
realize his own freedom; then again in a moment he passes on to the complete
fruition of happiness.
359. Duty. Thus from the lowlier conception of
‘daily duties’ we have again climbed upwards to the supreme ethical end, to
absolute goodness, which is Virtue in her full royalty and the Universal Law
(κοινὸς νόμος) as it appeals to the individual man. In this connexion the ideal
is familiar in modern times under the name of Duty. The ancient Stoics perhaps
never quite reached to any such complete formulation of their ethical theory in
a single word; but their general meaning is perfectly expressed by it. Just as
the Socratic paradoxes mark the quarrel of philosophy with outworn ideas
expressed in conventional language, so its reconciliation with the general
opinion is marked by those newly-coined terms such as ‘conscience’ and
‘affection’ which are now familiar household words. We cannot indeed
demonstrate that ‘Duty exists,’ any more than we can that deity or providence
exists; but we may well say that without it ethical discussion would in our own
day be hardly possible. The following stanzas from Wordsworth’s ‘Ode to Duty,’
based upon a Stoic text, may be a useful reminder, not only of the dominant
position of this conception in modern thought, but also of the continued tendency
of the human mind to express its supreme convictions in anthropomorphic
language.’
Stern daughter of the Voice of God!
O Duty! if that name thou love
Who art a light to guide, a rod
To check the erring, and reprove:
Thou who art victory and law
When empty terrors overawe:
From vain temptations dost set free;
And calm’st the weary strife of frail humanity!
Stern Lawgiver! yet thou dost wear
The Godhead’s most benignant grace;
Nor know we anything so fair
As is the smile upon thy face:
Flowers laugh before thee on thy beds
And fragrance in thy footing treads:
Thou dost preserve the stars from wrong;
And the most ancient heavens, through thee, are fresh and strong.
To humbler functions, awful Power!
I call thee: I myself commend
Unto thy guidance from this hour;
O let my weakness have an end!
Give unto me, made lowly wise,
The spirit of self-sacrifice;
The confidence of Reason give;
And in the light of truth thy Bondman let me live!’
O Duty! if that name thou love
Who art a light to guide, a rod
To check the erring, and reprove:
Thou who art victory and law
When empty terrors overawe:
From vain temptations dost set free;
And calm’st the weary strife of frail humanity!
Stern Lawgiver! yet thou dost wear
The Godhead’s most benignant grace;
Nor know we anything so fair
As is the smile upon thy face:
Flowers laugh before thee on thy beds
And fragrance in thy footing treads:
Thou dost preserve the stars from wrong;
And the most ancient heavens, through thee, are fresh and strong.
To humbler functions, awful Power!
I call thee: I myself commend
Unto thy guidance from this hour;
O let my weakness have an end!
Give unto me, made lowly wise,
The spirit of self-sacrifice;
The confidence of Reason give;
And in the light of truth thy Bondman let me live!’
CHAPTER
XIV.
SIN AND WEAKNESS.
SIN AND WEAKNESS.
360. Sin. The Stoic view of the universe is
coloured by optimism. All comes from God, all works towards good. None the less
the Stoic morals are stern. Men in the mass are both foolish and wicked; they
defy God’s will and thwart his purpose. The world is full of sin, and all sins
(to use the Socratic paradox) are equal. What then is sin? It is a missing of
the mark at which virtue aims (ἁμάρτημα); it is a stumbling on the road (peccatum);
it is a transgressing of the boundary line. It is the child of ignorance, the
outward expression of ill health of the soul. Everywhere and in every man it
weakens, hampers, and delays the work of virtue. It cannot however finally
triumph, for it is at war with itself. The Persians were wrong when they
conceived an Evil Power, a concentration of all the powers of mischief in one
personality. This cannot be, for sin lacks essential unity. It destroys but
does not build; it scatters but it does not sow. It is an earth-born giant,
whose unwieldy limbs will in the end be prostrated by a combatant, small to the
outward view, but inspired with divine forcefulness. If we understand what sin
is, we shall see its repulsiveness; if we learn how it spreads, we shall seek
protection against its infecting poison; if we attack it in detail, in
individual men and in their daily acts, we shall in the end lay it low.
Philosophy then proceeds to arm itself for its task.
361. The four sinful conditions are
errors.
Sin is ignorance; more accurately, it is that which appears to be knowledge,
but is not knowledge; it is false judgment. If we follow the process by which
knowledge is attained, we find that there is no error in the mind-picture (visum),
whether it is sensory or partly sensory and partly rational; this is an
adumbration automatically presented to the mind. But ‘assent is in our power’;
it is both an intellectual and a moral act. A too hasty assent to that which
appears to be but is not is both an error and an offence; and most particularly
so when it lies in the application of the general conceptions (προλήψεις) of
‘good’ and ‘evil’ to particular cases. In this way we quickly reach four sinful
conditions, which come about by mistaking things indifferent, that is,
advantages and disadvantages, for things good or evil. These are:
- (i) Fear (φόβος, metus), in which a future disadvantage is mistaken for a future evil;
- (ii) Greed (ἐπιθυμία, libido), in which a future advantage is mistaken for a future good;
- (iii) Grief (λύπη, aegritudo), in which a present disadvantage is mistaken for a present evil;
- (iv) Hilarity (ἡδονή, laetitia), in which a present advantage is mistaken for a present good.
In the case of the last two evils the
title presents difficulty in all languages; thus for Grief we might substitute
any term such as Discontent, Vexation, Worry or Fretfulness; it is a lack of
Courage in bearing pain or disappointment. Again for Hilarity we might
substitute Elation, Exaltation, Excitement: it is a lack of Soberness in the
moment of pleasure.
362. They are also maladies. From another point of view all sin is
due to a lack of moral force, a want of tone in the moral sinews, an unhealthy
condition of the soul. Ultimately this point of view agrees with that just
described: for it is the lack of health and strength which leads to hasty and
ill-judged assent. But for practical purposes we may use this distinction to
lead up to a difference of grade. Thus we may associate ignorance with that
rooted perversity of mind which is the exact opposite of virtue, and which is
therefore in the strictest sense ‘vice’ (κακία, vitium); and want of
tone with a passing condition which we cannot deny to be an evil, but may
nevertheless describe by the gentler terms ‘perturbation’ and ‘affection.’ Such
an evil is a disturbance of the soul’s calm, an ‘infection’ of its health. It
may exist in three grades to be hereafter described, as a ‘ruffling,’ a
‘disturbance,’ a ‘disease’; and in both the latter forms it must be rooted out,
for in both grades it is an evil, and in the last it is a vice which threatens
to poison the man’s whole nature. Hence we reach the Stoic paradox that ‘the
affections must be extirpated.’ But although this is our only ethical standard,
we are not debarred from suggesting remedies which may alleviate the malady in
particular persons and under special circumstances.
363. Fear. The evil of Fear (φόβος, formido,
metus) is practically opposed to the virtue of Courage. Here philosophy
builds upon the foundations of common opinion, and its task is the easier. The
youth who is brought up not to regard suffering, poverty, exile, or death as
evils, will never be afraid. Since it is death that most alarms mankind by its
grim aspect, he who can face this giant without trembling will not know fear, or
at the most will only feel a slight ruffling of the soul. In asserting that
‘fear should be rooted out’ the Stoics cross no general sentiment; the
tradition of the heroic age is the same.
364. Greed. The treatment of Greed (ἐπιθυμία, libido)
is similar. This fault is opposed to the Soberness with which men should aim at
advantages; and when we have determined the standard of Soberness every
transgression of it reveals Greed. But under this heading the Stoics include
the vices of Anger and Cruelty, for which the heroic age had no condemnation.
In regard to the former they come into conflict with the Peripatetics also, who
maintain that Anger serves useful ends, and should be controlled, not
extirpated. The consideration of this condition of mind will therefore bring
out the divergence between the two schools.
365. Anger. The Peripatetics assign Anger to the
passionate part of the soul (τὸ ἐπιθυμητικόν); they admit that it needs to be
restrained by reason, but hold that within proper limits it is both natural and
necessary. In war it is essential to heroic action; he who is filled with it
despises danger, and rushes on to great achievements. It is no less necessary
in peace, in order that the wicked may not go unpunished. Aristotle says
compendiously that ‘anger is the spur of virtue,’ the armour of the man of high
soul. To this point of view the Stoics are opposed alike on the ground of
principle and of experience. We do not need disease as a means to health, or
armour which sways instead of being swayed. A good man will face danger
unmoved, from the sense of duty; and will face it more firmly and more
perseveringly than he whose passions are excited. He will punish wrong-doers
either for their amendment or for the protection of others, without being angry
with them. Fabius the Delayer conquered his own spirit before he overcame
Hannibal; and the very gladiators strike, not when their feelings move them,
but when the opportunity has come.
366. Degrees of anger; remedies for it. Anger is technically defined as ‘the
greedy desire of avenging an injury,’ or (more precisely) as ‘the greedy desire
to punish one whom you deem to have injured you unjustly.’ That it is a
temporary madness has always been held by the wise; and this is indicated by
the appearance of the angry, the threatening look, the heightened colour, the
gnashing teeth, the stamp of the foot; also by the fact that children are
specially prone to anger, even for frivolous causes, and that anger is often
directed against harmless persons or objects. Nevertheless anger does not
consist of a merely instinctive feeling, but implies the assent of the will; so
that we can always trace the three stages, first the appearance of an injury
done (species oblata iniuriae), secondly the assent (animus adsentit
atque adprobat), thirdly the outbreak of anger (sequitur ira). To
check anger the first necessity is time: reflection will often show us that we
have not been injured at all, or not so much as we supposed. Then it is well to
put ourselves in the place of the offender, and try to look at the offence from
his point of view. Where anger has become a disease (iracundia), more
violent remedies must be used some have been cured by looking at themselves in
a mirror; others must apply the ‘contrary twist,’ and learn when struck to turn
quietly away.
367. Variations of anger. Anger is an evil that has many
varieties, and the precisians exercise their ingenuity in distinguishing the
bitter-humoured (amarus), the fiery (stomachosus), the fierce (rabiosus),
the man who is hard to get on with (difficilis), and many other shades
of character. But one variety deserves special notice, because the evil
disposition exists though its expression is checked. The angry man of this type
does not allow himself to go beyond complaint and criticism, but he nurses his
feeling in the depths of his heart. He would on no account express himself in
loud outcries, but his displeasure is easily excited and persistent. This evil
we call moroseness; it is a feeling characteristic of a decadent society, and
(like all other kinds of anger) it calls for unsparing repression.
368. Cruelty. Cruelty, a tendency to excess in
punishment, is an evil constantly attendant upon the possession of power, and
directly opposed to the virtue of clemency. Roman history has exhibited many
examples of it, beginning with Sulla who ordered seven thousand Roman citizens
to be slain on one day, continuing with the many masters who are hated for
cruelty to their slaves. It cuts at the root of the ties of humanity and
degrades man to the level of the beast; in its extreme form it becomes a madness,
when the slaying of a man is in itself a pleasure. As a remedy for cruelty in
its milder forms it is well to consider the true objects of punishment; first,
to reform the offender; secondly, to make others better by a warning; thirdly,
to give a sense of safety to the community by removing offenders. All these
objects are better effected if punishment is moderate and rare, and appears to
be awarded with reluctance. When cruelty has become a disease it is necessary
to remind the tyrant that his manner of life is a pitiable one, and that a
complete cure can be worked by putting him to death.
369. Grief. In reckoning Grief in its countless
varieties as an evil the Stoics did not altogether run counter to public
opinion. In the heroic age grief was indeed not forbidden, but it was sharply
limited; women might grieve, men should remember. But in prescribing the total
extinction of this state of mind the Stoics appeared to pass the bounds of
human nature; public feeling revolted against what seemed impossible of
attainment. Our position to-day is not greatly altered; but we may notice that
whereas in ordinary social life is not only tolerated but approved, yet in
battle, earthquake, flood, and pestilence our ideal of the hero is one which
almost entirely excludes the indulgence of this emotion.
Grief takes many forms, as Fretfulness,
Disappointment, Restlessness, Pity, and Mourning; we proceed to examine them in
order.
370. Fretfulness. The simplest form of Grief is
fretfulness under bodily pain, the effect of depression of the soul and
contraction of its sinews. In all ages and under all philosophies the capacity
of bearing pain without flinching is the primary test of virtue; and in the
Cynic and Stoic schools alike the dogma ‘pain is no evil’ is of critical importance.
In this matter correct doctrine needs to be strengthened by life-long
discipline; but it is not required by Stoic principles that general principles
should be forced upon the acceptance of individual sufferers. Panaetius
therefore acted quite correctly when, in writing to Quintus Tubero on the
subject of the endurance of pain, he abstained from pressing the usual paradox.
But all who see this trial awaiting them will do well to consider how much
hardship men willingly endure for evil purposes, such as those of lust,
money-making, or glory. Cocks and quails will fight to the death for victory:
jugglers will risk their lives swallowing swords, walking on tight ropes, or
flying like birds, when in each case a slip means death. If we compose our minds
long before to meet suffering, we shall have more courage when the time comes.
371. Discipline of pain. Still more effective is active training.
Happy was the Spartan youth who came to Cleanthes to ask him whether pain was
not a good; his education had taught him that this was a more practical
question than that other, whether pain is an evil. Recruits cry out at the
slightest wound, and are more afraid of the surgeon’s touch than of the sword;
on the other hand veterans watch the life-blood draining away without a sigh.
Some men groan at a box on the ear, whilst others smile under the scourge.
Inexperience therefore is the chief cause for weakness under pain; familiarity
with it brings strength.
372. Disappointed ambition. The Grief that gives way to pain of
mind has very various forms; but that which is due to disappointed ambition is
perhaps the most typical. Even men who had overcome the fear of death were
known to shudder at the bitterness of soul (aegritudo animi) which
accompanies defeat in a contested election (repulsa) in a republic, or
displacement from the favour of the powerful under a monarchy. For this malady
the complete remedy is found in the paradox that ‘the wise man is king,’ that
virtue can never be unseated from the curule chair; temporary alleviations may
be found, even by philosophers, in biting sarcasms aimed at the incapacity of
one’s fellow-citizens. It may be in the abstract the duty of a good man to take
part in politics; but experience shows that the State has yet to be discovered
which can tolerate a sage, or which a sage can tolerate. Hence we find even
Stoic teachers relapsing into practical Epicureanism, and bidding their
followers to let the community go hang, and to reserve their energies for some
nobler occupation. To these lapses from sound principle we need not attach any
serious importance; the individual Stoic did not always live up to his creed.
373. Restlessness. Restlessness is grief of mind without
known cause the unquiet soul rushes hither and thither, vainly seeking to be
free from its own company. The lesson that Horace had pressed a century
earlier, that disquiet can only be cured by quiet, has not been learnt. In
Homer Achilles tosses on his bed in fever, lying first on his face, then on his
back, never long at rest in any position; and so to-day (our wealthy man first
travels to luxurious Campania, then to the primitive district of the Bruttii;
north and south are tried in turn, and alike disapproved, whilst after all the
fault is not in the place, but in the man. In this temper men come to hate
leisure and complain that they have nothing to do. This folly reaches an
extreme when men trust themselves to the sea, take the chance of death without
burial, and place themselves in positions in which human skill may avail
nothing. It even leads to great political disasters, as when Xerxes attacks
Greece because he is weary of Asia, and Alexander invades India because the
known world is too small for him. The times will come, when men will seek
novelty by travelling through the air or under the sea; they will force their
way through the cold of the poles and the damp heat of the forests of Africa.
The remedy lies either in humbler submission to the will of the deity, or in a
sense of humour which sees the absurdity of taking so much trouble for so
little advantage.
374. Pity. Pity is that weakness of a feeble
mind, which causes it to collapse at the sight of another man’s troubles,
wrongly believing them to be evils. Pity looks at the result, not at the cause,
and it is most keenly felt by women of all ages, who are distressed by the
tears even of the most abandoned criminals, and would gladly burst open the doors
of the gaols to release them. The cause of pity lies in a too rapid assent; we
are caught napping by every sight that strikes on our senses. If we see a man
weeping, we say ‘he is undone’: if we see a poor man, we say ‘he is wretched;
he has nothing to eat.’ Now we Stoics have a bad name, as though we recommended
to governors a system of harsh punishments; but, on the contrary, none value
more highly than we the royal virtue of clemency. Only let it be considered
that a wise man must keep a calm and untroubled mind, if only that he may be
ready to give prompt help to those who need it; a saving hand to the
shipwrecked, shelter to the exile, the dead body of her son to a mother’s
tears. The wise man will not pity, but help.
375. Sensibility. Nearly akin to the evil of pity is
that sensitiveness to the sufferings of others which leads men, contrary to
reason, to turn the other way and avoid the sight of them. Of this weakness
Epictetus gives us a lively picture:
‘When he was visited by one of the
magistrates, Epictetus inquired of him about several particulars, and asked if
he had children and a wife. The man replied that he had; and Epictetus inquired
further, how he felt under the circumstances. ‘Miserable,’ the man said. Then
Epictetus asked ‘In what respect? For men do not marry and beget children in
order to be wretched, but rather to be happy.’ ‘But I,’ the man replied, ‘am so
wretched about my children that lately, when my little daughter was sick and
was supposed to be in danger, I could not endure to stay with her, but I left
home till a person sent me news that she had recovered.’ ‘Well then,’ said
Epictetus, ‘do you think that you acted right?’ ‘I acted naturally,’ the man
replied; ‘this is the case with all or at least most fathers.’ ‘Let us be careful,’
said Epictetus, ‘to learn rightly the criterion of things according to nature.
Does affection to those of your family appear to you to be according to nature
and to be good?’ ‘Certainly.’ ‘Is then that which is consistent with reason in
contradiction with affection?’ ‘I think not.’ ‘Well then, to leave your sick
child and to go away is not reasonable, and I suppose that you will not say
that it is; but it remains to inquire if it is consistent with affection.’
‘Yes, let us consider.’ ‘Has the mother no affection for her child?’ ‘Certainly
she has.’ ‘Ought then the mother to have left her, or ought she not?’ ‘She ought
not.’ ‘And the nurse, does she love her?’ ‘She does.’ ‘Ought then she also to
have left her?’ ‘By no means.’ ‘But if this is so, it results that your
behaviour was not at all an affectionate act.’’
Seneca draws for us the same picture of
sentimental neglect of duty. ‘Of our luxurious rich,’ he says, ‘no one sits by
the side of his dying friend, no one watches the death of his own father, or
joins in the last act of respect to the remains of any member of his family.’
376. Sensitiveness. Another form of the evil of Grief is
that of undue sensitiveness to criticism and abuse. This mental weakness is
illustrated by the case of Fidus Cornelius, who burst into tears because some
one in the senate called him a ‘plucked ostrich’; and in an earlier period
Chrysippus had been acquainted with a man who lost his temper merely because he
was called a ‘sea-calf.’ Others are annoyed by seeing their eccentricities
imitated, or by reference to their poverty or old age. The remedy for all these
things is humour; no one can be laughed at who turns the laugh against himself.
Another is to cease thinking about oneself.
