How a Man May Become Aware of His Progress in Virtue (9-11)

It is therefore imperative that we consider carefully whether, as for ourselves, we employ our discourse for our own improvement, and whether, as it affects others, we employ it, not for the sake of momentary repute, nor from motives of ambition, but rather with the wish to hear and to impart something; but most of all must we consider whether the spirit of contention and quarrelling over debatable questions has been put down, and whether we have ceased to equip ourselves with arguments, as with boxing-gloves or brass knuckles, with which to contend against one another, and to take more delight in scoring a hit or a knockout than in learning and imparting something. For reasonableness and mildness in such matters, and the ability to join in discussions without wrangling, and to close them without anger, and to avoid a sort of arrogance over success in argument and exasperation over defeat, are the marks of a man who is making adequate progress. Aristippus made this clear when he was once outwitted in an argument by a man who had plenty of assurance, but was otherwise foolish and flighty. For seeing that the man was rejoicing and in great conceit, Aristippus said, For all that I have been defeated I am going home to enjoy a sweeter sleep than you who have defeated me. It is possible also in the practice of speaking to

take some measure of ourselves, if, when a large audience has unexpectedly assembled, we do not suffer from stage-fright, and if we are not dispirited when arguing in the presence of a small number; and if, when the need has arisen to speak before the people or a magistrate, we do not let the occasion slip through lack of time to put our discourse into orderly form, as is told, for instance, of Demosthenes and Alcibiades. For the latter, although most keen in thinking out his subject matter, yet because of a certain lack of confidence about his manner of speaking, used to interrupt himself in the midst of his subject, and oftentimes, through his quest and pursuit of an elusive word or phrase while actually engaged in speaking, he made a flat failure. But Homer felt no repugnance against making the very first of his lines unmetrical; [*], Iliad, i. 1. so abounding was his confidence regarding the rest on account of his ability. It is rather to be expected, therefore, that those whose strivings are towards virtue and honour will avail themselves of the occasion and the subject, and give least thought to the shouting and applause that may be called forth by their manner of speaking.

Everybody, without exception, ought to pay careful attention, not only to his words, but also to his actions, to see whether the element of usefulness in them prevails over ostentation, and whether their whole aim is the truth rather than display For if true love for a youth or a woman does not seek witnesses, but enjoys the fruits of pleasure even if it consummate its desire in secret, it is even more to be expected that the lover of honour and wisdom, in the familiar intercourse with virtue which comes through his actions, should keep his pride in himself to himself

and be silent, feeling no need of eulogists and auditors. Take, for example, the case of the man who in his own house called his maidservant and cried out, Look at me, Dionysia; I have stopped being conceited; very much like this is the behaviour of the man who performs some gracious and civil action, and then by telling about it and circulating it everywhere makes it clear that he is still looking beyond himself, and is still attracted toward repute, and that he has not yet had even a glimpse of virtue, nay, that he is not really awake but only dreaming as he roams about amid the shadows and phantoms of virtue, and afterwards puts what he has done on view like a painting. It is therefore the mark of a man who is making progress, not only when he has given to a friend or done a kindness to an acquaintance to refrain from telling of it to others, but also when he has given an honest judgement amidst a numerous and dishonest majority, when he has peremptorily declined a discreditable conference with some rich man or some official, when he has scorned bribes, and even when he has felt a craving in the night for a drink and has not taken it, or when he has fought a good fight, like Agesilaus, [*] against a kiss of a lovely girl or youth, to keep all this to himself and put the seal of silence on it. In fact, such a man, by standing well in his own estimation, inasmuch as he feels no disdain, but only pleasure and satisfaction at the thought that he is at the same time a competent witness and observer of honourable deeds, shows that reason is already growing within him and taking root in his own self, and, in the words of Democritus, [*] that he is becoming accustomed to find within himself the sources of enjoyment. Farmers take more pleasure in looking at the heads of grain that are bent over and bowed toward the ground, but those that tower aloft owing to their lightness the farmers think are empty cheats; so among the young men who would study philosophy: those who are most empty and have no weight, have assurance and a pose and a gait, and a countenance filled with a haughtiness and disdain which spares nobody; but, as their heads begin to fill and to accumulate some fruitage from their lectures and reading, they lay aside their swagger and superficiality. And just as when empty vessels are being filled with a liquid the air inside is expelled by the pressure, so when men are being filled with the really good things, their conceit gives way and their self-opinion becomes less inflexible; and, ceasing to feel pride in their philosopher’s beard and gown, they transfer their training to their mind, and apply their stinging and bitter criticism most of all to themselves, and are milder in their intercourse with others. They do not arrogate to themselves, as before, the name of philosophy and the repute of studying it, or even give themselves the title of philosopher; in fact, a young man of good parts, on being addressed by this title by another, would be quick to say with a blush:

