Comparison of the Last Words of Marcus Brutus and Theophrastus
I think, in all ancient history there can be found no words more lamentable and terrifying, yet withal, speaking humanly, more true, than those uttered by Marcus Brutus shortly before death, in disparagement of virtue. This is what, according to Dionysius Cassius, he is reported to have said:—
“O miserable virtue! Thou art but a mere phrase, and I have followed thee, as though thou wert a reality. Fate is stronger than thee.”
Plutarch, in his life of Brutus, makes no mention of this, which has induced Pier Vettori to conclude that Cassius has here taken licence in prose often accorded to poetry. But its truth is confirmed by the witness of Florus, who states that Brutus, when at the point of death, exclaimed, that virtue was “an expression, and not a reality.”
Many people are shocked at those words of Brutus, and blame him for uttering them. They infer from their meaning, either that virtue is a sealed book to them, or else that they have never experienced ill-fortune. The former inference alone is credible. In any case, it is certain they but slightly understand, and still less realise the unhappiness of human affairs, or else they stupidly wonder why the doctrines of Christianity were not in force before the time of Christ.
Other people interpret these words as demonstrating that Brutus was not after all the noble and pious man he was supposed to have been. They imagine that just before death he threw off the mask. But they are wrong; and if they give Brutus credit for sincerity in uttering these words in repudiation of virtue, let them consider how it were possible for him to abandon what he never possessed, or to disassociate himself from that with which he never had any association. If they think he was insincere, and spoke designedly and with ostentation, let them explain what object he could have in speaking vain and fallacious words, and immediately afterwards acting in accordance with them? Are facts deniable, simply because they are not in harmony with words?
Brutus was a man overwhelmed by a great and unavoidable catastrophe. He was disheartened, and wearied with life and fortune, and having abandoned all desires and hopes, the deceitfulness of which he had experienced, he determined to take his destiny into his own hands, and to put an end to his unhappiness. Why should he, at the very moment of eternal separation from his fellows, trouble to hunt the phantom of glory, and study to give forth words and thoughts to deceive those around him, and to gain human esteem, when he was about to leave humanity for ever? What was it to him that he might gain a reputation on that earth which appeared so hateful and contemptible to him?
These words of Brutus are well known to most of us. The following utterance of Theophrastus at the point of death is, I believe, less known, though very worthy of consideration. It forms a parallel with that of Brutus, both as to its substance and time of delivery. Diogenes Laertius mentions it, not, in my opinion, as original to himself, but as an extract from some more ancient and important work. He says that Theophrastus, just before death, being asked by his disciples whether he would leave them any token or words of advice, replied:
“None, except that man despises and rejects many pleasures for the sake of glory. But no sooner does he begin to live than death overtakes him. Hence the love of glory is as fatal a thing as possible. Strive to live happily: abandon studies, which are a weariness; or cultivate them only so that they may bring you fame. Life is more vain than useful. As for me, I have no time to think more about it; you must study what is most expedient.” So saying, he died.
Other sayings of Theophrastus on this occasion are mentioned by Cicero and St. Jerome. These are better known, but have nothing to do with our subject.
It would seem that Theophrastus lived to the age of more than a hundred, having devoted all his lifetime to study and writing, and having been an unwearied pursuer of glory. Suidas says that his death was due to the excess of his studies, and that he died surrounded by about two thousand of his disciples and followers, reverenced for his wisdom throughout the whole of Greece, regretting his pursuit of glory, just as Brutus repented of virtue. These two words, glory and virtue, were by the ancients regarded as almost synonymous in meaning, though it is not so in the present day. Theophrastus did not indeed say that glory is more frequently a matter of fortune than merit, which is oftener true now than in former times; but had he said so, there would have been no difference between his idea and that of Brutus.