377. Mourning. The hardest to bear of all distresses
is the loss of friends by death, and most particularly, the loss by parents of
their children. To meet this trouble a special class of literature, called consolationes,
grew up, not confined to any one school of philosophers. The treatise of Crantor
the Academic was famous in Cicero’s time; and in the letter of Servius
Sulpicius to Cicero upon his daughter’s death we have an admirable example of
the ‘consolation’ in private correspondence. Sulpicius bids Cicero think of all
the grief and trouble in the world, the loss of political liberty at Rome, the
destruction of so many famous cities of antiquity, until he feels that man is
born to sorrow, and that his own loss is but a drop in the ocean of the world’s
suffering. He also calls on the mourner to think of his own character, and to
set an example of firmness to his household. Cicero found his real comfort in
none of these things, but in industrious authorship. We have unfortunately no
example of a ‘Consolation’ by Musonius. Seneca has left us two treatises in
this style, one a formal document addressed to the minister Polybius on the
death of his brother, the other a more personal appeal to Marcia, a lady of an
‘old Roman’ family, on the death of a son. Besides the arguments already used
by Sulpicius, he recommends to Polybius attention to the public service and the
reading of Homer and Virgil. Both to him and to Marcia he pictures the
happiness of the soul now admitted to the company of the blest, or at any rate
at peace and freed from all the pains of life. In writing to Marcia he recalls
with effect the examples of Octavia the sister, and Livia the wife of Augustus,
each of whom lost a promising son in early manhood. Octavia gave herself up to
her grief, never allowed her dead son to be mentioned in her presence, and wore
mourning to the day of her death, though she was surrounded by her children and
grandchildren. Livia, after paying the last tokens of respect, laid aside her
grief, recalled with pleasure her son’s achievements, and (advised so to act by
her philosopher Areius) devoted herself to her social duties, refusing to make
all Rome sad because one mother had lost a son.
378. Resignation. The consolations of Epictetus include
less philosophical speculation, and more religious resignation. To begin with,
preparation should be made for the loss of children. Parental affection should
not pass the bounds of reason; every time that a father embraces his child, he
should reflect ‘this child is only lent to me,’ ‘this child is mortal.’ If the
child dies, his first thought should be ‘he who has given takes away.’ To
others he will say ‘I have restored the child.’ His abiding mood will be that
of resignation to the divine will. He will realize that in the course of a long
life many and various things must happen; and that it is impossible to live to
old age, without seeing the death of many whom we love.
379. Comfort. All ‘consolations’ aim at diminishing
the grief of mourners, nature being inclined rather to excess than to defect in
this matter. But the Stoics could not altogether avoid the direct issue whether
or not grief is a sin, and weeping a weakness. The plain teaching of the school
was that ‘death is no evil,’ and therefore that grief for the dead is against
reason. And to this view the teachers give from time to time formal adhesion,
as being the better cause. But in individual cases they find that to a certain
extent there is not only excuse, but justification, for grief and tears; and
thus they come into touch with the common feelings of humanity, whilst the plea
of ‘natural necessity’ serves to ward off the criticism of sterner
philosophers. From this concession emerges in the Roman period the definite
precept of a time-limit for grief; and its undue continuance is sternly
denounced as due to love of ostentation, and the morbid enjoyment of sorrow by
an ill-balanced mind. Grief in this shape is a dangerous disease there must be
no trifling with it, but it must be totally destroyed.
380. Misanthropy. Lastly, we include under the heading
of Grief a weakness which often develops into serious disease; that general
discontent, which is voiced in complaints as to the wickedness of the age and
the degeneracy of young Rome. Such discontent has always been characteristic of
the old; but under the principate it has developed into a special evil, the
‘hatred of the human race’ (odium generis humani). Of this fault even
philosophers may be suspected; for it must be admitted that men are bad, have
been bad, and always will be bad; in short, that the whole human race is made
up of madmen. But wise men will bear with this fact quietly and with a smile.
It is futile to bring accusations against the whole race, and a delusion to
think our own times worse than those of our predecessors. The old Romans, to
whom we look up as models of virtue, made just the same complaints of their own
times and as a matter of fact the standard of general morality never varies
greatly from its average, either in an upward or a downward direction.
381. Eating. The fault of Hilarity (ἄλογος ἔπαρσις,
elatio animi) is a departure from Soberness and cheerful Joy with regard
to the things that appeal to our appetites, and this in the direction of
excess. With regard to food, it corresponds to ‘greediness’ in modern speech.
The matter is but little discussed, but we have two interesting lectures by
Musonius, which are chiefly concerned with this vice, from which we take the
following extracts:
‘Greediness is an unpleasant fault,
making men to resemble pigs and dogs: but on the other hand healthy eating
requires much supervision and practice (ἐπιμέλεια καὶ ἄσκησις). Of all
pleasures that tempt men, greediness is the hardest to contend against; for it
assails us twice every day. To eat too much is wrong; to eat too fast is wrong;
so it is also to take too much pleasure in food, to prefer the sweet to the
wholesome, or not to give your companions a fair share. Another fault is to let
meals interfere with business. In all these points we should look chiefly to
health. Now we observe that those who use the simplest foods are generally the
strongest; servants are stronger than their masters, country-folk than
townsmen, the poor than the rich. There is therefore good reason to prefer
cheap food to that which is costly, and that which is ready to hand to that
which is only obtained with great trouble. Further, some foods are more
congenial than others to men’s nature; as those which grow from the earth, or
can be obtained from animals without killing them. Food that requires no
cooking has an advantage, as ripe fruit, some vegetables, milk, cheese, and
honey. Flesh food is for many reasons objectionable. It is heavy and impedes
thought; the exhalations from it are turbid and overshadow the soul. Men should
imitate the gods, who feed on the light exhalations of earth and water. But
to-day we have even worse corruptions. Many men are dainty and cannot eat food
without vinegar or some other seasoning. Also we call in art and machinery to
aid our pleasures, and actually have books written on cookery. All this may
serve to titillate the palate, but is mischievous to health.’
The sarcasms of Seneca are aimed not so
much against excess in quantity of fastidiousness in quality, as against the
collection of dainties from all parts of the world.
382. Drinking. As to drinking, the Stoic period marks
a great change in feeling. In the times of Zeno, hard drinking had almost the
honour of a religious ceremony; and the banquet (συμπόσιον) was the occasion of
many a philosophical discussion. Zeno began by laying it down as a principle
that ‘the wise man will not be drunken,’ and Chrysippus went so far as to name
drunkenness as causing the loss of virtue. But the prohibition was carefully
guarded. The earlier teachers permitted ‘wininess’; and Seneca justifies this
means of banishing care, pointing out many instances of public men of drinking
habits who discharged their duties admirably. Yet on the whole he inclines to a
stricter view, finding that ‘drunkenness is a voluntary madness’ and that it
removes that sense of shame which most hinders men from wrongdoing. Meanwhile a
change in public taste, and perhaps the continual example of Cynic missionaries,
had produced a tide of feeling in favour of simple living. The philosophical
discussions sketched by Cicero take place at all times of the day, but most
usually in the morning hours; they are never associated with riotous
banqueting, but if necessary the meal is cut short to make room for the talk.
Under the principate the fare is of the simplest Seneca himself was a vegetarian
in his youth; his teacher Attalus was well content with porridge and water, and
found an audience ready to approve his taste.
383. Sexual indulgence. A similar but more profound change had
taken place at the same time in regard to sexual relations. In the time of
Socrates courtesans and boy-favourites played a large part in social life;
associated with the banquet, they formed part of the accepted ideal of cultured
enjoyment even moralists approved of them as providing a satisfaction to
natural desires and indirectly protecting the sanctity of the home. The same
attitude of mind is shown by Seneca under similar circumstances, when he
recommends that princes be indulged with mistresses in order to make their
character more gentle. But little by little a more severe standard prevailed.
From the first the Stoics set themselves against the pursuit of other men’s
wives. With regard to other relations, they did not feel called upon to condemn
them in other men; they were indeed, in themselves, matters of indifference;
but they found it contrary to reason that a man’s thoughts should be occupied
with matters so low, or that he should bring himself into subjection to
irregular habits and become a slave to a woman. As the courtesan was gradually
excluded by this rule, the general opinion fell back on the slave as the most
accessible and least dangerous object of indulgence. But the philosophers of
the principate, following Zeno, who in these matters took the πρέπον (decorum)
as his rule, find it in a high degree unfitting that the master, who should in
all things be a model of self-control in his own household, should display so
grave a weakness to his slaves.
384. Chastity. Thus little by little there emerged
the ideal of a strict chastity, to the principle of which not even the marriage
relation should form an exception. Every falling off from this ideal is sin or
transgression; and it is especially true in this matter that each act of
weakness leaves its trace on the character, and that he who yields becomes a
feebler man. The Socratic paradox, that the wise man will be a lover, is
consistently maintained by the Stoics; but the practical limitations of this
doctrme are well illustrated by the following striking passage from the
lectures of the Stoic Musonius: —
‘Men who do not wish to be licentious
and bad should consider that sexual relations are only lawful in marriage, and
for the begetting of children; such as aim at mere pleasure are lawless, even
in marriage. Even apart from adultery and unnatural relations, all sexual
connexions are disgraceful; for what sober-minded man would think of consorting
with a courtesan, or with a free woman outside marriage? and least of all would
he do so with his own slave. The lawlessness and foulness of such connexions is
a disgrace to all who form them; as we may see that any man who is capable of a
blush does his utmost to conceal them. Yet one argues: “in this case a man does
no injustice; he does not wrong his neighbour or deprive him of the hope of
lawful issue.” I might reply that every one who sins injures himself, for he
makes himself a worse and less honourable man. But at any rate he who gives way
to foul pleasure and enjoys himself like a hog is an intemperate man; and not
least he who consorts with his own slave-girl, a thing for which some people
find excuse. To all this there is a simple answer; how would such a man approve
of a mistress consorting with her own man-servant? Yet I presume he does not
think men inferior to women, or less able to restrain their desires. If then
men claim the supremacy over women, they must show themselves superior in
self-control. To conclude; sexual connexion between a master and his female
slave is nothing but licentiousness.’
385. ‘Bear and forbear.’ Thus our detailed study of the four perturbations
has led us to lay little stress on Fear and Greed, the weaknesses of the heroic
period when men’s minds were actively turned to the future, and to concentrate
our attention on Grief and Hilarity, the two moods in which life’s troubles and
temptations are wrongly met with as they arrive. As we follow the history of
Stoic philosophy through the times of the Roman principate, we find that this
tendency to lay stress on the training of the passive character increases: till
Epictetus tells us that of all the vices far the worst are ‘lack of endurance (intolerantia),
which is the developed form of Grief, and ‘lack of restraint’ (incontinentia),
which is the persistent inclination towards Hilarity. Hence the cure for vice
is summed up by him in the golden word, ‘bear and forbear’; that is, practise
Courage and cast off Grief, practise Soberness and keep Hilarity far from you.
‘A good rule,’ a Peripatetic would reply, ‘for women and slaves.’
386. Avoidance and temptation. This negative attitude is most strongly
marked in Epictetus in connexion with the dangers of sexual passion. Thus his
short advice to all young men with regard to the attractions of women is ‘Flee
at once’; and even in this his advice was countenanced in advance by the more
tolerant Seneca. It would appear from both writers that the battle between the sexes
had become unequal at this period, so often is the picture drawn of the
promising and well-educated youth literally and hopelessly enslaved by a
mistress presumably without birth, education, or honour. It causes us some
surprise to find that the distinction between heavenly and earthly love is not
brought in as a corrective of the latter. Only in a general way the suggestion
is made that seductive attractions should be driven out by virtuous ideals:
‘Do not be hurried away by the
appearance, but say: “Appearances, wait for me a little; let me see who you are
and what you are about let me put you to the test.” And do not allow the
appearance to lead you on and draw lively pictures of the things which will
follow; for if you do, it will carry you off wherever it pleases. But rather
bring in to oppose it some other beautiful and noble appearance and cast out
this base appearance. And if you are accustomed to be exercised in this way,
you will see what shoulders, what sinews, what strength you have … This is the
true athlete … Stay, wretch, do not be carried away. Great is the combat,
divine is the work; it is for kingship, for freedom, for happiness. Remember
God; call on him as a helper and protector.’
387. Gradations of vice. From the study of the separate evils
we revert to the general theory of Vice. And here we must recall the point that
so far as vice is weakness or ill-health of the soul, it admits of gradations,
which may conveniently be stated as three, namely (i) ruffilings of the soul;
(ii) commotions, infections, or illnesses; (iii) diseases or vices proper. It
is not quite easy to classify the rufflings or first slight disturbances of the
soul (prima agitatio animi) under the four perturbations; but the bodily
indications of them seem to be more marked in the weaknesses of the active or
heroic character, namely Fear and Greed. Thus in the direction of Fear we meet
with hair standing on end — pallor of complexion — trembling limbs — palpitation,
and dizziness, all of which are bodily indications that fear is not far off; in
the direction of Anger (a form of Greed) we meet with heightened colour,
flashing eyes, and gnashing teeth. In the direction of Grief we meet with tears
and sighs, and in that of Hilarity the automatic sexual movements, amongst which
we must perhaps include blushing.
388. Rufflings. It does not appear that the early
Stoic masters occupied themselves much with the gradations of vice; although a
text can be taken from Zeno for a discourse on this subject. Neither does the
earnest and cynically-minded Epictetus care to dwell on such details. On the
other hand Seneca lays the greatest possible stress on the doctrine that
‘rufflings’ are not inconsistent with virtue. For this two arguments are
available, which are perhaps not quite consistent. First, the bodily
indications are beyond the control of the mind; they are necessary consequences
of the union of body and soul, that is, of our mortal condition. Secondly, the
‘rufflings’ correspond to the mind-pictures presented to the soul in thought,
and therefore are neither moral nor immoral until the soul has given its assent
to them. From either point of view we arrive at a result congenial to this
philosopher. The wise man is, in fact, subject to slight touches of such
feelings as grief and fear; he is a man, not a stone. Secondly, the sovereignty
of the will remains unimpaired; give the mind but time to collect its forces,
and it will restrain these feelings within their proper limits. The doctrine is
in reality, though not in form, a concession to the Peripatetic standpoint; it
provides also a convenient means of defence against the mockers who observe
that professors of philosophy often exhibit the outward signs of moral weakness.
389. Commotions. If the soul gives way to any
unreasoning impulse, it makes a false judgment and suffers relaxation of its
tone: there takes place a ‘commotion’ or ‘perturbation’ (πάθος, affectus,
perturbatio), which is a moral evil. The Greek word πάθος admits of two
interpretations; it may mean a passive state or a disease; we here use it in
the milder sense. By an ‘emotion’ we mean that the soul is uprooted from its
foundation, and begins as it were to toss on the sea by ‘affection’ that it is
seized or infected by some unwholesome condition; by ‘perturbation’ that it has
ceased to be an orderly whole, and is falling into confusion. When we regard
these words in their true sense, and shake off the associations they carry with
them in English, it is clear that all of them denote moral evils; nevertheless
they cannot rightly be called ‘diseases’ of the soul. The evils and weaknesses
which have been discussed are commonly displayed in ‘commotions’ or
‘perturbations,’ and are normally equivalent to them.
390. Disease of the soul. The soul by giving way to perturbations
becomes worse; it acquires habits of weakness in particular directions. This
weakness from a passing disposition (ἕξις) changes into a permanent disposition
or habit (διάθεσις), and this is in the full sense a ‘disease’ of the soul.
These diseases or vices are, strictly speaking, four in number; but the Stoics
run into great detail as regards their titles and subdivisions. Diseases in the
ordinary sense (ἀρρωστήματα) display restlessness and want of self-control;
such are ambition, avarice, greediness, drunkenness, running after women
passionate temper, obstinacy, and anxiety. An opposite class of maladies
consists of unreasonable dislikes (κατὰ προσκοπὴν γινόμενα, offensiones);
such are inhospitality, misogynism, and quarrelling with the world in general.
391. Men are good or bad. The study of vice in its various forms
and gradations leaves untouched the main positions of Stoic ethics, including
the Socratic paradoxes. Men are of two classes only, the wise and the foolish,
the good and the bad. This bold dualism the Stoics hold in common with the
Persians; and though it is on the one hand tempered so as to meet the common
opinion that most men are of middling character, and on the other hand
subordinated to the monistic principle that good shall in the end prevail, it
remains the key-stone of this department of philosophy. Virtue is a right state
of mind everything that falls short of it is therefore a wrong state of mind.
Virtue and vice lie in the inward disposition, not in the outward act; and one
who has crossed the line is equally out of bounds whatever the distance to
which he has travelled on the far side. Each man has therefore an all-important
choice to make. The great Stoic teachers were filled with a yearning after
righteousness and reconciliation with the divine purpose and a disgust and
horror of the condition of the man who is at variance with his Creator, his
neighbour, and himself. These convictions they encased as usual in paradoxes
and syllogisms.
392. All sins are equal. That ‘the affections must be
extirpated’ ceases to be a paradox, as soon as we have defined affections as
states of mind contrary to reason, and have made room for the ‘reasonable
affections’ of caution, good will, and joy. That ‘all sins are equal’ remains
still, as of old, a stumbling block. Yet this Socratic paradox has a simple
interpretation; it is a protest against the light-heartedness which tolerates
‘petty’ acts of wrong-doing, and is indifferent to the evil habits of mind thus
acquired. Two of the Stoic teachers of the transition period, Heraclides of
Tarsus and Athenodorus, are said to have abandoned the paradox, and all Stoics
were ready to admit that sins are ‘unlike’. But, as usual, the main body held
firmly to a doctrine in which they had discovered a real practical value. Just
the same principle is expressed by other paradoxes, as that ‘he who has one
vice has all, though he may not be equally inclined to all’; and again that ‘he
who is not wise is a fool and a madman.’
393. Sin is curable. In spite of the parallelism of virtue
and vice the latter is destined to subordination, not only in the history of
the universe, but also in the individual man. Even if sins are equal, vice as
ill health of the soul has degrees. The first ‘rufflings’ of the soul are, as
we have seen, not to be reckoned as real evils; its ‘perturbations’ give the
hope of a coming calm; and grievous though its ‘diseases’ are, we have no
suggestion of incurable sin, or of the hopeless offender. Even he who has most
fallen retains the germs of virtue, and these may again ripen under a proper
discipline.
394. Stoic austerity. The attitude of the Stoic school
towards sin and weakness exposed it, as we have seen, to constant criticism and
ridicule. To some extent this was due to the profession of philosophy in
itself: for every such profession implied some claim to clearer knowledge and
more consistent action than that of the crowd. But the Stoics also sought to be
‘austere’ with regard to social pleasures, and thus it seemed that they neither
offered others a share in their own happiness nor sympathetically partook in
that of others; whilst at the same time they claimed exemption from the
weaknesses and failings of their neighbours. We have seen both Seneca and
Epictetus anxious to meet criticism on these points by laying stress on those
touches of natural feeling in which wise and foolish alike share. But in
addressing the members of the sect their tone is very different; they hold out,
as a prize worth the winning, the prospect of attaining to that calm and
unchanging disposition of mind which has for ever left behind the flutterings
of fear and greed, of grief and hilarity, and which is attuned to reason alone.
