西方人文思想经典选读
图书在版编目（ＣＩＰ）数据西方人文思想经典选读: 汉文、英文 / 祖大庆主编.
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图书销售部门联系调换西方人文思想经典选读前言
随着我国高等学校英语教育的快速发展，长期以来英语专业贯彻的“以技能为导向”的课程建设与教学理念已经暴露出很多问题，诸如英语专业学生知识面狭窄、思辨能力偏弱、综合素质欠缺等。《高等学校英语专业本科教学质量国家标准》强调，英语专业主要以英语语言、英语文学和英语国家的社会文化等为学习和研究对象，教学过程强调实践和应用，人才培养突出人文素质教育，注重开阔学生的国际视野。《普通高等学校本科英语类专业教学指南》指出英语专业核心课程应设置体现人文属性的课程，如西方文明史、中国文化概要等。顺应“国标”的要求，从2016年开始，“西方人文思想经典”被正式确立为中国矿业大学外国语言文化学院英语专业的必修课。同时，该课程被越来越多的国内高校英语专业纳入培养方案，作为专业必修课，成为英语专业人文通识教育的重要组成部分。不仅如此，在国内众多综合性大学，西方人文思想经典阅读之类的课程也被纳入全校通识课程体系。本教材的编写与出版正是为了满足上述的教学之需。
《西方人文思想经典选读》是为通过了英语专业四级、大学英语六级考试或者具有同等水平的学生编写的一部依托专业知识内容， 训练学生的语言综合运用能力，扩展学生的知识面，提高学生的多元文化意识，提升学生综合素质的英语教材。这本教材充分利用语言与思想之间的密切关系，分主题引导英语专业学生深度阅读并理解西方人文思想典籍，一方面帮助学生提高篇章理解能力，在更高层次夯实英语专业学生“听说读写译”的语言基本功，提升语言综合运用能力；另一方面帮助学生拓宽其在西方文化、哲学、美学等人文社会科学领域内的知识，增加英语专业学生对西方文化和人文脉络的总体把握，帮助学生了解西方文明的发展历程，掌握不同历史时期的重要人文思想，运用所学知识理性分析西方文明，并对西方文明和东方文明进行比较与思辨。通过思想对比与文化反思、融汇并对比东西方的思想精华，从而拓展文化视野，提升人文素养和逻辑思辨能力、跨文化交际能力和人文素养。
本教材共11章，包括: 希腊文化、罗马文化、文艺复兴、人文主义、科学革命、法国启蒙运动、美国启蒙运动、自由主义、进化论、社会主义与共产主义、存在主义。
本教材各单元的主要设计内容是：
1. 每一章前面有本章的整体导读，介绍与本章内容相关的历史与文化背景。
2. 每一篇选文前都配有导读（Prereading），介绍选文作者的生平、学术贡献、代表著作、主要思想与观点等内容。
3. 每一篇选文之后设计了帮助学生理解选文的拓展性思考题（Questions）， 可以在课堂讨论和提问时使用。
4. 每一章之后设计了综合性思考题（Questions for further reflection）， 可以在学生做小组陈述（Presentation）或者组织讨论（Leading the discussion）时使用。
本书建议采用课堂精讲、小组讨论、公开辩论等授课形式，以细读和讨论为主，鼓励学生全程参与。课程阅读量大、内容思想性强，语言有难度，研究性强，故要求学生课前阅读做好预习， 课堂积极参与，课后研究，讨论和论文必须独立完成。
本书每个单元的教学安排建议如下：
1. 介绍本单元的教学内容。
2. 相关历史背景简述。
3. 2—3组学生分别就本单元阅读内容向全班做汇报，回答其他同学和老师的提问。每位同学对presentation进行评分。
4. 教师就关键内容做进一步阐释。
5. 一组同学（2—3人）组织课后问题讨论，其他同学和老师进一步提问或讨论。
6. 全班自由提问、讨论。
作业： 每位学生必须参加汇报，参与课堂讨论，撰写每一章节的response paper和期末课程论文，考察其思辨能力和学术写作能力。
用英语开设西方人文思想经典、西方文明史等人文通识课程，能够强化英语专业的学科内涵，丰富英语专业的思想内容，彰显英语专业自身的品质与价值。我们并不是站在现代人的高度，带着现代人的傲慢之态来解读经典著作，而是以虔敬的心情对经典文本进行理解、诠释、研究，与古往今来之圣贤促膝交谈，希望通过诠释这些蕴藏着丰富文化资源的原著，获得智慧性的启迪，这也是本教材出版的意义。Contents
Chapter 1Greek Culture / 希腊文化 1
The Apology / 申辩篇2
The Republic / 理想国9
Chapter 2Roman Culture / 罗马文化17
On Friendship / 谈友谊19
Meditations / 沉思录24
Chapter 3The Renaissance / 文艺复兴31
In Praise of Folly / 愚人颂32
Oration on the Dignity of Man / 论人的尊严39
Chapter 4Humanism / 人文主义47
Critique of Pure Reason / 纯粹理性批判48
A Treatise of Human Nature / 人性论58
Chapter 5Scientific Revolution / 科学革命65
Words / 人类理解新论66
Novum Organum / 新工具71
Chapter 6French Enlightenment / 法国启蒙运动80
Philosophical Letters / 哲学信件81
The Social Contract / 社会契约论89
Chapter 7American Enlightenment / 美国启蒙运动98
The Age of Reason & Rights of Man / 《理性时代》和《人权宣言》99
The Declaration of Independence / 独立宣言108
Chapter 8Liberalism / 自由主义114
The Wealth of Nations / 国富论115
On Liberty / 论自由128
Socialism: Utopian and Scientific / 社会主义：乌托邦与科学（历史唯物主义）
133
Chapter 9Evolutionism / 进化论149
On the Origin of Species / 物种起源151
Chapter 10Socialism and Communism / 社会主义和共产主义156
Critique of the Gotha Programme / 哥达纲领批判157
Socialism: Utopian and Scientific / 社会主义：乌托邦与科学（辨证法）165
Chapter 11Existentialism / 存在主义174
Existentialism Is a Humanism / 存在主义是一种人道主义177
Being and Time / 存在与时间182目 录
第一章希腊文化1
申辩篇2
理想国9
第二章罗马文化19
谈友谊24
沉思录31
第三章文艺复兴32
愚人颂39
论人的尊严47
第四章人文主义47
纯粹理性批判48
人性论58
第五章科学革命65
人类理解新论66
新工具71
第六章法国启蒙运动80
哲学信件81
社会契约论89
第七章美国启蒙运动98
《理性时代》和《人权宣言》99
独立宣言108
第八章自由主义114
国富论115
论自由128
社会主义：乌托邦与科学（历史唯物主义）133
第九章进化论149
物种起源151
第十章社会主义和共产主义156
哥达纲领批判157
社会主义：乌托邦与科学（辨证法）165
第十一章存在主义174
存在主义是一种人道主义177
存在与时间182
西方人文思想经典选读Chapter 1Greek CultureChapter 1Greek Culture
Greece has a history of thousands of years， and therefore， its culture developed and evolved throughout this period. Starting during the Ancient Era in Mycenae and Classical Greece， the culture further developed during the Byzantine Era， before falling under Ottoman and Venetian rule.
