Book 2, Chapter 21
Inconsistency.[402]
Some things men readily confess, and other things they do not. No one then will confess that he is a fool or without understanding; but quite the contrary you will hear all men saying, I wish that I had fortune equal to my understanding. But men readily confess that they are timid, and they say: I am rather timid, I confess; but as to other respects you will not find me to be foolish. A man will not readily confess that he is intemperate; and that he is unjust, he will not confess at all. He will by no means confess that he is envious or a busy body. Most men will confess that they are compassionate. What then is the reason?—The chief thing (the ruling thing) is inconsistency and confusion in the things which relate to good and evil. But different men have different reasons; and generally what they imagine to be base, they do not confess at all. But they suppose timidity to be a characteristic of a good disposition, and compassion also; but silliness to be the absolute characteristic of a slave. And they do not at all admit (confess) the things which are offences against society. But in the case of most errors for this reason chiefly they are induced to confess them, because they imagine that there is something involuntary in them as in timidity and compassion; and if a man confess that he is in any respect intemperate, he alleges love (or passion) as an excuse for what is involuntary. But men do not imagine injustice to be at all involuntary. There is also in jealousy, as they suppose, something involuntary; and for this reason they confess to jealousy also.
People readily admit some things, but not others. No one will admit to being a fool or lacking understanding. On the contrary, everyone says, “I wish my fortune were equal to my understanding.” But people readily admit to being timid. They say, “I admit I’m rather timid, but you won’t find me foolish in other ways.” A person will not readily admit to lacking self-control, and will never admit to being unjust. Nor will anyone admit to being envious or meddlesome. Most people will admit to being compassionate. Why is this? The main reason is inconsistency and confusion about good and evil. But different people have different reasons. Generally, they will not admit to anything they think is shameful. They regard timidity and compassion as signs of a good disposition. But they see foolishness as the unmistakable mark of a slave. And they will not admit to actions that harm society. People admit to most faults chiefly because they think the faults are partly involuntary, as with timidity and compassion. If someone admits to lacking self-control in some way, they excuse what is involuntary by appealing to love or passion. But people do not think injustice is involuntary at all. They also believe there is something involuntary in jealousy, and so they admit to jealousy too.
Schweig. comments on the title of this chapter. He says 'that this discourse does not keep to the same subject, but proceeds from that with which it began to other things.'
Living then among such men, who are so confused, so ignorant of what they say, and of the evils which they have or have not, and why they have them, or how they shall be relieved of them, I think it is worth the trouble for a man to watch constantly (and to ask) whether I also am one of them, what imagination I have about myself, how I conduct myself, whether I conduct myself as a prudent man, whether I conduct myself as a temperate man, whether I ever say this, that I have been taught to be prepared for every thing that may happen. Have I the consciousness, which a man who knows nothing ought to have, that I know nothing? Do I go to my teacher as men go to oracles, prepared to obey? or do I like a snivelling boy go to my school to learn history and understand the books which I did not understand before, and, if it should happen so, to explain them also to others?—Man, you have had a fight in the house with a poor slave, you have turned the family upside down, you have frightened the neighbours, and you come to me as if you were a wise man, and you take your seat and judge how I have explained some word, and low I have babbled whatever came into my head. You come full of envy, and humbled, because you bring nothing from home; and you sit during the discussion thinking of nothing else than how your father is disposed towards you and your brother. 'What are they saying about me there? now they think that I am improving, and are saying, He will return with all knowledge. I wish I could learn every thing before I return but much labour is necessary, and no one sends me any thing, and the baths at Nicopolis are dirty; every thing is bad at home, and bad here.'
Living among such people, I think it is worth constantly examining myself. They are so confused and so ignorant of what they say. They do not know what troubles they have or do not have, why they have them, or how to be free of them. So I should ask myself: Am I one of them too? What opinion do I have of myself? How do I behave? Do I behave like a wise person? Do I behave with self-control? Do I ever say that I have been taught to prepare for everything that may happen? Am I aware that I know nothing, as someone who knows nothing should be? Do I go to my teacher as people go to oracles, ready to obey? Or do I go to school like a sniveling boy, to learn history and understand books I did not understand before? And, if it happens, do I go so that I can explain them to others too? Man, you have fought with a poor slave in your house. You have turned the household upside down and frightened the neighbors. Yet you come to me as if you were wise. You sit down and judge how I have explained some word and how I have babbled whatever came into my head. You come full of envy and feeling low because you bring nothing from home. During the discussion, you sit thinking only about how your father feels toward you and your brother. 'What are they saying about me there? Now they think I am improving, and they are saying, He will return knowing everything. I wish I could learn everything before I return, but it takes a lot of work. No one sends me anything, and the baths at Nicopolis are dirty. Everything is bad at home, and bad here.'
