CHAPTER I

ON HAPPINESS

I.

The student who enters on the task of discovering Gassendi’s views on ethics has before him a problem of considerable magnitude. The mass of quotations is enormous: repetition is frequent: and the main line of thought is obscured by the twofold purpose of defending and at the same time modifying the views of Epicurus. The whole literature of the subject is ransacked: the Greek philosophers are quoted in almost unreadable type: passages from the Fathers and other authors innumerable occupy whole pages: while the doctrine actually supported is obscured by endless polemics against authors now for the most part deservedly forgotten. To represent the learning of the original is almost impossible, while omission of the quotations must necessarily deprive the reader of a true idea of Gassendi’s method of treating the subject. The doctrine must however be stripped of this robe of erudition, and perhaps a method that leaves the truth naked will not be without its advantages.

Gassendi’s preface states his position. Moral philosophy is not speculative or concerned only with theory: it is also a scientia activa, a treatise de eligendis et fugiendis, a practical study. It is a theory of Prudence rather than wisdom. As Gassendi notes, the word ‘morals’ does not quite equal the Greek ‘ethics.’ The latter indicates more clearly the element of individual habituation; and virtue, though innate, requires education of the soul. Man is solitarius, familiaris, and civilis. Morality is properly concerned with man as solitarius in the sense that the self is the foundation of all, and thus this science is distinguished from all others, such as Politics, which deal with man in his relations to the society or the State.

We naturally expect from this a certain psychological and individual trend in the rest of the treatment. The first book is on Felicity, the second on the virtues, and the third on the kindred subjects of Liberty, Fortune, Fate, and Divination.

II.

The discussion of Felicitas opens in a characteristic way with twenty-seven pages of quotation. Felicity is the end of life, but in what sense? It is really a confusion of terms to make Felicity the summum bonum, for felicity is the possession of the highest good, which must therefore be determined separately. The best of the many definitions of the summum bonum is ‘tranquillitas animi,’ but we must conceive that as an active state, a living, not a dead repose. It is a permanent condition which must be reached by the mind through its self-discipline. No external means or sensual indulgences can produce the desired state: meditation must free the soul from all care, especially the meditation of death, which enables men to see life steadily and see it whole. The condition which results is a pleasant state, and therefore pleasure is in a sense the end of life. This statement has unfortunately led to many errors, and it must not be left unguarded: we must find out the real meaning of pleasure before proceeding further.

The defence of pleasure as vitae beatae finem is really a defence of Epicurus, and is put in the form of a discussion on what Epicurus meant by pleasure. Some writers have represented Epicurus as taking pleasure in a bad sense: among these Cicero and Athenaeus are most noteworthy: Seneca, on the other hand, with Plutarch, can be quoted as defending Epicurus. Cicero seems to have been led astray by considering the objects which give pleasures (ludos et cantus et formas eas et quibus oculi jucunde moveantur) and not the state of mind produced. Unless the pleasure as a mental state is considered there can be no distinction of good and bad: for the same outward object may affect different minds differently. Plutarch points out this difference between Epicurus and Aristippus: the pleasure which Epicurus means is of the mind, that which Aristippus praises is of the body. Laertius points out other differences. Aristippus confines the term to pleasure in motu, Epicurus lays more stress on pleasure in statu or tranquillity. This distinction is the root of further divergence. Aristippus considers pleasure of the body the only true pleasure: Epicurus admits or rather emphasises pleasures of mind. The real difference in these views is to be found quite apart from the question of sensual or non-sensual pleasures, in the problems of Being and Change. As Gassendi points out, Pleasure (ἡδονή) has never had a bad significance in itself. The bad states were such as luxury (τρυφή, mollities). To view the doctrines of either Epicurus or Aristippus from the point of view of moral and immoral pleasures is to misunderstand the whole position: such a procedure is indeed natural to us because we have become used to the morals of the pulpit, which takes morality as the presupposition of its ethics: before the religious dogmas became thus fixed ethical enquiry was the means by which men hoped to attain a concept of the good, not bolster up with theory what they had already determined to support. Thus it is a hysteron proteron to condemn a pleasure as immoral, for the pleasantness may prove the criterion of moralness. It is true that the teaching both of Epicurus and of the Cyrenaics was liable to be used as a justification of sensuality; but originally these thinkers were more concerned with other problems, and especially whether a pleasure could be anticipated, which Aristippus denied and Epicurus affirmed. The kind of dialectic employed here can easily be imagined. Is the pleasure of anticipation a future pleasure or a pleasure referred to the future? What is the relation of time involved in this? Is not all pleasure present pleasure, and will it not therefore be advantageous to concentrate our powers upon the present? Is not rest a ceasing from action, and therefore from the (active) enjoyment of pleasure, a lapsing from life to nirvana? At this last point the externality of Aristippus’ view shows itself only too plainly: the quies or rest of contemplation is not a ceasing from all action: it is the highest activity, though it may not go beyond the subject. In these differences of opinion about becoming and movement we must look for the roots of the more superficial divergences of Epicurean and Cyrenaic doctrine. If we can get rid of those ideas of pleasure which attach themselves exclusively to the senses, we shall see that in its broader sense pleasure is the very essence of life. This broader sense Epicurus must have taken: he considers pains of mind greater than pains of body, and never ceases to insist on the place due to pleasures of mind. Taking it in this comprehensive way, we may say virtue and pleasure are as inseparable as the sun is from the day: true pleasure flows from virtue, and they are by nature one (virtutem esse causam felicitatis effectricem).

