CHAPTER I. A CONFERENCE OF SOCRATES WITH ARISTIPPUS CONCERNING PLEASURE AND TEMPERANCE.
In the same manner, likewise, he encouraged his hearers by the following arguments to support hunger and thirst, to resist the temptations of love, to fly from laziness, and inure themselves to all manner of fatigues. For, being told that one of them lived too luxuriously, he asked him this question: “If you were entrusted, Aristippus, with the education of two young men, one to be a prince and the other a private man, how would you educate them? Let us begin with their nourishment, as being the foundation of all.” “It is true,” said Aristippus, “that nourishment is the foundation of our life, for a man must soon die if he be not nourished.” “You would accustom both of them,” said Socrates, “to eat and drink at a certain hour?” “It is likely I should?” “But which of the two,” said Socrates, “would you teach to leave eating before he was satisfied, to go about some earnest business?” “Him, without doubt,” answered Aristippus, “whom I intended to render capable to govern, to the end that under him the affairs of the Republic might not suffer by delay.” “Which of the two,” continued Socrates, “would you teach to abstain from drinking when he was thirsty, to sleep but little, to go late to bed, to rise early, to watch whole nights, to live chastely, to get the better of his favourite inclinations, and not to avoid fatigues, but expose himself freely to them?” “The same still,” replied Aristippus. “And if there be any art that teaches to overcome our enemies, to which of the two is it rather reasonable to teach it?” “To him to,” said Aristippus, “for without that art all the rest would avail him nothing.” “I believe,” said Socrates, “that a man, who has been educated in this manner, would not suffer himself to be so easily surprised by his enemies as the most part of animals do. For some perish by their gluttony, as those whom we allure with a bait, or catch by offering them to drink, and who fall into the snares, notwithstanding their fears and distrust. Others perish through their lasciviousness, as quails and partridges, who suffer themselves to be decoyed by the counterfeit voice of their females, and blindly following the amorous warmth that transports them, fall miserably into the nets.” “You say true,” said Aristippus. “Well, then,” pursued Socrates, “is it not scandalous for a man to be taken in the same snares with irrational animals? And does not this happen to adulterers, who skulk and hide themselves in the chambers and closets of married women, though they know they run a very great risk, and that the laws are very strict and rigorous against those crimes? They know themselves to be watched, and that, if they are taken, they shall not be let go with impunity. In a word, they see punishment and infamy hanging over the heads of criminals like themselves. Besides, they are not ignorant, that there are a thousand honourable diversions to deliver them from those infamous passions, and yet they run hand over head into the midst of these dangers, and what is this but to be wretched and desperate to the highest degree?” “I think it so,” answered Aristippus. “What say you to this,” continued Socrates, “that the most necessary and most important affairs of life, as those of war and husbandry, are, with others of little less consequence, performed in the fields and in the open air, and that the greatest part of mankind accustom themselves so little to endure the inclemency of the seasons, to suffer heat and cold? Is not this a great neglect? and do you not think that a man who is to command others ought to inure himself to all these hardships?” “I think he ought,” answered Aristippus. “Therefore,” replied Socrates, “if they who are patient and laborious, as we have said, are worthy to command, may we not say that they who can do nothing of all this, ought never to pretend to any office?” Aristippus agreed to it, and Socrates went on.
“Since then you know the rank which either of these two sorts of men ought to hold, amongst which would you have us place you?” “Me!” said Aristippus; “why truly, not amongst those that govern; for that is an office I would never choose. Let those rule who have a mind for it; for my part, I envy not their condition. For, when I reflect that we find it hard enough to supply our own wants, I do not approve of loading ourselves, besides, with the necessities of a whole people; and that being often compelled to go without many things that we desire, we should engage ourselves in an employment that would render us liable to blame, if we did not take care to supply others with everything they want: I think there is folly in all this. For republics make use of their magistrates as I do of my slaves, who shall get me my meat and drink, and all other necessaries, as I command, and not presume to touch any of it themselves; so, too, the people will have those, who govern the State, take care to provide them with plenty of all things, and will not suffer them to do anything for their own advantage. I think, therefore, that all who are pleased with a hurry of affairs, and in creating business for others, are most fit to govern, provided they have been educated and instructed in the manner we mentioned. But, for my part, I desire to lead a more quiet and easy life.”
