Now she had finished her song, when the sweetness of the strain held me fixed, eager and astonished to listen, my ears pricked up. And so a little later I said: «O supreme solace of weary souls, how greatly have you refreshed me, both by the weight of your sentiments and by the very delight of your singing! So much so that I now think myself no longer unequal to the blows of Fortune. Therefore those remedies which you said were somewhat sharper I not only do not dread, but, eager to hear, I vehemently demand them.» Then she said: «I felt it, when silent and attentive you were drinking in our words, and I either awaited this disposition of your mind, or — which is truer — myself produced it. For such are the things that remain, that, when tasted, they indeed bite, but, received within, grow sweet. But as for your saying that you are eager to hear, with what ardor would you burn, if you knew whither we are setting out to lead you!» «Whither?» said I.
«To true happiness,» she said, «which your spirit too dreams of, but, with its sight occupied by images, cannot behold that happiness itself.» Then I: «Do it, I beseech you, and show me without delay what that true happiness is.» «I will do so gladly,» said she, «for your sake. But the cause that is better known to you I will first try to mark out in words and to give form to, so that, when you have surveyed it and turned your eyes to the opposite side, you may be able to recognize the appearance of true blessedness. He who would sow a free-born field first clears the ground of brushwood, cuts down the brambles and the bracken with his sickle, that Ceres may go heavy with new grain. The bees' labor is the more sweet, if first a bad taste assail the mouth. The stars shine more pleasingly when the South Wind ceases to give rain-bearing sounds. As the Morning-Star drives away the shadows, the lovely day urges on its rosy steeds. You too, having gazed first on false goods, begin to draw your neck back from the yoke. Then true goods shall enter your mind.»
Then, with her gaze fixed a little and as if withdrawn into the august seat of her mind, she thus began: «Every care of mortals, which the toil of manifold pursuits exercises, proceeds indeed by a different path, yet strives to arrive at one same end of blessedness. And that is the good, which, once obtained, allows one to desire nothing further. This indeed is the highest of all goods and contains within itself all goods; for if anything were lacking to it, it could not be the highest, since something would be left outside that could be wished for. It is plain therefore that blessedness is a state made perfect by the gathering together of all goods. This, as we have said, all mortals try by a different track to attain. For there is implanted by nature in the minds of men a desire for the true good, but error, leading astray, draws them off to false goods.
Of these, some, believing the highest good to be to want for nothing, labor to abound in riches; others, judging that to be good which is most worthy of veneration, strive, by honors gained, to be reverenced by their fellow-citizens. There are those who set the highest good in the highest power; these either wish to reign themselves, or try to attach themselves to those who reign. But to those to whom renown seems something best, these hasten, by the arts of war or of peace, to spread abroad a glorious name. Very many, however, measure the fruit of good by joy and gladness; these think it most happy to flow away in pleasure. There are also those who interchange the ends and causes of these things one for another, as those who desire riches for the sake of power and pleasures, or those who seek power either for money's sake or for the sake of spreading their name.
In these things, then, and in others like them, is engaged the aim of human actions and desires — such as noble birth and popular favor, which seem to procure a certain renown; a wife and children, which are sought for the sake of pleasantness; but the kind of friends which is indeed most holy is reckoned not in fortune but in virtue, while the rest is taken up either for the sake of power or of delight. Now as for the goods of the body, it is easy to refer them to the things above. For strength and stature seem to confer might, beauty and swiftness fame, soundness of health pleasure; and by all these it is plain that blessedness alone is desired. For what each man seeks before all others, that he judges to be the highest good. But we have defined the highest good to be blessedness; wherefore each man judges that state to be blessed which he desires before all others.
You have, then, set before your eyes virtually the whole form of human happiness — wealth, honors, power, glory, pleasures. Considering these alone, Epicurus consequently established for himself that the highest good is pleasure, because all the rest seem to bring delight to the mind. But I return to the pursuits of men, whose mind, even though with darkened memory, nevertheless seeks again its own good, but, like a drunken man, knows not by what path it may return home. Do those, then, seem to err who strive to want for nothing? But there is nothing else that can equally perfect blessedness as a copious state of all goods, neither needing what is another's nor sufficient to itself. Do those, then, go astray who think that what is best is also most worthy of the cult of reverence? By no means. For neither is it anything vile and to be despised which the aim of nearly all mortals labors to attain.