I am no god, I assure you; why think me like the immortals?[*]

For as Aeschylus [*] puts it:

The ardent eye betrays the youthful maid Who once has tasted of the joys of love;

but with the young man who has had a taste of real progress in philosophy, these words of Sappho [*] are always associated:

My tongue breaks down, and all at once A secret flame throughout my body runs;

nevertheless, you will see an eye untroubled and serene, and you would yearn to hear him speak. Just as persons who are being initiated into the Mysteries throng together at the outset amid tumult and shouting, and jostle against one another, but when the holy rites are being performed and disclosed the people are immediately attentive in awe and silence, so too at the beginning of philosophy; about its portals also you will see great tumult and talking and boldness, as some boorishly and violently try to jostle their way towards the repute it bestows: but he who has succeeded in getting inside, and has seen a great light, as though a shrine were opened, adopts another bearing of silence and amazement, and humble and orderly attends upon [*] reason as upon a god. To these the humorous remark of Menedemus may, as it seems, be nicely applied; for he said that the multitudes who came to Athens to school were, at the outset, wise; later they became lovers of wisdom, later still orators, and, as time went on, just ordinary persons, and the more they laid hold on reason the more they laid aside their selfopinion and conceit.

Of persons needing the services of a physician those who have a painful tooth or finger go straightway to those who treat such ills; those who have

fever summon the physicians to their houses, and implore their assistance; but those who have reached a state of melancholia or frenzy or delirium sometimes cannot endure even the physicians’ visits, but either drive them away or run away from them, not realizing even that they are ill, because of the violence of their illness. So also of the erring: the incurable are those who take an hostile and savage attitude and show a hot temper toward those who take them to task and admonish them, while those who patiently submit to admonition and welcome it are in less serious plight. And for a man who is in error to submit himself to those who take him to task, to tell what is the matter with him, to disclose his depravity, and not to rejoice in hiding his fault or to take satisfaction in its not being known, but to confess it, and to feel the need of somebody to take him in hand and admonish him, is no slight indication of progress. So Diogenes [*] has somewhere said that, as a matter of self-preservation, a man should be concerned to find either an earnest friend or an ardent enemy, so that either by stern reprehension or by kindly attention he may escape vice. But just so long as a man, displaying a spot or a stain on his garment or a rip in his shoe, puts on airs in public by affecting a silly unconcern for such matters, or, by passing some jest about himself for being dwarfed or humpbacked, imagines that he is thus showing a spirit of youthful bravado, while, at the same time, the inward ugliness of his soul, the despicable acts of his life, his displays of pettiness or love of pleasure or malice or envy, he covers up and conceals as though they were ulcerous sores, and allows nobody to touch them or even see them because of his fear of being reprehended for them—such a man’s part in progress is little, or rather none at all. But the man who grapples with these faults, especially if he shows himself able and willing to make himself unhappy and wretched over his errors, and, next to that, to submit to another’s admonitions without flinching, and with a spirit made purer by such reproofs—such a man truly has every appearance of trying to divest himself of baseness and of abominating it. Beyond all question, anyone ought to have enough selfrespect to avoid even giving the impression of being bad; but the man who is more disturbed over the actual existence of baseness than over any ill-repute does not try to avoid uncomplimentary remarks to himself, or replying to them, when this may be made a means of improvement. Very neat was the remark made by Diogenes to a young man, [*] who, being seen at a tavern, fled for refuge within. The farther you flee inside, said he, the more you are in the tavern. And so of low things, the more each man denies, just so much the deeper does he become involved in vice, and cut off his escape therefrom. So, too, it is that among poor people those who make a show of being rich are even poorer because of their pretension; but the man who is making true progress takes as his example Hippocrates, [*] who published and recorded his failure to apprehend the facts about the cranial sutures; for such a man accounts it a dreadful thing, that here was Hippocrates who declared his own error so that others should not repeat his experience, and yet he himself, a man bent on saving his soul alive, should not have the courage to submit to being taken to task, and to confess his fatuity and ignorance. Indeed the declarations of Bion and Pyrrho might be construed as indication, not merely of progress, but rather of a higher state of mind and one which comes nearer to the ideal. Bion said to his intimate friends that they might well be justified in thinking that they were making progress when they could listen to their revilers as though they heard them say;

Friend, since you have not the look of a man that is base or unthinking,[*] Health and great joy be yours, and God grant that you ever may prosper.[*]

And the story about Pyrrho is that when he was on a voyage, and in peril during a storm, he pointed to a little pig contentedly feeding upon some barley which had been spilled near by, and said to his companions that a similar indifference must be acquired from reason and philosophy by the man who does not wish to be disturbed by anything that may befall him.