Ch. 21
Of inconsistency.
There are some things which men confess with
ease, and others with difficulty. No one, for
instance, will confess himself a fool or a blockhead;
but, on the contrary, you will hear every one say, "I
wish my fortune were in proportion to my abilities."
But they easily confess themselves fearful, and say,
"I am somewhat timorous, I confess; but in other
respects you will not find me a fool." No one will
easily confess himself intemperate in his desires,
upon no account dishonest, nor indeed very envious
or meddling; but many confess themselves to have
the weakness of being compassionate. What is the
reason of all this? The principal reason is an inconsistency and confusion in what relates to good and
evil. But different people have different motives,
and in general, whatever they imagine to be base,
they do not absolutely confess. Fear and compassion they imagine to belong to a well-meaning disposition; but stupidity, to a slave. Offences against
society they do not own; but in most faults they
are brought to a confession chiefly from imagining
that there is something involuntary in them, as in
fear and compassion. And though a person should
in some measure confess himself intemperate in his
desires, he accuses his passion, and expects forgiveness, as for an involuntary fault. But dishonesty is
not imagined to be, by any means, involuntary. In
jealousy too there is something they suppose involuntary and this likewise, in some degree, they confess.
Conversing therefore with such men, thus confused, thus ignorant what they say, and what are or
are not their ills, whence they have them, and how
they may be delivered from them, it is worth while,
I think, to ask one's self continually, "Am I too one
of these? What do I imagine myself to be? How
do I conduct myself, - as a prudent, as a temperate
man? Do I, too, ever talk at this rate,- that I am
sufficiently instructed for what may happen? Have I
that persuasion that I know nothing which becomes
one who knows nothing? Do I go to a master as
to an oracle, prepared to obey; or do I also, like a
mere driveller, enter the school only to learn and understand books which I did not understand before,
or perhaps to explain them to others?"
You have been fighting at home with your manservant; you have turned the house upside-down,
and alarmed the neighborhood; and do you come to
me with a pompous show of wisdom, and sit and criticise how I explain a sentence, how I prate whatever
comes into my head? Do you come, envious and
dejected that nothing has come from home for you,
and in the midst of the disputations sit thinking on
nothing but how your father or your brother may treat
you? "What are they saying about me at home?
Now they think I am improving, and say, He will
come back with universal knowledge. I wish I could
learn everything before my return; but this requires
much labor, and nobody sends me anything. The
baths are very bad at Nicopolis; and things go very
ill both at home and here."
After all this, it is said, nobody is the better for the
philosophic school. Why, who comes to the school?
I mean, who comes to be reformed; who, to submit his principles to correction; who, with a sense of
his wants? Why do you wonder, then, that you
bring back from the school the very thing you carried there? For you do not come to lay aside, or
correct, or change, your principles. How should you?
Far from it. Rather consider this, therefore, whether
you have not what you have come for. You have
come to talk about theorems. Well; and are you not
more impertinently talkative than you were? Do
not these paltry theorems furnish you with matter
for ostentation? Do you not solve convertible and
hypothetical syllogisms? Why, then, are you still
displeased, if you have the very thing for which you
came?
"Very true; but if my child or my brother should
die; or if I must die or be tortured myself, what
good will these things do me? " Why, did.you come
for this? Did you attend upon me for this? Was it
upon any such account that you ever lighted your
lamp, or sat up at night? Or did you, when you
went into the walk, propose any delusive semblance
to your own mind to be discussed, instead of a syllogism? Did any of you ever go through such a
subject jointly? And after all, you say, theorems are
useless. To whom? To such as apply them ill.
For medicines for the eyes are not useless to those
who apply them when and as they ought. Fomentations are not useless, dumb-bells are not useless:
but they are useless to some, and on the contrary,
useful to others. If you should ask me, now, are
syllogisms useful? I should answer that they are
useful; and, if you please, I will show you how.
"Will they be of service to me, then?" Why, did
you ask, man, whether they would be useful to you,
or in general? If any one in a dysentery should ask
me whether acids be useful, I should answer, they
are. "Are they useful for me, then?" I say, no.
First try to get the flux stopped, and the ulceration healed. Do you too first get your ulcers healed,
your fluxes stopped. Quiet your mind, and bring it
free from distraction to the school; and then you
will know what force there is in reasoning.