Ancient Greece is considered the cradle of Western culture， democratic values and free speech. The civilization of the ancient Greeks was the foundationhead of Western culture. The Ancient Greeks made significant breakthroughs in many fields of science and philosophy， and they also developed important cultural means of expression， such as poetry， history， and drama. Socrates， Plato， and Aristotle established the foundations of Western philosophy. Herodotus and Thucydides created the discipline of history. Our literary forms are largely derived from Greek poetry and drama. Greek notions of harmony， proportion， and beauty have remained the touchstones for all subsequent Western art. A rational inquiry， so important to modern science， was conceived in ancient Greece. Many political terms are of Greek origin， and so are our concepts of the rights and duties of citizenship， especially as they were conceived in Athens， the first great democracy. Athens gave the idea of democracy to the Western world. Especially during their classical period， the Greeks raised and debated the fundamental questions about the purpose of human existence， the structure about human society， and the nature of the universe that have concerned Western thinkers ever since. In architecture， buildings fall under one of three categories or orders， based on their aesthetics， the Doric， the Ionic and the Corinthian order. These orders were later adopted by the Romans and were adapted to their tastes， introducing new traits and ornaments and creating their own architectural orders. The Greek language， which is a member of the IndoEuropean family， emerged during the prehistoric Mycenaean civilization as the Linear B script and evolved to form the Attic Greek， which is very close to Modern Greek.
Greek literature is particularly rich and extends over almost three millennia. Its first recorded works， which are also the first in Western culture， are the epic poems of Homer and Hesiod during the 8th century BC. The Fables of Aesop were written two centuries later； theatrical plays were also first created in Ancient Greece， along with the development of the scientific means of recording history， as can be noted in the works of Herodotus and Thucydides. All of the above， along with many other literary works， had a remarkable contribution in the development of literature in Europe in general.
During the antiquity， philosophical and scientific thinking developed considerably in Greece， by such important scholars as Thales， Democritus， Hippocrates， Thales of Miletus， Aristotle and Archimedes. The list is endless and the contribution of these personalities to the development of philosophy and science is immense.
Spanning over three millennia and receiving the influence of numerous other cultures and mentalities through the ages， the Greek culture is truly multifaceted and unique in nature.
The ApologySocratesPrereading
The philosophy of ancient Greece reached its highest level of achievement in the works of Socrates， Plato， and Aristotle. The influence of these men on the culture of the Western world can scarcely be overestimated. Each of them made significant contributions to philosophy， and it would be difficult to determine to which one of them we are most indebted. All three were original thinkers and great teachers. In point of time， Socrates was the one who appeared first. Plato became the most distinguished of his pupils， and Aristotle in turn received instruction from Plato. Both Plato and Aristotle were prolific writers， and what we know about them has been derived chiefly from their published works. In contrast to them， Socrates left no writings at all. Consequently， what information we have concerning him comes from the testimony of others who were associated with him and who were influenced both by the moral quality of his living and the significance of the ideas that he expounded.