Epictetus indeed often expresses elation and pride upon this theme:
‘I will show the sinews of a
philosopher. What are these? A desire (ὄρεξις) never disappointed, an aversion
(ἔκκλισις) which never meets with that which it would avoid, a proper pursuit
(ὁρμή), a diligent purpose (πρόθεσις), an assent which is not rash. These you
shall see.’
Men, if you will attend to me, wherever
you are, whatever you are doing, you will not feel sorrow, nor anger, nor
compulsion, nor hindrance, but you will pass your time without perturbations
and free from everything. When a man has this peace (not proclaimed by Caesar,
for how should he be able to proclaim it?) but by God through reason, is he not
content when he reflects — Now no evil can happen to me?’
CHAPTER
XV.
COUNSELS OF PERFECTION.
COUNSELS OF PERFECTION.
395. Precepts. We have now set forth the Stoic theory
of ethics, both in its high philosophic framework and in its more detailed
treatment, in which it prescribes what is to be done and what to be left
undone, and how the soul is to be disciplined in health and medicined in
sickness. It remains for us to study the application of the system to
individual cases, a matter which perhaps lies outside the scope of philosophy
as understood at the present day, but is an essential part of the work of
churches and social organizations. This department of philosophy was termed by
the ancients ‘precepts,’ or (more fully) ‘advice, dissuasion, admonition,
exhortation, consolation, warnings, praise, reproof’ and so forth; by some
philosophers, as for instance by Aristo of Chios, it was held in contempt, by
others (less inclined to Cynism) it was considered alone worthy of pursuit. But
the steady conviction of the main body of Stoic teachers was that theory and
precept must go hand in hand; that moral principles have no strength apart from
their daily application, and that practical suggestions apart from a sound and
reasoned system are like leaves cut from the bough, without lasting greenness.
Since precepts apply directly to individual persons and particular
circumstances, they presuppose some relationship between teacher and hearer;
the latter must be either a convert to the school or one who has grown up under
its influence. In the Roman period the department of precepts is of increasing
importance; we have something to learn from Antipater, Panaetius and Cicero,
but we find much more material in the lectures (διατριβαί, ‘diatribes’) and
letters of Musonius, Seneca, Epictetus, and other teachers of the period of the
principate.
396. Training of the young. The ‘precepts’ which we find
illustrated by our various authorities are not easily systematized, but they
have all the more the charm of personal intimacy through them we are admitted
to the home life of the Stoics. As Seneca wrote to Lucilius, so every day did
Stoic fathers, Stoic teachers, Stoic jurists, address those who came within
their influence. Believing every man to have the seed of virtue in him, they
had confidence that by their words it would often be stirred to life; and that
in other cases, in which the promising shoot had become overshadowed by
ignorance or evil habits, it would by the same means begin to grow again. But
the full benefits of precepts could only be seen where they fell on
well-prepared ground, and formed part of a training extending from infancy to
the grave; where the instructor could daily ensure their enforcement and
observe their effect. This opportunity was necessarily found most often in the
teaching of the young; and the Stoic system of precepts, though not restricted
to one period of life, was to a large extent a foreshadowing of a ‘Theory of
Education.’ It was under all circumstances guided by the rule of ‘little by
little.’ Precepts must be few, and must be in themselves easy for the
individual to carry out; but by steady practice great things will be
accomplished.
397. The teacher’s example. Since the value of precepts depends on
the personal influence of the instructor, it is clear that his example will be
of the greatest importance, and we may first ask what the discipline is to
which he himself submits. Here the Cynic teacher seems to have the advantage, for
he lives in the sight of all men; and the Indian, who allows himself to be
scorched or burnt to show his contempt for pain, makes a still more forcible
appeal. The Stoic does not parade himself in this fashion, but neither does he
lock the door of his private life against any who wish to examine it. In the
early morning he shakes off sleep, rousing himself to do the day’s work of a
man. Having clothed himself, he turns his mind towards his Maker, and sings his
praises; he resolves during the coming day to cooperate in his purposes, and to
bear cheerfully any burden that may be placed upon him. He will then give a
short time to gymnastic exercises for the good of his health; after which, if
his strength allows it, he will take, winter or summer, a plunge into the cold
bath; next comes the slightest of meals; then a short nap or reverie. From this
he is aroused by the stir around him, and he then applies himself to the day’s
studies, being careful to alternate reading and writing, so that his mind may
be neither exhausted by the latter nor relaxed by the former. Later on he will
consider his practical duties towards his relatives, his friends, and society
in general. He will order his household and settle the disputes of his
dependents. He will visit his friends, saying a word here and there in season,
but not (like the Cynics) to all and sundry. He will encourage those who are
making progress in virtue, and sharply warn those who are in danger of a fall.
He advises a young mother to nurse her child at her own breast; and when he
meets with objections, points out the wisdom and propriety of obeying the
prescriptions of nature. Returning home, he will again enjoy some slight bodily
exercise, joining perhaps in a game of ball; his thoughts however will not always
turn on success in the game, but he will consider how many principles in
physics and ethics may be illustrated by it. Now that evening comes on, he sits
down to a meal (not over-elaborate) in the company of one or two favourite
pupils. Afterwards comes the temptation to burn the midnight oil in gathering
seeds of wisdom for the morrow from the well-thumbed manuscript of Cleanthes
or, it may be, of Epicurus. Retiring to his chamber, he will examine his
conscience, review the events of the past day, and be at peace with himself
before he sleeps.
398. The child’s life. With the training of children the
Stoic teacher is perhaps not altogether familiar, but he knows its importance;
it must be based on simplicity and austerity, for just at this time indulgence
and luxury are most dangerous stimulants to the passions. The child must learn
to eat and drink in a mannerly way, to refrain from loud talking and laughing,
to express himself in respectful and graceful words. He must be taught to do
right before he can understand the reason why, or else by doing wrong he will
make it difficult for himself afterwards to do right; he must be ruled until he
can rule himself. For this reason we give children proverbs (sententiae)
or anecdotes (χρεῆαι) to write out and learn, such as ‘honesty is the best
policy’ or ‘Socrates being asked of what city he was …’; and these short pithy
sayings sink deep. But in the school life of children no attempt must be made
to grapple with the real problems of life, because these are too hard for them,
though parents often forget this objection. Games and amusements may be
permitted; for though in discussions on high principle the Stoics may be
entirely opposed to ‘relaxation of soul,’ yet in practical life they freely
admit its importance. All dealings with children should be gentle; the
discipline of the rod has long ago been abandoned by all sensible parents and
teachers.
399. Harm of soft living. Soft living is at all ages to be
avoided. It is in these days a danger to the bodily health; for when a man is
accustomed to be protected from a draught by glass windows, to have his feet
kept warm by foot-warmers constantly renewed, and his dining-room kept at an
even temperature by hot air, the slightest breeze may put him in danger of his
life. Those who envy men who ‘live softly’ forget that their character becomes
soft thereby. In particular clothing should not be such as altogether to
protect the body from heat in summer, and from cold in winter. It is better to
wear one shirt than two, best still to have only a coat. Then again, if you can
bear it, it is better to go without shoes for after all to be shod is not very
different from being fettered, and runners do not use shoes. So also avoid
luxurious furniture; of what use is it that couches, tables and beds should be
made of costly woods, and adorned with silver and gold? We eat, drink, and
sleep better without these things. In all these matters the Spartans set us a
good example; for while disease injures the body only, luxury corrupts both
body and soul.
400. Training of girls. Boys and girls must be educated alike.
This nature teaches us, for we train colts and puppies without any regard for
the difference of sex. The true education of children is in the practice of the
virtues, and these are the same for men and for women. Women need Wisdom to
understand the ordering of a household, Justice to control the servants,
Soberness that they may be modest and unselfish. But they also need Courage; in
spite of the name ‘manliness’ (ἀνδρεία), this is not a virtue reserved for men.
Without it women may be led by threats into immodest acts. Females of all kinds
fight to defend their young; the Amazons too were good fighters, and it is only
for want of practice that women cannot do the same to-day. That men, being the
stronger, should do the heavier work and women the lighter, is an arrangement
which is often convenient, but circumstances may require the contrary. Girls at
any rate must learn equally with boys to bear suffering, not to fear death, not
to be in low spirits about anything that happens; to avoid grasping habits, to
love equality and benevolence, and to do no harm to man or woman.
401. Obedience to parents. Children should obey their parents,
but in the spirit of reason. We do not obey a father who gives orders for the
treatment of a sick person contrary to those of the physician; nor one, who
being himself ill, demands things that are not good for him; nor one who bids
his son steal, or appropriate trust funds, or sacrifice his youthful bloom. We do
not even obey him when he tells us to spell a word wrongly or strike a false
note on the lyre. If your father forbids you to philosophize, show him by your
manner of life, by prompt obedience, by good temper, by unselfishness, how good
a thing philosophy is. But after all, the command of the universal Father is
more urgent upon you; which is, to be just, kind, benevolent, sober,
high-souled; above labours and above pleasures pure from all envy and plotting.
You need not assume the outward appearance of a philosopher; for the power of
philosophy is in the innermost part of the soul, which the father can no more
reach than the tyrant.
402. Example of gladiators and
soldiers.
The fancy of young men is easily attracted by the vision of virtue, but it is
hard for them to persevere; they are like soft cheese which slips away from the
hook by which it is taken up. We must therefore put before them an ideal which
appeals to them, and in which the advantages of fixed purpose and severe
training are apparent to the eye. Such is the training of the athlete, the
gladiator, and the soldier. The teachers of wrestling bid the pupil try again
after each fall; the trained boxer is eager to challenge the most formidable
opponent. The gladiator has learnt the lesson that pain is no evil, when he
stands up wounded before a sympathetic crowd and makes a sign that it matters
nothing. But most of all the soldier’s oath serves as an example, when he
pledges himself to serve Caesar faithfully all his life: let the young
philosopher pledge himself to serve his God as faithfully, to submit to the
changes and chances of human life, and to obey willingly the command to act or
to suffer. Without effort, as Hesiod has taught us, no greatness can be
attained.
403. The ‘contrary twist.’ In youth bad habits are apt to acquire
some strength before they can be rooted out, and it will be well to anticipate
this evil by exercising body and soul in advance in a direction contrary to
that of the most common temptations. The teacher will therefore give to his
precepts an exaggerated character, reckoning upon human frailty to bring about
a proper standard in practice. Thus since luxury is a chief enemy of virtue,
the body should at least occasionally be brought low. A practice approved by
the example of eminent men is to mark out from time to time a few days for the
exercise of the simple life; during this time life is to be maintained on
coarse bread and water, in rough dress and all the surroundings of poverty.
Since Cynism is a ‘short cut to virtue,’ philosophers may well employ the
methods of Diogenes for short periods, as a corrective to any tendency to
excess; rich people do as much for love of change.
404. Personal appearance. On the question of personal appearance
there is much to be said on both sides. Foppishness is a disagreeable vice, and
it is contemptible that a young man should smell of perfumes. On the other hand
a total disregard of appearances is not approved by the Stoics; ‘it is against
nature’ says Seneca ‘to be averse to neatness in appearance.’ In these outward
matters a sensible man will conform to fashion, nor will he wish to make the
name of philosopher still more unpopular than it is. The founders of Stoicism
laid it down that men and women should wear the same dress; but the later
teachers laid stress on the natural distinction of the sexes; and to men the
beard should be an object of just pride, for it is more becoming than the
cock’s comb, or the lion’s mane. This is to the Stoic a point of honour; he
should part with his head more readily than with his beard. But the beard may
be trimmed; for, as Zeno has observed, nature provides rather against the ‘too
little’ than against the ‘too much,’ and reason must come to her help. Women do
right to arrange their hair so as to make themselves more beautiful; but for
men any kind of artistic hair-dressing is contemptible.
405. Solitude and society. The young should train themselves
alternately to bear solitude and to profit by society: since the wise man is
never dependent on his friends, though none can take better advantage of them.
In living alone a man follows the example of the deity, and comes to know his
own heart. But solitude must not be a screen for secret vices; a man only uses it
rightly when he can without shame picture the whole world watching his hours of
privacy. The right choice of friends calls for true wisdom; for the soul cannot
but be soiled by bad company. The only true friendship is based on the mutual
attraction of good folk; therefore the wise are friends one to another even
whilst they are unacquainted. It is well to consider much before choosing a
friend, but afterwards to give him implicit trust; for a true friend is a
second self. Such friendship can only arise from the desire to love and be
loved; those who seek friends for their own advantage, will be abandoned by
them in the day of trial’. In the companionship of well-chosen friends there
grows up the ‘common sense,’ which is an instinctive contact with humanity as a
whole, making each man a partner in the thoughts and needs of all around him.
This feeling is a principal aim of philosophy. But the young philosopher should
make no enemies; he should be free from that dislike of others which so often
causes a man to be disliked, and should remember that he who is an enemy to-day
may be a friend to-morrow.
406. Comradeship in marriage. As the young Stoic passes from youth
to manhood, he will turn his mind towards marriage as a political and social
duty; but if he is really touched by the divine flame, he will also find in it
that enlargement of his own sympathies and opportunities of which the wise man
is always glad. Under the Roman principate we observe a rapid development of
personal sympathy between husband and wife and though in society girls who
attended philosophers’ classes had an ill name as being self-willed and
disputatious, yet it is from this very circle that the ideal of a perfect
harmony of mind and purpose was developed most fully. Musonius often speaks on
this subject:
‘Husband and wife enter upon a treaty
to live and to earn together, and to have all things in common, soul, body and
property. Unlike the lower animals, which mate at random, man cannot be content
without perfect community of thought and mutual affection. Marriage is for
health and for sickness alike, and each party will seek to outrun the other in
love, not seeking his own advantage, but that of his partner.’
‘A man should look for a healthy body,
of middle stature, capable of hard work, and offering no attraction to the
licentious. But the soul is far more important; for as a crooked stick cannot
be fitted with one that is straight, so there can be no true agreement except
between the good.’
Seneca is reticent as to marriage, but
we have no reason to doubt that his life with Paulina was typical of the best
Stoic marriages. Thus he excuses himself for taking more thought for his health
than a philosopher should, by saying that the happiness of Paulina depends upon
it. ‘Her life is wrapped up in mine, for its sake I must take care of my own.
What can be more delightful than to be so dear to one’s wife, that for her sake
one becomes dearer to himself!’
407. Celibacy. On the question of marriage Epictetus
strikes a contrary note, characteristic of his time, and of his bias towards
Cynic practice:
‘ In the present state of things, which
is like that of an army placed in battle order, is it not fit that the Cynic
should without any distraction be employed only on the ministration of God? To
say nothing of other things, a father must have a heating apparatus for bathing
the baby; wool for his wife when she is delivered, oil, a bed, a cup; and so
the furniture of the house is increased. Where then now is that king, who
devotes himself to the public interests,
“The people’s guardian and so full of cares”
whose duty it is to look after others; to see who uses his wife well, who uses her badly, who quarrels, who administers his family well, and who does not? Consider what we are bringing the Cynic down to, how we are taking his royalty from him!’
“The people’s guardian and so full of cares”
whose duty it is to look after others; to see who uses his wife well, who uses her badly, who quarrels, who administers his family well, and who does not? Consider what we are bringing the Cynic down to, how we are taking his royalty from him!’
To this very definite conception of a
celibate order of philosophers, devoting themselves to the good of humanity and
entitled thereby to become the rulers of society, Musonius makes the following
reply in advance from the true Stoic standpoint:
‘Marriage was no hindrance to
Pythagoras, Socrates or Crates; and who were better philosophers than they?
Since marriage is natural, philosophers should set the example of it. Why else
did the Creator separate the human race into two divisions, making the
honourable parts of the body distinct for each, and implanting in each a
yearning for the other, but that he wished them to live together and to
propagate the race? He who would destroy marriage, destroys the family and the
commonwealth. No relationship is so essential or so intimate; friend does not
agree so well with friend, nor does a father feel so keenly separation from his
son. And why should a philosopher be different from other men? Only that which
is unbecoming is a hindrance to a philosopher; but by doing his daily duty as a
man he will become kindlier in disposition and more social in his thoughts.’
408. Means of livelihood. The head of a household must have a
means of living; and therefore the making of money (χρηματισμός, cura rei
familiaris) comes within the range of precepts. The Greek writers
recognised three proper means of livelihood; (i) from kingship, that is, to be
either a king or a king’s minister or general; (ii) from politics, that is, by
acting as a magistrate or a judge; (iii) from sophistry, that is, by teaching
philosophy to those who are wishing to learn. To each profession there are
obvious objections; indeed the sharp critic of Stoicism can see no reason why a
wise man, who lacks nothing, should trouble himself about money-making. Each of
the three professions named assumes the existence of men willing to be guided
by philosophy, and these are not easily found. If pupils are taken, the
question arises whether fees should be paid in advance or not. Now it is
certainly more reasonable that a student should only pay if he profits by his
teaching; but on the other hand no one can absolutely promise to make a man
good in a year, and deferred payments are often found unsatisfactory. Under the
Roman principate we hear little of the professions connected with public life;
but it is clear that the teacher and the physician are held in special regards.
Seneca has not the breadth of mind to respect the painter or the sculptor, any
more than the wrestler or the stage-engineer. Yet Chrysippus had suggested a
bolder standpoint when he said that ‘the wise man will turn three somersaults
for a sufficient fee’; and no rule can be laid down except that a man should
earn his own living without injuring his neighbour. Agriculture, as a calling
favourable both to health of body and to innocence of soul, continued to be
praised, but was seldom practised except as an amusement.
409. Kingly duties. For every profession philosophy has
appropriate precepts, beginning with the king. There came one day to Musonius a
king of Syria, for in those times there were kings subject to the Roman empire.
Musonius addressed him thus:
‘You ought to be a philosopher as much
as I. Your wish is to protect and benefit your fellow-men; to do that, you must
know what is good and what is evil. A king too must understand Justice; for
wars and revolts come about because men quarrel about their rights. Also he
must show Soberness and Courage, that he may be an example to his subjects. The
ancients thought that a king should be a living law (νόμος ἔμψυχος), and an
imitator of Zeus. Only a good man can be a good king.’
The king was highly pleased, and asked
him to name any boon he would. ‘Abide by my words,’ said Musonius, ‘that will
be the best boon both for me and for you.’
Two precepts in particular are
addressed to kings. The first, that they should encourage friends who will
speak the truth to them. Even Augustus Caesar needed this lesson bitterly as he
lamented the deaths of Agrippa and Maecenas, he would not have allowed them to
speak frankly had they lived. The second, that they should practise clemency,
following the example of Julius Caesar, who destroyed the evidence upon which
he might have punished his enemies. None does this virtue better become than
kings and rulers.
410. Court life. To the man of high rank it is natural
to desire to move in the society of the great and the powerful. Epictetus gives
us a striking description of the man who desires to be on the list of the
‘Caesaris amici,’ which he thinks to be a good, though experience shows that it
is not such.