“Let us,” said Socrates, “consider whether they who govern lead more happy lives than their subjects: among the nations that are known to us in Asia, the Syrians, the Phrygians, and the Lydians, are under the empire of the Persians. In Europe, the Mæotians are subject to the Scythians; in Africa, the Carthaginians reign over the rest of the Africans. Which now, in your opinion, are the most happy? Let us look into Greece, where you are at present. Whose condition, think you, is most to be desired, that of the nations who rule, or of the people who are under the dominion of others?” “I can never,” said Aristippus, “consent to be a slave; but there is a way between both that leads neither to empire nor subjection, and this is the road of liberty, in which I endeavour to walk, because it is the shortest to arrive at true quiet and repose.” “If you had said,” replied Socrates, “that this way, which leads neither to empire nor subjection, is a way that leads far from all human society, you would, perhaps, have said something; for, how can we live among men, and neither command nor obey? Do you not observe that the mighty oppress the weak, and use them as their slaves, after they have made them groan under the weight of oppression, and given them just cause to complain of their cruel usage, in a thousand instances, both general and particular? And if they find any who will not submit to the yoke, they ravage their countries, spoil their corn, cut down their trees, and attack them, in short, in such a manner that they are compelled to yield themselves up to slavery, rather than undergo so unequal a war? Among private men themselves, do not the stronger and more bold trample on the weaker?” “To the end, therefore, that this may not happen to me,” said Aristippus, “I confine myself not to any republic, but am sometimes here, sometimes there, and think it best to be a stranger wherever I am.” “This invention of yours,” replied Socrates, “is very extraordinary. Travellers, I believe, are not now so much infested on the roads by robbers as formerly, deterred, I suppose, by the fate of Sinnis, Scyron, Procrustes, and the rest of that gang. What then? They who are settled in their own country, and are concerned in the administration of the public affairs, they have the laws in their favours, have their relations and friends to assist them, have fortified towns and arms for their defence: over and above, they have alliances with their neighbours: and yet all these favourable circumstances cannot entirely shelter them from the attempts and surprises of wicked men. But can you, who have none of these advantages, who are, for the most part, travelling on the roads, often dangerous to most men, who never enter a town, where you have not less credit than the meanest inhabitant, and are as obscure as the wretches who prey on the properties of others; in these circumstances, can you, I say, expect to be safe, merely because you are a stranger, or perhaps have got passports from the States that promise you all manner of safety coming or going, or should it be your hard fortune to be made a slave, you would make such a bad one, that a master would be never the better for you? For, who would suffer in his family a man who would not work, and yet expected to live well? But let us see how masters use such servants.
“When they are too lascivious, they compel them to fast till they have brought them so low, that they have no great stomach to make love, if they are thieves, they prevent them from stealing, by carefully locking up whatever they could take: they chain them for fear they should run away: if they are dull and lazy, then stripes and scourges are the rewards we give them. If you yourself, my friend, had a worthless slave, would you not take the same measures with him?” “I would treat such a fellow,” answered Aristippus, “with all manner of severity, till I had brought him to serve me better. But, Socrates, let us resume our former discourse.”