Although Socrates left no written records concerning himself， it is possible to reconstruct a fairly accurate account of his life from the writings of his Greek contemporaries. Aristophanes caricatured him in a work called The Clouds. Xenophon in his Memorabilia expressed high praise for Socrates， with special reference to the method that he advocated for selecting the rulers of a state. Plato， to whom we are most indebted for information about Socrates， made him the chief character in many of his famous dialogs. It is generally assumed that in Platos earlier dialogs， the speeches attributed to Socrates are historical in the sense that they reproduce what Socrates actually said in the conversations he held with fellow Athenians. In the later dialogs， there is reason to believe that， at least in some instances， Plato was setting forth his own ideas by putting them into the mouth of Socrates. To what extent this was done is something that cannot be known with certainty.
Socrates was born in the city of Athens in 469 BC. He was the son of poor parents， his father being a sculptor and his mother a midwife. Early in life， he took up the occupation of his father and continued in it for a relatively brief period of time. Later he volunteered for service as a soldier in the Peloponnesian War. In the campaigns in which he fought， he showed himself to be a brave and loyal member of the fighting force. After his retirement from the army， most of his adult life was spent in response to what he believed to be a divine command to devote his time and energies to the pursuit of wisdom. It was in this connection that he felt called upon to examine himself by questioning other men. Accordingly， it was his custom to engage in conversation with all sorts and conditions of men and women on the streets， in the marketplace， or wherever it was convenient for them to meet. Their discussions covered a wide range of subjects， including such topics as love， marriage， politics， war， friendship， poetry， religion， science， government， and morals. The method that Socrates used in these discussions is known as dialectic. It consisted of conversations， the purpose of which was to bring to light the implications involved in different points of view and thus to expose the errors that they contained. He had a keen mind and was quick to discover the fallacies in an argument， and he was skillful in steering the conversations toward the very heart of the matter.
With regard to his personal appearance， it is said that Socrates was most unattractive. It is reported that he was short， stout， snubnosed， and careless about his dress. However， these peculiarities were quickly forgotten by those who listened to his conversations. As soon as he began to speak， his listeners were charmed by his wit， his good humor， and his kindly disposition. His brilliant discourses， which covered a wide range of subjects， brought admiration and respect on the part of those who participated in the conversations with him. He was especially concerned with the subject of moral conduct. He not only talked about the virtues that are an essential part of the good life， but he exemplified in his own living the virtues that he taught others should seek for themselves. For example， he possessed to a remarkable degree the virtue of selfcontrol. He never boasted of his own achievements. He was humble and intellectually honest. He was magnanimous in his attitude toward others. He was noble in character， frugal in his living， and a person of great endurance.
He is remembered not only for the quality of his living but for the content of his teachings. He believed that the most important topic that can occupy the mind is the meaning of the good life. He had no quarrel with the physicists and natural scientists of his day， who were trying to obtain a descriptive account of the way things are and the laws that govern their behavior. Important as this type of information might be， it was a matter of far greater significance to understand the meaning of human life and the way that people ought to live. The physical sciences do not reveal anything concerning the purpose for which things exist， nor do they tell us anything about the nature of goodness. They do not reveal what is good or bad， nor do they distinguish between what is morally right and wrong. A far more important type of inquiry has to do with knowledge of what constitutes the good life.
Although he rejected the popular conceptions of the Greek gods and their relation to human beings， Socrates believed that a divine providence had to do with the creation of the world and， further， that the purpose toward which it was directed was the achievement of the good life on the part of human beings. Man was something more than a physical organism. His body was the dwelling place of the soul， and what happens to the soul was vastly more important than what happens to the body.
An epitome of Socrates moral philosophy can be expressed briefly in the statement “Virtue is knowledge.” Virtues， he taught， are acquired through a fulfillment of the purpose for which one exists. In the case of a human， this would mean the harmonious development of the elements found in human nature and would apply to life as a whole rather than just the present moment or the immediate future. The knowledge to which this statement refers is something more than an awareness of facts concerning the order of the material universe. It involves an understanding of the soul in relation to the good life. It was Socrates conviction that ignorance concerning the good life was the chief cause of the evil that people do. He did not believe that anyone would knowingly do that which was harmful to oneself. Virtue alone is capable of bringing satisfaction to the soul. Although this is the goal toward which everyone strives， not everyone reaches it. Their failures are due to the fact that they do not know what will bring lasting satisfaction. They pursue sensuous pleasures， material wealth， public esteem， and similar goals， thinking that these will bring about the greatest amount of happiness. When any one or all of these goals has been reached， they discover that objectives of this type do not bring about peace of mind， nor do they meet the demands of ones true or real self. It is only through the proper development of the mind in its pursuit of truth， beauty， and goodness that the goal and purpose of human life can be achieved.
