On the Happy Life 19–36

“But I ask you this one small thing: does God want man to seek God?” They granted it. “I ask again: can we say that one who seeks God lives badly?” “In no way,” they said. “Answer this third question too: can an unclean spirit seek God?” They said no, with Navigius hesitating somewhat, but afterwards he yielded to the voices of the others. “If, then,” I said, “one who seeks God does what God wills, and lives well, and does not have an unclean spirit, and yet one who seeks God does not yet have God, then not everyone who either lives well, or does what God wills, or does not have an unclean spirit is straightway to be said to have God.” When the others laughed at being trapped by their own admissions, my mother, who had been bewildered for a long time, asked me to unravel and untie by explanation the very thing I had said in a twisted way by the force of the conclusion. When this had been done, she said: “But no one can reach God unless he has sought God.” “Excellent,” I said; “yet one who is still seeking has not yet reached God, and already lives well. So not everyone who lives well has God.” “It seems to me,” she said, “that there is no one who does not have God, but those who live well have him favorable, those who live badly hostile.” “Then yesterday,” I said, “we wrongly granted that he is happy who has God, since every man has God, and yet not every man is happy.” “Then add,” she said, “‘favorable.’”

“At least,” I said, “we are sufficiently agreed on this: that he is happy who has God favorable?” “I would like to agree,” said Navigius, “but I am afraid of the one who is still seeking, especially that you may conclude that the Academic is happy, who in yesterday's talk was called by a vulgar and bad Latin word, but a very fitting one, it seems to me, ‘epileptic.’ For I cannot say that God is against a man who seeks God. And if it is wrong to say so, he will be favorable, and whoever has God favorable is happy. So the one who seeks will be happy. But everyone who seeks does not yet have what he wants. So a man will be happy who does not have what he wants, which yesterday seemed absurd to all of us, and by which we believed the darkness of the Academics had been dispelled. So now Licentius will triumph over us, and like a prudent physician will warn me that those sweets which I rashly took against my health are exacting this penalty from me.”

Here, when my mother too had smiled, Trygetius said: “I do not grant that God is straightway hostile to one to whom he is not favorable; I think there is something in between.” I said to him: “Yet do you grant that this man in between, to whom God is neither favorable nor hostile, has God in some way?” Here, when he hesitated, my mother said: “It is one thing to have God, another not to be without God.” “Which, then, is better,” I said, “to have God or not to be without God?” “As far as I can understand,” she said, “this is my opinion: he who lives well has God, but favorable; he who lives badly has God, but hostile; but he who is still seeking and has not yet found has him neither favorable nor hostile, but is not without God.” “Is this your opinion too?” I said. They said it was. “Tell me, please,” I said, “does not God seem to you to be favorable to the man he favors?” They admitted it. “Does God not favor the man who seeks him?” They answered that he does. “So he who seeks God,” I said, “has God favorable; and everyone who has God favorable is happy. So he too is happy who seeks. But he who seeks does not yet have what he wants. So he will be happy who does not have what he wants.” “It certainly does not seem to me,” said my mother, “that he is happy who does not have what he wants.” “Then,” I said, “not everyone who has God favorable is happy.” “If reason compels this,” she said, “I cannot deny it.” “This, then,” I said, “will be the division: everyone who has already found God both has God favorable and is happy; everyone who seeks God has God favorable but is not yet happy; and whoever alienates himself from God by vices and sins is not only not happy but does not even live with God favorable.”

When all approved, I said: “Good. But I am still afraid that you may be troubled by what we had granted earlier, that whoever is not happy is wretched. From this it will follow that a man is wretched who … someone happy. Or, as Tullius says, shall we call the owners of many estates on earth rich, and name the possessors of all virtues poor? But see whether, as it is true that everyone in want is wretched, so it is true that everyone wretched is in want. For in that way it will be true that wretchedness is nothing other than want, which, you noticed, I praised when it was said just now. But it is long to inquire into this today; so I ask that it not be tiresome for you to meet at this table tomorrow too.” When all had said that they would very gladly do so, we rose.

On the third day of our disputation, the morning scattered the clouds that had driven us into the baths, and made the afternoon very bright. So we decided to go down to the nearby part of the little meadow, and when we had all sat down where it seemed convenient, the rest of the discussion was completed thus. “Almost everything,” I said, “that I wanted you to grant me when I asked, I have and hold. So today, when we can at last separate this banquet of ours by some interval of days, there will be nothing, or not much, I think, that you need to answer me. For my mother had said that wretchedness is nothing other than want, and we agreed that those who are in want are wretched. But whether all the wretched are also in want is something of a question, which we could not unfold yesterday. If reason shows that this is so, it has been found most perfectly who is happy: it will be the one who is not in want. For everyone who is not wretched is happy; so he is happy who is free of want, if it is established that what we call want is the same as wretchedness.”