‘Of whom shall we inquire? What more
trustworthy witness have we than this very man who is become Caesar’s friend?
“Come forward and tell us, when did you sleep more quietly, now or before you
became Caesar’s friend?” Immediately you hear the answer, “Stop, I entreat you,
and do not mock me; you know not what miseries I suffer, and sleep does not
come to me; but one comes and says, Caesar is already awake, he is now going
forth; then come troubles and cares.” “Well, and did you sup with more
pleasure, now or before?” Hear what he says about this also. He says that if he
is not invited, he is pained; and if he is invited, he sups like a slave with
his master, all the while being anxious that he does not say or do anything
foolish. As befits so great a man, Caesar’s friend, he is afraid that he may
lose his head. I can swear that no man is so stupid as not to bewail his own
misfortunes the nearer he is in friendship to Caesar.’
It is exactly under these circumstances
that a thorough training in philosophy is of really practical value.
‘When you are going in to any great
personage, remember that another also from above sees what is going on, and
that you ought to please him rather than that other. He then who sees from
above asks you: “In the schools what used you to say about exile and bonds and
death and disgrace?” “That they are things indifferent.” “And the end of life,
what is it?” “To follow thee.” “Do you say this now also?” “I do.” Then go in
to the great personage boldly and remember these things: and you will see what
a youth is who has studied these things, when he is among men who have not
studied them. I imagine that you will have such thoughts as these; “Why do we
make such great and so many preparations for nothing? Is this the thing which
is named power? All this is nothing.”’
Yet a wise man will never challenge the
anger of the powerful; he will turn aside from it, as a sailor from a storm.
The virtuous affection of caution must be called in to help him, so many are
his dangers. An independence of look, a slight raising of the voice, an
outspoken expression, an appeal to public opinion, even unsought popularity are
enough to excite suspicion. Perhaps after all the poet may be the wisest, who
advises good men to stay away from court altogether, for it is a place where
there is no room for them.
411. Life in the city. A common cause of moral corruption is
the routine of city life. Here fashion dictates a round of occupations which
are unnatural, but in which men and women are alike absorbed. Half of the
morning is absorbed in sleep; then follows the visit to the public shows, which
are centres of demoralisation, and conversation with numerous friends, each one
of whom suggests some abandonment of principle. In the clubs all the most
worthless members of society foregather. The baths, which were at one time
simply constructed, and for the purpose of cleanliness, are now instruments of
luxury; and the water is now so hot as to be better fitted for torture than
pleasure. For the evening meal there must always be some novelty discovered,
even if it is only to begin with the dessert and end with the eggs; even the
order of the seasons must be inverted, that roses may adorn the table in winter.
Upon the ill-spent day follows a disorderly night, and a heavy headache the
next morning. From the temptations of such a life the adherent of Stoicism will
gladly escape.
412. Life in the country. A more real happiness is reserved for
the man who gives up town life for that of the country. For it is most natural
to win sustenance from the earth, which is our common mother, and liberally gives
back many times over what is entrusted to her; and it is more healthy to live
in the open than to be always sheltering in the shade. It matters little
whether one works on one’s own land or on that of another; for many industrious
men have prospered on hired land. There is nothing disgraceful or unbecoming in
any of the work of the farm; to plant trees, to reap, to tend the vine, to
thrash out the corn, are all liberal occupations. Hesiod the poet tended sheep,
and this did not hinder him from telling the story of the gods. And pasturage
is (says Musonius) perhaps the best of all occupations; for even farm work, if
it is exhausting, demands all the energies of the soul as well as of the body,
whereas whilst tending sheep a man has some time for philosophizing also.
It is true that our young men to-day
are too sensitive and too refined to live a country life; but philosophy would
be well rid of these weaklings. A true lover of philosophy could find no better
discipline than to live with some wise and kindly man in the country,
associating with him in work and in relaxation, at meals and in sleeping, and
so ‘learning goodness,’ as Theognis tells us to do, ‘from the good.’
413. The householder. Within the household the head of it is
a little king, and needs to display the kingly virtues of Justice and
Soberness. In his dealings with the perverse he must consider how far each man
is capable of bearing the truth. Indeed, willingness to listen to reproof is no
small virtue; few words are best, so that the wrongdoer may be left as far as
possible to correct his own ways. Punishment must be reserved for extreme
cases, and is always to be administered with calmness; it is felt more keenly
when it comes from a merciful master. Persistent kindness wins over even bad men.
It is further the privilege of the head of a household to distribute kindnesses
to those below him. His wealth he must regard as given him in trust; he is only
the steward of it, and must neither hoard nor waste; for he must give both a
debit and a credit account of all. But if the right use of money causes the
possessor anxious thought, no trace of this should appear to others; giving
should be without hesitation, and as a delight. The good citizen will pay his
taxes with special pleasure, because in his eyes the welfare of the community
stands higher than his own or that of his family; but he will not refuse a kindness
even to an enemy who is in need; and in giving a farthing to a beggar, he will
imply by his manner that he is only paying what the other is entitled to as his
fellow-man. In short, he will give as he would like to receive, and with the
feeling that the chief pleasure of ownership is to share with another.
414. Treatment of slaves. The good householder will associate on
easy terms with his slaves, remembering that they too are men, made of flesh
and blood as he is himself. It is however a difficult matter to decide whether
a master should dine with his slave. Men of the old Roman type find this a
disgraceful practice, but the philosopher should decide in its favour. We do
not need to inquire into a man’s social position, if his character is
attractive. Plato has well said that we cannot find a king who is not descended
from a slave, or a slave who is not descended from a king; and in fact many a
Roman slave was far better educated than his master. Even if we do not suppose
that Seneca’s rule was commonly practised in great Roman houses, the suggestion
itself throws a pleasing light on the position of a Roman slave. But if the
master was thus called upon to ignore differences of social position, as much
might be expected of the slave. With him it was doubtless an instinct to prize
liberty, ‘the power of living as you like,’ as the dearest of possessions. Yet
many a slave who won this reward by years of faithful service found that
liberty delusive, and would have been wiser to stay in the home where he was
valued.
415. Large families. A question of pressing practical
importance is that of large families (πολυπαιδία). Statesmen have always
considered it best that the homes of citizens should be crowded with children;
and for this reason the laws forbid abortion and the hindrance of conception;
they demand fines for childlessness, and pay honours to those who bring up
large families. Public opinion takes the same view; the father of many children
is honoured as he goes about the city, and how charming is the sight of a
mother surrounded by a swarm of children! No religious procession is so
imposing. For such parents every one feels sympathy, and every one is prepared
to cooperate with them. But nowadays even rich parents refuse to rear all their
children, so that the first-born may be the richer. But it is better to have
many brothers than few and a brother is a richer legacy than a fortune. A
fortune attracts enemies, but a brother helps to repel them.
416. Comfort in poverty. We have now accompanied the man of
mature years in his duties and his temptations: philosophy has also a word to
speak with regard to his trials. It is well indeed if he is convinced that the
buffets of fortune are no real evils; but this doctrine can be supplemented by
other consolations. Of the most bitter of all sufferings, bereavement by the
death of friends and children, we have already spoken we may now consider two
other conditions usually held to be evil, namely poverty and exile. In poverty
the first comfort is in the observation that poor men are usually stronger in
body than the rich, and quite as cheerful in mind. Further the poor are free
from many dangers which beset the rich; they can travel safely even when
highwaymen are watching the road. Poverty is an aid to philosophy, for a rich
man, if he wishes to philosophize, must freely choose the life of the poor. A
poor man is not troubled by insincere friends. In short, poverty is only hard
for him who kicks against the pricks.
417. Comfort in exile. The subject of exile has the special
interest that in fact so many philosophers endured this evil. To the Stoic
there is in principle no such thing as exile, since the whole world is his
country; but he does not for this reason disregard other sources of
consolation. Cicero was plainly miserable, not only when he was formally
exiled, but also when he was away from Rome in an honourable position; Seneca
at least made the attempt to bear exile more bravely. Is it then so hard to be
away from one’s native place? Rome is crowded with strangers, who have come
thither for pleasure or profit, study or novelty. True, it is a beautiful town;
but there is no place on earth so bare and unsightly, not even this Corsica to
which Seneca is banished, but that some men choose it to reside in as a matter
of taste. Whole peoples have changed their abode, and we find Greek cities in
the midst of barbarism, and the Macedonian language in India; wherever he
conquers the Roman dwells. The exile has everywhere the company of the same
stars above, of the same conscience within him; even if he is separated from
those near and dear to him, it is not for the first time, and he can still live
with them in his thoughts and affections.
418. Old age. Free or slave, rich or poor, powerful
or insignificant, wherever a man stands in the order of society, old age comes
at last and imperiously stops all ambitions. It is, in the general opinion, a
time of sadness; to associate it with pleasure is not scandalous, only because
it is paradoxical. Cicero’s work de Senectute shows how old age became
attractive according to Roman tradition; Seneca is hardly so successful. With
the fading of hope the stimulus to effort dies away in old age; but though
philosophy forbids idleness, nature cries out for rest. We cannot then approve
when old men follow their professional occupations with un-diminished zeal, and
we must highly blame those who cannot quit their pleasures. The great boon
which old age brings is leisure; for this many great men, amongst them
Augustus, have longed in vain. This leisure gives the opportunity of making
acquaintance with great men through their books, but better still, that of
making acquaintance with our own selves.
419. Musonius’ ‘viaticum.’ ‘Give me,’ said one to Musonius, ‘a viaticum
for old age.’ He replied as follows:
‘The rule is the same as for youth, to
live methodically and according to nature. Do not grieve because you are cut
off from the pleasures of youth; for man is no more born for pleasure than any
other animal: indeed man alone is an image of the deity, and has like
excellences. And do not consider the divine excellences’ as beyond your reach;
for we have no other notion of the gods than such as we derive from observing
good men, whom therefore we call divine and godlike. He who has acquired in
youth sound principles and systematic training will not be found to complain in
old age of the loss of pleasures, of weakness of body, or because he is
neglected by friends and acquaintance; he will carry about with him a charm
against all these evils, namely his own education. But if he has not been
rightly educated, he will do well to go to a friend wiser than himself, and
listen to his teaching and profit by it. And specially he will ponder over
death, how it comes in nature’s course to all, and therefore is no evil. With
such thoughts he will be cheerful and contented, and so he will live a happy
life. But let no one say that wealth brings happiness in old age; that it does
not bring a contented spirit is witnessed every day by a crowd of rich old men,
who are in bad temper and low spirits, and feel deeply aggrieved.’
420. Will-making. When we see death before us there
remains a last act to be performed. We look at the wealth which no longer
belongs to us, and consider to whom it can most worthily be entrusted. We stand
in the position of a judge who can no longer be bribed, and, with all the
wisdom and good will that we have, we give this last verdict on those around
us.
421. Death. For death the whole of philosophy is a
preparation yet when it is no longer a matter of uncertain fear, but close at
hand and sure, some last words are to be said. All this is in the course of
nature, is according to the will of the Creator.
‘God opens the door and says to you,
“Go.” “Go whither?” To nothing terrible, but to the place from which you came,
to your friends and kinsmen, to the elements. What there was in you of fire
goes to fire; of earth, to earth; of air, to air; of water, to water. There is
no Hades, nor Acheron, nor Cocytus, but all is full of gods and demons. God has
invited you; be content when he calls others to the feast in your place.’
The philosopher does not look forward
to renewing his personal life, or to meeting again with parent, wife, or child.
But death is a release from all his pains and troubles; and he who has striven
to live his life well will know how to meet death also at its due time. If it
come to him in the shipwreck, he will not scream nor blame God; if in the
arena, he will not shrink from his enemy, whether man or beast. In this last
short crisis he will bear witness that he accepts contentedly his mortal lot.
CHAPTER
XVI.
STOICISM IN ROMAN HISTORY AND LITERATURE.
STOICISM IN ROMAN HISTORY AND LITERATURE.
422. Spread of Stoicism. Although up to this point it has been
our main purpose to set forth the doctrines of Stoicism, we have seen
incidentally that these came to exercise a wide influence in Roman society, and
that the later teachers are far less occupied in the attainment of truth than
in the right guidance of disciples who lean upon them. In the present chapter
we propose to describe more particularly the practical influence of Stoicism.
Our information, whether drawn from history or from poetry, refers generally to
the upper classes of Roman society; as to the influence of the sect amongst the
poor we have no sufficient record. But although it is very generally held that
the Stoics made no effort to reach the working classes of Rome, or met with no
success in that direction, the evidence points rather to an opposite
conclusion, at any rate as regards all that development of the system which was
coloured by Cynism, the philosophy of the poor. Our actual records are
therefore rather of the nature of side-lights upon the system; the main stream
of Stoic influence may well have flowed in courses with which we are
imperfectly acquainted, and its workings may perhaps come to light first in a
period of history which lies beyond our immediate scope.
423. Conversion direct and indirect. Individual Romans who professed
themselves disciples of the Porch owed their allegiance to the sect to two
causes, in varying proportion. On the one hand they had attended lectures or
private instruction given by eminent Stoic teachers, or had immersed themselves
in Stoic literature. This influence was in almost all cases the influence of
Greek upon Roman, and the friendship between the Stoic Panaetius and Scipio
Aemilianus was the type of all subsequent discipleship. Scipio himself did not
perhaps formally become a Stoic, but he introduced into Roman society the
atmosphere of Stoicism, known to the Romans as humanitas this included
an aversion to war and civil strife, an eagerness to appreciate the art and
literature of Greece, and an admiration for the ideals depicted by Xenophon, of
the ruler in Cyrus, and of the citizen in Socrates. All the Stoic nobles of the
time of the republic are dominated by these feelings. On the other hand
individuals were often attracted by the existence of a society which proclaimed
itself independent of the will of rulers, and offered its members mutual
support and consolation. Such men were often drawn into Stoicism by the
persuasion of friends, without being necessarily well-grounded in philosophical
principle; and in this way small groups or cliques might easily be formed in
which social prejudice or political bias outweighed the formal doctrine of the
school. Such a group was that of the ‘old Romans’ of the first century of the
principate; and with the spread of Stoicism this indirect and imperfect method
of attachment constantly grows in importance as compared with direct
discipleship.
424. The Scipionic circle. Of the first group of Roman Stoics the
most notable was C. LAELIUS, the intimate friend of Scipio, who became consul
in 140 B.C. In his youth he had listened to the teaching of Diogenes of
Babylon, in later life he was the friend of Panaetius. He was in his time a
notable orator with a quiet flowing style; his manners were cheerful, his
temper was calm; and, as we have seen, he seemed to many the nearest of all the
Romans to the ideal of the Stoic sage. He is brought on as the chief speaker in
Cicero’s de Amicitia. Another close friend of Africanus was SP. MUMMIUS,
the brother of the conqueror of Achaia; his oratory was marked by the
ruggedness characteristic of the Stoic school. Passing mention may be made of
L. FURIUS PHILUS, consul in 136 B.C., and a member of the same group, though
his philosophical views are not known to us.
425. The Gracchan period. From the ‘humane’ movement sprang the
Gracchan reforms, which all alike aimed at deposing from power the class to
which the reformers by birth belonged. To the temper of mind which made such a
desire possible Stoic doctrine had largely contributed. The Greeks had taught
their Roman pupils to see in the nascent Roman empire, bearing the watchword of
the ‘majesty of the Roman name’ (maiestas nominis Romani), at least an
approximation to the ideal Cosmopolis: and many Romans so far responded to this
suggestion as to be not unfriendly towards plans for extending their
citizenship and equalizing the privileges of those who enjoyed it. C. BLOSSIUS
of Cumae, a pupil of Antipater of Tarsus, went so far as to instigate Tiberius
Gracchus to the schemes which proved his destruction; whilst other Stoics,
equally sincere in their aims, disagreed with the violence shown by Tiberius in
his choice of method. Amongst the latter was Q. AELIUS TUBERO, a nephew of Africanus,
who became consul in 118 B.C. He devoted himself day and night to the study of
philosophy, and though of no mark as an orator, won himself respect by the
strictness and consistency of his life. Panaetius, Posidonius, and Hecato all
addressed treatises to him; and he is a leading speaker in Cicero’s Republic.
426. Laelius to Lucilius. After the fall of the Gracchi the
Stoic nobles continued to play distinguished and honourable parts in public
life. A family succession was maintained through two daughters of Laelius, so
that here we may perhaps recognise the beginning of the deservedly famous
‘Stoic marriages.’ Of the two ladies the elder was married to Q. MUCIUS
SCAEVOLA, known as ‘the augur,’ who was consul in 117 B.C. He was a devoted
friend of Panaetius, and famous for his knowledge of civil law. The younger
daughter was married to C. FANNIUS, who obtained some distinction as a
historian. In C. LUCILIUS we find the Latin poet of Stoicism; the views which
he expresses in his satires on religion and ethics are in the closest agreement
with the teaching of Panaetius, and the large circulation of his poems must
have diffused them through wide circles. At the same time his attacks on the
religious institutions of Numa and his ridicule of his own childish beliefs may
well have brought philosophy into ill odour as atheistic and unpatriotic: and
we find the statesmen of the next generation specially anxious to avoid any
such imputations.
427. Scaevola ‘the pontifex.’ A dominating figure is that of Q.
MUCIUS SCAEVOLA, commonly called ‘the pontifex,’ who was a nephew of his
namesake mentioned above, and derived from him his interest in civil law; he
was consul in 95 B.C. He overcame the difficulty about the popular religion by
distinguishing on Stoic lines three classes of deities, (i) mythical deities,
celebrated by the poets with incredible and unworthy narrations; (ii)
philosophical deities, better suited for the schools than for the market-place;
(iii) civic deities, whose ceremonies it is the duty of state officials to
maintain, interpreting them so as to agree with the philosophers rather than
with the poets. In this spirit he filled the position of chief officer of the
state religion. He was however no time-server for being appointed after his
consulship to be governor of Asia, he joined with his former quaestor P.
RUTILIUS RUFUS in the design of repressing the extortion of the publicani.
A decisive step taken by him was to declare all dishonourable contracts
invalid; and more than a generation later his just and sparing administration
was gratefully remembered both at Rome and in the provinces. The equites
took their revenge not on Scaevola but on Rutilius, whom they brought to trial
in 92 B.C., when Scaevola pleaded his cause in a simple and dignified way that
became a Stoic, but did not exclude some traces of elegances. He is regarded as
the father of Roman law, for he was the first to codify it, which he did in
eighteen volumes. He also wrote a special work on definitions, which no doubt
reflected the interest which the Stoics took in this part of logic.
428. The Stoic lawyers. It seems beyond dispute that the
systematic study of law, which developed in later centuries into the science of
Roman jurisprudence, and as such has exercised a weighty influence on the
development of Western civilisation, had its beginnings amongst a group of men
profoundly influenced by Stoic teaching. It does not therefore follow that the
fundamental ideas expressed by such terms as ins gentium, lex naturae,
are exclusively Stoic in origin. The former phrase appears to have been in
common use at this time to indicate the laws generally in force amongst the
peoples that surrounded Rome; the latter is a philosophical term derived from
the Greek, denoting an ideal law which ought to exist amongst men everywhere.