Such abjurations, or rather apostasies, of those noble errors which beautify, nay compose our very life, are of daily occurrence. They are due to the fact that the human intelligence in process of time discovers, not only the nakedness, but even the skeleton of things: wisdom also, which was regarded by the ancients as the consolation and chief cure for our unhappiness, has been obliged to impeach our condition, and almost requires a consolation for itself, since had not men followed it, they would not have known the greatness of their misfortune, or at least would have been able to remedy it with hope. But the ancients used to believe, according to the teaching of Nature, that things were things, and not appearances, and that human life was destined to partake of happiness as well as unhappiness. Consequently, such apostasies as these were very rare, and were the result not of passions and vices, but of a sentiment and realisation of the truth of things. Therefore they deserve careful and philosophical consideration.
The words of Theophrastus are the more surprising when we think of the circumstances in which he died. He was prosperous and successful; and it would seem as though he could not have a single cause for regret. His chief aim, glory, he had succeeded in acquiring long ago. The utterance of Brutus, on the other hand, was one of those inspirations of misfortune which sometimes open out a new world to our minds, and persuade us of truths that require a long time for the mere intelligence to discover. Misfortune may indeed be compared in its effect to the frenzy of lyric poets, who at a glance, as if situated in a lofty place, take in as much of the domain of human knowledge as requires many centuries before it be discerned by philosophers. In almost all ancient writings (whether philosophical, poetical, historical, or aught else), we meet with many very sorrowful expressions, common enough to us nowadays, but strange to the people of those times. These sentences, however, were mostly due to the innate or accidental misfortune of the writer, or the persons who spoke them, whether imaginary or real. And rarely we find on the monuments of the ancients any expression of the sadness or ennui which they felt because of the unreality of happiness, or their misfortunes, whether natural, or due to force of circumstances. For when they suffered, they lamented their sufferings as the only hindrance to their happiness, which they not only considered it possible to obtain, but even man’s right, although Fate proved sometimes too strong.
Now, let us seek what could have placed in the mind of Theophrastus this sentiment about the vanity of glory and life, which, considering his epoch and nation, is an extraordinary one. In the first place, we find that the studies of this philosopher were not limited to one or two branches of science. The record of his writings, which are mostly lost, informs us that his knowledge included little less than everything then knowable. And this universal science was not like that of Plato, subordinated to his imagination, but conformed to the teaching of Aristotle in being the result of experience and reason; its aim, too, was not the discovery of the beautiful, but that which is its especial contrary, the useful. This being so, it is not wonderful that Theophrastus should attain to the height of human wisdom,—that is, a knowledge of the vanity of life, and wisdom itself. For it is a fact that the numerous discoveries made recently by philosophers about the nature of men and things, are chiefly the result of a comparison and synthesis of the different sciences and studies, whereby the mutual connection between the most distant parts of nature is demonstrated.
Besides, from his book of “Characters” we learn how clearly Theophrastus discerned the qualities and manners of men; indeed, with the exception of the poets, very few ancient writers equal him in this respect. And this faculty is the sure sign of a mind capable of numerous, diverse, and powerful sensations. For, to produce a keen representation of the moral qualities and passions of men, the writer relies less on what actual facts he may have collected, or observations made, about the manners of others, than on his own mind, even though his personal habits be very different from those of his subjects.
Massillon was asked one day what enabled him to describe so naturally the habits and feelings of men, who, like himself, lived more in solitude than society. He replied: “I contemplate myself.” Dramatists and other poets do the same thing. Now a many-sided mind, subtle in discernment, cannot but feel the nakedness and absolute unhappiness of life; it acquires a tendency to sadness after meditation excited by numerous studies, especially such as are concerned with the very essence of things, like the speculative sciences.
It is certain that Theophrastus, who loved study and glory above everything, and was master or rather founder of a very numerous school, knew and formally announced the uselessness of human exertions, including his own teaching and that of others; the little affinity existing between virtue and happiness of life; and the superior power of fortune to merit in the acquirement of happiness, equally among the wise and others. In this respect, perhaps, he was superior to all the Greek philosophers, especially those preceding Epicurus, from whom both in manners and thought he was essentially different. This is owing partly to circumstances already mentioned, and is also due to other things referred to by ancient writers on the subject of his teaching It would seem as though his own fate has proved the truth of his doctrine. For he is not esteemed by modern philosophers as he ought to be, since all his moral writings are lost, with the exception of his “Characters.” His writings, too, on the subjects of politics and laws, and almost all those relating to metaphysics, are also missing. Besides, the ancient philosophers were little inclined to give him credit for keener perception than they possessed; on the contrary, many of them, especially such as were shallow and conceited, blamed and ill-treated him. These men taught that the wise man is essentially happy, and that virtue and wisdom suffice to procure happiness; although they were only too well aware of the contrary, even supposing they had any real knowledge of either the one or the other. Philosophers will never be cured of this idea. Even the philosophy of the present day teaches the same thing; whereas, correctly speaking, it can only say that everything beautiful, delightful, and great, is mere falsity and nothingness.