We may pause here to ask what is meant by ‘true pleasure.’ It seems as though vera felicitas was an ambiguous term in Gassendi. So far as we concern ourselves with pleasure, true must either mean belonging to a normal constitution or must carry with it suggestions of some criterion other than pleasantness. We may of course take up the narrow position of some critics of psychological hedonism and say that pleasure admits of no modifications except in the way of quantity. But this criticism, if relevant to later doctrines, would not touch Gassendi, whose whole attitude of mind precludes the possibility of so abstract a view. He would consider it a mockery of moral philosophy to set up pleasure in the sense of pleasantness, felt pleasure, as end or criterion. It is not enough that you as man find pleasure in the deed: you as moral subject must first prove yourself a fit judge. This brings us in sight of an old circle: we seem on the verge of being told that we ought to pursue pleasure and that we ought to find pleasure only in that which we ought (for other reasons) to pursue. We do in fact end in a dictum like that of Aristotle: a true pleasure is such as a true man feels, and if this avoids the difficulty of the man who finds happiness in evil, it none the less gives us a concrete norm.

Gassendi’s solution, if such it be, of the problem exhibits some familiar elements. To go back to the question of kinds of pleasure. Though some say all pleasure is good, all pain bad, it is true that sometimes pleasure is postponed to pain and vice versa. The fallacy is discovered in the absolute use of the term pleasure: Epicurus recognised several kinds, some in tranquillitate, some in motu, including profligatorum voluptates. But this is not quite an accurate statement: pleasure is not quite a motion, it is rather ‘condimentum actionis,’ a pervading sweetness. Moreover the suggested distinction of motus animi and motus corporis is false: if the mind moves there must also be corporeal movement. Is pleasure essentially good (sua natura bonum). Epicurus thought so: Antisthenes denied it: the Stoics classed it as indifferens: some distinguish good and bad, and some say it is good, but not the highest good.

The conclusion runs thus: all nature seeks what is natural to it, and therefore seeks what is good and pleasant. Bad pleasures must then be due to some taint and to the fault of the agent. As the good is per se attractive, all pleasures must be desirable. The reason why a pleasure is rejected is generally some anticipated evil consequence, _e.g._ when we refuse to eat the honey because we suspect that it is poisoned.[97] The proof that animals have connate desires for what is pleasant is taken from Cicero. About this there are two points to be noticed: these connate desires are apparently to be regarded as conscious purposes but without proof of this consciousness: secondly, the passage in Cicero makes the end self-love not pleasure. It is obvious that, do what we may to clarify Gassendi’s statements, confusion must remain, for we have no clear distinction between three very different ideas.

The Good may mean

(1) That which is good for the animal according to the divine plan, or in the sight of God. This may be different for each being, but it is such as fulfils that creature’s wants, if those wants be regarded from an external point of view, such as might be ascribed to God.

(2) That which is good for the creature who regards himself as part of a system and has a rational comprehension of ends higher than his individual satisfaction.

(3) That which the creature thinks to be his good.

Of these three the first is not properly in the sphere of ethical considerations at all, while the third is a question of illusion, since it is always practically assumed that the agent chooses under some conditions that warp his natural judgment. In trying to define the end as both good and pleasant Gassendi errs (in good company, too) by not seeing that he is arbitrarily modifying both terms, the chooser and the chosen. Doubtless, given a man whose pleasure was in the good, the good would be to him pleasant; but an ethic that modifies both terms ceases to be practical: it becomes imaginary, speculative, and abstract. Love of God, says Gassendi, is in the highest degree good and pleasant: he means presumably that it ought to be if it is not. If we revert to man as he is, can we still maintain these statements? Gassendi thinks we can, and that is just one more instance of the latent universal. The keynote to the whole position is to be found in the phrase, ‘omne animal e natura sua sic comparatur ut natura duce nihil prius requirat’: where natura is clearly taken in abstraction, as though there were a natura possessed by all creatures and capable of being held over against the sum of desires. Such a natura is a deduction from observation, and even if we allow that man might oppose his idea of the nature of man to his actual nature, as expressed in his desires, it is clearly absurd to read into the existence of the animal a duality which reflective thought has constructed. Gassendi has not properly comprehended the fact that he encroaches on the metaphysic of ethics in taking the question in this universal way. There is however another side to his argument, which must not be overlooked. He is concerned to prove that a good is no less a good for being associated with pleasure. In words that remind us of Locke’s well-known phrase, he attributes the association of goodness with pleasure to the act of God. This seems to be supported by such considerations as the union of goodness and pleasantness in the acts of procreation or feeding; but it is significant that the position finds most support from those forms of life which are furthest removed from full consciousness as we know it, and for which the goodness as such is presumably non-existent. If we press the question we fall into paradox: self-sacrifice we find is made for the pleasure it gives: if Brutus killed his sons it was because his sons were such as Brutus disliked, and therefore it was a pleasure to Brutus to kill them: a statement that shows that Gassendi was badly in need of a distinction between what is pleasurable and what is preferable.