The principle of obedience to nature is not peculiar to the Stoic philosophy,
but belongs to the common substratum of all philosophical thought. It does
however seem to be the case that the Stoic theory of the ‘common law’ (κοινὸς
νόμος) was in fact the stimulus which enabled the Romans to transform their
system of ‘rights,’ gradually throwing over all that was of the nature of
mechanical routine or caste privilege, and harmonizing contradictions by the
principle of fairness. The successor of Scaevola was C. AQUILIUS GALLUS,
praetor in 66 B.C. with Cicero, of whom it is specially noted that he guided
his exposition of law by the principle of equity; and after him S. SULPICIUS
RUFUS, the contemporary and intimate friend of Cicero. We do not know that he
was a Stoic, but he was a student of dialectic under L. LUCILIUS BALBUS, who as
well as his brother belonged to this school; and he followed Stoic principles
in studying oratory just enough to make his exposition clear. He was the
acknowledged head of his profession, and compiled 180 books on law. In the
civil war he took sides with Caesar.
429. Stoics of the Sullan period. Amongst men of high rank definitely
pledged to Stoicism in the generation preceding Cicero are further L. AELIUS
STILO (circ. 145–75 B.C.) , who devoted himself to Roman grammar and
antiquities, and was the teacher of both Cicero and Varro; Q. LUCILIUS BALBUS,
whose knowledge of this philosophy rivalled that of his Greek teachers, and who
is the exponent of the Stoic view in Cicero’s de Natura Deorum, the
scene of which takes us back to about 76 B.C.; Sextus Pompeius, uncle of Pompey
the Great, and distinguished both as a philosopher and as a jurist; and more
particularly P. RUTILIUS RUFUS, to whom we have already referred. A pupil and
devoted admirer of Panaetius, a trained philosopher, and a sound lawyer, he
brought his career at Rome to an abrupt end by his firm resistance to the publicani,
as already recounted. With true cosmopolitanism he retired to Smyrna, and
accepted the citizenship of that town. His stern principles did not prevent him
from saving his life in the massacre ordered by Mithradates, by assuming Greek
dress; the massacre itself was the ripe fruit of the abuses which he had
endeavoured to repress. He is one of the characters in Cicero’s de Republica.
430. Cato. Of the Stoics of Cicero’s time the
most eminent was M. PORCIUS CATO (95–48 B.C). In him Stoicism received a
special colouring by association with the traditions of ancient Roman manners.
In his early years he became a pupil of Antipater of Tyre, and so far adopted
the Cynic ideal as to train himself for public life by freely submitting to
hunger, cold, and hardship. After a period of service in the army he made a
journey to Asia to secure the companionship of Athenodorus the elder. He became
a practised speaker; and though he adhered firmly to the Stoic tradition of
plain language and short sentences, yet could become eloquent on the great
themes of his philosophy, and could win the approval of the people even for its
paradoxes. He was resolutely opposed to bribery and extortion. As quaestor in
B.C. 66 he introduced reform into the public finances, and put an end to
embezzlements by officials. His popularity became very great, and he was elected
tribune of the plebs towards the end of the year 63 B.C., when his voice
decided the senators to decree the death of the associates of Catiline. With
his subsequent policy Cicero finds fault, because Cato refused to connive at
the extortions of the publicani: and from Cicero’s criticisms has arisen
the accepted new that Cato was an unpractical statesman. On the other hand it
may well be held that if the Roman aristocracy had included more men like Cato,
the republic might have been saved: and towards the end of his life Cicero
bitterly lamented that he had not sufficiently valued the sincere friendship
which Cato offered him. In the year 54 B.C. the candidates for the office of
tribune paid him a singular compliment; each deposited with him a large sum of
money, which he was to forfeit if in Cato’s opinion he was guilty of bribery.
His whole political life was guided by the strictest moral principle; even in
so unimportant a matter as Cicero’s request for a triumph he would do nothing
to oblige a friend. In private life he attempted to put into practice the
principle of the community of women taught in Zeno’s Republic. He had
married Marcia, daughter of Philippus, and had three children by her: in 56
B.C. he gave her up to his friend C. Hortensius, whose family was in danger of
becoming extinct: finally on the threatening of the civil war in B.C. 50 he
took her back to his own home. At a time when the marriage bond was lightly
treated by many of his contemporaries he at least rose above petty motives. In the
civil war he took sides strongly against Caesar, his old political opponent.
His self-sought death after Pharsalia won him a distinction which he had earned
better by his life: and the unmeasured praise bestowed upon him a century later
is perhaps due more to political bias than to philosophical respect. The few
words with which Virgil honours his memory are more effective, when he pictures
Cato as chosen to be a judge in the world of the blest. Cato represents the
Stoic view as to the summum bonum in Cicero’s de Finibus.
431. Varro, Brutus, and Porcia. Contemporary with Cicero and Cato was
M. TERENTIUS VARRO (B.C. 116–28). In his public career and political principles
he was not unlike Cato; in his literary activity he more resembled Cicero. Both
Varro and Cicero were deeply influenced by Stoic teaching, but as they were by
no means professed adherents of this philosophy, they may be here passed by. In
the next generation M. JUNIUS BRUTUS (85–42 B.C.) concerns us more: for by his
marriage with PORCIA, Cato’s daughter and an ardent Stoic, he came into a
family connexion with the sect, with which his personal views, as we have seen,
were not entirely in agreement. Still Brutus was not altogether unfitted to
play the part of Cato’s successor; he was no mean orator, and wrote more than
one philosophical treatise; whilst Cicero dedicated several of his
philosophical works to him. But the practical Stoicism of Porcia, who stabbed
herself in the thigh to show that she was fit to be trusted with a political secret,
shines out more brightly than the speculations of her husband. In her honour
Martial has written one of the few epigrams in which he allows himself to be
caught in a mood of admiration: yet his story of Porcia’s death must be
rejected as unhistorical.
432. Horace. After the death of Brutus Stoicism
ceases for a while to play a prominent part in Roman history; but its indirect
influence is very marked in the two great poets of the Augustan epoch, Horace
and Virgil. Of these HORACE is in the main an Epicurean, and as such is quite
entitled to use the Stoic paradoxes as matter for ridicule, and even to
anticipate dangerous consequences from their practical application. But in fact
his works show a constantly increasing appreciation of the ethics of Stoicism.
He recognises the high ideals and civic activity of its professors, and he
draws a noble picture of the Stoic sage, confident in his convictions, and
bidding defiance to the crowd and the tyrant alike. Of that practical wisdom
and genial criticism which has made Horace the favourite poet of so many men
eminent in public life, no small part consists of Stoic principles deftly freed
from the paradoxical form in which they were conveyed to professed adherents.
433. Virgil. With this picture of Stoicism seen
from without we must contrast that given us by VIRGIL, who inherited the Stoic
tradition from Aratus, his model for the Georgics. Virgil’s mind is
penetrated by Stoic feeling, and his works are an interpretation of the
universe in the Stoic sense but like so many of his contemporaries he holds
aloof from formal adherence to the sect, and carefully avoids its technical
language. Quite possibly too he incorporated in his system elements drawn from
other philosophies. In physics he accepts the principle that the fiery aether
is the source of all life; it is identical with the divine spirit and the
all-informing mind. From this standpoint he is led on to the doctrine of
purgatory, and from that he looks forward to the time of the conflagration,
when all creation will be reconciled by returning to its primitive unity in the
primal fire-spirit. Still Virgil’s picture must be regarded rather as an
adaptation than as an exposition of Stoicism; it lacks the sharp outlines and
the didactic tone of the poetry of Cleanthes or Lucretius, and other
interpretations are by no means excluded.
434. Virgil’s theology. With the problem of the government of
the universe Virgil’s mind is occupied throughout the Aeneid. He is
constantly weighing the relative importance of the three forces, fate, the
gods, and fortune, precisely as the philosophers do. To each of the three he
assigns a part in the affairs of men; but that taken by fate is unmistakably
predominant. The individual gods have very little importance in the poem; they
are to a large extent allegorical figures, representing human instincts and
passions; they cannot divert destiny from its path, though with their utmost
effort they may slightly delay its work or change its incidence. Above all
these little gods Jove towers aloft, a power magnificent and munificent; at his
voice the gods shudder and the worlds obey. But the power of Jove rests upon
his complete acceptance of the irrevocable decrees of fate. The critic may even
describe him as a puppet-king, who wears an outward semblance of royalty, but
is really obedient to an incessant interference from a higher authority. Virgil
however appears truly to hold the Stoic principle that Fate and Jove are one;
he thus takes us at once to the final problem of philosophy, the reconciliation
of the conceptions of Law formed on the one hand by observing facts (the modern
‘Laws of Nature’) and on the other hand by recognising the moral instinct (the
modern ‘Moral Law’). As we have seen, a reconciliation of these two by logic is
intrinsically impossible. Virgil however shows us how they may be in practice
reconciled by a certain attitude of mind; and because that attitude is one of
resignation to and cooperation with the supreme power, it would seem right to
place Virgil by the side of Cleanthes as one of the religious poets of
Stoicism.
435. Virgil’ ethics. Virgil’s conception of ethics is
displayed in the character of Aeneas. Much modern criticism revolts against the
character of Aeneas exactly as it does against that of Cato, and for the same
reason, that it is without sympathy for Stoic ethics. To understand Aeneas we
must first picture a man whose whole soul is filled by a reverent regard for
destiny and submission to Jove, who represents destiny on its personal side. He
can therefore never play the part of the hero in revolt but at the same time he
is human, and liable to those petty weaknesses and aberrations from which even
the sage is not exempt. He can hesitate or be hasty, can love or weep; but the
sovereignty of his mind is never upset. In a happy phrase Virgil sums up the
whole ethics of Stoicism:
‘Calm in his soul he abides, and the
tears roll down, but in vain.’
In contrast to Aeneas stands Dido,
intensely human and passionate, and in full rebellion against her destiny. She
is to him Eve the temptress, Cleopatra the seducer; but she is not destined to
win a final triumph. A modern romance would doubtless have a different ending.
436. Ovid. Amongst writers who adopted much of
the formal teaching of Stoicism without imbibing its spirit we may reckon OVID
(43 B.C. – 18 A.D.). Not only does he accept the central idea of Stoicism, that
it is the divine fire by virtue of which every man lives and moves, but he
opens his greatest work by a description of the creation which appears to follow
Stoic lines, and in which the erect figure of man is specially recognised as
the proof of the pre-eminence which Providence has assigned to him over all the
other works of the Creator. But the tales related in the Metamorphoses
show no trace of the serious religious purpose of Virgil; and the society
pictured in Ovid’s love poems gives only a caricature of the Stoic doctrines of
the community of women, the absence of jealousy, and outspokenness of speech.
Finally the plaintive tone of the Tristia shows how little Ovid was in
touch with Stoic self-control amidst the buffetings of fortune.
437. Cremutius Cordus. In the time of the next princeps
we first find Stoicism associated with an unsympathetic attitude towards the
imperial government. There was nothing in Stoic principles to suggest this
opposition. Tiberius himself had listened to the teaching of the Stoic Nestor,
and the simplicity of his personal life and the gravity of his manners might
well have won him the support of sincere philosophers. But if Stoicism did not
create the spirit of opposition, it confirmed it where it already existed. The
memory of Cato associated Stoic doctrines with republican views: vague
idealisations of Brutus and Cassius suggested the glorification of tyrannicide.
CREMUTIUS CORDUS (ob. A.D. 25) had offended Seianus by a sarcastic remark: for
when Tiberius repaired the theatre of Pompey, and the senate voted that a
statue of Seianus should be erected there, Cordus said that this meant really
spoiling the theatre. Seianus then dropped a hint to his client Satrius, who
accused Cordus before the senate of writing a history in which he highly
praised Brutus, and declared Cassius to have been ‘the last of the Romans.’ A
word of apology would have saved the life of Cordus; he resolved to die by his
own act, to the great annoyance of his prosecutors. From this time on suicide
became an object of political ambition. The Stoic tradition continued in the
family of Cordus, and to his daughter Marcia, as a fellow-member of the sect,
Seneca addressed the well-known Consolatio; but the title of ‘old
Romans’ describes far better the true leanings of the men of whom Cordus was
the forerunner.
438. Kanus Iulius. In the reign of Gaius (Caligula) we
first find philosophers as such exposed to persecution; and we may infer that,
like the Jews, they resisted tacitly or openly the claim of the emperor to be
worshipped as a god. IULIUS GRAECINUS, according to Seneca, was put to death
for no other reason than that he was a better man than a tyrant liked to see
alive. KANUS IULIUS reproved the emperor to his face, and heard with calmness
his own doom pronounced. During the ten days still left to him he went quietly
on with his daily occupations; he was engaged in a game of chess when the
centurion summoned him. ‘After my death,’ he said to his opponent, ‘do not
boast that you won the game.’ His philosopher accompanied him, and inquired how
his thoughts were occupied. ‘I propose,’ said Kanus, ‘to observe whether at the
last moment the soul is conscious of its departure. Afterwards, if I discover
what the condition of departed souls is, I will come back and inform my
friends.’
439. Arria the elder. In the reign of Claudius we find
Stoics engaged in actual conspiracy against the emperor. The name of PATEUS CAECINA
introduces us to a famous Stoic family, for his wife was ARRIA the elder. Pliny
tells us, on the authority of her granddaughter Fannia, how when her husband
and son both fell sick together, and the latter died, she carried out the whole
funeral without her husband’s knowledge; and each time that she entered his
sick chamber, assumed a cheerful smile and assured him that the boy was much
better. Whenever her grief became too strong, she would leave the room for a
few minutes to weep, and return once more calm. When Scribonianus in Illyria
rebelled against Claudius, Paetus took his side; upon his fall he was brought a
prisoner to Rome. Arria was not allowed to accompany him, but she followed him
in a fishing boat. She encouraged him to face death by piercing her own breast
with a dagger, declaring ‘it doesn’t hurt,’ and upon his death she determined
not to survive him. Thrasea, her son-in-law, tried to dissuade her. ‘If I were
condemned, would you,’ said he, ‘wish your daughter to die with me?’ ‘Yes,’ said
Arria, ‘if she had lived with you as long and as happily as I with Paetus.’
Here we have a deliberate justification of the Hindu practice of the Satī.
440. Seneca. In the reign of Nero the Stoics are
still more prominent, and almost always in opposition. SENECA, of course, the
emperor’s tutor and minister, is on the government side; and from his life we
can draw the truest picture of the imperial civil servant in high office. We
shall certainly not expect to find that Seneca illustrated in his own life all
the virtues that he preached; on the other hand we shall not readily believe
that the ardent disciple of Attalus and affectionate husband of Paulina was a
man of dissolute life or of avaricious passions. Simple tastes, an endless
capacity for hard work, and scrupulous honesty were the ordinary marks of the
Roman official in those days, as they are of members of the Civil Service of
India to-day. Seneca is often accused of having been too supple as a minister;
but he was carrying ont the principles of his sect better by taking an active
part in politics than if he had, like many others, held sullenly aloof. He did
not indeed imitate Cato or Rutilius Rufus, who had carried firmness of
principle to an extent that laid them open to the charge of obstinacy; but in submitting
frankly to power greater than his own he still saw to it that his own influence
should count towards the better side. For the story of his political career we
cannot do better than to refer to the latest historian of his times; of his
work as a philosopher, to which he himself attributed the greater importance, a
general account has been given above and more particular discussions form the
central theme of this book.
441. Persius and Lucan. From Seneca we pass naturally to some
mention of the poets Persius and Lucan. A. PERSIUS FLACCUS (34–62 A.D.) became
at 16 years of age the pupil and companion of the Stoic philosopher Cornutus:
he was also a relative of the Arriae already mentioned. He gives us a charming
picture of his teacher’s ways of life, which were doubtless typical: and his
summary view of the scope of philosophy well indicates how its proportions had
shrunk at this period. Dialectic is not mentioned, and physics has interest
only in its bearing upon the position and duty of the individual.
‘Go, study, hapless folk, and learn to
know
The end and object of our life — what are we;
The purpose of our being here; the rank
Assigned us at the start, and where and when
The turn is smoothest round the perilous post;
The bounds of wealth; life’s lawful aims; the use
Of hoards of coin new-minted; what the claims
Of fatherland and kinsfolk near and dear;
The will of God concerning thee, and where
Thou standest in the commonwealth of man.’
The end and object of our life — what are we;
The purpose of our being here; the rank
Assigned us at the start, and where and when
The turn is smoothest round the perilous post;
The bounds of wealth; life’s lawful aims; the use
Of hoards of coin new-minted; what the claims
Of fatherland and kinsfolk near and dear;
The will of God concerning thee, and where
Thou standest in the commonwealth of man.’
His contemporary M. ANNAEUS LUCANUS
(39–65 A.D.), a nephew of Seneca, plunged more deeply both into philosophy and
into politics. In both he displayed ardour insufficiently tempered with
discretion; he had a far keener sense of his personal grievances than became a
Stoic, and was much more of a critic than of a reformer. Yet hardly any writer
expresses more forcibly the characteristic doctrines of Stoicism, as they
seized the imagination of young Romans of the upper classes. Amongst such
doctrines that of the conflagration was clearly prominent.
‘So when this frame of things has been
dissolved,
And the world’s many ages have received
Their consummation in one final hour,
Chaos recalled shall gain his utmost seat,
The constellations in confusion dire
Hurled each on each together clash; the stars
Flaming shall fall into the deep; the earth
No longer shall extend her barrier shores,
And fling the waters from her; and the Moon
Shall meet the Sun in fratricidal war.’
And the world’s many ages have received
Their consummation in one final hour,
Chaos recalled shall gain his utmost seat,
The constellations in confusion dire
Hurled each on each together clash; the stars
Flaming shall fall into the deep; the earth
No longer shall extend her barrier shores,
And fling the waters from her; and the Moon
Shall meet the Sun in fratricidal war.’
‘One pyre awaits the Universe; in ruin
’Twill mix with bones of men the heavenly spheres.’
’Twill mix with bones of men the heavenly spheres.’
Lucan emphasizes the pantheistic
interpretation of the divine nature:
‘God is all eye can see or heart can
feel.’
‘The powers of heaven are round about
us all;
And though from out the temple come no voice,
Nought can we do without the will of God.’
And though from out the temple come no voice,
Nought can we do without the will of God.’
To the idealized Cato he addresses the
noblest praises;
‘For sure a consecrated life is thine,
The laws of heaven thy pattern, God thy guide.’
‘See the true Father of his country, worth
The homage of thine altars, Rome; for they
Who swear by him shall never be ashamed.
If e’er the yoke is lifted from thy neck,
Now or hereafter he shall be thy God.’
The laws of heaven thy pattern, God thy guide.’
‘See the true Father of his country, worth
The homage of thine altars, Rome; for they
Who swear by him shall never be ashamed.
If e’er the yoke is lifted from thy neck,
Now or hereafter he shall be thy God.’