Or is power not to be reckoned among goods? What then? Is that to be esteemed feeble and without strength which is agreed to be more excellent than all things? Or is renown to be counted as nothing? But it cannot be set aside but that whatever is most excellent should also seem to be most renowned. For what need is there to say that blessedness is not anxious and sorrowful, nor subject to griefs and troubles, when even in the smallest matters that is sought which it delights to have and to enjoy? And yet these are the things which men wish to attain, and for this cause they desire riches, dignities, kingdoms, glory, and pleasures — because through these they believe sufficiency, reverence, power, fame, and gladness will come to them.
Good, then, is that which men seek by pursuits so diverse; in which it is easily shown how great is the force of nature, since, although their opinions are various and conflicting, yet in loving the end of good they agree. How great are the reins by which Nature, mighty, bends things; by what laws she, provident, keeps the immense world and, binding, fastens single things in an indissoluble bond — this it pleases me to set forth in clear-toned song upon the supple strings. Though the Punic lions wear lovely chains and eat the food given by hands, and fawn, and fear their stern master, accustomed to bear the lash — if blood once stain their dreadful jaws, their long-dormant spirits return, and with deep roaring they remember themselves; they loosen the bands from their unbound necks, and the tamer, first torn by a bloody tooth, sates his raging wrath. The garrulous bird that sings on the high branches is shut up in the cave of a cage;
Though playful human care, with sweet zeal, minister to it cups smeared with honey and lavish feasts, yet if, leaping within its narrow lattice, it has seen the pleasant shades of the woods, it tramples underfoot the scattered food, sorrowful it longs only for the forests, only for the forests it murmurs with sweet voice. The sapling, once driven down by strong force, bends its top to the ground; but if the bending right hand has let it go, with upright crown it looks at the sky. Phoebus sinks into the Hesperian waves, but by a secret track again turns his chariot back to its accustomed risings. All things repeat their own returns, and each rejoices in its own coming-back, nor does any settled order abide for any thing, save that which joins the beginning to the end and has made its own course stable.
You too, O earthly creatures, though with a thin image, yet dream of your own beginning, and that true end of blessedness, though with a vision in no way clear-sighted, you yet foresee with some sort of thinking; and therefore the natural aim leads you toward the true good, and manifold error draws you away from that same. For consider whether, through those things by which men think they will obtain blessedness, they are able to arrive at the destined end. For if either money or honors or the rest of such things bring something to which nothing of goods seems lacking, let us too confess that some are made happy by the attainment of these. But if they can neither effect what they promise and lack many goods, is not the false appearance of blessedness in them plainly detected? First, then, I question you yourself, who a little before were flowing with riches:
Amid those most abundant riches, did anxiety, conceived from some injury or other, never trouble your mind?» «Indeed,» said I, «I cannot recall having been so free in mind that I was not always troubled by something.» «Was it not because either something was absent which you would not have absent, or something was present which you would not have wished present?» «It is so,» said I. «Then you will long for the presence of the one, the absence of the other?» «I confess it,» said I. «But does a man lack that which he desires?» «He lacks it,» said I. «But he who lacks anything is not in every respect sufficient to himself?» «By no means,» said I. «So you, full of riches, endured this insufficiency?» «Why not?» said I. «Riches, then, cannot make a man want for nothing and sufficient to himself — and this was what they seemed to promise. But this too I think most worthy of consideration, that money has nothing of its own nature whereby it cannot be taken from those who possess it against their will.» «I confess it,» said I.
«Why should you not confess it, when daily someone more powerful snatches it from the unwilling? For whence come the complaints of the law-courts, except that money, taken away by force or fraud from the unwilling, is sought back? It is so,» said I. «So a man will need help sought from outside, whereby each may guard his money?» «Who,» said I, «would deny it?» «But he would not need it, unless he possessed money which he could lose?» «It cannot be doubted,» said I. «The matter, then, has slipped into its contrary; for the riches which were thought to make men sufficient to themselves rather make them in need of another's protection. But what manner is there by which want is driven off by riches? Can the rich, then, not go hungry? Can they not thirst? Do the limbs of the wealthy not feel the winter's cold? But, you will say, the opulent have wherewith to satisfy hunger, wherewith to drive off thirst and cold.»
«But in this way want can indeed be consoled by riches, but cannot be wholly taken away. For if this want, ever gaping and demanding something, be filled up with riches, there must needs remain a want that can be filled. I say nothing of how very little suffices for nature, while for avarice nothing is enough. Wherefore, if riches can neither remove want and themselves produce their own want, what reason is there that you should believe them to bestow sufficiency? Though the rich man with flowing flood of gold heap up wealth that will never fill his greed, and load his neck with pearls of the Red Sea's shore, and cleave his fertile fields with a hundred oxen, yet gnawing care will not desert him while he lives, and when he is dead, his fickle riches will not accompany him. But dignities make him honorable and reverend to whom they fall. Is there in magistracies such power that they implant virtues in the minds of those who hold them, and drive out vices?»
