Letter to Themistius the Philosopher

I most earnestly pray, as indeed you bid me in your letter, that I may confirm your hopes; yet I fear I shall fall short, since the pledge you make on my behalf, both to all others and still more to yourself, is too great. Long ago, when I imagined that I should have to contend with Alexander and Marcus, and with any other man who has been preeminent in virtue, a kind of shuddering and a wondrous dread came over me, lest I should seem to fall altogether short of the one in courage, and not attain even slightly to the perfect virtue of the other. With my eyes fixed upon these things, I was persuaded to praise leisure; I both recalled with pleasure the Attic way of life and thought fit to sing of it to you, my friends — just as those who carry heavy burdens lighten their toil with songs. But now, by your recent letter, you have made my dread greater and shown the struggle to be in every way harder, saying that I have been appointed by the god to that station in which formerly Heracles and Dionysus stood, who at once philosophized and reigned and well-nigh cleansed the whole earth and sea of the prevailing wickedness. And you bid me shake off every thought of leisure and ease and consider how we are to contend worthily of our task; and then, in addition, you make mention of the lawgivers — Solon, Pittacus, Lycurgus — and say that men now justly await from me something greater than all of these.

When I met with these words I was almost thunderstruck. For I supposed it in no way permissible for you to flatter or to lie, while I was conscious in myself of possessing no distinction of nature, neither from the first nor now, but only of having fallen in love with philosophy — for I pass over in silence the fortunes that have meanwhile kept this love of mine still unfulfilled. I knew not, then, what to make of such words, until the god put it into my mind that perhaps you wish, through your praises, to exhort me, and by setting forth the magnitude of the contests to show those with which the man who lives in public life must of necessity be matched throughout his whole time. But this is the part of one who would turn another away rather than urge him on toward such a life. For just as if a man sailing the strait near you — and not even undertaking that crossing easily or with a light heart — should hear from someone professing the prophetic art that he must measure out the whole Aegean and the Ionian sea and touch the outer ocean, and the seer should say, "Now you see walls and harbours, but when you come there you will behold neither watchtower nor rock; you will be content even to descry a ship far off and to hail those aboard her; and when at last, late, you touch land, you will often pray to the god that, at the very close of your life, you may find a harbour, and deliver your ship safe, and present your shipmates unharmed to their kin, free of evils, and give your body to mother earth — and this too, that is to be, will perhaps remain uncertain to you until that last day" — do you think that a man, hearing such words, would choose to dwell in a city near the sea, and would not rather bid farewell to wealth and to the goods that come of commerce, to many acquaintances, to foreign friendships, to the knowledge of nations and cities, and would not declare the son of Neocles wise, who bids us "live unnoticed"? And you too seem, having perceived this, to forestall us with your reproaches against Epicurus, and to remove beforehand any such opinion. For you say somewhere that he praised an unbusied leisure and that discourses in the walks befitted him. As for me, I have long been thoroughly persuaded that Epicurus did not judge these things rightly; but whether it is worth urging absolutely everyone toward public life — even the man less fitted by nature, and the man not yet fully able — over this one should perhaps be at a great loss. For they say that Socrates led many who were not very well endowed away from the speaker's platform — that famous Glaucon among them, as Xenophon relates — but that, though he tried to restrain the son of Cleinias, he could not get the better of the young man's impetuosity.

Are we, then, to compel men against their will and their own better judgement, bidding them be bold in undertakings so vast — over which not virtue alone, nor right moral choice, is sovereign, but far more does fortune prevail everywhere, forcing affairs to incline wherever she will? Chrysippus seems in other respects to be, and to be justly reckoned, wise; but in being ignorant of fortune and chance and certain other such external causes that fall in upon men of action, he says things not very much agreed upon by those whom time clearly instructs through countless examples. For where shall we call Cato fortunate and blessed? Where Dion the Sicilian happy? — men to whom dying was perhaps of no concern, but who cared greatly not to leave unfinished the actions toward which they had from the first set out, and would have endured anything for the sake of this. Having stumbled in those undertakings, if indeed they bore their fortune becomingly, as is said, they had from their virtue no small consolation; yet they could not be called happy, having failed of the noblest deeds — except perhaps owing to the Stoic obstinacy. Against this it must be said that to be praised and to be deemed blessed are not the same thing, and that, if the living creature by nature reaches after happiness, the end deemed blessed according to nature is better than the end deemed praiseworthy according to virtue.