442. Civil service and ‘old Romans.’ The careers of Seneca and Musonius,
and the early years of Lucan himself, indicate sufficiently that there was no
essential opposition between Stoic principles and the Roman principate; in
other words, that Stoics as such were not ‘republicans.’ Rather the contrary;
for nearly all the Greek philosophers had been inclined to favour monarchy, and
the Stoics had been conspicuous in the desire to abolish the distinctions of
birth and class upon which the Roman aristocracy laid so much stress, and which
the principate was disposed to ignore. But in fact Stoicism was the common
mould in which the educated youth of Rome were shaped at this period; it
produced honest, diligent, and simple-minded men, exactly suited to be
instruments of the great imperial bureaucracy. Large numbers entered the
service of the state, and were heard of no more; such an one (except for
Seneca’s incidental account of him) was C. LUCILIUS, Seneca’s correspondent.
The great work of Roman government was carried on in silence, just as that of
India in the present day. This silence was probably on the whole beneficial to
society, though it was often felt as a constraint by the individual. For this
reason and many others there were at Rome (as everywhere and at all times) many
able but disappointed men; they became the critics of the government, and from
being critics they might at any time become conspirators; but at no period did
they seriously aim at restoring the republican system. Their political creed
was limited, and did not look beyond the interests of the class from which they
sprang. They claimed for members of the senate at Rome their ancient personal
privileges, and especially that of libertas, that is, freedom to
criticize and even to insult the members of the government; they sang the
praises of Cato, celebrated the birthdays of Brutus and Cassius, and practised
a kind of ‘passive resistance’ based on Oriental methods, by quitting life
without hesitation when they were baulked in their immediate wishes by the
government. When the administration was carried on decently these men were
ridiculous; when from time to time it became a scandal they were heroes.
443. Republican prejudices. The early years of Nero’s reign show
us plainly that the true spirit of Stoicism was far more developed on the side
of the government than on that of the aristocracy. Nothing distinguishes Seneca
more honourably than his humane attitude towards the slave population; and he
was chief minister of the princeps when in the year A.D. 61 a ‘notable case’
arose, in which the human rights of slaves were involved. The city prefect,
Pedanius Secundus, was killed by one of his slaves. It was contended in the
senate that by ancient custom the whole household, old and young, guilty and
innocent, must be put to death alike; and this view prevailed and was carried
into effect. Public opinion, according to Tacitus, was unanimous against such
severity; it looked, not unreasonably, to the emperor and his minister to
prevent it. They on the contrary left the decision to the free judgment of the
senate. Where now were the men of philosophic principle, of world-wide sympathies,
of outspoken utterance? The historian tells us that not one was found in the
senate. The honourable men who could defy an emperor’s death-sentence still
lacked the courage to speak out against the prejudices of their own class; many
indeed uttered exclamations, expressing pity for the women, the young, and the
indubitably innocent, and even voted against the executions but even in so
simple a matter there was not a man to follow the lead of Catiline in Cicero’s
days, and take up as his own the cause of the oppressed. The leader of the
merciless majority was C. Cassius Longinus, a celebrated jurist, and one who
regularly celebrated the honours of Cassius the conspirator.
444. Nero and the Stoics. But although the administration of
which Nero was tne head was largely manned by professed Stoics, and stood as a
whole for the better sympathies of the Roman people, the course of court
intrigue brought about a fierce conflict between the government and a growing
force of public opinion of which the ‘old Roman’ group of Stoics were sometimes
the spokesmen, and at other times the silent representatives. To Nero the
consideration of his own safety was predominant over every consideration of
justice to individuals, and herein he stood condemned (and knew that it was so)
by the judgment of all men of philosophic temper. The first of his victims, and
perhaps the most deserving of our admiration, was RUBELLIUS PLAUTUS, accused by
Tigellinus because he maintained the irritating cult of the ‘tyrannicides,’ and
had joined the disloyal sect of the Stoics. The charge of disloyalty against
himself and his companions he disproved; for, advised by his Stoic teachers
Coeranus and Musonius, he declined to take part in a rising which might have
been successful, and calmly awaited his fate (60 A.D.). In the conspiracy of
Piso, which broke out a few years later, PLAUTUS LATERANUS is named by the
historian as one of the few whose motives were honourable and whose conduct was
consistently courageous. The later years of Nero’s reign are illuminated in the
pages of Tacitus by the firmness of men like THRASEA PAETUS, PACONIUS
AGRIPPINUS, and BAREA SORANUS, and the heroic devotion of women like the
younger ARRIA, Thrasea’s wife, and SERVILIA, the daughter of Soranus. In the
persecution of this group the modern historian finds extenuating circumstances,
but at Rome itself it appeared as though the emperor were engaged in the
attempt to extirpate virtue itself.
445. Helvidius Priscus. Upon the fall of Nero the ‘old Romans’
came for a short time into power under the principate of Galba, and amongst others
HELVIDIUS PRISCUS, Thrasea’s son-in-law, returned from exile. From the account
of Tacitus he appears to have been a very sincere adherent of the Stoic school.
‘He was not like others who adopt the
name of philosopher in order to cloak an idle disposition. He followed those
teachers who maintain that only the honourable is good, and only the base is
evil; power, nobility, and other things external to the soul being neither good
nor evil. He designed so to fortify himself thereby against the blows of fortune
that he could play his part in public affairs without flinching.’
His first act on returning to Rome was
to commence a prosecution of the accuser of Thrasea. The senate was divided in
opinion as to the wisdom, of this step, and when Heividius abandoned the suit
some praised his charity, whilst others lamented his indecision. He resumed his
attempt, as we shall see, at a later time.
446. His fall. Vespasian was undoubtedly tolerant in
his views: his reign began with the restitution of honours to the deceased
Galba, and the much-respected Musonius seized the opportunity to attack in the
senate P. Egnatius Celer, whose treachery had brought about the fall of
Soranus, for false evidence. The trial was postponed, but resulted a little
later in the condemnation of Celer. Public opinion took the side of Musonius:
but the accused found a champion in Demetrius the Cynic philosopher, and at
least defended himself with the ability and courage of his sect. Thereupon
Helvidius resumed his prosecution of the accuser of Thrasea; but the emperor,
now anxious to let bygones be bygones, refused to approve. This second failure
appears to have embittered Helvidius: his opposition to Vespasian became open
and insulting, and brought about his death. The life of his wife FANNIA was
worthy of the two Arriae, her grandmother and her mother. Twice she followed
her husband into exile; a third time she brought this punishment upon herself,
by encouraging his friend Senecio to publish his biography, supplying him with
the materials, and openly justifying her action. In her private life she had
singular charm and affability; and her death appeared to Pliny to close an era
of noble women.
447. Renewal of the Stoic opposition. It seems probable that the Stoic
nobles found the low birth of Vespasian as intolerable as the tyranny of Nero;
at any rate they soon resumed their attitude of opposition to the government,
and the punishment of Helvidius, if intended as a warning, proved rather a
provocation. It appears that he and the ‘old Romans’ began a systematic
propaganda in favour of what they called ‘democracy,’ that is, the government
of the Roman empire by the senatorial class; and they probably involved many
professed philosophers in this impracticable and reactionary movement.
Vespasian resolved on expelling all the philosophers from Rome. From this
general sentence the best known of all, Musonius, was excepted, and we must
infer that he had shown the good sense to keep himself free from political
entanglements. In spite of this act of Vespasian, Stoicism continued to gain
ground, and during the greater part of the period of the Flavian dynasty met
with little interference.
448. Persecution by Domitian. But towards the end of the reign of
Domitian a more violent persecution broke out. ARULENUS RUSTICUS had been
tribune of the plebs in 66 A.D., and had then proposed to use his veto in an
attempt to save the life of Thrasea Paetus 112. In 69 A.D. he was praetor, and
as such headed an embassy sent by the senate to the soldiers under Petilius Cerealis.
On this occasion he was roughly handled and wounded, and barely escaped with
his life. After many years of quiet, he was accused in 93 A.D., when Pliny was
praetor, of having written and spoken in honour of Thrasea Paetus, Herennius
Senecio, and Helvidius Priscus; he was condemned to death and his books were
destroyed. SENECIO was condemned at the same time for having written the
biography of Helvidius Priscus, and for the further offence that since holding
the quaestorship he had not become a candidate for any higher office. About the
same time were banished Artemidorus, the most single-minded and laborious of
philosophers, whom Musonius had selected out of a crowd of competitors as the fittest
to claim his daughter in marriage; Junius Mauricus, brother of Arulenus
Rusticus, who had joined Musonius in the attempt to secure the punishment of
the delatores of Nero’s time; Demetrius, and Epictetus; and further many
distinguished ladies, including Arria and her daughter Fannia. But from the
time of the death of Domitian in A.D. 96 the imperial government became finally
reconciled with Stoicism, which was now the recognised creed of the great
majority of the educated classes at Rome, of all ages and ranks. As such it
appears in the writings of JUVENAL, who not only introduces into serious
literature the Stoic principle of ‘straight speaking,’ but actually expounds
much of the ethical teaching of Stoicism with more directness and force than
any professed adherent of the system.
449. Stoic reform of law. Stoicism, received into favour in the
second century A.D., won new opportunities and was exposed to new dangers. Its
greatest achievement lay in the development of Roman law. As we have just seen,
the ‘old Romans’ of Nero’s day, in spite of their profession of Stoicism, were
unbending upholders of the old law, with all its harshness and narrowness; and
we have to go back a hundred years to the great lawyers of the times of Sulla
and Cicero to meet with men prepared to throw aside old traditions and build
anew on the foundations of natural justice. But the larger view had not been
lost sight of. It remained as the ideal of the more generous-minded members of
the imperial civil service; and in the times of the emperors Antoninus Pius
(138–161 A.D.) and Marcus Aurelius (161–180 A.D.) it became the starting-point
for a new development of Roman law, which is one of the great achievements of
Roman history. The most eloquent of the historians of the origins of
Christianity thus describes this movement. In the legislation of Antoninus and
Aurelius the humane and cosmopolitan principles of Stoic politics at last
triumph over Roman conservatism. The poor, the sick, the infant, and the
famine-stricken are protected. The slave is treated as a human-being; to kill
him becomes a crime, to injure him a misdemeanour; his family and his property
are protected by the tribunals. Slavery in fact is treated as a violation of
the rights of nature; manumission is in every way encouraged. The time is
within sight when Ulpian will declare that ‘all men, according to natural
right, are born free and equal.’ This legislation is not entirely the work of
professed Stoics; it is nevertheless the offspring of Stoicism.
450. Repression of zeal. There was in the second century, as
there is still, a sharp antagonism between the manners of cultivated society
and the ardent profession of intellectual convictions. An anecdote related by
Gellius well illustrates the social forces which were now constantly at work to
check superfluous enthusiasm.
‘There was with us at table a young
student of philosophy who called himself a Stoic, but chiefly distinguished
himself by an unwelcome loquacity. He was always bringing up in season and out
of season recondite philosophical doctrines, and he looked upon all his neighbours
as boors because they were unacquainted with them. His whole talk was strown
with mention of syllogisms, fallacies, and the like, such as the
“master-argument,” the “quiescent,” and the “heap”; and he thought that he was
the only man in the world who could solve them. Further he maintained that he
had thoroughly studied the nature of the soul, the growth of virtue, the
science of daily duties, and the cure of the weaknesses and diseases of the
mind. Finally he considered he had attained to that state of perfect happiness
which could be clouded by no disappointment, shaken by no pains of death.’
Such a man, we may think, might soon
have become an apostle of sincere Stoicism, and might have left us a clear and
systematic exposition of Stoic doctrine as refined by five centuries of
experience. It was not to be. The polished Herodes Atticus crushed him with a
quotation from the discourses of Epictetus. Not many offended in the same way.
Even Seneca had been severe on useless study in the regions of history and
antiquity; the new philosophers despised the study even of philosophy.
451. State establishment of philosophy. The Stoicism of the second century is
therefore much less sharply defined than that of earlier times. Its doctrines,
acquired in childhood, are accepted with ready acquiescence; but they are not
accompanied by any firm repudiation of the opposing views of other schools.
Once more, as in the time of Augustus, the ‘philosopher’ comes to the front;
the particular colour of his philosophy seems of less importance. It is
philosophy in general which wins the patronage of the emperors. Nerva allowed
the schools of the philosophers to be re-opened; Trajan interested himself in
them as providing a useful training for the young. Hadrian went further, and
endowed the teachers of philosophy at Rome; Antoninus Pius did the same
throughout the provinces. Marcus Aurelius established representatives of each
of the philosophic schools at Athens; and amongst later emperors Septimius
Severus, aided by his wife Julia Domna, was conspicuous in the same direction.
The philosophers, who had firmly resisted persecution, gradually sacrificed
their independence under the influence of imperial favour. They still recited
the dogmas of their respective founders, but unconsciously they became the
partisans of the established forms of government and religion. Yet so gentle
was the decay of philosophy that it might be regarded as progress if its true
position were not illuminated by the attitude of Marcus Aurelius towards the
Christians. For Marcus Aurelius was universally accepted as the most admirable
practical representative of philosophy in its full ripeness, and no word of
criticism of his policy was uttered by any teacher of Stoicism.
452. The pagan revival. The decay of precise philosophic
thought was accompanied by a strong revival of pagan religious sentiment. The
atmosphere in which Marcus Aurelius grew up, and by which his political actions
were determined far more than by his philosophic profession, is thus sympathetically
described by the latest editor of his Reflections.
‘In house and town, the ancestral
Penates of the hearth and the Lares of the streets guarded the intercourse of
life; in the individual breast, a ministering Genius shaped his destinies and
responded to each mood of melancholy or of mirth. Thus all life lay under the
regimen of spiritual powers, to be propitiated or appeased by appointed
observances and ritual and forms of prayer. To this punctilious and devout form
of Paganism Marcus was inured from childhood; at the vintage festival he took
his part in chant and sacrifice; at eight years old he was admitted to the
Salian priesthood; “he was observed to perform all his sacerdotal functions
with a constancy and exactness unusual at that age; was soon a master of the
sacred music; and had all the forms and liturgies by heart.” Our earliest
statue depicts him as a youth offering incense; and in his triumphal
bas-reliefs he stands before the altar, a robed and sacrificing priest. To him
“prayer and sacrifice, and all observances by which we own the presence and
nearness of the gods,” are “covenants and sacred ministries” admitting to
“intimate communion with the divine.”’
The cult thus summarized is not that of
the Greek mythology, much less that of the rationalized Stoic theology. It is
the primitive ritualism of Italy, still dear to the hearts of the common
people, and regaining its hold on the educated in proportion as they spared
themselves the effort of individual criticism.
453. State persecution. It was by no mere accident that Marcus
Aurelius became the persecutor of the Christians. He was at heart no successor
of the Zeno who held as essential the doctrine of a supreme deity, and absolutely
rejected the use of temples and images. In the interval, official Stoicism had
learnt first to tolerate superstition with a smile, next to become its
advocate; now it was to become a persecutor in its name. Pontius Pilatus is
said to have recognised the innocence of the founder of Christianity, and might
have protected him had his instructions from Rome allowed him to stretch his
authority so far; Gallio was uninterested in the preaching of Paul; but
Aurelius was acquainted with the Christian profession and its adherents, and
opposed it as an obstinate resistance to authority. The popular antipathy to
the new religion, and the official distaste for all disturbing novelties, found
in him a willing supporter. Thus began a new struggle between the power of the
sword and that of inward conviction. Because reason could not support the
worship of the pagan deities, violence must do so. It became a triumph of the
civil authority and the popular will to extort a word of weakness by two years
of persistent torture. No endowed professor or enlightened magistrate raised
his voice in protest; and in this feeble acquiescence Stoicism perished.
454. Revolt of the young Stoics. For the consciences of the young
revolted. Trained at home and in school to believe in providence, in duty, and
in patient endurance of evil, they instinctively recognised the Socratic force
and example not in the magistrate seated in his curule chair, nor in the rustic
priest occupied in his obsolete ritual, but in the teacher on the cross and the
martyr on the rack. In ever increasing numbers men, who had from their Stoic
education imbibed the principles of the unity of the Deity and the freedom of
the will, came over to the new society which professed the one without
reservation, and displayed the other without flinching. With them they brought
in large measure their philosophic habits of thought, and (in far more
particulars than is generally recognised) the definite tenets which the Porch
had always inculcated. Stoicism began a new history, which is not yet ended,
within the Christian church; and we must now attempt to give some account of
this after-growth of the philosophy.
CHAPTER
XVII.
THE STOIC STRAIN IN CHRISTIANITY.
THE STOIC STRAIN IN CHRISTIANITY.
455. Neighbours, but strangers. DURING the first century and a half of
the Christian era Stoicism maintained an active and successful propaganda,
without becoming conscious that meanwhile a new force was spreading in the
Hellenic world which was soon to challenge its own supremacy. There is no
evidence to show that any of the Stoic teachers with whom we have been
concerned knew anything of Christianity beyond the bare name, until the two
systems came into conflict in the time of Marcus Aurelius; and it is in the
highest degree improbable that any of them were influenced in their opinions,
directly or indirectly, by the preaching of Christianity. On the other hand the
apostles of the newer faith, as often as they entered any of the chief cities
of the Roman empire, met at once not only with the professed adherents of
Stoicism, but also with a still wider world of educated men and women which was
penetrated by Stoic conceptions. From the first it was incumbent on Christian
teachers to define their attitude towards this philosophy; and it is our
purpose in this chapter to sketch shortly the manner in which they did so. This
task belongs primarily to the historian of Christianity, but the present work
would be incomplete without some adumbration of this important field of study.
From the middle of the second century the relations between the two systems
alter in character: there then sets in a steady stream of conversion by which
the younger Stoics are drawn away from the older creed, and carry over to its
rival not only their personal allegiance but also their intellectual equipment.
456. Common influences. It is necessarily a difficult task to
estimate the influence of Stoicism upon the historical development of
Christianity, and it is impossible to do so without trenching upon ground which
is highly debateable. Upon parallels between phrases used by Stoic and
Christian writers respectively not too much stress should be laid. Many of
these can be traced back to common sources from which each religion drew in
turn. From Persism the Stoic creed inherited much through Heraclitus, and
Christianity through Judaism. The kindred doctrines of Buddhism and Cynism
present themselves to our view in Christianity in the Sermon on the mount, and
in Stoicism through the discourses of Epictetus. Individuals in either camp
were also influenced in varying degrees by a wave of feeling in favour of
asceticism and resignation which spread over the whole Greco-Roman world about
this time, resulting from exaggerated attention being paid to the individual
consciousness at the cost of social and political life. We should therefore
endeavour to keep our eyes steadily fixed on the essential features of Stoicism
rather than on its details, and inquire how these were regarded by Christian
teachers in successive generations.