“What then?” said Trygetius. “Can it not be concluded already that everyone not in want is happy, from the fact that it is clear that everyone in want is wretched? For I remember that we granted there is nothing in between the wretched and the happy.” “Does there seem to you,” I said, “to be anything in between the dead and the living? Is not every man either living or dead?” “I admit,” he said, “that here too there is nothing in between; but what is the point of that?” “Because,” I said, “I believe you also admit that everyone who was buried a year ago is dead.” He did not deny it. “What then? Is everyone who was not buried a year ago alive?” “That does not follow,” he said. “So,” I said, “it does not follow that, if everyone in want is wretched, everyone not in want is happy, even though between the wretched and the happy, as between the living and the dead, nothing in between can be found.”

When some of them had understood this rather slowly, while I opened it up and turned it over in whatever words I could suited to their understanding, I said: “So no one doubts that everyone who is in want is wretched; and we are not frightened by certain things that the bodies of the wise need. The mind itself, in which the happy life is placed, does not need them. For it is itself perfect, and no one perfect needs anything; and what seems necessary for the body it will take if it is at hand, and if it is not at hand, the lack of these things will not break it. For every wise man is brave, and no brave man fears anything. So the wise man does not fear either the death of the body or pains, for driving away, avoiding, or postponing which those things are necessary, the lack of which can befall him. Yet he does not cease to use them well, if they are not lacking. For that saying is very true: ‘For to let in what you could avoid is foolish.’ So he will avoid death and pain as far as he can and as far as is fitting, lest, if he does not avoid them at all, he be wretched not because these things happen but because he would not avoid them when he could, which is a clear sign of folly. So one who does not avoid them will be wretched not by suffering those things but by folly. But if he cannot avoid them, though he has tried diligently and fittingly, their onset will not make him wretched. For that other saying of the same comic poet is no less true: ‘Since what you want cannot be done, want what you can.’ How will he be wretched to whom nothing happens against his will, since he cannot will what he sees cannot come about for him? For his will is set on the most certain things, namely that whatever he does, he does only by a certain rule of virtue and the divine law of wisdom, which can in no way be snatched from him.”

“Now see whether everyone who is wretched is also in want. For what makes it hard to grant this opinion is that many are placed amid a great abundance of things of fortune, for whom everything is so easy that whatever desire demands is ready at their nod; that life is indeed hard to find. But let us imagine someone such as Tullius says Orata was. For who would easily say that Orata suffered from want, a very rich man, very elegant, very luxurious, who lacked nothing for pleasure, nor for favor, nor for good and sound health? For he abounded, as much as he liked, in very profitable estates and very pleasant friends, and used all these most fittingly for the health of his body; and, to explain it all briefly, every plan and every wish of his was followed by prosperous success. But perhaps one of you will say that he wanted to have more than he had. That we do not know. But, which is enough for the question, let us suppose that he did not desire more than he held. Does he seem to you to have been in want?” “Even if I grant,” said Licentius, “that he desired nothing more, which I hardly know how to accept in a man who was not wise, still he was afraid (for he was, as they say, of no bad intelligence) that all those things might be snatched from him even by a single adverse blow. For it was no great thing to understand that all such things, however great, are subject to chance.” Then I said, smiling: “You see, Licentius, that this most fortunate man was hindered from the happy life by the goodness of his intelligence. For the sharper he was, the more he saw that he could lose all those things; and he was broken by that fear, and proved well enough the common saying that a faithless man is wise to his own harm.”

When he and the others had laughed at this, I said: “Still, let us attend more carefully to this: that even if he was afraid, he was not in want, which is the question. For being in want consists in not having, not in the fear of losing what you have. But this man was wretched because he was afraid, even though he was not in want. So not everyone who is wretched is in want.” When she too, whose opinion I was defending, had approved this with the others, yet somewhat doubtful, she said: “Still, I do not know, and I do not yet clearly understand, how wretchedness can be separated from want or want from wretchedness. For this man too, who was rich and wealthy and, as you say, desired nothing more, yet, because he was afraid of losing it, was in want of wisdom. Should we then call him in want if he lacked silver and money, and not call him so when he lacked wisdom?” When all cried out in wonder, and I myself was not a little eager and glad that she in particular had said what I had prepared to bring forward last, as something great from the books of the philosophers, I said: “Do you see that many and varied doctrines are one thing, and a mind most attentive to God another? For from where do these things that we admire come, if not from there?” Here Licentius cried out joyfully: “Truly nothing truer, nothing more divine could have been said. For there is no greater and more pitiable want than to be in want of wisdom, and one who is not in want of wisdom can be in want of nothing at all.”