And the security of happiness is least inclined to trust to fortune. Yet those who live in public life cannot, as the saying goes, draw breath apart from her — whether men have truly contemplated, and have also fashioned a general in word (as those who deal with the Ideas), or whether falsely composing it, set him somewhere among the incorporeal and intelligible things, above all that is of chance; or that famous man of Diogenes, "cityless, homeless, deprived of fatherland," having no respect in which fortune may do him good, and contrariwise none in which he may stumble. But that other man, whom custom is wont to call — and Homer first — "he to whom peoples are entrusted and so many cares belong," how could anyone, leading his station out beyond fortune, keep it safe? Again, the man who places himself under fortune's power — how great a preparation will he think he needs, and how great a prudence, so as to bear becomingly the inclinations to either side, like a helmsman bearing the wind? It is no marvel to set oneself against her when she merely makes war; far more marvellous is it to show oneself worthy of the goods that have come from her. By these the greatest king was captured — he who subdued Asia and appeared harsher than Darius and Xerxes, and more boastful, once he became master of their empire. By these missiles, smitten, they perished utterly: Persians, Macedonians, the people of the Athenians, the Syracusans, the magistracies of the Lacedaemonians, Roman generals and, after them, countless emperors. It would be a great length to enumerate all who have perished through wealth and victories and luxury; and as for all who, swamped by misfortunes, were seen by all men as slaves instead of free, lowly instead of noble, and exceedingly mean instead of their former dignity, why must I now recount them, copying them out as if from a tablet? For would that the life of men were in want of such examples! But it neither is, nor ever could be, in want of such examples, so long as the human race endures.

And that I am not the only one who has held fortune to prevail to the utmost in matters of action, I will now cite to you the words of Plato from the wonderful Laws — words you know and indeed taught me; but, by way of proof that I am not idle, I have transcribed for you the passage, which runs somewhat thus: "God governs all things, and together with god, fortune and occasion govern all human affairs. It is, however, a gentler admission that a third thing, art, must follow upon these." Then, sketching of what sort the craftsman and maker of noble actions and the divine king ought to be: "Cronus, then, knowing, as we have set forth, that no human nature is anywhere at all sufficient, administering all human affairs with sovereign power, to escape being filled full of insolence and injustice — pondering this, he set then over our cities as kings and rulers not men, but beings of a diviner and better race, divine spirits; just as we ourselves now do with our flocks and the herds of tame animals. We do not make oxen rulers of oxen, nor goats of goats, but we ourselves are their masters, being a better race than they. So too the god, being a lover of mankind, set over us the better race of divine spirits, who, with much ease to themselves and much to us, caring for us, furnishing peace and reverence and indeed abundance of justice, wrought the races of men free from faction and happy. And this account, employing truth, says even now that those cities in which not a god but some mortal rules have no respite from evils and toils; but it holds that we must by every device imitate the life said to have existed under Cronus, and, obeying whatever of immortality is in us, administer both our households and our cities publicly and privately, naming the distribution of mind 'law.' But if one man, or some oligarchy, or a democracy possessing a soul that reaches after pleasures and desires and needs to be filled with them, shall rule some city or private person, having trampled upon the laws, there is no device of salvation." This passage I transcribed for you in full on purpose, lest you suppose that I am pilfering and dealing dishonestly by bringing forward ancient fables, perhaps similar in appearance but not altogether truly composed. But what does the true account concerning them say? You hear that, even though a man be by nature human, he must be divine and a divine spirit in his moral choice, casting out simply everything mortal and bestial from his soul, save so much as must of necessity remain for the body's preservation. If anyone, considering this, dreads being dragged toward so great a life, does he seem to you to admire the Epicurean freedom from affairs, and the gardens and the suburb of Athens and the myrtles and the little house of Socrates? But there is no place where I have been seen to prefer these things to toils.

Most gladly would I recount to you my own toils and the terrors that hung over me from my friends and kin when I was beginning my studies among you, were you not yourself thoroughly acquainted with them. And what I did in Ionia on behalf of a man who was both related to me by kin and, by friendship, still more my own — the sophist, I mean — earlier, for the sake of a stranger who had become but slightly known to me, has not escaped your notice at all. Did I not undertake journeys for my friends' sake? And yet you know how I lent my aid to Carterius, coming uninvited to our comrade Araxius to plead on his behalf. And for the sake of the property of the wonderful Arete, and the wrongs she had suffered at her neighbours' hands, did I not go a second time into Phrygia, within not even two whole months, though my body was already wholly weak through the sickness that came upon me from my former hardships? But indeed, last of all, before my coming to Greece — when, as the many would say, I was in the gravest danger and remained with the army — recall now what sort of letters I wrote to you, never full of lamentations, never containing anything small or low or too ignoble. And when I was departing again for Greece, when all believed me to be fleeing, did I not, as at a very great festival, praising fortune, say that the exchange was for me most pleasant, and that, as the saying goes, "gold for bronze, a hundred oxen's worth for nine," I declared had been exchanged? Thus, having received Greece in place of my own hearth, I rejoiced, though I possessed there neither field nor garden nor little house. But perhaps I seem to bear misfortunes not ignobly, yet toward the gifts of fortune to be a kind of ignoble and small man — I who love Athens more than the present pomp about me, praising, no doubt, that leisure, but blaming this present life on account of the multitude of its affairs.