457. Progressive influence of Stoicism. A starting-point is obviously afforded
us by the speech of St Paul upon Mars’ hill, in which he accepts a Progressive
influence of verse from the Stoic poet Aratus as a text upon which to proclaim
the fatherhood of God. This Stoic doctrine (like many others to which he refers
in his writings) is treated by Paul as embodying an elementary truth, and as a
starting-point for fuller knowledge; from any other point of view philosophy is
regarded as a snare and an imposture. A generation later we find that the
editor of the fourth gospel boldly places the Stoic version of the history of
creation in the fore-front of his work. Later on in the second century we find
the doctrines of the double nature of the Christ and of the variety inherent in
the Deity becoming incorporated in technical Stoic forms as part of a defined
Christian creed. From whatever point we regard the Stoic influence, it appears
during this period as an increasing force. We shall speak of it here as the
‘Stoic strain’ in Christianity; meaning by this that a certain attitude of the
intellect and sympathies, first developed in Stoicism, found for itself a home
in early Christianity; that men, Stoics by inheritance or training, joined the
church not simply as disciples, but to a large extent as teachers also. This
point of view can perhaps best be explained by a sketch of the development of
Christian doctrine as it might be regarded by fair-minded Stoics, attached to
the principles of their philosophy but suspicious of its close relations with
the religion of the State, and ready to welcome any new system which might appeal
to their reason as well as to their moral sense.
458. Jesus from the Stoic standpoint. A Stoic of the time of Vespasian (A.D.
69 to 79) might well be supposed to be made acquainted with the beginnings of
Christianity by some Christian friend. The story he would hear would take the
form of one of those ‘oral gospels’ which are now generally supposed to have
preceded the shaping of the ‘gospels’ of our New Testament, and to have
corresponded generally to the common parts of the first three gospels and some
of the narratives of the fourth. He would thus learn that the founder was a Jew
named JESUS, the son of Joseph a carpenter of Nazareth. This Jesus had in his
childhood sat at the feet of the philosophic Rabbis of Jerusalem, and had
learnt from them to interpret the documents of Hebraism, ‘the law and the
prophets,’ in the sense of the world-religions, and by the principle of
allegorism to give a new and truer meaning to such parts of them as seemed
obsolete or incredible. Upon reaching manhood he had been shocked to find that
the general body of the Pharisees, to which his teachers belonged, was far more
interested in maintaining prejudices of race and class than in boldly
proclaiming principles of world-wide application; and that whilst freely
avowing their own opinions amongst friends, they held it indiscreet to reveal
them to the crowd. After a period of prolonged reflection and inward struggle
he resolved on coming forward as a teacher in his own name.
459. The wise man. At this point our Stoic would
assuredly be impressed by the ‘strength and force’ of character displayed in
the preaching of the young Jesus, and would so far be disposed to rank him with
Socrates and with Zeno. In the content of Jesus’ teaching he would at once
recognise some of the prominent characteristics of Zeno’s Republic. For
Jesus too spoke of a model state, calling it the ‘kingdom of heaven’ and in
this state men of all nations were to find a place. Not only the ceremonies of
the old Hebrew religion, its sacrifices and its sabbaths, were to be superseded;
the temple itself at Jerusalem was to cease to be a place of worship; the
social and economic system of the Jewish people was to be remodelled; the rich
were to be swept away, and the poor to enter into their inheritance. Men’s
prayers were no longer to be offered to the God of Abraham, but to the Father
in heaven, surrounded by spirits like those of Persism, the Name, the Will, the
Kingdom, the Glory and the Majesty. That Jesus also spoke, after the Persian
fashion, of rewards for the good and the wicked in a future existence might
interest our Stoic less, but would not be inconsistent with the traditions of
his own sect.
460. The emotions in Jesus. Whilst recognising this strength of
character and sympathizing generally with the gospel message, our Stoic could
not fail to observe that the Christian tradition did not claim for the Founder
the imperturbable calm which the wise man should under all circumstances
possess. From time to time his spirit was troubled; sometimes by Anger, as when
he denounced in turn the Pharisees, the scribes, and the traders in the temple;
sometimes by Pity, as when he wept over Jerusalem; by Fear, as in the garden of
Gethsemane; then again by Shame, as in the meeting with the woman taken in
adultery; and even by Hilarity, as when he participated in the marriage revels
at Cana. Yet perhaps, taking the character as a whole, a Stoic would not be
surprised that the disciples should remember only the sweetness, the patience,
and the perseverance of their master; that they should account him a perfect
man, attributing his faults to the weakness of the body, and not to any taint
of soul; and finally that they should accept him as their Lord and their God.
For all these points of view, without being specifically Stoic, find some kind
of recognition within Stoicism itself.
461. Mythologic Christianity. But as our inquirer proceeded to trace
the history of Christianity after its Founder’s death, he would soon find the
beginnings of division within the Christian body. He would learn, for instance,
that the Christians of Jerusalem, who even during their Master’s lifetime had
been puzzled by his condemnation of Hebrew traditions, had quickly relapsed
upon his death into the ways of thinking to which in their childhood they had
been accustomed. They had become once more Hebrews, and even ardent advocates
of an obsolete ceremonialism; and in this respect they seemed entirely to have
forgotten the teaching of their Founder. But their allegiance to his person was
unshakeable; and they cherished the conviction that during the lifetime of most
of them he would rejoin them, and establish that earthly kingdom which in their
hearts they had never ceased to covet. In view of this imminent revolution,
quite as much as out of respect for the teaching of the Sermon on the mount,
they encouraged their members to spend their savings on immediate necessities,
and soon fell into dire poverty. To Christianity as an intellectual system they
contributed nothing; ‘little children’ at heart, they were content to live in a
perfect affection one towards another, and their miserable circumstances were
cheered by visions of angels and a sense of their master’s continual presence.
From this company our Stoic might easily turn aside as from a band of ignorant
fanatics, displaying the same simplicity and conservatism as the
idol-worshippers of Rome, with the added mischief of being disloyal towards the
majesty of the empire, and a possible danger to its security.
462. Philosophic Christians. In startling contrast to this band of
simple-minded brethren would appear the Christian propagandists whose temper is
revealed to us in the latter part of the book of Acts, in the epistles of Paul,
the first epistle of Peter, and the epistle to the Hebrews. These fiery
preachers, equally attached to the name of their Lord, might appear to have
been singularly indifferent to his person and his history, and even to have
paid little heed to the details of his teaching as recorded in the oral
gospels. But they were entirely possessed by his secret — the transmutation of
Hebraism into a world-religion and they had an ardent desire to present it to
the Roman world in a form that would win intellectual assent. Into this effort
they threw their whole personality; all the conceptions which filled their
minds, some of them childish and common to them with uncivilised peoples,
others derived from Jewish tradition or Hellenistic philosophy, were crudely
but forcibly fused in the determination to present ‘the Christ’ to the world, as
the solution of its difficulties and the centre of its hopes. The outpourings
of these men were as unintelligible and unsympathetic to the fraternity at
Jerusalem as they are to the average church-goer to-day; only breaking out here
and there into the flame of clear expression when at last some long-sought
conception had been grasped. Of such preachers St Paul is for us the type, and
we may describe them as the ‘Paulists.’ Paul himself is self-assertive in tone,
as a man may be who feels himself misunderstood and misjudged in his own
circle. But an ardent Stoic might well have recognised in him a kindred spirit,
an intellect grappling boldly with the supreme problems, and laying the
foundations of a new philosophy of life.
463. St Paul and Stoicism. PAUL was a man of Jewish descent,
intensely proud of his nationality; but nevertheless brought up in the city of
Tarsus, which had for centuries been a centre of Hellenistic philosophy of
every type, and more especially of Stoicism. This philosophy is to Paul’s mind
entirely inadequate and even dangerous; nevertheless he is steeped in Stoic
ways of thinking, which are continually asserting themselves in his teaching
without being formally recognised by him as such. Thus the ‘universe’ (κόσμος),
which to the Stoic includes everything with which he is concerned, and in
particular the subject-matter of religion, becomes with Paul the ‘world,’ that
out of which and above which the Christian rises to the ‘eternal’ or ‘spiritual
life.’ Yet this contrast is not final; and whether or not the Pauline ‘spirit’
is derived from the Stoic πνεῦμα, the Pauline system, as it is elaborated in
detail, increasingly accommodates itself to that of the Stoics. Our supposed
inquirer would examine the points both of likeness and of contrast.
464. The Paulist logic. The teaching of Paul was, like that of
the Stoics, positive and dogmatic. He accepted unquestioningly the evidence of
the senses as trustworthy, without troubling himself as to the possibility of
hallucinations, from which nevertheless his circle was not free. He also
accepted the theory of ‘inborn ideas,’ that is, of moral principles engraved
upon the heart; and for the faculty of the soul which realizes such principles
he uses the special term ‘conscience’ (συνείδησις); conscience being described,
with a correct sense of etymology and possibly a touch of humour, as that
within a man which becomes a second witness to what the man says. From another
point of view the conscience is the divine spirit at work in the human spirit.
Closely associated with conscience in the Pauline system is ‘faith’ (πίστις), a
faculty of the soul which properly has to do with things not as they are, but
as we mean them to be. The Stoic logic had failed to indicate clearly how from
the knowledge of the universe as it is men could find a basis for their hopes
and efforts for its future; the missing criterion is supplied by the Paulist
doctrine of ‘faith,’ which may also be paradoxically described as the power
always to say ‘Yes.’ The fraternity at Jerusalem appear to have been alarmed
not so much at the principle of faith, as at the manner in which St Paul used
it to enforce his own doctrines; we find them by way of contrast asserting the
Academic position that ‘none of us are infallible.’ We may here notice that the
next generation of Christians again brought the theory of faith into harmony
with Stoic principles, by explaining that the power of knowing the right is
strictly dependent upon right action.
465. Paulist metaphysics. In their metaphysical postulates the
Paulists started, like all ancient philosophers, with the contrast between soul
and body, but this they transformed into that between ‘spirit’ and ‘flesh.’ To
them the ‘spirit’ included the whole message of Christianity, the ‘flesh’ the
doctrine and practice of the Gentile world. The terms themselves were in use in
the oral gospel, but the Paulists developed the content of ‘spirit,’ until it
included a whole world of conceptions, encircling and interfused with the world
of sense-experience. But Paul did not desire that this spiritual world should
be regarded as wanting in reality, or as a mere product of the imagination: and
to express this objectivity of spirit he adopted the Stoic term ‘body.’ Body
then expresses the underlying monistic principle of all nature; and we may say
‘spirit-body’ exists, with the same confidence with which we speak of animal
body or ‘flesh-body.’ There has been a flesh-body of Jesus; with that we have
no more concern. There exists eternally a spirit-body of Christ; from that his
church draws its life. The Christian feeds upon the spirit of his Master; but
in paradoxical phrase we may say that he eats his body and drinks his blood.
What is not ‘body’ has no real existence at all.
466. The Christian universe. St Paul in his letters appears entirely
lacking in that reverent feeling towards the physical universe, that admiration
for sun, moon and stars, which marked the earlier world-religions, and which he
perhaps associated with Babylonian idolatry. As we have seen, he only used the
Stoic term for universe in disapproval. And yet the conception of the history
of the universe was deeply impressed upon the Paulists, and almost precisely in
Stoic form. God, the Father, is the beginning of all things; from him they
come, and to him they shall all return. From the Father went forth an image of
him, his first-born Son, his word, the Christ; by this he created the world,
and for this the world exists. By a further outpouring of the divine spirit,
men are created with the capacity of becoming the ‘images’ or bodily
representations of God and his Son. To this general doctrine individual
Paulists add special features; St Paul himself introduces ‘woman’ as a fourth
order of creation, an image or ‘vessel’ bearing the same relation to man as man
to Christ; and a writer (of distinctly later date) seems to refer not only to
the creation of the elements, but also to their coming destruction by the
conflagration. Of the creation of the animals no notice is taken.
467. The divine immanence. From this theory of creation it would
seem to follow as a consequence that the world is inhabited by the Deity, and
is essentially good. This is the Stoic doctrine, and it is accepted boldly by
Paul. God dwells in the universe, and the universe in him; man is not in the
strict sense an individual, for apart from God he does not exist at all. But
there nevertheless remains the fact of the existence of evil, both physical and
moral, in apparent defiance of the divine will. Here too the Paulists agree
with Stoic teaching; they hold that evil serves a moral purpose as a training
in virtue; that God turns evil to his own purpose, so that in the final issue
all things are working together for good; that God is active through his Word
in restoring a unity that has been for a time broken. Neither can man shift on
to his Maker the responsibility for his own wrongdoing; that is (as Cleanthes
had taught before) the work of men following out their own ways in accordance
with some bias which is in conflict with their divine origin. In spite of all this
common ground Paul maintains with at least equal emphasis doctrines of a
gloomier type. The universe, as it is, is evil; its rulers are the powers of
darkness. St Paul by no means put out of sight, as the Stoics did, the doctrine
of an Evil Spirit; on the contrary, this conception dominates his mind and
multiplies itself in it. Sin in particular is in his eyes more widespread, more
hideous, more dangerous than it is to the Stoic philosopher. To this point we
must revert later.
468. Religion. With regard to religious belief and
practice (we are here using the word ‘religion’ in the narrower sense, as in
the previous chapter on this subject) Paul was in the first place a monotheist,
and addresses his prayers and praises alike to the Father in heaven, and to him
alone. At the same time he does not regard the Deity as dwelling in a world
apart; he is to be worshipped in and through the Christ, who is the point of
contact between him and humanity. From the ceremonial practices of Hebraism all
the Paulists break away completely. Its bloody sacrifices take away no sin; the
solemn rite of circumcision is nothing in itself, and in practice it is an
impediment to the acceptance of Christ. The disposition to observe days and
seasons, sabbaths and new moons, is a matter for serious alarm. In place of
this ritualism is to be substituted ‘a worship according to reason,’ which is
in close agreement with Stoic practice. To think rightly of the Deity, to give
thanks to him, to honour him by an innocent life, is well pleasing to God; and
the writings of Paul, like those of Epictetus, include many a hymn of praise,
and show us the existence at this time of the beginnings of a great body of
religious poetry.
469. Human nature. In the analysis of human nature Paul
again started from the Stoic basis. In the first place he recognised the
fundamental unity of the man as a compacted whole; subject to this monism, he
recognised three parts, the spirit, the animal life, and the flesh. Of these
only the two extremes, the spirit and the flesh, are usually mentioned; but
these do not strictly correspond to the traditional distinction of soul and
body. The soul (ψυχή, anima) is that which man has in common with the
animals; the spirit (πνεῦμα, spiritus) is that which he has in common
with God. Where therefore only two parts are mentioned, the soul and the flesh
must be considered both to be included under the name ‘flesh.’ Soul and flesh
are peculiar to the individual man; spirit is the common possession of the
Deity and of all men. Thus God and man share in the spiritual nature, and
become partners in an aspect of the universe from which animals, plants, and
stones are definitely excluded. The ‘spirit’ of St Paul therefore corresponds
closely to the ‘principate’ of the Stoics, and though the Christian apostle
does not lay the same emphasis on its intellectual aspect, he fully recognises
that the spiritual life is true wisdom, and its perversion folly and darkness.
470. Resurrection and immortality. From this analysis of human nature
Paul approaches the central doctrine of the Christian community, that of the
resurrection of its Founder. To the simple-minded fraternity at Jerusalem the
resurrection of Jesus was a marvel, an interference with the orderly course of
divine providence, a proof of the truth of the gospel message. Jesus has
returned to his disciples in the body as he lived; he has again departed, but
before this generation has passed away he will return to stay with them and
establish his kingdom. To St Paul all this is different. He accepts implicitly
the fact of the resurrection, but as typical, not as abnormal. As Christ has
risen, so will his followers rise. But Christ lives in the spirit; by their
intrinsic nature neither the flesh-body nor the soul-body can become immortal.
And in the spirit Christ’s followers are joined with him, and will be more
fully joined when they are rid of the burden of the flesh. This continued
existence is no mere fancy; it is real, objective, and (in philosophical
language) bodily. Though by the creation all men have some share in the divine
spirit, yet immortality (at any rate in the full sense) is the privilege of the
faithful only; it is won, not inherited. Paul does not venture to suggest that
human individuality and personality are retained in the life beyond. He draws
no picture of the reunion of preacher and disciple, of husband and wife, or of
mother and child. It is enough for him to believe that he will be reunited with
the glorified Christ, and be in some sense a member of the heavenly community.
471. The seed theory. On its philosophical side the Paulist
view of immortality is closely akin to the Stoic, and is exposed to the same
charge of logical inconsistency. If the whole man is one, how can we cut off
the flesh-body and the soul-body from this unity, and yet maintain that the
spirit-body is not also destroyed? To meet this difficulty St Paul, in one of
his grandest outbursts of conviction, propounds the doctrine of ‘seeds,’
closely connected with the Stoic doctrine of ‘seed-powers’ (σπερματικοὶ λόγοι),
and with the general principles of biological science as now understood. This
seed is the true reality in man; it may throw off both soul and flesh, and
assume to itself a new body, as a tree from which the branches are lopped off
will throw out new branches. Thus, and not other wise, was Christ raised; and
as Christ was raised, so will his followers be raised. Man is not in any final
sense a unit; as the race is continued by the breaking off of the seed from the
individual, so is the spirit-life won by the abandonment of soul and flesh.
472. Life and death. At this point we are brought face to
face with a very old paradox, that life is death, and death is life. What is
commonly called life is that of the soul and the flesh, which the animals share
and which may mean the atrophy of man’s higher part; on the other hand death
has no power over the life of the spirit, which is therefore called ‘eternal
life’ or ‘life of the ages.’ To enter upon this ‘eternal life’ is the very
kernel of the gospel message; in the language of philosophy it is the bridge
between physics and ethics. Although the steps by which it is reached can be
most clearly traced in the Pauline epistles, yet the general conclusion was
accepted by the whole Christian church. From this point of view Abraham, Isaac,
and Jacob, by virtue of their communion with God, are still alive; he who holds
his life dear, loses it; and he who makes it of no account keeps it to the life
of the ages; he who listens to the teaching of Jesus and believes in the Father
who sent him, has passed over out of death into life.
473. Moral principles. From the doctrine of ‘eternal life’
follow the first principles of morals: eternal life is the moral end (τέλος) or
summum bonum. The spirit is everything, the act nothing; good lies in
the intention, not in the performance; we are saved by faith, not by works.
Therefore all tabus fall away; ‘to the pure everything is pure’; ‘in its
own nature no food is impure; but if people regard any food as impure, to them
it is’; ‘our ungraceful parts come to have a more abundant grace’; ‘everything
that God has created is good.’ And because God and all men share in one spirit,
all men are fellow-citizens in the cosmopolis. To this St Paul sacrifices all
personal advantages of which otherwise he might be justly proud, his Hebrew
descent, his free citizenship in the Roman empire, and even his standing in sex
above an inferior part of the creation. The spiritual condition is expressed,
in terms of certain emotional attitudes which correspond to the three Stoic
‘constancies’; the details vary, but love, joy, peace, gentleness and sweet
reasonableness are frequently recurring terms, whilst faith, hope and love are
recommended in one passage of the highest eloquence, love (ἀγάπη, caritas)
being given the highest place of all.
