Ch. 11
The beginning of philosophy.
The beginning of philosophy, at least to such as
enter upon it in a proper way, and by the door,
is a consciousness of our own weakness and inability
in necessary things. For we came into the world
without any natural idea of a right-angled triangle;
of a diesis, or a semitone, in music; but we learn each
of these things by some artistic instruction. Hence,
they who do not understand them do not assume
to understand them. But who ever came into the
world without an innate idea of good and evil, fair and
base, becoming and unbecoming, happiness and misery, proper and improper; what ought to be done,
and what not to be done? Hence, we all make use
of the terms, and endeavor to apply our impressions
to particular cases. " Such a one hath acted well, not.
well; right, not right; is unhappy, is happy; is just,
is unjust." Which of us refrains from these terms?
Who defers the use of them till he has learnt it, as
those do who are ignorant of lines and sounds?
The reason of this is, that we come instructed in some
degree by nature upon these subjects; and from this
beginning, we go on to add self-conceit. " For why,"
say you, "should I not know what fair or base is?
Have I not the idea of it?" You have. "Do I not
apply this idea to the particular instance? " You do.
"Do I not apply it rightly, then?" Here lies the
whole question; and here arises the self-conceit.
Beginning from these acknowledged points, men proceed, by applying them improperly, to reach the very
position most questionable. For, if they knew how
to apply them also, they would be all but perfect.
If you think that you know how to apply your gen-
eral principles to particular cases, tell me on what you
base this application.
" Upon its seeming so to me."
But it does not seem so to another; and does not
ne too think that he makes a right application?
"He does."
Is it possible, then, that each of you should rightly
apply your principles, on the very subjects about
which your opinions conflict?
" It is not."
Have you anything to show us, then, for this application, beyond the fact of its seeming so to you?
And does a madman act any otherwise than seems to
him right? Is this, then, a sufficient criterion for him
too?
" It is not."
Come, therefore, to some stronger ground than
seeming.
"What is that?"
The beginning of philosophy is this: the being
sensible of the disagreement of men with each other;
an inquiry into the cause of this disagreement; and
a disapprobation and distrust of what merely seems;
a careful examination into what seems, whether it
seem rightly; and the discovery of some rule which
shall serve like a balance, for the determination of
weights; like a square, for distinguishing straight and
crooked. This is the beginning of philosophy.
Is it possible that all things which seem right to all
persons are so? Can things contradictory be right?
We say not all things; but all that seem so to us.
And why more to you than to the Syrians or Egyptians; than to me, or to any other man? Not at all
more.
Therefore, what seems to each man is not sufficient
to determine the reality of a thing; for even in
weights and measures we are not satisfied with the
bare appearance, but for everything we find some
rule. And is there, then, in the present case no rule
preferable to what seems? Is it possible that what
is of the greatest necessity in human life should be
left incapable of determination and discovery?
There must be some rule. And why do we not
seek and discover it, and, when we have discovered,
ever after make use of it, without fail, so as not even
to move a finger without it? For this, I conceive, is
what, when found, will cure those of their madness
who make use of no other measure but their own
perverted way of thinking. Afterwards, beginning
from certain known and determinate points, we may
make use of general principles, properly applied to
particulars.
Thus, what is the subject that falls under our inquiry? Pleasure. Bring it to the rule. Throw it
into the scale. Must good be something in which it
is fit to confide, and to which we may trust? Yes.
Is it fit to trust to anything unstable? No. Is pleasure, then, a stable thing? No. Take it, then, and
throw it out of the scale, and drive it far distant from
the place of good things.
But, if you are not quick-sighted, and one balance
is insufficient, bring another. Is it fit to be elated by
good? Yes. Is it fit, then, to be elated by a present
pleasure? See that you do not say it is; otherwise I
shall not think you so much as worthy to use a scale.
Thus are things judged and weighed, when we have
the rules ready. This is the part of philosophy, to
examine, and fix the rules; and to make use of them,
when they are known, is the business of a wise and
good man.