But perhaps one ought to judge of us better, looking not to inaction and action, but rather to the "Know thyself" and to "Let each man practise the art he knows." It seems to me a thing greater than human to be a king, and that the king needs a more divine nature, as Plato too said. And now I will transcribe a saying of Aristotle's tending to the same point — not bringing an owl to Athens, but showing that I do not altogether neglect his discourses. The man says, in his political writings: "But if indeed someone should hold that it is best for cities to be governed by a king, how will matters stand concerning his children? Must his offspring also reign? But if they turn out to be of whatever sort they chance to be, this is harmful. But will he, being sovereign, not hand over rule to his children? Yet this is no longer easy to trust; for it is difficult, and of a virtue greater than human nature." Then, having gone on next concerning the so-called king according to law, that he is a servant and guardian of the laws, and not even calling him a king, nor deeming such a thing a form of polity, he adds: "Concerning what is called absolute kingship — and this is that according to which the king rules over all in accordance with his own will — it seems to some not even according to nature that one man should be sovereign over all the citizens; for among those who are by nature equal, the same justice must necessarily hold." Then, a little later, he says: "He, then, who bids the mind rule seems to bid god and the laws rule; but he who bids a man rule adds also a beast; for desire is such a thing, and spirited anger, which perverts even the best of men. Therefore mind without appetite is law." You see, the philosopher seems here clearly to distrust and to condemn human nature. For he says this in just these words: that no human nature is worthy to be set against so great a preeminence of fortune; for he supposes that a man cannot easily prefer the common advantage of the citizens to that of his own children, and he says it is not just for one to rule over many who are like himself; and, setting the crowning stroke upon his former arguments, he says that law is mind without appetite, to which alone polities ought to be entrusted, and to no man. For the mind in men, even if they be good, is bound up with spirited anger and desire, beasts most savage.

These things seem to me to agree perfectly with the words of Plato: first, that the ruler must be better than the ruled, distinguished not by practice only but by nature — which is not easy to find among men; ... and third, that by every device, so far as is possible, one must give heed to laws not laid down on the spur of the moment, nor, as it seems, established now by men who have not in every respect lived according to mind, but to whatever laws a man, more purified in mind and soul — looking not to present misdeeds nor to circumstances at hand — sets down, having learned the nature of the polity and beheld what justice is by nature and of what sort wrongdoing is by nature; and then, transferring from that source to this so far as is possible, and laying down laws common to the citizens, looking neither to friendship nor to enmity, neither to neighbour nor to kinsman. And it is better still if he should write and send away laws not even for the men of his own day, but for those who come after, or for strangers, having no private dealing with them, nor hoping to have any. For I hear that even Solon the wise, having taken counsel with his friends concerning the cancellation of debts, furnished them an occasion of gain but himself a cause of shame, and this though he had freed the people by his constitution. So it is not easy to escape such dooms, even if a man should offer his own mind unmoved by passion toward the polity.

Fearing these things, I often, with good reason, praise my former life; and chiefly in obedience to you do I conceive thus — not because you said that the rivalry set before me is only with those men, Solon and Lycurgus and Pittacus, but also because you say that I have crossed over from philosophy under cover to philosophy in the open air. So then, just as if to one exercising painfully and scarcely, for the sake of his own health, in moderation at home, you should foretell, "Now you have come to Olympia and have crossed over from the wrestling-school in your chamber to the stadium of Zeus, where you will have for spectators the Greeks from everywhere, and first of all your own fellow citizens, on whose behalf you must contend, and some of the barbarians too, whom you must strike with awe, having displayed to them, so far as now lies in you, a more fearful fatherland" — you would have cast him down at once and made him tremble before the contest: so consider that I too am now disposed by such words. And concerning these matters, whether I have now judged rightly, or in part fall short of what is fitting, or even miss the mark altogether, you will teach me presently.