“In what do they who are educated in the art of government, which you seem to think a great happiness, differ from those who suffer through necessity? For you say they must accustom themselves to hunger and thirst, to endure cold and heat, to sleep little, and that they must voluntarily expose themselves to a thousand other fatigues and hardships. Now, I cannot conceive what difference there is between being whipped willingly and by force, and tormenting one’s body either one way or the other, except that it is a folly in a man to be willing to suffer pain.” “How,” said Socrates, “you know not this difference between things voluntary and constrained, that he who suffers hunger because he is pleased to do so may likewise eat when he has a mind; and he who suffers thirst because he is willing may also drink when he pleases. But it is not in the power of him who suffers either of them through constraint and necessity to relieve himself by eating and drinking the moment he desires it? Besides, he that voluntarily embraceth any laborious exercise finds much comfort and content in the hope that animates him. Thus the fatigues of hunting discourage not the hunters, because they hope to take the game they pursue. And yet what they take, though they think it a reward for all their toil, is certainly of very little value. Ought not they, then, who labour to gain the friendship of good men, or to overcome their enemies, or to render themselves capable of governing their families, and of serving their country, ought not these, I say, joyfully to undertake the trouble, and to rest content, conscious of the inward approbation of their own minds, and the regard and esteem of the virtuous? And to convince you that it is good to impose labours on ourselves, it is a maxim among those who instruct youth that the exercises which are easily performed at the first attempt, and which we immediately take delight in, are not capable to form the body to that vigour and strength that is requisite in great undertakings, nor of imprinting in the soul any considerable knowledge: but that those which require patience, application, labour, and assiduity, prepare the way to illustrious actions and great achievements. This is the opinion of good judges, and of Hesiod in particular, who says somewhere—
‘To Vice, in crowded ranks, the course we steer,
The road is smooth, and her abode is near;
But Virtue’s heights are reached with sweat and pain,
For thus did the immortal powers ordain.
A long and rough ascent leads to her gate,
Nor, till the summit’s gained, doth toil abate.’
And to the same purpose Epicharmus:—
“The gods confer their blessings at the price
Of labour—.”
Who remarks in another place—
“Thou son of sloth, avoid the charms of ease,
Lest pain succeed—.”
“Of the same opinion is Prodicus, in the book he has written of the life of Hercules, where Virtue and Pleasure make their court to that hero under the appearance of two beautiful women. His words, as near as I can remember, are as follows:—
“‘When Hercules,’ says the moralist, ‘had arrived at that part of his youth in which young men commonly choose for themselves, and show, by the result of their choice, whether they will, through the succeeding stages of their lives, enter into and walk in the path of virtue or that of vice, he went out into a solitary place fit for contemplation, there to consider with himself which of those two paths he should pursue.
“‘As he was sitting there in suspense he saw two women of a larger stature than ordinary approaching towards him. One of them had a genteel and amiable aspect; her beauty was natural and easy, her person and shape clean and handsome, her eyes cast towards the ground with an agreeable reserve, her motion and behaviour full of modesty, and her raiment white as snow. The other wanted all the native beauty and proportion of the former; her person was swelled, by luxury and ease, to a size quite disproportioned and uncomely. She had painted her complexion, that it might seem fairer and more ruddy than it really was, and endeavoured to appear more graceful than ordinary in her mien, by a mixture of affectation in all her gestures. Her eyes were full of confidence, and her dress transparent, that the conceited beauty of her person might appear through it to advantage. She cast her eyes frequently upon herself, then turned them on those that were present, to see whether any one regarded her, and now and then looked on the figure she made in her own shadow.
“‘As they drew nearer, the former continued the same composed pace, while the latter, striving to get before her, ran up to Hercules, and addressed herself to him in the following manner:—
“I perceive, my dear Hercules, you are in doubt which path in life you should pursue. If, then, you will be my friend and follow me, I will lead you to a path the most easy and most delightful, wherein you shall taste all the sweets of life, and live exempt from every trouble. You shall neither be concerned in war nor in the affairs of the world, but shall only consider how to gratify all your senses—your taste with the finest dainties and most delicious drink, your sight with the most agreeable objects, your scent with the richest perfumes and fragrancy of odours, how you may enjoy the embraces of the fair, repose on the softest beds, render your slumbers sweet and easy, and by what means enjoy, without even the smallest care, all those glorious and mighty blessings.
“And, for fear you suspect that the sources whence you are to derive those invaluable blessings might at some time or other fail, and that you might, of course, be obliged to acquire them at the expense of your mind and the united labour and fatigue of your body, I beforehand assure you that you shall freely enjoy all from the industry of others, undergo neither hardship nor drudgery, but have everything at your command that can afford you any pleasure or advantage.”
“‘Hercules, hearing the lady make him such offers, desired to know her name, to which she answered, “My friends, and those who are well acquainted with me, and whom I have conducted, call me Happiness; but my enemies, and those who would injure my reputation, have given me the name of Pleasure.”