«And yet they are wont not to dispel wickedness but rather to make it conspicuous; whence it comes about that we are indignant that they have often fallen to the most worthless of men, whence Catullus calls Nonius a tumor, though seated in the curule chair. Do you see how great a disgrace dignities add to the wicked? And yet their unworthiness would be less manifest if they did not grow famous through any honors. As for you, were you at last able, by so many perils, to think you held a magistracy together with Decoratus, when in him you beheld the mind of a most worthless buffoon and informer? For we cannot, on account of honors, judge worthy of reverence those whom we judge unworthy of the honors themselves. But if you saw someone endowed with wisdom, could you think him unworthy either of reverence or of that wisdom with which he is endowed? By no means. For there is a dignity proper to virtue, which it forthwith pours into those to whom it has been joined.»
«Because popular honors cannot do this, it is plain that they have not the proper beauty of dignity. In which this is the more to be observed. For if a man is the more abject the more he is despised by the many, since dignity cannot make reverend those whom it exhibits to many, it rather makes the wicked more despicable. But not with impunity; for the wicked pay back to dignities an equal return, since by their own contagion they stain them. And that you may recognize that true reverence cannot be feigned through these shadowy dignities — if someone who has discharged a manifold consulship should chance to come among barbarous nations, will his honor make him venerable to the barbarians?»
«And yet, if this were a natural endowment of dignities, they would in no way cease from their office among any nation whatsoever, just as fire never anywhere on earth ceases to be hot; but since it is not their own force, but the deceptive opinion of men, that attaches this to them, they vanish at once, when they come to those who do not esteem these dignities to be such. But this is among foreign nations. Yet among those among whom they arose, do they endure perpetually? And yet the praetorship, once a great power, is now an empty name and a heavy burden of the senatorial census; if anyone had once cared for the people's grain-supply, he was held great; now what is more abject than that prefecture? For, as we said a little before, that which has nothing of its own splendor now receives splendor and now loses it by the opinion of those who use it.»
«If, then, dignities cannot make men reverend, if they grow foul of their own accord by the contagion of the wicked, if they cease to shine with the change of times, if they become cheap in the estimation of nations, what is there in them of beauty to be sought, much less to bestow on others? Though Nero, proud, should adorn himself with Tyrian purple and snowy gems, yet, hateful to all, he flourished in raging luxury. But once the villain gave unbecoming curule chairs to the reverend Fathers. Who, then, would think those blessed whom wretched men confer with honors? But can kingdoms and the friendship of kings make a man powerful? Why not — when their felicity endures perpetually? And yet antiquity is full of examples, the present age too is full, of kings who have changed felicity for calamity. O splendid power, which is not found efficacious even for the preservation of itself!»
«But if this power of kingdoms is the author of blessedness, will it not, if it be lacking in any part, diminish happiness and bring in misery? But however widely human empires be stretched, there must needs be left many nations over which each of the kings does not rule. And in whatever part the power that makes men blessed ceases, in that part there enters the impotence which makes them wretched; in this way, then, there must needs be in kings a greater portion of misery. A tyrant, having experienced the perils of his own lot, figured the fears of kingship by the terror of a sword hanging over his head. What, then, is this power which cannot drive off the gnawings of anxieties, which cannot avoid the stings of fears? And yet they themselves would wish to have lived secure, but cannot; and then they boast of their power. Or do you reckon him powerful whom you see willing what he cannot accomplish?»
«Do you reckon him powerful who surrounds his side with a bodyguard, who himself fears more those whom he terrifies, who, that he may seem to be powerful, is placed in the hand of his servants? For why should I discourse of the friends of kings, when I show that the kingdoms themselves are full of so great weakness? These the royal power, sometimes while it stands secure, but sometimes when it has fallen, lays low. Nero compelled Seneca, his friend and teacher, to the choice of his own death. Antoninus exposed Papinian, long powerful among the courtiers, to the swords of the soldiers. And yet both of them wished to renounce their power; of these, Seneca even tried to hand over his own wealth to Nero and to betake himself to leisure; but while the very mass, about to fall, drags them down, neither accomplished what he wished. What, then, is this power which those who have it dread, which you are neither safe in possessing when you would, nor able to avoid when you desire to lay it down?»