“So want of the mind,” I said, “is nothing other than folly. For folly is the opposite of wisdom, and opposite in the way that death is to life and the happy life to the wretched, that is, without anything in between. For as every man not happy is wretched and every man not dead is alive, so it is clear that everyone not foolish is wise. From this we may now see also that Sergius Orata was wretched not only because he feared losing those gifts of fortune, but because he was foolish. Hence he would have been more wretched if he had feared nothing at all for these things, so hanging and tottering, that he thought good. For he would have been more secure, not by the watchfulness of courage but by the sleep of the mind, and more deeply sunk in wretchedness by a deeper folly. But if everyone who lacks wisdom suffers great want, and everyone who possesses wisdom is in want of nothing, it follows that folly is want. And as every fool is wretched, so every wretched man is a fool. So, as all want is wretchedness, so all wretchedness is proved to be want.”

When Trygetius said he had not well understood this conclusion, I said: “What did we agree on by reason?” “That he is in want,” he said, “who does not have wisdom.” “What, then, is being in want?” I said. “Not having wisdom.” “What is not having wisdom?” I said. When he was silent, I said: “Is it not having folly?” “That is it,” he said. “So having want,” I said, “is nothing other than having folly; from which it now follows that want is named by another word when folly is named. And yet I do not know how we say, ‘he has want’ or ‘he has folly.’ For it is as if we were to say that a place which lacks light has darkness, which is nothing other than not having light. For darkness does not, as it were, come or go; but to lack light is itself to be dark, as to lack clothing is to be naked. For nakedness does not flee when clothing comes, like some movable thing. So we say that someone has want as if we were to say that he has nakedness. For want is a word for not having. Therefore, to explain what I mean as best I can, ‘he has want’ is said as if one said ‘he has not-having.’ So if it has been shown that folly itself is true and certain want, see now whether the question we had taken up has been solved. For we were in doubt whether, when we say wretchedness, we name nothing other than want. And we have given reason why folly is rightly called want. So, as every fool is wretched and every wretched man a fool, we must admit not only that everyone who is in want is wretched, but also that everyone who is wretched is in want. And if, from the fact that every fool is wretched and every wretched man a fool, it is concluded that folly is wretchedness, why should we not conclude, from the fact that whoever is in want is wretched and whoever is wretched is in want, that wretchedness is nothing other than want?”

When all admitted that this was so, I said: “It now follows that we should see who is not in want; for he will be wise and happy. Now folly is want, and the name of want; and this word usually signifies a kind of barrenness and lack. Attend more deeply, then, to the care with which the ancients created either all words or, as is clear, some, especially for the things whose knowledge was most necessary. For you already grant that every fool is in want and everyone in want is a fool. I believe you grant also that a foolish mind is vicious, and that all the vices of the mind are included under the one name of folly. On the first day of our disputation we had said that worthlessness (nequitia) was so called from its being ‘good for nothing’ (nequicquam), and that its opposite, frugality, was named from fruit. So in these two opposites, frugality and worthlessness, those two things seem to stand out: being and not being. But what do we think is the opposite of want, which is our question?” Here, when they hesitated for some time, Trygetius said: “If I say riches, I see that poverty is their opposite.” “That is near,” I said; “for poverty and want are usually taken as one and the same. Yet another word must be found, so that the better side does not lack its one term, and, while that side abounds in the names of poverty and want, only the name of riches is set against it on this side. For nothing is more absurd than that there should be a want of a word on the side that is the opposite of want.” “Fullness,” said Licentius, “if it can be said, seems to me rightly opposed to want.”

“Later,” I said, “we shall perhaps inquire into the word more carefully; for this is not what matters in the search for truth. For although Sallust, a most choice weigher of words, set wealth against want, still I accept this ‘fullness.’ For here too we shall not be freed from the fear of the grammarians, nor need we fear being rebuked for using words carelessly by those who have given us their own things to use.” When they had laughed at this, I said: “So, since I have resolved not to despise your minds, when you are intent on God, as a kind of oracle, let us see what this name means; for I think none is more suited to the truth. Fullness and want, then, are opposites; and here too, as in worthlessness and frugality, those two appear, being and not being; and if want is folly itself, fullness will be wisdom. Rightly, too, many have said that frugality is the mother of all virtues. Agreeing with them, Tullius says even in a popular speech: ‘Let each take it as he will; but I judge frugality, that is, moderation and temperance, to be the greatest virtue.’ Most learnedly and most fittingly; for he had in mind fruit (frux), that is, what we call being, the opposite of which is not being. But because of the common usage of speech, in which frugality usually means something like thrift, he made clear what he meant by the two words that follow, adding moderation and temperance. Let us attend more carefully to these two words.”