“‘In the meantime, the other lady approached, and in her turn accosted him in this manner:—“I also am come to you, Hercules, to offer my assistance; I, who am well acquainted with your divine extraction and have observed the excellence of your nature, even from your childhood, from which I have reason to hope that, if you would follow the path that leadeth to my residence, you will undertake the greatest enterprises and achieve the most glorious actions, and that I shall thereby become more honourable and illustrious among mortals. But before I invite you into my society and friendship I will be open and sincere with you, and must lay down this as an established truth, that there is nothing truly valuable which can be purchased without pains and labour. The gods have set a price upon every real and noble pleasure. If you would gain the favour of the Deity you must be at the pains of worshipping Him; if you would be beloved by your friends you must study to oblige them; if you would be honoured by any city you must be of service to it; and if you would be admired by all Greece, on account of your probity and valour, you must exert yourself to do her some eminent service. If you would render your fields fruitful, and fill your arms with corn, you must labour to cultivate the soil accordingly. Would you grow rich by your herds, a proper care must be taken of them; would you extend your dominions by arms, and be rendered capable of setting at liberty your captive friends, and bringing your enemies to subjection, you must not only learn of those that are experienced in the art of war, but exercise yourself also in the use of military affairs; and if you would excel in the strength of your body you must keep your body in due subjection to your mind, and exercise it with labour and pains.”
“‘Here Pleasure broke in upon her discourse—“Do you see, my dear Hercules, through what long and difficult ways this woman would lead you to her promised delights? Follow me, and I will show you a much shorter and more easy way to happiness.”
“Alas!” replied the Goddess of Virtue, whose visage glowed with a passion made up of scorn and pity, “what happiness can you bestow, or what pleasure can you taste, who would never do anything to acquire it? You who will take your fill of all pleasures before you feel an appetite for any; you eat before you are hungry, you drink before you are athirst; and, that you may please your taste, must have the finest artists to prepare your viands; the richest wines that you may drink with pleasure, and to give your wine the finer taste, you search every place for ice and snow luxuriously to cool it in the heat of summer. Then, to make your slumbers uninterrupted, you must have the softest down and the easiest couches, and a gentle ascent of steps to save you from any the least disturbance in mounting up to them. And all little enough, heaven knows! for you have not prepared yourself for sleep by anything you have done, but seek after it only because you have nothing to do. It is the same in the enjoyments of love, in which you rather force than follow your inclinations, and are obliged to use arts, and even to pervert nature, to keep your passions alive. Thus is it that you instruct your followers—kept awake for the greatest part of the night by debaucheries, and consuming in drowsiness all the most useful part of the day. Though immortal, you are an outcast from the gods, and despised by good men. Never have you heard that most agreeable of all sounds, your own praise, nor ever have you beheld the most pleasing of all objects, any good work of your own hands. Who would ever give any credit to anything that you say? Who would assist you in your necessity, or what man of sense would ever venture to be of your mad parties? Such as do follow you are robbed of their strength when they are young, void of wisdom when they grow old. In their youth they are bred up in indolence and all manner of delicacy, and pass their old age with difficulties and distress, full of shame for what they have done, and oppressed with the burden of what they are to do, squanderers of pleasures in their youth, and hoarders up of afflictions for their old age.
“On the contrary, my conversation is with the gods, and with good men, and there is nothing excellent performed by either without my influence. I am respected above all things by the gods and by the best of mortals, and it is just I should. I am an agreeable companion to the artisan, a faithful security to masters of families, a kind assistant to servants, a useful associate in the arts of peace, a faithful ally in the labours of war, and the best uniter of all friendships.
“My votaries, too, enjoy a pleasure in everything they either eat or drink, even without having laboured for it, because they wait for the demand of their appetites. Their sleep is sweeter than that of the indolent and inactive; and they are neither overburdened with it when they awake, nor do they, for the sake of it, omit the necessary duties of life. My young men have the pleasure of being praised by those who are in years, and those who are in years of being honoured by those who are young. They look back with comfort on their past actions, and delight themselves in their present employments. By my means they are favoured by the gods, beloved by their friends, and honoured by their country; and when the appointed period of their lives is come they are not lost in a dishonourable oblivion, but live and flourish in the praises of mankind, even to the latest posterity.”