«Are friends a protection whom not virtue but fortune wins? But the man whom prosperity has made a friend, misfortune will make an enemy. And what plague is more efficacious to do harm than a familiar enemy? He who would be powerful, let him tame his fierce passions, nor submit his neck, vanquished by lust, to foul reins. For though the land of India far off should tremble at your laws, and farthest Thule serve you, yet not to know how to drive away black cares and to put wretched complaints to flight — this is not power. But glory, indeed, how often deceptive, how base it is! Whence the tragedian not without reason cries out: «O glory, glory, on countless mortals who are nothing you have heaped a great life!» For many have often carried off a great name by the false opinions of the crowd; than which what more base can be devised? For those who are falsely praised must needs blush at their own praises.»
«But even if it be acquired by merits, what has it added to the conscience of a wise man, who measures his own good not by popular rumor but by the truth of conscience? But if to have spread this very name seems beautiful, it follows that not to have spread it is judged base. But since, as I argued a little before, there must needs be many nations to which the fame of a single man cannot reach, it comes about that he whom you esteem glorious seems, over the greatest part of the earth, inglorious. Among these things, indeed, I do not think popular favor even worthy of mention, which comes neither by judgment nor ever endures firm. Now too, how empty, how futile is the name of nobility, who does not see? For if it is referred to renown, it is another's. For nobility seems to be a certain praise coming from the merits of parents.»
«But if it is praise that makes renown, then those must needs be renowned who are praised. Wherefore another's renown does not make you splendid, if you have not your own. But if there is anything good in nobility, I judge it to be this alone: that an obligation seems to be imposed on the noble not to degenerate from the virtue of their forefathers. All the race of men on earth arises from a like origin. For there is one Father of all, one who ministers all things. He gave to Phoebus his rays, gave to the moon her horns; He gave men also to the earth, as stars to the heaven; He shut up in limbs the souls sought from a lofty seat. A noble seed, therefore, brought forth all mortals. Why do you bluster of family and forefathers? If you regard your origins and God your author, no one is base-born, unless, fostering worse things by vices, he forsake his own origin. But what shall I say of the pleasures of the body, the appetite for which is indeed full of anxiety, but the satiety of repentance?»
«How many diseases, what intolerable pains, as it were a certain fruit of their wickedness, are these pleasures wont to bring back to the bodies of those who enjoy them! What of delight their motions hold, I know not. But that the issues of pleasures are sad, whoever will recall his own lusts will understand. If these can render men blessed, there is no reason why beasts too should not be called blessed, whose every aim hastens to fill up the bodily void. The pleasantness of a wife and children would be most honorable; but it has been said all too truly in accordance with nature that some man or other found his sons to be a torturer. How biting whatever their condition may be, there is no need to admonish you, who have neither experienced it otherwise nor are now anxious about it. In which matter I approve the opinion of my Euripides, who said that a man childless was happy in his misfortune.»
«This every pleasure has: with goads it drives on those who enjoy it, and, like the flying bees, when it has poured out its pleasant honey, it flees and strikes the smitten hearts with too tenacious a sting. There is no doubt, then, that these ways to blessedness are certain by-paths, nor can they lead anyone to that which they promise they will lead him to. But with how great evils they are entangled, I will show most briefly. What then? Will you try to amass money? But you will snatch it from him who has it. Do you wish to shine with dignities? You will supplicate the giver, and you who desire to precede others in honor will grow cheap by the humility of asking. Do you desire power? You will be subject to the snares of your subjects and exposed to perils. Do you seek glory? But, torn this way and that through every hardship, you cease to be secure. Do you lead a life of pleasure? But who would not scorn and cast off the slave of a most worthless and most fragile thing, the body?»
«Now indeed those who set the goods of the body before themselves, on how scanty, how fragile a possession do they rely! For can you surpass the elephants in bulk, the bulls in strength, can you outrun the tigers in swiftness? Look upon the expanse, the firmness, the swiftness of the heaven, and at last cease to marvel at vile things. And indeed that heaven is to be marveled at not so much for these as for the reason by which it is ruled. But the brightness of form, how fleeting it is, how swift, and more fugitive than the changeableness of spring flowers! For if, as Aristotle says, men used the eyes of Lynceus, so that their sight might penetrate things that stand in the way, would not that body of Alcibiades, most beautiful on the surface, seem most foul when the inward parts were looked into? Therefore it is not your own nature, but the weakness of the eyes of beholders, that makes you seem beautiful. But esteem the goods of the body as highly as you will, provided you know that whatever you marvel at can be dissolved by the little fire of a three days' fever!»
