How a Man May Become Aware of His Progress in Virtue (12-14)

Note also the significance of Zeno’s statement. For he said that every man might fairly derive from his dreams a consciousness that he was making progress if he observed that during his period of sleep he felt no pleasure in anything disgraceful, and did not tolerate or commit any dreadful or untoward action, but as though in the clear depth of an absolute calm there came over him the radiant thought that the fanciful and emotional element in his soul had been dispelled by reason. Plato, [*] apparently realizing this even earlier, has given form and expression to the operations of the fanciful and irrational element in a naturally despotic soul

during sleep. It attempts incest, and feels a sudden hunger for a great variety of food, acting in lawless fashion, and giving loose rein to the desires which in the daytime the law keeps confined by means of shame and fear. Now well-trained beasts of burden, even if their driver lets go the reins, do not attempt to turn aside and leave the road, but in their accustomed manner they go on in their places and keep to their course without mishap; and so it is in the case of persons in whom the irrational impulse has already been rendered obedient and gentle by reason and has been thoroughly chastened; neither during sleep nor as a result of illness is it willing any longer to indulge readily in arrogance or lawlessness because of the desires, but it observes and bears in mind the habit it has acquired, and it is this which endows our vigilance with strength and intensity. For if the body by virtue of training is actually capable of rendering itself and its members so obedient to its injunctions of indifference that the eyes refrain from tears at a piteous sight, and the heart from throbbing in the midst of terrors, and the passions chastely remain unexcited and undisturbed in the presence of youthful or maidenly beauty, is it not indeed even more probable that training, by taking hold of the emotional element in the soul, will, as it were, do away with the irregularities and vagaries of our fancies and incitements, and carry its repression of them even into our slumbers ? There is a story, illustrating this point, about the philosopher Stilpo, who thought in his slumber that he saw Poseidon, who was angry at him for not having offered up a bull, which was the customary sacrifice; but he himself, in his dream, nowise disconcerted, replied, What are you saying, Poseidon ? Do you come whining like a child because I did not run into debt to fill the city with the savour of burnt offerings, but presented a modest offering from what I had in my house ? And then it seemed to him that Poseidon smiled and held out his hand, and said that he would send an abundance of anchovies to the Megarians for Stilpo’s sake. So in the case of persons blessed with dreams so pleasant and bright and untroubled, who experience in their hours of slumber no revival of anything terrifying or repellent nor of any act of malice or improbity, men like Zeno assert that such manifestations are bright reflections of their progress, but that torturing memories, perturbations, ignoble desertions, and childish transports of joy and sorrow, such as are experienced in dismal or abnormal dreams, are like to billows that break and toss, inasmuch as the soul does not yet possess the power to keep itself in order, but is still being moulded by external opinions and laws, and when it gets farthest away from these during the hours of slumber, it is again made free and open to other influences by the emotions. [*] I beg, therefore, that you also will consider whether these things belong to progress in virtue, or to a state of mind already possessed of a constancy and strength based on reason, and hence unwavering.

Inasmuch as complete indifference is a great and divine thing, whereas progress, as they say, resembles a sort of abatement and moderation of the emotions, it is our duty to compare our present emotions with their former selves and with one another, and thus determine the differences. We must compare them with their former selves, to see whether the desires and fears and angry passions

which we experience to-day are less intense than they used to be, inasmuch as we, by means of reason, are rapidly getting rid of the cause that kindles and inflames them; and we must compare them with one another, to see whether now we are more inclined to feel shame than fear, to be emulous rather than envious, more eager for good repute than for money, and, in general, whether, in case we err by going to extremes, we, after the manner of musicians, incline to the severity of the Dorian key rather than to the softness of the Lydian, as shown by our being strict rather than lax in our mode of life, and deliberate rather than precipitate in our actions, and given to expressing undue admiration rather than contempt of doctrines and persons. For just as the turning aside of a disease into the less vital parts of the body is an encouraging symptom, so it is reasonable to assume that when the vice of those who are making progress is transformed into more moderate emotions, it is being gradually blotted out. When Phrynis added two strings to the seven-stringed lyre, the Ephors inquired whether he preferred to let them cut out the two upper or the two lower strings; [*] but in our case it is both the upper and the lower that require lopping off if we are to be brought to the state which is a mean between excess in either direction; and one of the first results of progress is an abatement of the excess and keenness of our emotions,

Wherein the frenzied are most vehement,

as Sophocles [*] expresses it.

Furthermore, as has already been said, the translating of our judgements into deeds, and not allowing our words to remain mere words, but to make them into actions, is, above all else, a specific mark of

progress. An indication of this is, in the first place, the desire to emulate what we commend, eagerness to do what we admire, and, on the other hand, unwillingness to do, or even to tolerate, what we censure. For example, it was to be expected that all the Athenians should commend the daring and bravery of Miltiades, yet the remark of Themistocles [*] that the trophy of Miltiades would not suffer him to sleep, but roused him from his slumbers, made it plain at once that he was not merely commending and admiring, but emulating and imitating as well. We must therefore believe we are making but little progress so long as the admiration which we feel for successful men remains inert within us and does not of its own self stir us to imitation. In fact, love for a person is not active unless there is some jealousy with it, nor is that commendation of virtue ardent and efficacious which does not prod and prick us, and create in us not envy but an emulation over honourable things which strives earnestly for satisfaction. For not only, as Alcibiades [*] used to say, must the heart feel such anguish at the philosopher’s words that tears will flow; but more than that, the man who is truly making progress, comparing himself with the deeds and conduct of a good and perfect man, and being pricked by the consciousness of his own shortcomings, yet at the same time rejoicing because of his hope and yearning, and being filled with an urging that is never still, is ready in the words of Simonides [*]

To run like weanling colt beside its dam,

so great is his craving all but to merge his own identity in that of the good man. Indeed a peculiar symptom of true progress is found in this feeling of love and affection for the disposition shown by those whose deeds we try to emulate, and in the fact that our efforts to make ourselves like them are always attended by a goodwill which accords to them a fair meed of honour. But, on the other hand, if any man is imbued with a spirit of contentiousness and envy towards his betters, let him understand that he is merely chafing with jealousy at another’s repute or power, but not honouring or even admiring virtue.