“Thus, my dear Hercules, who are descended of divine ancestors, you may acquire, by virtuous toil and industry, this most desirable state of perfect happiness.”
“Such was the discourse, my friend, which the goddess had with Hercules, according to Prodicus. You may believe that he embellished the thoughts with more noble expressions than I do. I heartily wish, my dear Aristippus, that you should make such an improvement of those divine instructions, as that you too may make such a happy choice as may render you happy during the future course of your life.”
CHAPTER II. SOCRATES’ DISCOURSE WITH HIS ELDEST SON LAMPROCLES CONCERNING THE RESPECT DUE TO PARENTS.
Socrates observing his eldest son Lamprocles in a rage with his mother, spoke to him in this manner:—“Come hither, my son. Have you ever heard of a certain sort of men, who are called ungrateful?” “Very often,” answered the young man. “And do you know,” said Socrates, “why they are called so?” “We call a man ungrateful,” answered Lamprocles, “who, having received a kindness, does not return the like if occasion offers.” “I think, therefore,” said Socrates, “ingratitude is a kind of injustice?” “I think so too,” answered Lamprocles. Socrates went on:—“Have you never considered of what nature this injustice is? For since it is an injustice to treat our friends ill, and on the contrary, a piece of justice to make our enemies smart for their conduct, may it be said, with like reason, that it is an injustice to be ungrateful towards our friends, and that it is just to be ungrateful towards our enemies.” “On mature consideration,” answered Lamprocles, “I think it is criminal to do injustice to either of them.” “If, then,” pursued Socrates, “ingratitude be an injustice, it follows that the greater the favours are which we have received, the greater is the injustice in not acknowledging them.” Lamprocles granted this consequence, and Socrates continued—“Can there be any stricter obligations than those that children are laid under to their parents? For it is they who gave them a being, and who have put them in a condition to behold all the wonders of Nature, and to partake of the many good things exhibited before them by the bounty of Providence, and which are so delightful, that there is not anything that all men more dread than to leave them; insomuch that all governments have ordained death to be the punishment of the most enormous crimes, because there is nothing can more effectually put a stop to the rage of the wicked than the apprehension of death. In the affair of marriage, it is not merely the gratification of the appetite which Nature has so strongly implanted in both sexes for their preservation that we regard; no, that passion can be satisfied in a less expensive manner, even in our streets, and other places; but when we design to enter into that state, we make choice of a woman of such a form and shape, by whom we may expect to have fine children, and of such a temper and disposition as to assure us of future happiness. When that is finished, it is then the chief care of the husband to maintain his wife, and to provide for his children things useful for life in the greatest abundance he can. On the part of the wife, many are her anxieties and troubles for the preservation of her offspring during the time of her pregnancy; she gives it then part of her nourishment and life; and after having suffered the sharpest pangs at the moment of its birth, she then gives it suck, and continues her care and love to it. All this she does to the poor helpless infant, so void of reason, that it knows not even her that is so good to it, nor can ask her for its own necessities. Full of tenderness for the welfare and happiness of her babe, her whole time, day and night, is spent in pleasing it, without the least prospect of any recompense for all her fatigue. After this, when the children are come to an age fit to be instructed, the fathers teach them all the good things they can for the conduct of their life; and if they know any man more capable to instruct them than themselves, they send them to him, without regard to the expense, thus indicating by their whole conduct, what sincere pleasure it would afford them to see their children turn out men of virtue and probity.” “Undoubtedly,” answered Lamprocles, “if my mother had done all this, and an hundred times as much, no man could suffer her ill-humours?” “Do not you think,” said Socrates, “that the anger of a beast is much more difficult to support than that of a mother?” “Not of a mother like her,” said Lamprocles. Socrates continued, “What strange thing has she done to you? Has she bit you, has she kicked you, as beasts do when they are angry?” “She has a tongue that no mortal can suffer,” answered Lamprocles. “And you,” replied Socrates, “how many crosses did you give her in your infancy by your continual bawling and importunate actions? how much trouble by night and by day? how much affliction in your illnesses?” “At worst,” answered Lamprocles, “I never did nor said anything that might make