«From all which it is permitted to reduce this into a sum: that these things, which can neither bestow the goods they promise nor are perfect by the gathering together of all goods, neither lead to blessedness as it were certain pathways, nor make men blessed of themselves. Alas, what ignorance leads the wretched astray by devious tracks! You do not seek gold on a green tree, nor pluck gems from the vine; you do not hide nets on high mountains, to enrich your feasts with fish; nor, if it please you to hunt the wild goats, do you make for the Tyrrhenian shallows. Nay, men even know the hidden recesses of the sea concealed in the waves — what wave is more fertile in snowy pearls, or in reddening purple; and likewise what shores yield tender fish or rough sea-urchins. But where lies hidden the good they crave, they suffer themselves to be blind and not to know it; and what has passed beyond the star-bearing pole, sunk in the earth, they seek. What worthy thing shall I imprecate upon their stolid minds? Let them strive after wealth and honors;»
«and when with heavy toil they have procured false goods, then let them recognize the true. Thus far it will suffice to have shown the form of lying happiness, which, if you behold clearly, the order is next to show what the true one is.» «And yet I see,» said I, «that neither sufficiency by riches, nor power by kingdoms, nor reverence by dignities, nor fame by glory, nor gladness by pleasures can be attained.» «Have you also grasped the causes why it is so?» «I seem, indeed, to gaze upon them as it were through a thin chink, but I should prefer to learn them more clearly from you.» «And yet the reason is most ready to hand. For that which is simple and undivided by nature, human error separates, and transfers from the true and perfect to the false and imperfect. Do you think that what wants for nothing lacks power?» «By no means,» said I. «Rightly indeed. For if there is anything which in any respect is of weaker strength, in this it must needs lack another's protection.»
«It is so,» said I. «Therefore of sufficiency and power there is one and the same nature.» «So it seems.» «But that which is of this kind, do you judge it to be despised, or, on the contrary, most worthy of the veneration of all things?» «But this,» said I, «cannot even be doubted.» «Let us add, then, reverence to sufficiency and power, that we may judge these three to be one.» «Let us add it, if indeed we are unwilling to confess the truth.» «But what?» she said. «Do you judge this to be obscure and ignoble, or most renowned by all fame? But consider, lest what is granted to want for nothing, to be most powerful, to be most worthy of honor, should lack renown which it cannot bestow on itself, and on that account seem in some part more abject.» «I cannot,» said I, «but confess that, being what it is, it is also most renowned.» «It follows, then, that we acknowledge renown to differ in nothing from the three above.» «It follows,» said I.
«That, then, which needs nothing of another's, which can do all things by its own powers, which is renowned and reverend — does it not also stand to be most gladsome?» «But whence,» said I, «any sorrow could creep upon such a thing, I cannot even imagine; wherefore it must needs be confessed to be full of gladness, if indeed the foregoing things hold.» «And yet this too is necessary by the same reasoning, that the names of sufficiency, power, renown, reverence, and pleasantness are indeed different, but in no way differ in substance.» «It is necessary,» said I. «This, then, which is one and simple by nature, human perversity parcels out, and while it tries to obtain a part of a thing that lacks parts, it attains neither the portion, which is none, nor the thing itself, which it least seeks after.» «In what way,» said I, «is this?»
«He who,» she said, «seeks riches by fleeing penury, takes no trouble about power, prefers to be lowly and obscure, and withdraws from himself even many natural pleasures, lest he lose the money he has procured. But in this way not even sufficiency comes to him whom strength deserts, whom trouble pricks, whom cheapness casts down, whom obscurity hides away. But he who desires power alone squanders his wealth, despises pleasures, and counts as nothing both honor and the glory that lacks power. But you see how many things are wanting even to this man. For it comes about that sometimes he lacks necessities, that he is gnawed by anxieties, and, since he cannot drive these off, he ceases to be powerful even in that which he most sought. One may reason similarly about honors, glory, and pleasures.»
«For since each one of these is the same as the rest, whoever seeks any one of them without the others does not grasp even that which he desires.» «What then?» said I. «If anyone should desire to attain all of them at once, he would indeed wish the sum of blessedness. But will he find it in these, which we have shown cannot bestow what they promise?» «By no means,» said I. «In these things, then, which are reported to furnish each some one of the things to be sought, blessedness is in no way to be tracked down.» «I confess it,» said I, «and nothing truer than this can be said.» «You have, then,» she said, «both the form of false happiness and its causes. Now turn the gaze of your mind to the opposite side; there you will at once see the true happiness which we promised.» «And yet this,» said I, «is clear even to a blind man, and you showed it a little before, while you were trying to lay open the causes of the false.»