καταστολὰς ποιήσας. I have left out these words because neither I nor the commentators understand them. The word καταστολή appears in ii. 10. 15, where its meaning is clear.
Literally, 'because to you or for you nothing is brought from home.' Perhaps what follows explains the meaning. The man has no comfort at home. He brings nothing that comforts him when he thinks of it.
Then they say, no one gains any profit from the school.—Why, who comes to the school? who comes for the purpose of being improved? who comes to present his opinions to be purified? who comes to learn what he is in want of? Why do you wonder then if you carry back from the school the very things which you bring into it? For you come not to lay aside (your principles) or to correct them or to receive other principles in place of them. By no means, nor any thing like it. You rather look to this, whether you possess already that for which you come. You wish to prattle about theorems? What then? Do you not become greater triflers? Do not your little theorems give you some opportunity of display? You solve sophistical syllogisms. Do you not examine the assumptions of the syllogism named the Liar? Do you not examine hypothetical syllogisms? Why then are you still vexed if you receive the things for which you come to the school? Yes; but if my child die or my brother, or if I must die or be racked, what good will these things do me?—Well, did you come for this? for this do you sit by my side? did you ever for this light your lamp or keep awake? or, when you went out to the walking place, did you ever propose any appearance that had been presented to you instead of a syllogism, and did you and your friends discuss it together? Where and when? Then you say, Theorems are useless. To whom? To such as make a bad use of them. For eye-salves are not useless to those who use them as they ought and when they ought. Fomentations are not useless. Dum-bells are not useless; but they are useless to some, useful to others. If you ask me now if syllogisms are useful, I will tell you that they are useful, and if you choose, I will prove it.—How then will they in any way be useful to me? Man, did you ask if they are useful to you, or did you ask generally? Let him who is suffering from dysentery, ask me if vinegar is useful; I will say that it is useful.—Will it then be useful to me?—I will say, no. Seek first for the discharge to be stopped and the ulcers to be closed. And do you, O men, first cure the ulcers and stop the discharge; be tranquil in your mind, bring it free from distraction into the school, and you will know what power reason has.
Then they say, no one benefits from the school. But who comes to the school? Who comes to improve? Who comes to have their opinions purified? Who comes to learn what they lack? Why are you surprised, then, if you take away the very things you bring? You do not come to give up your principles, correct them, or replace them with others. No, nothing of the sort. Instead, you look to see whether you already have what you came for. Do you want to chatter about philosophical theories? Well, do you not become even bigger triflers? Do your little theories not give you a chance to show off? You solve sophistical syllogisms. Do you not examine the assumptions of the syllogism called the Liar? Do you not examine hypothetical syllogisms? Why, then, are you still upset when you get what you came to school for? Yes, but what good will these things do me if my child or brother dies? What if I must die or be tortured on the rack? Well, did you come for help with that? Is that why you sit beside me? Have you ever stayed up by lamplight for that purpose? Or, when you went out for a walk, did you ever consider an impression instead of a syllogism? Did you and your friends discuss it together? Where and when? Then you say, philosophical theories are useless. To whom? To those who use them badly. Eye ointments are not useless to those who use them properly and at the right time. Warm compresses are not useless. Dumbbells are not useless. But they are useless to some people and useful to others. If you ask me now whether syllogisms are useful, I will say they are. And if you wish, I will prove it. How, then, will syllogisms be useful to me? My friend, did you ask whether they are useful to you, or whether they are useful in general? Suppose someone suffering from dysentery asks me whether vinegar is useful. I will say that it is. Will it be useful to me, then? I will say no. First, stop the discharge and let the ulcers heal. And you, my friends, must first heal your ulcers and stop the discharge. Calm your minds and bring them to school free from distraction. Then you will know the power of reason.
See i. 7.
See ii. 17. 34.
τί με ταῦτα ὠφελήσει; In his note, Schweig. says he wrote the text this way, but he did not. He wrote τί μετὰ ταῦτα ὠφελήσει; The με seems necessary, and he translated the passage accordingly. I think he was right to do so.
See i. 4, note 5 on Halteres.
See ii. 25.