Roman Stoicism being lectures on the history of the Stoic...

360. 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[1]. 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. 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[2]. 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:

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. 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[4]. 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[5]. 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)[5]; 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[6].’ 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[7].’ 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. 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. 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[8] 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[9]. The consideration of this condition of mind will therefore bring out the divergence between the two schools.

365. 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[10]. It is no less necessary in peace, in order that the wicked may not go unpunished[11]. Aristotle says compendiously that ‘anger is the spur of virtue[12],’ 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[13], or armour which sways instead of being swayed[14]. 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[15]. He will punish wrong-doers either for their amendment or for the protection of others, without being angry with them[16]. Fabius the Delayer conquered his own spirit before he overcame Hannibal[17]; and the very gladiators strike, not when their feelings move them, but when the opportunity has come[18].

366. 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[19].’ That it is a temporary madness has always been held by the wise[20]; and this is indicated by the appearance of the angry, the threatening look, the heightened colour, the gnashing teeth, the stamp of the foot[21]; also by the fact that children are specially prone to anger, even for frivolous causes[22], and that anger is often directed against harmless persons or objects[23]. Nevertheless anger does not consist of a merely instinctive feeling, but implies the assent of the will[24]; 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)[25]. To check anger the first necessity is time[26]: reflection will often show us that we have not been injured at all, or not so much as we supposed[27]. 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[28]. Where anger has become a disease (iracundia), more violent remedies must be used; some have been cured by looking at themselves in a mirror[29]; others must apply the ‘contrary twist[30],’ and learn when struck to turn quietly away[31].

367. 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[32]. 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[33], and (like all other kinds of anger) it calls for unsparing repression.

368. Cruelty, a tendency to excess in punishment[34], 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[35], continuing with the many masters who are hated for cruelty to their slaves[36]. It cuts at the root of the ties of humanity and degrades man to the level of the beast[37]; in its extreme form it becomes a madness, when the slaying of a man is in itself a pleasure[38]. 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[39]. 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[40], and that a complete cure can be worked by putting him to death[41].

369. 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 Grief 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.

370. The simplest form of Grief is fretfulness under bodily pain, the effect of depression of the soul and contraction of its sinews[42]. 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[43]. 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[44]. If we compose our minds long before to meet suffering, we shall have more courage when the time comes[45].

371. Still more effective is active training[46]. 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[47]. 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[48]. Some men groan at a box on the ear, whilst others smile under the scourge[49]. Inexperience therefore is the chief cause for weakness under pain; familiarity with it brings strength[50].

372. 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[51]. 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[52]; temporary alleviations may be found, even by philosophers, in biting sarcasms aimed at the incapacity of one’s fellow-citizens[53]. 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[54]. 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[55]. 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 is grief of mind without known cause; the unquiet soul rushes hither and thither, vainly seeking to be free from its own company[56]. The lesson that Horace had pressed a century earlier, that disquiet can only be cured by quiet, has not been learnt[57]. 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[58]. In this temper men come to hate leisure and complain that they have nothing to do[59]. 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[60]. 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[61]. 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[62].

374. Pity is that weakness of a feeble mind, which causes it to collapse at the sight of another man’s troubles[63], 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[64]. 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[65].’ Now we Stoics have a bad name, as though we recommended to governors a system of harsh punishments[66]; but, on the contrary, none value more highly than we the royal virtue of clemency[67]. 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[68].

‘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[69].’