III.

We should almost expect from the position assigned to Pleasure that it would be pronounced the end of all action. This is modified by a distinction between goods which are classified as honestum, utile, and jucundum. The third class is always chosen ob voluptatem: the others may not be. Psychologically voluptas accompanies desire, and desire is generated by want. The want comes first, and the object is chosen as satisfying the want: pleasure ceases with attainment, which in turn generates a new want. This third class, things jucunda, is meant to include those that satisfy bodily wants. The first two classes generate pleasure, because their absence is a want. Of these the class Utile comprises objects which are not pleasant as acts, but are sought with reference to the pleasure to be obtained from them. Cooking, building, and singing are examples. The highest class honestum, including all honores, causes some difficulty. It has been said that these must be chosen ‘for themselves’: the honestum is per se dignum. But the worth is not impaired by any addition of pleasantness; and the desire to divorce the two is really due to a confusion between seeking a high position and seeking the material advantages of position. The honestum must be at least a permanent spiritual attainment: it is only a low mind that seeks the material advantages by themselves.[98]

IV.

As we foresaw, the practical solution of the question What is the highest good? has to be attained by taking a concrete example. Though not explicitly stated, Gassendi clearly holds the opinion that you know the good man when you see him. In the chapter headed ‘solum sapientem virtutem moralem amplecti,’ we have an analysis of the good life from which we may learn the nature of the highest good. This life is ‘maxime naturalem, maxime obtentu facilem, maxime durabilem, maxime poenitentiae expertem.’ It is based on tranquillitas animi, which is not a state of death, but of sustained equilibrium:[99] in it all desires are regulated and co-ordinated: its end is final, an end in itself, not creating a condition which is self-destructive, but a persistent state. The good man will prefer the contemplative life, but not in such a way as to prevent him from sharing in the activities required of a citizen. In short, the ideal is the familiar wise man of the Stoics; but there are certain modifications which detract somewhat from the sternness of that ideal. To suffer pain bravely is good; to escape suffering is better: goods of mind are most excellent, but goods of body may be added. The key of happiness is temperance, and the motto of life should be parvo contentus. This is the tone of an uncertain age, adopting in its anxiety the lesser evil. It suited the unstable conditions of life that inspired Stoicism: it appeals to men still, and cannot lose its charm so long as fortune remains fickle and life is a waiting for death. Yet would not wealth be happiness if secure? is it not better to live on a higher level, having more and spending more? The Roman Empire gave birth to a sick man’s ideal: the sage was to want little because little was to be had, as the dyspeptic[100] puts away his desire for the full meal of the healthy: of mental pleasures he might take his fill, for the hand of the tyrant could not rob him of his store, but the goods of this world he was to despise, for they were insecure.

The conception of life which comes down to us from Epicurus is one of extreme simplicity. It is easy, we are told, to get what is necessary, and therefore life according to nature is always possible. A quotation from Porphyry[101] shows how little there was of ‘Epicureanism’ about Epicurus. Gassendi accepts the natural life of Epicurus as the model: he is content to prove that his teacher meant by pleasure something more than self-indulgence, something lofty, spiritual, and in the highest sense moral. This is good as an apology; but if we are to accept Gassendi as an independent teacher, it seems impossible to avoid condemning his position as weak. Mere transference of an ideal from one age to another must necessarily be weak and shallow: it implies an abstract attitude of mind refusing to face the new conditions and new problems that time unfolds: in spite of those elements of life that are always with us, and those truths which have been uttered once for all, such antiquarian lore as fills the pages of Gassendi can only be disappointing to a mind that looks for a theory in touch at least with its own age, if not of value to later generations.

In one respect perhaps this hardly does Gassendi justice. His insistence on the point that Pleasure is not opposed to virtue, that we may be both good and happy, was not merely the formal statement of the Epicurean as opposed to the Stoic ideal. Asceticism was still an ideal, and in general men were impressed with the idea that the phrase, ‘virtue for its own sake,’ had a meaning. What it had come to mean was that virtue was best by itself, best if you mixed it with nothing, best if taken in abstraction from the world and all that is worldly. Against this Gassendi preaches the right of all things in life to their due recognition; he would have said, with much the same shade of meaning, that it was ‘better to be worldly than other-worldly.’ Gassendi’s biography shows that he drifted away from the Church: it was the Church that had divorced virtue and the best life.