With reference to the trial and death of Socrates， there are four dialogs that are especially relevant. They are The Euthyphro， The Apology， The Crito， and The Phaedo. The Apology is believed to be the most authentic account that has been preserved of Socrates defense of himself as it was presented before the Athenian Council after he had been charged with being a corrupter of the youth and one who refuses to accept the popular beliefs concerning the gods of the city of Athens. It is generally regarded as the most authentic account on record of what Socrates actually said as he appeared before his judges. The Apology is in essential harmony with the references to the trial that occur in Platos other dialogs and also with the account given in Xenophons Memorabilia. It appears to record， in many instances， the exact words used by Socrates while making his speech in defense of himself. To be sure， the words were not recorded at the time they were spoken， but we know that Plato was present at the trial， and hence we may conclude that the account given in The Apology contains the words of Socrates as they were remembered by Plato. However， we should bear in mind that Plato had been both a pupil and an ardent admirer of Socrates， and for this reason his version of the trial may have been somewhat biased in favor of the one whom he regarded as a truly great hero. At any rate， we may be fairly certain that， even though Socrates has been to some extent idealized by his pupil， the account given represents what Plato believed to be true about his teacher. It is also possible that Socrates defense of himself was even stronger than what has been reported.
The contents of the dialog include a number of different parts. The first one consists of an introductory statement that Socrates makes concerning the manner of his speaking. This is followed by an account of the specific accusations made with reference to his life and daily activities. Socrates replies at some length to each of the charges brought against him. After making his defense， an account is given of his attempt at mitigation of the penalty imposed on him. Finally， Socrates makes a prophetic rebuke of the judges for supposing they will live at ease and with an untroubled conscience after pronouncing sentence as a penalty for his crimes.
Now lets read the text and reflect on the questions that follow.
Text
How you， O Athenians， have been affected by my accusers， I cannot tell； but I know that they almost made me forget who I was—so persuasively did they speak； and yet they have hardly uttered a word of truth. But of the many falsehoods told by them， there was one which quite amazed me；I mean when they said that you should be upon your guard and not allow yourselves to be deceived by the force of my eloquence. To say this， when they were certain to be detected as soon as I opened my lips and proved myself to be anything but a great speaker， did indeed appear to me most shameless—unless by the force of eloquence they mean the force of truth； for if such is their meaning， I admit that I am eloquent. But in how different a way from theirs! Well， as I was saying， they have scarcely spoken the truth at all； but from me you shall hear the whole truth: not， however， delivered after their manner in a set oration duly ornamented with words and phrases. No， by heaven! But I shall use the words and arguments which occur to me at the moment； for I am confident in the justice of my cause (Or， I am certain that I am right in taking this course): at my time of life I ought not to be appearing before you， O men of Athens， in the character of a juvenile orator—let no one expect it of me. And I must beg of you to grant me a favor:—If I defend myself in my accustomed manner， and you hear me using the words which I have been in the habit of using in the agora， at the tables of the moneychangers， or anywhere else， I would ask you not to be surprised， and not to interrupt me on this account. For I am more than seventy years of age， and appearing now for the first time in a court of law， I am quite a stranger to the language of the place； and therefore I would have you regard me as if I were really a stranger， whom you would excuse if he spoke in his native tongue， and after the fashion of his country:—Am I making an unfair request of you? Never mind the manner， which may or may not be good； but think only of the truth of my words， and give heed to that: let the speaker speak truly and the judge decide justly.
And first， I have to reply to the older charges and to my first accusers， and then I will go on to the later ones. For of old I have had many accusers， who have accused me falsely to you during many years； and I am more afraid of them than of Anytus and his associates， who are dangerous， too， in their own way. But far more dangerous are the others， who began when you were children， and took possession of your minds with their falsehoods， telling of one Socrates， a wise man， who speculated about the heaven above， and searched into the earth beneath， and made the worse appear the better cause. The disseminators of this tale are the accusers whom I dread； for their hearers are apt to fancy that such enquirers do not believe in the existence of the gods. And they are many， and their charges against me are of ancient date， and they were made by them in the days when you were more impressible than you are now—in childhood， or it may have been in youth—and the cause when heard went by default， for there was none to answer. And hardest of all， I do not know and cannot tell the names of my accusers； unless in the chance case of a Comic poet. All who from envy and malice have persuaded you—some of them having first convinced themselves—all this class of men are most difficult to deal with； for I cannot have them up here， and crossexamine them， and therefore I must simply fight with shadows in my own defence， and argue when there is no one who answers. I will ask you then to assume with me， as I was saying， that my opponents are of two kinds: one recent， the other ancient； and I hope that you will see the propriety of my answering the latter first， for these accusations you heard long before the others， and much oftener.
Well， then， I must make my defence， and endeavour to clear away in a short time， a slander which has lasted a long time. May I succeed， if to succeed be for my good and yours， or likely to avail me in my cause! The task is not an easy one； I quite understand the nature of it. And so leaving the event with God， in obedience to the law I will now make my defence.