But concerning those points on which I came to be at a loss with respect to your letter, dear friend and one worthy in my eyes of all honour, I wish to make my difficulty clear; for I desire somehow to learn more plainly about them. You said that you praise the life spent in action above that of the philosopher, and you called Aristotle the wise as your witness, who places happiness in acting well, and who, considering the difference between the political life and the life spent in contemplation, raises certain difficulties about them, and prefers contemplation in some passages, but praises here the "architects" of noble actions. These men you yourself say are kings; but Aristotle has nowhere said so according to the wording you added — rather, one might understand the contrary from what you have transcribed. For his words, "But chiefly do we say that they act, in the proper sense, who, even of external actions, are by their thoughts the architects," must be taken to refer to the lawgivers and the political philosophers and, simply, all who act by mind and reason — not to the labourers themselves and the workers of political actions, for whom it does not suffice merely to ponder and consider and tell others what must be done, but to whom it belongs to handle and perform each of the things the laws prescribe and circumstances often compel — unless indeed we call a man an "architect," as Homer is wont in his poetry to call Heracles "well versed in great works," though he was of all men the most his own labourer. But if we suppose this true, or say that those alone are happy who, in conducting public affairs, are sovereign and reign over many, what then shall we say concerning Socrates? Pythagoras and Democritus and Anaxagoras of Clazomenae you will perhaps call happy in another sense, on account of their contemplation; but Socrates, who declined contemplation and embraced the active life, was not even master of his own wife or child — was it then in his power to rule over two or three citizens? Was he, then, not a man of action, since he was master of no one? For my part, I say that the son of Sophroniscus accomplished greater things than Alexander, ascribing to him the wisdom of Plato, the generalship of Xenophon, the courage of Antisthenes, the Eretrian philosophy, the Megarian, Cebes, Simmias, Phaedo, and countless others; and I do not yet speak of the colonies that came from him to us, the Lyceum, the Stoa, the Academies. Who, then, was saved through Alexander's victory? What city was better governed? What private man became better than himself? You will find many who became richer, but no one wiser or more temperate than before — if not rather more boastful and overweening. But all who are now saved through philosophy are saved through Socrates. And this not I alone, but Aristotle before me, seems to have conceived and said, that it befitted him to think no less highly of his theological treatise than the man who destroyed the power of the Persians. And it seems to me that he conceived this rightly; for to conquer is chiefly the work of courage and of fortune — and let it be granted, if you will, of this ready cleverness too; but to take up true opinions concerning god is the work not only of perfect virtue, but one might reasonably wonder whether such a man ought to be called a man or a god. For if the saying is right, that each thing is by nature recognized by what is akin to it, then he who has recognized the divine essence might reasonably be deemed himself divine.

But since again, having set out toward the contemplative life, we seem to be comparing the active life with it — though you yourself at the outset declined the comparison — I will make mention of those very men whom you recalled: Areius, Nicolaus, Thrasyllus, and Musonius. For of these, so far from any being master of his own city, Areius, as they say, even declined the governorship of Egypt when it was offered him; while Thrasyllus, having associated with Tiberius, a bitter tyrant and harsh by nature, would, had he not by the writings he left behind defended himself and shown what manner of man he was, have incurred in the end an inexpiable shame — so little did public life profit him. Nicolaus was the doer of no great actions, but is rather known through his accounts of them; and Musonius became known through what he suffered courageously and, by Zeus, bore with self-control under the tyrants' cruelty, perhaps no less happy than those who governed the great kingdoms. But Areius, who declined the governorship of Egypt, willingly deprived himself of the most powerful end, if he thought this most sovereign. And are you yourself, in our eyes, a man of no action, neither commanding armies, nor addressing the people, nor ruling a nation or a city? Yet no man of sense would say so. For it is in your power, having produced many philosophers — or if not, three or four — to benefit the life of men more than many kings together. For the philosopher presides over no small portion, nor, as you said, is he sovereign only of counsel concerning public affairs, nor does his action again resolve itself for him into mere words; but, confirming his words by deed and showing himself such as he wishes the rest to be, he would be more persuasive and more effective toward action than those who urge men on to noble deeds by command.

But we must return to the beginning and bring to a close this letter, which is perhaps longer than it ought to be. Its chief point is this: that it is neither in flight from toil, nor in pursuit of pleasure, nor from love of freedom from affairs and of ease, that I find the life in public distasteful; but, as I said at the outset, being conscious in myself of neither so great an education nor any preeminence of nature, and moreover fearing lest I bring philosophy — which, though I love it, I have not attained — into disrepute among the men of today, with whom it is in any case not well esteemed, I both wrote those things long ago and now have, to the best of my power, cleared myself of your reproaches.

May the god grant the best fortune, and prudence worthy of that fortune; for I think that now I must be aided by every device, both chiefly from the higher power and from you who pursue philosophy, since I am set in front of you and contend in the forefront of danger on your behalf. And if the god, through us, should bestow upon men some greater good than our preparation, and than the judgement I hold concerning myself, one ought not to be vexed at my words. For I, being conscious in myself of no good save this one alone — that I do not even suppose myself to possess the greatest goods, possessing nothing, as you yourself see — with good reason cry aloud and protest that no great things be demanded of me, but that the whole be entrusted to the god. For thus I should be free from blame for my shortcomings, and, should all things turn out well, I should be grateful and moderate, not inscribing upon myself the works of others, but, having ascribed all to the god, as indeed is just, I shall myself know it, and I exhort you also to acknowledge the favour.