“Moderation (modestia) is surely named from measure (modus), and temperance (temperantia) from due proportion (temperies). And where there is measure and due proportion, there is nothing too much and nothing too little. This, then, is the fullness that we had set against want, much better than if we had set abundance. For in abundance one understands overflowing, and as it were the pouring out of a thing that overflows too much. When this happens beyond what is enough, there too measure is wanted, and the thing that is excessive is in want of measure. So want is not foreign even to overflowing itself; but both too much and too little are foreign to measure. If you examine wealth (opulentia) itself, you will find that it holds nothing but measure. For wealth is named only from help (ops). But how does what is excessive help, when it is often more troublesome than too little? Whatever is either too little or too much, then, because it is in want of measure, is liable to want. So the measure of the mind is wisdom. For it is not denied that wisdom is the opposite of folly, and folly is want, and fullness is the opposite of want: so wisdom is fullness. And in fullness is measure: so the mind's measure is in wisdom. Hence that famous saying, not undeservedly spread abroad: that this is most useful in life, ‘nothing too much.’”

“We had said at the beginning of today's disputation that, if we found that wretchedness is nothing other than want, we would admit that he is happy who is not in want. And this has been found. So to be happy is nothing other than not to be in want, that is, to be wise. And if you ask what wisdom is, reason has already unfolded and brought this out too, as far as it could for the present: for it is nothing other than the measure of the mind, that by which the mind balances itself, so that it neither runs out into excess nor is constricted below what is full. It runs out into luxuries, domination, pride, and other things of that kind, by which the minds of immoderate and wretched men think that joys and powers are won for them. It is constricted by meanness, fears, grief, desire, and whatever other things there are by which even the wretched confess that men are wretched. But when it contemplates wisdom once found and, to use this boy's word, holds itself to it, and is not turned, moved by any emptiness, toward the deceit of images, embracing whose weight it usually falls away from its God and sinks, then it fears nothing of immoderation, and therefore nothing of want, and therefore nothing of wretchedness. So whoever is happy has his measure, that is, wisdom.”

“But what is to be called wisdom except the wisdom of God? And we have received, by divine authority too, that the Son of God is nothing other than the Wisdom of God; and the Son of God is surely God. So whoever is happy has God, which all of us agreed earlier, when we began this banquet. But what do you think wisdom is, if not truth? For this too has been said: ‘I am the truth.’ And truth, in order to be, comes to be through some supreme measure, from which it proceeds and to which, when perfect, it turns back. But no other measure is imposed on the supreme measure itself; for if the supreme measure is a measure through the supreme measure, it is a measure through itself. But the supreme measure must also be a true measure. As truth, then, is begotten by measure, so measure is known by truth. So neither was truth ever without measure, nor measure without truth. Who is the Son of God? It has been said: the Truth. Who is it that has no Father? Who else but the supreme measure? Whoever, then, comes through the Truth to the supreme measure is happy. This is to have God in the soul, that is, to enjoy God. For other things, though they are had by God, do not have God.”

“A certain admonition, which works within us to make us remember God, seek him, and thirst for him with all distaste driven away, flows to us from the very fountain of truth. That hidden sun pours this radiance into our inner eyes. To him belongs everything true that we speak, even when, with eyes still not quite healthy or suddenly opened, we fear to turn boldly and gaze on the whole; and this too appears to be nothing other than God, perfect, with no degeneration hindering. For there everything is whole and perfect, and at the same time he is God most almighty. But as long as we are seeking, not yet filled from the fountain itself and, to use that word, from fullness, let us admit that we have not yet reached our measure; and therefore, though now with God's help, we are not yet wise and happy. That, then, is the full satisfaction of minds, that is, the happy life: to know piously and perfectly by whom you are led into the truth, what truth you enjoy, and through what you are joined to the supreme measure. These three show, to those who understand, one God and one substance, once the vanities of various superstitions are excluded.” Here my mother, recognizing words that had clung deep in her memory, and as if awakening into her faith, joyfully poured out that verse of our priest, ‘Cherish those who pray, O Trinity,’ and added: “This, beyond any doubt, is the happy life, the life that is perfect, to which we must presume that we, hastening, can be brought by solid faith, eager hope, and burning love.”

“So,” I said, “since measure itself warns us to separate our banquet by some interval of days, I give thanks, as much as I can, to the supreme and true God the Father, the Lord, the liberator of souls; and then to you, who, invited in harmony, have heaped many gifts on me as well. For you have contributed so much to our discussion that I cannot deny that I have been filled by my guests.” Here, while all rejoiced and praised God, Trygetius said: “How I wish you would feed us in this way every day!” “That measure,” I said, “must be kept everywhere and loved everywhere, if our return to God is dear to you.” With these words the disputation ended, and we departed.