I will begin at the beginning， and ask what is the accusation which has given rise to the slander of me， and in fact has encouraged Meletus to proof this charge against me. Well， what do the slanderers say? They shall be my prosecutors， and I will sum up their words in an affidavit: “Socrates is an evildoer， and a curious person， who searches into things under the earth and in heaven， and he makes the worse appear the better cause； and he teaches the aforesaid doctrines to others.” Such is the nature of the accusation: it is just what you have yourselves seen in the comedy of Aristophanes (Aristoph， Clouds)， who has introduced a man whom he calls Socrates， going about and saying that he walks in air， and talking a deal of nonsense concerning matters of which I do not pretend to know either much or little—not that I mean to speak disparagingly of any one who is a student of natural philosophy. I should be very sorry if Meletus could bring so grave a charge against me. But the simple truth is， O Athenians， that I have nothing to do with physical speculations. Very many of those here present are witnesses to the truth of this， and to them I appeal. Speak then， you who have heard me， and tell your neighbours whether any of you have ever known me hold forth in few words or in many upon such matters ... You hear their answer. And from what they say of this part of the charge you will be able to judge of the truth of the rest.
As little foundation is there for the report that I am a teacher， and take money； this accusation has no more truth in it than the other. Although， if a man were really able to instruct mankind， to receive money for giving instruction would， in my opinion， be an honor to him. There is Gorgias of Leontium， and Prodicus of Ceos， and Hippias of Elis， who go the round of the cities， and are able to persuade the young men to leave their own citizens by whom they might be taught for nothing， and come to them whom they not only pay， but are thankful if they may be allowed to pay them. There is at this time a Parian philosopher residing in Athens， of whom I have heard； and I came to hear of him in this way:— I came across a man who has spent a world of money on the Sophists， Callias， the son of Hipponicus， and knowing that he had sons， I asked him: “Callias，” I said， “if your two sons were foals or calves， there would be no difficulty in finding some one to put over them； we should hire a trainer of horses， or a farmer probably， who would improve and perfect them in their own proper virtue and excellence； but as they are human beings， whom are you thinking of placing over them? Is there any one who understands human and political virtue? You must have thought about the matter， for you have sons； is there any one?” “There is，” he said. “Who is he?” said I， “and of what country? and what does he charge?” “Evenus the Parian，” he replied， “he is the man， and his charge is five minae.” Happy is Evenus， I said to myself， if he really has this wisdom， and teaches at such a moderate charge. Had I the same， I should have been very proud and conceited； but the truth is that I have no knowledge of the kind.
I dare say， Athenians， that some one among you will reply， “Yes， Socrates， but what is the origin of these accusations which are brought against you； there must have been something strange which you have been doing? All these rumours and this talk about you would never have arisen if you had been like other men: tell us， then，what is the cause of them， for we should be sorry to judge hastily of you.” Now I regard this as a fair challenge， and I will endeavour to explain to you the reason why I am called wise and have such an evil fame. Please to attend then. And although some of you may think that I am joking， I declare that I will tell you the entire truth. Men of Athens， this reputation of mine has come of a certain sort of wisdom which I possess. If you ask me what kind of wisdom， I reply， wisdom such as may perhaps be attained by man， for to that extent I am inclined to believe that I am wise； whereas the persons of whom I was speaking have a superhuman wisdom which I may fail to describe， because I have it not myself； and he who says that I have， speaks falsely， and is taking away my character. And here， O men of Athens， I must beg you not to interrupt me， even if I seem to say something extravagant. For the word which I will speak is not mine. I will refer you to a witness who is worthy of credit； that witness shall be the God of Delphi—he will tell you about my wisdom， if I have any， and of what sort it is. You must have known Chaerephon； he was early a friend of mine， and also a friend of yours， for he shared in the recent exile of the people， and returned with you. Well， Chaerephon， as you know， was very impetuous in all his doings， and he went to Delphi and boldly asked the oracle to tell him whether—as I was saying， I must beg you not to interrupt—he asked the oracle to tell him whether anyone was wiser than I was， and the Pythian prophetess answered， that there was no man wiser. Chaerephon is dead himself； but his brother， who is in court， will confirm the truth of what I am saying.
Why do I mention this? Because I am going to explain to you why I have such an evil name. When I heard the answer， I said to myself， “What can the god mean?” “and what is the interpretation of his riddle?” for I know that I have no wisdom， small or great. What then can he mean when he says that I am the wisest of men? And yet he is a god， and cannot lie； that would be against his nature. After long consideration， I thought of a method of trying the question. I reflected that if I could only find a man wiser than myself， then I might go to the god with a refutation in my hand. I should say to him， “Here is a man who is wiser than I am； but you said that I was the wisest.” Accordingly I went to one who had the reputation of wisdom， and observed him—his name I need not mention； he was a politician whom I selected for examination—and the result was as follows: When I began to talk with him， I could not help thinking that he was not really wise， although he was thought wise by many， and still wiser by himself； and thereupon I tried to explain to him that he thought himself wise， but was not really wise； and the consequence was that he hated me， and his enmity was shared by several who were present and heard me. So I left him， saying to myself， as I went away: Well， although I do not suppose that either of us knows anything really beautiful and good， I am better off than he is—for he knows nothing， and thinks that he knows； I neither know nor think that I know. In this latter particular， then， I seem to have slightly the advantage of him. Then I went to another who had still higher pretensions to wisdom， and my conclusion was exactly the same. Whereupon I made another enemy of him， and of many others besides him.
