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

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[70].’

376. 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[71].’ 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[72]. Another is to cease thinking about oneself[73].

377. 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[74]; 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[75]. 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[76]. 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[77], he recommends to Polybius attention to the public service and the reading of Homer and Virgil[78].

Both to him and to Marcia he pictures the happiness of the soul now admitted to the company of the blest[79], or at any rate at peace and freed from all the pains of life[80]. 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[81].

378. 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[82].’ If the child dies, his first thought should be ‘he who has given takes away[83].’ To others he will say ‘I have restored the child[84].’ 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[85].

379. 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[86]. 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[87], whilst the plea of ‘natural necessity’ serves to ward off the criticism of sterner philosophers[88]. From this concession emerges in the Roman period the definite precept of a time-limit for grief[89]; and its undue continuance is sternly denounced as due to love of ostentation[90], and the morbid enjoyment of sorrow by an ill-balanced mind[91]. Grief in this shape is a dangerous disease; there must be no trifling with it, but it must be totally destroyed[92].

380. Lastly, we include under the heading of Grief a weakness which often developes into serious disease; that general discontent, which is voiced in complaints as to the wickedness of the age[93] and the degeneracy of young Rome. Such discontent has always been characteristic of the old[94]; 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[95]; in short, that the whole human race is made up of madmen[96]. But wise men will bear with this fact quietly and with a smile[97]. It is futile to bring accusations against the whole race[98], 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[99].

381. 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, countryfolk 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.

382. 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[102],’ and Chrysippus went so far as to name drunkenness as causing the loss of virtue[103]. But the prohibition was carefully guarded. The earlier teachers permitted ‘wininess[104]’; and Seneca justifies this means of banishing care, pointing out many instances of public men of drinking habits who discharged their duties admirably[105]. 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[106]. 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[107]; his teacher Attalus was well content with porridge and water, and found an audience ready to approve his taste[108].

383. 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[109]. 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[110]. But little by little a more severe standard prevailed[111]. From the first the Stoics set themselves against the pursuit of other men’s wives[112]. With regard to other relations, they did not feel called upon to condemn them in other men[113]; they were indeed, in themselves, matters of indifference[114]; 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[115]. As the courtesan was gradually excluded by this rule[116], the general opinion fell back on the slave as the most accessible and least dangerous object of indulgence[117]. But the philosophers of the principate, following Zeno, who in these matters took the πρέπον (decorum) as his rule[118], 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. 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[119]. Every falling off from this ideal is sin or transgression[120]; 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[121]. The Socratic paradox, that the wise man will be a lover[122], is consistently maintained by the Stoics; but the practical limitations of this doctrine 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[123].’

385. 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[124]. Hence the cure for vice is summed up by him in the golden word, ‘bear and forbear[125]’; 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. 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[126]’; and even in this his advice was countenanced in advance by the more tolerant Seneca[127]. 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[128]. It causes us some surprise to find that the distinction between heavenly and earthly love[129] 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[130].’

387. 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) rufflings of the soul; (ii) commotions, infections, or illnesses; (iii) diseases or vices proper[131]. 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[132]. 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. 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[133]. 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[134]. 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[135]; 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[136]. 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. 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[137]. 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[138]; 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[139]. The evils and weaknesses which have been discussed are commonly displayed in ‘commotions’ or ‘perturbations,’ and are normally equivalent to them.

390. 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[140]. These diseases or vices are, strictly speaking, four in number[141]: 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[142], 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[143].

391. 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[144]. This bold dualism the Stoics hold in common with the Persians[145]; 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[146]; and one who has crossed the line is equally out of bounds whatever the distance to which he has travelled on the far side[147]. 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[148]. These convictions they encased as usual in paradoxes and syllogisms.