But to return to Theophrastus. Most of the ancients were incapable of the profound and sorrowful sentiment that inspired him. “Theophrastus is roughly handled by all the philosophers in their writings and schools for having praised this saying of Callisthenes: ‘Fortune, not wisdom, is the mistress of life.’ They consider that no philosopher ever gave expression to a weaker sentiment.” So says Cicero, who in another place remarks that Theophrastus in his book about “The Happy Life,” attributed much influence to fortune, which he considered a most important factor of happiness. Again, he adds, “Let us make much use of Theophrastus; but give virtue more reality and value than he gave to it.”
Perhaps it may be imagined from these remarks that Theophrastus had little sympathy with the weaknesses of human nature, and that he waged war against their influence in public and private life, both by his writings and actions. It might also be thought that he would restrict the empire of the imagination in favour of that of reason. As a matter of fact, he did just the contrary. Concerning his actions, we read in Plutarch’s book against Colotes that our philosopher twice freed his country from a tyranny. As for his teachings, Cicero says that Theophrastus in a writing on the subject of “Wealth,” dilated at considerable length on the advantages of magnificence and pomp at the shows and national festivals; indeed he considered the chief usefulness of riches to lie in the consequent power of expenditure that accompanied them. This idea is blamed and ridiculed by Cicero, with whom, however, I will not discuss the question, for his superficial knowledge of philosophy might have easily led him to a wrong conclusion. I imagine Cicero to have been a man rich in civil and domestic virtues, but ignorant of the greatest stimulants and bulwarks of virtue that the world possesses, namely, those things that are peculiarly adapted to excite and arouse the mind, and exercise the powers of the imagination.
I will merely say that those men among, the ancients and moderns who knew best and realised most strongly and deeply the nullity of everything, and the force of truth, have not only refrained from endeavouring to lead others to their condition, but have even laboured hard to conceal and disguise it from themselves. They acted like men who had learnt from experience the wretchedness that resulted from wisdom and knowledge. Many celebrated examples of this are furnished, especially in recent times. Truly, if our philosophers fully understood what they endeavour to teach, and realised in their own persons the consequences of their philosophy, instead of welcoming their knowledge, they would hate and abhor it. They would strive to forget what they know, and to shut’ their eyes to that which they see. They would take refuge, as their best resource, in those sweet unrealities, which Nature herself has placed in all our minds; nor would they think it well to enforce on others the doctrine of the nothingness of all things. If, however, desire of glory should incite them to do this last, they will admit that in this part of the universe we can only live by putting faith in things that are non-existent.
There is another considerable difference between the circumstances of Theophrastus and Brutus, that of time. When Theophrastus lived, the influence of those fictions and phantoms which ruled the thoughts and actions of the ancients, had not departed. The epoch of Brutus, on the other hand, may be termed the last age of the imagination. Knowledge and experience of the truth prevailed amongst the people. Had it not been so, Brutus need not have fled from life as he did, and the Roman republic would not have died with him. And not only the republic, but also the whole of antiquity, that is, the old customs and characteristics of the civilised world, were at the point of death, together with the opinions which gave birth to, and supported them. Life had already lost its value, and wise men sought to console themselves not so much for their fate as for existence itself; because they regarded it as incredible that man should be born essentially and solely for misery. Thus they arrived at the conception of another life, which might explain the reason of virtue and noble actions. Such explanation had hitherto been found in life itself, but was so no longer, nor was it ever again to be found there.
To these ideas of futurity are due the noble sentiments often expressed by Cicero, especially in his oration for Archias.