her blush.” “Alas!” said Socrates, “is it more difficult for you to hear in patience the hasty expressions of your mother, than it is for the comedians to hear what they say to one another on the stage when they fall into the most injurious reproaches? For they easily suffer it, knowing well that when one reviles another, he reviles him not with intent to injure him; and when one threatens another, he threatens not with design to do him any harm. You who are fully convinced likewise of the intentions of your mother, and who know very well that the hard words she gives you do not proceed from hate, but that she has a great affection for you, how can you, then, be angry with her? Is it because you imagine that she wishes you ill?” “Not in the least,” answered Lamprocles; “I never had such a thought.” “What!” continued Socrates; “a mother that loves you; a mother who, in your sickness, does all she can to recover your health, who takes care that you want for nothing, who makes so many vows to heaven for you; you say this is an ill mother? In truth, if you cannot live with her, I will say you cannot live at your ease. Tell me, in short, do you believe you ought to have any reverence or respect for any one whatever? Or do you not care for any man’s favour and goodwill, neither for that of a general, suppose, or of any other magistrate?” “On the contrary,” said Lamprocles, “I am very careful to gain the goodwill of all men.” “Perhaps you would endeavour to acquire the goodwill of your neighbour, to the end he might do you kind offices, such as giving you fire when you want it, or, when any misfortune befalls you, speedily relieve you?” “Yes, I would.” “And if you were travelling with any man, either by sea or land, would you count it a matter of indifference whether you were loved by him or not?” “No, indeed.” “Are you then so abandoned, Lamprocles,” replied Socrates, “that you would take pains to acquire the goodwill of those persons, and yet will do nothing to your mother, who loves you incomparably better than they? Know you not that the Republic concerns not herself with common instances of ingratitude; that she takes no cognisance of such crimes, and that she neglects to punish those who do not return the civilities they receive? But if any one be disrespectful to his parents there is a punishment provided for such ingratitude; the laws reject him as an outlaw, and will not allow him to be received into any public office, because it is a maxim commonly received amongst us, that a sacrifice, when offered by an impious hand, cannot be acceptable to the gods, nor profitable to the Republic. Nobody can believe, that a person of such a character can be capable to perform any great or worthy action, or to act the part of a righteous judge. The same punishment is ordained likewise for those who, after the death of their parents, neglect to honour their funerals: and this is particularly examined into in the inquiry that is made into the lives of such as stand candidates for offices.
“Therefore, my son, if you be wise, you will beseech Heaven to pardon you the offences committed against your mother, to the end that the favours of the Deity may be still continued to you, and that you may not forfeit them by an ungrateful behaviour. Take care, likewise, that the public may not discover the contempt you show her, for then would you be blamed and abandoned by all the world; for, if it were suspected that you did not gratefully resent the benefits conferred on you by your parents, no man could believe you would be grateful for any kind actions that others might do you.”
CHAPTER III. SOCRATES RECONCILES CHAEREPHON AND CHAERECRATES, TWO BROTHERS WHO WERE FORMERLY AT VARIANCE.
Two brothers, whose names were Chaerephon and Chaerecrates, were at enmity with each other. Socrates was acquainted with them, and had a great mind to make them friends. Meeting therefore with Chaerecrates, he accosted him thus:—“Are you, too, one of those who prefer the being rich to the having a brother, and who do not consider that riches, being inanimate things, have need of being defended, whereas a brother is himself a good defence, and, after all, that there is more money than brothers? For is it not extravagant in such men to imagine that a brother does them wrong because they enjoy not his estate? Why say they not likewise, that all the world does them wrong, because they are not in possession of what belongs to the rest of mankind? But they believe, with great reason, that it is better to live in society and to be ensured of a moderate estate than to have the sole possession of all that is their neighbours’, and to be exposed to the dangers that are inseparable from solitude. Nevertheless, they are not of the same opinion as to the company of their brothers. If they are rich they buy themselves slaves to serve them, they procure themselves friends to stand by them; but for their brothers they neglect them; as if a brother were not so fit to make a friend of as another person. And yet it is of great efficacy towards the bege