...
At last I went to the artisans. I was conscious that I knew nothing at all， as I may say， and I was sure that they knew many fine things； and here I was not mistaken， for they did know many things of which I was ignorant， and in this they certainly were wiser than I was. But I observed that even the good artisans fell into the same error as the poets；—because they were good workmen they thought that they also knew all sorts of high matters， and this defect in them overshadowed their wisdom； and therefore I asked myself on behalf of the oracle， whether I would like to be as I was， neither having their knowledge nor their ignorance， or like them in both； and I made answer to myself and to the oracle that I was better off as I was.
This inquisition has led to my having many enemies of the worst and most dangerous kind， and has given occasion also to many calumnies. And I am called wise， for my hearers always imagine that I myself possess the wisdom which I find wanting in others: but the truth is， O men of Athens， that God only is wise； and by his answer he intends to show that the wisdom of men is worth little or nothing； he is not speaking of Socrates， he is only using my name by way of illustration， as if he said， He， O men， is the wisest， who， like Socrates， knows that his wisdom is in truth worth nothing. And so I go about the world， obedient to the god， and search and make enquiry into the wisdom of any one， whether citizen or stranger， who appears to be wise； and if he is not wise， then in vindication of the oracle I show him that he is not wise； and my occupation quite absorbs me， and I have no time to give either to any public matter of interest or to any concern of my own， but I am in utter poverty by reason of my devotion to the god.
There is another thing:—young men of the richer classes， who have not much to do， come about me of their own accord； they like to hear the pretenders examined， and they often imitate me， and proceed to examine others； there are plenty of persons， as they quickly discover， who think that they know something， but really know little or nothing； and then those who are examined by them instead of being angry with themselves are angry with me: This confounded Socrates， they say； this villainous misleader of youth! —and then if somebody asks them， Why， what evil does he practise or teach? they do not know， and cannot tell； but in order that they may not appear to be at a loss， they repeat the readymade charges which are used against all philosophers about teaching things up in the clouds and under the earth， and having no gods， and making the worse appear the better cause； for they do not like to confess that their pretence of knowledge has been detected—which is the truth； and as they are numerous and ambitious and energetic， and are drawn up in battle array and have persuasive tongues， they have filled your ears with their loud and inveterate calumnies. And this is the reason why my three accusers， Meletus and Anytus and Lycon， have set upon me； Meletus， who has a quarrel with me on behalf of the poets； Anytus， on behalf of the craftsmen and politicians； Lycon， on behalf of the rhetoricians； and as I said at the beginning， I cannot expect to get rid of such a mass of calumny all in a moment. And this， O men of Athens， is the truth and the whole truth； I have concealed nothing， I have dissembled nothing. And yet， I know that my plainness of speech makes them hate me， and what is their hatred but a proof that I am speaking the truth? Hence has arisen the prejudice against me； and this is the reason of it， as you will find out either in this or in any future enquiry.
Questions
1. Socrates states that he will reply to two kinds of accusation brought against him. What were they， and why did he find it so difficult to deal with the first one?
2. How did Socrates reconcile the statement made by the oracle at Delphi that he was the wisest man in Athens with his own admittance of ignorance?
3. How did Socrates account for the popular prejudice that led so many people to be suspicious of him and his work?
4. What， according to Meletus， was the crime of which Socrates was accused? What do you think was the real reason why Meletus was opposed to Socrates?
5. How did Socrates reply to the charge that he was a corrupter of the youth? What was it that led people to think he was guilty?
6. Why did Socrates reject many of the popular beliefs concerning the Athenian gods? Was Socrates an atheist? Give reasons for your answer.
7. Why did Socrates believe it would be wrong for him to escape? Did he believe all laws authorized by the state should be obeyed?
8. How did Socrates reconcile his position about obedience to the laws of the state with his conviction that it is morally right to disobey laws that are unjust? Distinguish moral and legal rights.
The RepublicPlatoPrereading
Among those who were influenced by the life and teachings of Socrates， no one has done more to perpetuate his memory than Plato， who has long been recognized as one of the greatest philosophers of ancient Greece and one of the most profound thinkers of all time. Plato was too young to have been one of Socrates most intimate friends. It was not until the last seven or eight years of Socrates life that Plato came under his influence， but those years made a lasting impression on his life and determined to a large extent the future course of his life. In his later years， Plato is reported to have said， “I thank God that I was born Greek and not barbarian， free and not slave， male and not female， but above all that I was born in the age of Socrates.”
Owing to the fact that he was ill at the time， Plato was not present when a group of Socrates friends came to the prison for their last visit with him. However， he had been so deeply impressed by the moral quality of Socrates teachings and his devotion to the cause of truth and justice that he determined to perpetuate his memory by writing a series of biographical dialogs in which his true character would be brought to light. Even after Platos own thought had matured， he continued to make Socrates the protagonist of his dialogs. The result has been such a blending of views that in several instances it is difficult， if not impossible， to tell where the actual historical Socrates leaves off and Platos own thought begins.