474. Virtues and vices. In the treatment of the virtues and
vices we miss the familiar series of the four virtues, though three of them
find a place here or there in some more elaborate list. The vices are treated
with much more fulness. Those connected with the sexual relations and functions
are invariably the first to be condemned; incest, adultery, harlotry, foul
conversation, are named in almost every list. Next in importance are
ill-feeling and quarrelsomeness; heavy drinking comes after these. More upon
Stoic lines is the reproof of ‘excessive grief.’ The necessity of steady
progress is strongly pressed, and the term used (προκοπή) is that with which we
are familiar in Greek philosophy. In all the Paulist writers there is also
incessant insistence upon the importance of the regular performance of daily
duties. Experience not only of the disasters which befel the church at
Jerusalem, but also of similar tendencies nearer at hand, had impressed deeply
on Paul the insufficiency of moral teaching which relied on general principles
and emotional feeling only, especially if such teaching (as in the Sermon on
the mount) was mainly negative. The Paulists at any rate set forth, almost in a
fixed form, a body of instructions to serve the community as a whole, and
social rather than ethical in nature. This teaching follows closely the Stoic
teaching of the same period, and is based upon the relationships (σχέσεις),
such as those of king and subject, master and slave, husband and wife, parent
and child. It is conservative in character, advocating kindness, contentment,
and zeal in social relations as they exist. Thus whilst we recognise the spirit
of Zeno in the Sermon on the mount, we find that of Panaetius in the Paulist
discourses.
475. Sage and Saint. As against the Stoic sage the Paulists
set up as their ideal the saint, and used all the resources of eloquence in his
commendation. He is the true king and priest; even if he is a beggar, he is
surpassingly rich; he alone, though a slave, is free. On the other hand the
sinner is always a slave; even his good acts are without real value. All such
phrases would be familiar to our Stoic inquirer; but perhaps he might be
specially impressed by finding once more the doctrine of the ‘sufficiency of
virtue’ amongst the Christians. The term is indeed altered, but it bears the
same meaning as regards independence of wealth, health and liberty, though with
more emphasis upon support from a divine source.
476. St Paul and sin. It is generally agreed that in the
writings of St Paul there is displayed a special sense of shame and horror in
speaking of sin, which entirely differentiates his teaching from that of the
Stoics. This difference, however, cannot be due to St Paul treating sin as
‘defiance towards a loving Father,’ for this view was also that of Cleanthes
and the Stoics generally; and Paul’s horror of sin depends on no reasoning, but
is felt by him as instinctive. It remains to add that our Stoic inquirer would
find an apparent conflict between this instinct and Paul’s reasoning. The sin
of which St Paul finds it ‘a shame even to speak’ is sexual; and so far as it
consists in abnormal social habits, such as those relations between persons of
the same sex which had found excuse in the classical world, the Stoic would at
once agree that these practices were ‘against nature’ and were unseemly. Again,
the marriage of near relations, though not against nature in the sense in which
nature is illustrated by the animal world, is still opposed to so deep-seated a
social tradition as to merit instinctive condemnation. But the instincts of St
Paul go far deeper; the marriage relation is to him at the best a concession to
human frailty, and falls short of the ideal. Nor is this merely a personal view
of Paul; it is deeply impressed upon the consciousness of the whole Christian
church. How, it would-be asked, can this be reconciled with the abolition of
the tabu, with the principle that ‘all things are pure,’ or even with
the obvious purpose of the Creator when he created mankind male and female?
477. The sex tabus. It would seem that here we have
touched a fundamental point in the historical development of the moral
sentiments. The sexual tabus are the most primitive and deeply-seated in
human history. From this point of view woman is by nature impure, the
sex-functions which play so large a part in her mature life being to the savage
both dangerous and abhorrent. Hence the view, so strongly held by St Paul, that
woman as a part of the creation is inferior to man. But man too becomes by his
sex-functions impure, though for shorter periods; and by union with woman
lowers himself to her level. Hence the unconquerable repugnance of St Paul to
the sexual relation under any conditions whatever; a repugnance which reason
and religion keep within limits, but which yet always breaks out afresh in his
writings. Hence also he assumes as unquestionable the natural unseemliness of
the sexual parts of the body; in all these points not going beyond feelings
which are to-day as keen as ever, though no philosopher has found it easy to
justify them. But in certain points St Paul outpaces the general feeling, and
shows himself an extreme reactionary against the philosophic doctrines which he
shared with the Stoic. He extends his dislike, in accordance with a most
primitive tabu, to woman’s hair; he desires the subordination of woman
to man to be marked in her outward appearance; and he forbids, women to speak
in the general meetings of church members.
478. Hebrew feeling. This intense feeling on the part of St
Paul required, as his writings assume, no justification; it was therefore an
inherited feeling, as familiar to many an Oriental as it is usually strange and
unsympathetic to the ancient and modern European. It appears also to be rooted
in Hebrew tradition; for if we are at liberty to interpret the myth of Adam and
Eve by the parallel of Yama and Yamī in the Rigveda, the fall of man was
nothing else than the first marriage, in which Eve was the suitor and Adam the
accomplice. In the dramatic poem of the Rigveda Yama corresponds to the Hebrew
Adam, his sister Yamī to Eve. Yamī yearns to become the mother of the human
race; Yama shudders at the impiety of a sister’s embrace. Zeno had already
conceived the world-problem in much the same shape; but to the Oriental it is
more than a problem of cosmology; it is the fundamental opposition of sex
attitude, the woman who longs for the family affections against the man who
seeks an ideal purity. In Genesis the prohibition of the apple appears at first
sight colourless, yet the meaning is hardly obscure. After touching the
forbidden fruit man and woman first feel the shame of nakedness; and Eve is
punished by the coming pains of child-bearing, and a rank below her husband’s.
None the less she has her wish, for she becomes the mother of all living. It is
hard to think that Paul, who always traces human sin back to the offence of
Adam, and finds it most shamelessly displayed in the sex-relationships of his
own time, could have conceived of the Fall in any very different way.
479. The taint in procreation. According then to a point of view
which we believe to be latent in all the teaching of Paul on the subject of
sin, the original taint lay in procreation, and through the begetting of children
has passed on from one generation of mankind to another; ‘through the
succession from Adam all men become dead.’ As an ethical standpoint this
position is very alien from Stoicism; with the Stoic it is a first law of
nature which bids all men seek for the continuance of the race; with the
Apostle the same yearning leads them to enter the pathway of death. It would
lead us too far to attempt here to discuss this profound moral problem, which
has deeply influenced the whole history of the Christian church. We are however
greatly concerned with the influence of this sentiment on Pauline doctrine. For
it follows that in order to attain to a true moral or spiritual life man needs
a new begetting and a new birth; he must become a son of God through the
out-pouring of his spirit. This is one of the most familiar of Pauline
conceptions, and for us it is easy to link it on to the Stoico-Pauline account
of the creation, according to which man was in the first instance created
through the Word of God, and endowed with his spirit. But to the community at
Jerusalem all conceptions of this kind appear to have been hardly intelligible,
and tended to aggravate the deep distrust of the teachings and methods of St
Paul and his companions, which was rooted in his disregard of national
tradition.
480. The quarrel. This difference of mental attitude
soon broke out into an open quarrel. So much was inevitable; and the fact that
the quarrel is recorded at length in the texts from which we are quoting is one
of the strongest evidences of their general accuracy. The Christians at
Jerusalem formed themselves into a nationalist party; they claimed that all the
brothers should be in the first instance conformists to Hebrew institutions.
Paul went up to Jerusalem, eager to argue the matter with men of famous name.
He was disillusioned, as is so often the traveller who returns after trying
experiences and much mental growth to the home to which his heart still clings.
Peter and the others had no arguments to meet Paul’s; he could learn nothing
from them; they had not even a consistent practice. At first Paul’s moral sense
was outraged; he publicly rebuked Peter as double-faced. After a little time he
realized that he had met with children; he remembered that he had once thought
and acted in the same way. Jews in heart, the home apostles still talked of
marvels, still yearned for the return of Jesus in the flesh. A philosophic
religion was as much beyond their grasp as a consistent morality. Through a
simple-minded application of the doctrines of the Sermon on the mount they had
slipped into deep poverty; they were ready to give Paul full recognition in
return for charitable help. This was not refused them; but to his other
teaching Paul now added a chapter on pecuniary independence; and in his old age
he left to his successors warnings against ‘old wives’ fables’ and ‘Jewish legends.’
481. The development of Christian
mythology.
Thus for the first time the forces of mythology within the Christian church
clashed with those of philosophy. For the moment Paul appeared to be the
victor; he won the formal recognition of the church, with full authority to
continue his preaching on the understanding that it was primarily directed to
the Gentile world. External events were also unfavourable to the Hebraists: the
destruction of Jerusalem deprived them of their local centre; the failure of Jesus
to reappear in the flesh within the lifetime of his companions disappointed
them of their most cherished hope. But their sentiments and thoughts remained
to a great extent unchanged. To Paul they gave their respect, to Peter their
love; and the steady tradition of the Christian church has confirmed this
judgment. No saint has been so loved as Peter to none have so many churches
been dedicated by the affectionate instinct of the many; whilst even the
dominant position of Paul in the sacred canon has hardly secured him much more
than formal recognition except by the learned. So again it was with Paul’s
teaching; formally recognised as orthodox, it remained misunderstood and
unappreciated: it was even rapidly converted into that mythological form to
which Paul himself was so fiercely opposed.
482. The Virgin birth and the
resurrection.
This divergence of view is illustrated most strikingly in the two doctrines
which for both parties were the cardinal points of Christian belief, the divine
nature of the Founder and his resurrection. On the latter point the standpoint
of the Hebraists is sufficiently indicated by the tradition of the gospels, all
of which emphatically record as a decisive fact that the body of Jesus was not
found in his grave on the third day; to the Paulists this point is entirely
irrelevant, and they pass it by unmentioned. To Paul again the man Jesus was of
human and natural birth, born of the posterity of David, born of a woman, born
subject to the law; in his aspect as the Christ he was, as his followers were
to be, begotten of the spirit and born anew. His statement as to descent from
David (which hardly means more than that he was of Jewish race) was
crystallized by the mythologists in two formal genealogies, which disagree so
entirely in detail that they have always been the despair of verbal apologists,
but agree in tracing the pedigree through Joseph to Jesus. The phrase ‘begotten
of the spirit’ was interpreted with equal literalness but the marvel-lovers
were for a time puzzled to place the ‘spirit’ in the family relationship. In
the first instance the spirit seems to have been identified with the mother of
Jesus; but the misunderstanding of a Hebrew word which does not necessarily
connote physical virginity assisted to fix the function of fatherhood upon the
divine parent. The antipathy to the natural process of procreation which we
have traced in St Paul himself, and which was surely not less active amongst
many of the Hebraists, has contributed to raise this materialisation of a philosophic
tenet to a high place amongst the formal dogmas of historic Christianity.
483. The doctrine of the Word. But if the tendency to myth-making was
still alive in the Christian church, that in the direction of philosophy had
become self-confident and active. The Paulists had taken the measure of their
former opponents, they felt themselves superior in intellectual and moral
vigour, and they knew that they had won this superiority by contact with the
Gentile world. More than before they applied themselves to plead the cause of
the Christ before the Gentiles; but the storm and stress of the Pauline
epistles gave way in time to a serener atmosphere, in which the truths of
Stoicism were more generously acknowledged. A Stoic visitor of the reign of
Trajan would meet in Christian circles the attitude represented to us by the
fourth gospel, in which the problem of the Christ-nature stands to the front,
and is treated on consistently Stoic lines. St Paul had spoken of Jesus as ‘for
us a wisdom which is from God’ and had asserted that ‘from the beginning he had
the nature of God’; his successors declared frankly that Christ was the Logos,
the Word; and in place of the myth of the Virgin Birth they deliberately set in
the beginning of their account of Christ the foundation-principles of Stoic
physics and the Paulist account of the spiritual procreation of all Christians.
‘In the beginning was the Word, and the
Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God. All
things came into being through him, and apart from him nothing that exists came
into being.’
‘To all who have received him, to them
— that is, to those who trust in his name — he has given the privilege of
becoming children of God; who were begotten as such not by human descent, nor through
an impulse of their own nature, nor through the will of a human father, but
from God.
‘And the Word came in the flesh, and
lived for a time in our midst, so that we saw his glory, the glory as of the
Father’s only Son, sent from his presence. He was full of grace and truth.’
The Stoic character of this teaching is
no longer latent, but proclaimed; and the Church Fathers recognise this in no
doubtful terms.
484. The doctrine of the Trinity. During the whole of the second century
A.D. men trained in Stoic principles crowded into the Christian community.
Within it they felt they had a special work to do in building up Christian
doctrine so that it might face all storms of criticism. This effort gradually
took the shape of schools modelled upon those of the philosophic sects. Such a
school was founded by an ex-Stoic named PANTAENUS at Alexandria in 181 A.D.;
and his successors CLEMENS of Alexandria (ob. c. 215 A.D.) and ORIGENES (c.
186–253 A.D.) specially devoted themselves to developing the theory of the
divine nature upon Stoic lines. Not all the particulars they suggested were
accepted by the general feeling of the Christian body, but from the discussion
was developed gradually the ecclesiastical doctrine of the Trinity. The
elements of this doctrine have been already traced in St Paul’s epistles, in
which the dominating conceptions are those of God the Father, the Christ, and
the divine spirit. For these in the next generation we find the Father, the
Word, and the Spirit and the last term of the triad becomes increasingly
identified with the ‘holy spirit’ of Stoicism. But these three conceptions
(with others) are in Stoic doctrine varying names or aspects of the divine
unity. Seneca, for instance, had written in the following tone:
‘To whatever country we are banished,
two things go with us, our part in the starry heavens above and the world
around, our sole right in the moral instincts of our own hearts. Such is the
gift to us of the supreme power which shaped the universe. That power we
sometimes call “the all-ruling God,” sometimes “the incorporeal Wisdom” which
is the creator of mighty works, sometimes the “divine spirit” which spreads
through things great and small with duly strung tone, sometimes “destiny” or
the changeless succession of causes linked one to another.’
Here the larger variety of terms used
by the early Stoic teachers is reduced to four aspects of the first cause,
namely God, the Word, the divine spirit, and destiny. The Christian writers
struck out from the series the fourth member, and the doctrine of the Trinity
was there. Its stiff formulation for school purposes in the shape ‘these three
are one’ has given it the appearance of a paradox; but to persons conversant
with philosophic terminology such a phrase was almost commonplace, and is
indeed found in various associations. The subsequent conversion of the members
of the triad into three ‘persons’ introduced a simplification which is only
apparent, for the doctrine must always remain meaningless except as a typical
solution of the old problem of ‘the One and the many,’ carried up to the level
of ultimate Being.
485. Subsequent history. In the ages that have since followed
mythology and philosophy have been at work side by side within the christian
church. At no time had Christians of philosophic temperament entirely thrown
off the belief in marvels, and this in increasing degree infected the whole
Hellenistic world from the second century onwards. But this spirit of
concession proved no sure protection to men who, after all, were guilty of
thinking. It was substantially on this ground that the first persecutions began
within the church. Demetrius, bishop of Alexandria (circ. 230 A.D.),
excommunicated Origen, and obtained the support of the great majority of the
Christian churches for his action; still Origen steadily held his ground, and
has found advocates in all ages of Christian history. Throughout the ‘dark
ages’ philosophical thought lay almost extinguished, and a childish credulity
attained such monstrous dimensions as to threaten the very existence of social
life. In the ecclesiastical chronicles of the middle ages miracles are so
frequent that the orderly course of nature seems the exception angels and
devils are so many that men are almost forgotten. To these hallucinations and
fictions of the monastery, so deservedly ridiculed in the Ingoldsby Legends,
the practical experience of daily life must always have supplied some
corrective; the swollen claim of ‘faith’ to say yes to every absurdity had to
be met by the reassertion of criticism, the right to say ‘no.’ The Reformation,
at the cost of infinite effort and sacrifice, swept away the miracles of the
saints; modern criticism has spared none of the marvels of the Old Testament,
and is beginning to lay its axe to the root of those of the New. Every day the
conviction that ‘miracles do not happen’ gains ground amongst intelligent
communities; that is (in philosophic language) the dualism of God and Nature is
being absorbed in the wider monism according to which God and Nature are one.
486. Christian philosophy. As the credit of Christian mythology
diminishes, the christian philosophic content of the new religion is regaining
its authority. The doctrine of the ‘spiritual life’ has not yet lost its
freshness or its power; but the more closely it is examined, the more clearly
will it be seen that it is rooted in the fundamental Stoic conceptions of
providence and duty, and that, in the history of the Christian church, it is
specially bound up with the life and writings of the apostle Paul. It is not
suggested that the sketch of Christian teaching contained in this chapter is in
any way a complete or«even a well-proportioned view of the Christian faith; for
we have necessarily thrown into the background those elements of the new
religion which are drawn from Judaism or from the personality of the Founder.
Nor have we found in Paul a Stoic philosopher: it remains for a more direct and
profound study to determine which of the forces which stirred his complex
intellect most exactly represents his true and final convictions. No man at any
rate ever admitted more frankly the conflict both of moral and of intellectual
cravings within himself; no man ever cautioned his followers more carefully
against accepting all his words as final. With these reservations we may
perhaps venture to join in the hopes of a recent writer who was endowed with no
small prophetic insight:
‘The doctrine of Paul will arise out of
the tomb where for centuries it has lain buried. It will edify the church of
the future; it will have the consent of happier generations, the applause of
less superstitious ages. All will be too little to pay the debt which the
church of God owes to this “least of the apostles, who was not fit to be called
an apostle, because he persecuted the church of God.”’
487. Stoicism in the present. When that day comes, it will be
recognised that Stoicism is something more than what the Church Fathers meant
when they described it as part of the ‘preparation of the gospel’; that it may
rather be regarded as forming an integral part of the Christian message, or (as
it has been recently called) a ‘root of Christianity.’ If this view is correct,
Stoicism is not dead nor will it die; whether it is correct or not, the study
of Stoicism is essential to the full understanding of the Christian religion,
as also to that of many other fundamental conceptions of our modern life. Still
the Christian churches celebrate yearly in quick succession the twin festivals
of Pentecost and Trinity, in which the groundwork of the Stoic physics is set
forth for acceptance by the faithful in its Christian garb; whilst the
scientific world has lately in hot haste abandoned the atomic theory as a final
explanation of the universe, and is busy in re-establishing in all its
essentials the Stoic doctrine of an all-pervading aether. In the practical
problems of statesmanship and private life we are at present too often drifting
like a ship without a rudder, guided only by the mirages of convention,
childishly alarmed at the least investigation of first principles; till the
most numerous classes are in open revolt against a civilisation which makes no
appeal to their reason, and a whole sex is fretting against a subordination
which seems to subserve no clearly defined purpose. In this part of philosophy
we may at least say that Stoicism has stated clearly the chief problems, and
has begun to pave a road towards their solution. But that solution will not be
found in the refinements of logical discussion: of supreme importance is the;
force of character which can at the right moment say ‘yes’ or say ‘no.’ In this
sense also (and not by any more mechanical interpretation) we understand the
words of the Founder of Christianity: ‘let your language be “Yes, yes” or “No,
no”; anything in excess of this comes from the Evil one.’ To the simple and the
straightforward, who trust themselves because they trust a power higher than
themselves, the future belongs.
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