Plato was born in the city of Athens in the year 427 BC. He died in the year 347 BC. He came from an aristocratic family that for a long time had been identified with leadership in Athens. His father， Ariston， was a descendant of King Codrus， and his mother， whose name was Perictione， claimed to have been descended from the famous lawgiver Solon. As a boy， he was named Aristocles， but because of his broad shoulders and forehead he was called Plato， and it is by this name that he has become known to posterity. During his youth， he gained distinction as an athlete and was also recognized for his extraordinary mental abilities. In addition to his achievements along these lines， his social standing and connections would have made him an outstanding individual in any career he might have entered.
He lived during a critical period of Greek history. His youth saw the decline and fall of Athenian power but not of Athenian genius. His early education began under the supervision of private tutors who were well known for their professional skills. Under their guidance， he received instruction in the elementary disciplines， such as gymnastics， music， reading， writing， and the study of numbers. After reaching the age of eighteen or thereabouts， he spent two years in military training， which placed considerable emphasis on physical exercises and the proper care of the body. This training was followed by a more advanced period of study in which he gained familiarity with several of the more prominent schools of Greek philosophy， which gave him an opportunity to become acquainted with many of the Sophists， who were the recognized professional teachers of that time. Finally， Plato spent about seven or eight years as a pupil of Socrates. This experience influenced him， not only to devote the rest of his life to philosophy， but to carry on his career in the spirit and under the guidance of his beloved teacher.
Because Socrates had been put to death under the auspices of the Athenian government， Plato believed that it would not be safe for him to remain in the city and thus expose himself to the same kind of treatment. It was well known that Plato had been one of Socrates followers and that he was most sympathetic toward the ideas that his teacher had proclaimed. So long as these ideas were regarded as harmful to the state， anyone who subscribed to them would be in danger. For this reason， Plato left the city of Athens for a time and journeyed to a number of different places， where he hoped to become better acquainted with the leaders of a number of philosophical movements. At first he went to Megara， where he carried on conversations with Euclid， the famous mathematician. Later， he made extensive journeys to Egypt， Cyrene， Crete， and southern Italy. These excursions gave him an opportunity to become better acquainted with the leaders of each of the schools founded， respectively， by Pythagoras， Heraclitus， and the Eleatic philosophers.
When Plato was approximately forty years of age， he undertook an experiment in government. From his early youth he had been interested in political affairs. From his associations with Socrates and from his own observations， he had arrived at certain convictions concerning the proper qualifications for those whose duty was to govern the state. He believed that only those persons who possessed intellectual as well as moral qualities should be entrusted with the power to rule over others. Eventually， the opportunity came to him to put his philosophy into practice. At Syracuse， on the coast of the island of Sicily， a friend and pupil by the name of Dion urged him to undertake the education of Dionysius， the tyrant of Syracuse. Dionysius appeared to be willing to take instruction from Plato， which would make it possible for Platos theory of government to be tried out under actual conditions. The experiment was not a success， for Dionysius was not an apt pupil， and when Plato rebuked him for his stupidity， the tyrant retaliated by having Plato put in chains and sentenced to death. Dion used his influence to get the sentence changed. The result was that Platos life was spared but at the price of being made a slave. Soon afterward Anniceris， a member of the Cyrenaic school of philosophy， came to Syracuse and purchased Platos freedom， thus allowing him to return to Athens.
After returning to Athens， Plato established his school， an institution that came to be known as the Academy. It continued for a period of more than eight centuries as a center for the study and evaluation of Platonic philosophy. With the establishment of the Academy， Plato devoted most of his time to teaching and the writing of dialogs. Fortunately， these dialogs have been preserved， and they constitute the chief source of the information we have concerning the various aspects of his philosophy.
The Republic is arguably the most popular and most widely taught of Platos writings. Although it contains its dramatic moments and it employs certain literary devices， it is not a play， a novel， a story； it is not， in a strict sense， an essay. It is a kind of extended conversation that embraces a central argument， an argument that is advanced by the proponent of the argument， Socrates. The Republic may be seen as a kind of debate， a fitting description for most of the Dialogues.
The Republic of Plato is the longest of his works with the exception of the Laws， and is certainly the greatest of them. No other Dialogue of Plato has the same largeness of view and the same perfection of style； no other shows an equal knowledge of the world， or contains more of those thoughts which are new as well as old， and not of one age only but of all. Nowhere in Plato is there a deeper irony or a greater wealth of humor or imagery， or more dramatic power. Nor in any other of his writings is the attempt made to interweave life and speculation， or to connect politics with philosophy. The Republic is the center around which the other Dialogues may be grouped； here philosophy reaches the highest point (especially in Books Ⅴ， Ⅵ， Ⅶ) to which ancient thinkers ever attained. Plato among the Greeks， like Bacon among the moderns， was the first who conceived a method of knowledge， although neither of them always distinguished the bare outline or form from the substance of truth； and both of them had to be content with an abstraction of science which was not yet realized. He was the greatest metaphysical genius whom the world has seen； and in him， more than in any other ancient thinker， the germs of future knowledge are contained. The sciences of logic and psychology， which have supplied so many instruments of thought to afterages， are based upon the analyses of Socrates and Plato. The principles of definition， the law of contradiction， the fallacy of arguing in a circle， the distinction between the essence and accidents of a thing or notion， between means and ends， between causes and conditions； also the division of the mind into the rational， concupiscent， and irascible elements， or of pleasures and desires into necessary and unnecessary—these and other great forms of thought are all of them to be found in The Republic， and were probably first invented by Plato.
The division into books， like all similar divisions， is probably later than the age of Plato. The natural divisions are five in number—(1) Book I and the first half of Book II down to the paragraph beginning， “I had always admired the genius of Glaucon and Adeimantus，” which is introductory； the first book containing a refutation of the popular and sophistical notions of justice， and concluding， like some of the earlier Dialogues， without arriving at any definite result. To this is appended a restatement of the nature of justice according to common opinion， and an answer is demanded to the question—what is justice， stripped of appearances? The second division (2) includes the remainder of the second and the whole of the third and fourth books， which are mainly occupied with the construction of the first State and the first education. The third division (3) consists of the fifth， sixth， and seventh books， in which philosophy rather than justice is the subject of enquiry， and the second State is constructed on principles of communism and ruled by philosophers， and the contemplation of the idea of good takes the place of the social and political virtues. In the eighth and ninth books (4) the perversions of States and of the individuals who correspond to them are reviewed in succession； and the nature of pleasure and the principle of tyranny are further analyzed in the individual man. The tenth book (5) is the conclusion of the whole， in which the relations of philosophy to poetry are finally determined， and the happiness of the citizens in this life， which has now been assured， is crowned by the vision of another.
Now lets read the text and reflect on the questions that follow.
Text
AND now， I said， let me show in a figure how far our nature is enlightened or unenlightened:—Behold! human beings living in a underground den， which has a mouth open towards the light and reaching all along the den； here they have been from their childhood， and have their legs and necks chained so that they cannot move， and can only see before them， being prevented by the chains from turning round their heads. Above and behind them a fire is blazing at a distance， and between the fire and the prisoners there is a raised way； and you will see， if you look， a low wall built along the way， like the screen which marionette players have in front of them， over which they show the puppets.
I see.
And do you see， I said， men passing along the wall carrying all sorts of vessels， and statues and figures of animals made of wood and stone and various materials， which appear over the wall? Some of them are talking， others silent.
You have shown me a strange image， and they are strange prisoners.
Like ourselves， I replied； and they see only their own shadows， or the shadows of one another， which the fire throws on the opposite wall of the cave?
True， he said； how could they see anything but the shadows if they were never allowed to move their heads?
And of the objects which are being carried in like manner they would only see the shadows?
Yes， he said.
And if they were able to converse with one another， would they not suppose that they were naming what was actually before them?
Very true.
The prisoners would mistake the shadows for realities. And suppose further that the prison had an echo which came from the other side， would they not be sure to fancy when one of the passersby spoke that the voice which they heard came from the passing shadow?
No question， he replied.
To them， I said， the truth would be literally nothing but the shadows of the images.
That is certain.
And now look again， and see what will naturally follow if the prisoners are released and disabused of their error. At first， when any of them is liberated and compelled suddenly to stand up and turn his neck round and walk and look towards the light， he will suffer sharp pains； the glare will distress him， and he will be unable to see the realities of which in his former state he had seen the shadows； and then conceive some one saying to him， that what he saw before was an illusion， but that now， when he is approaching nearer to being and his eye is turned towards more real existence， he has a clearer vision，—what will be his reply? And when released， they would still persist in maintaining the superior truth of the shadows. And you may further imagine that his instructor is pointing to the objects as they pass and requiring him to name them，—will he not be perplexed? Will he not fancy that the shadows which he formerly saw are truer than the objects which are now shown to him?
...
Nothing extraordinary in the philosopher being unable to see in the dark， and is there anything surprising in one who passes from divine contemplations to the evil state of man， misbehaving himself in a ridiculous manner； if， while his eyes are blinking and before he has become accustomed to the surrounding darkness， he is compelled to fight in courts of law， or in other places， about the images or the shadows of images of justice， and is endeavoring to meet the conceptions of those who have never yet seen absolute justice?
Anything but surprising， he replied.
The eyes may be blinded in two ways， by excess or by defect of light. Any one who has common sense will remember that the bewilderments of the eyes are of two kinds， and arise from two causes， either from coming out of the light or from going into the light， which is true of the minds eye， quite as much as of the bodily eye； and he who remembers this when he sees any one whose vision is perplexed and weak， will not be too ready to laugh； he will first ask whether that soul of man has come out of the brighter life， and is unable to see because unaccustomed to the dark， or having turned from darkness to the day is dazzled by excess of light. And he will count the one happy in his condition and state of being， and he will pity the other； or， if he have a mind to laugh at the soul which comes from below into the light， there will be more reason in this than in the laugh which greets him who returns from above out of the light into the den.
That， he said， is a very just distinction.
The conversion of the soul is the turning round of the eye from darkness to light. But then， if I am right， certain professors of education must be wrong when they say that they can put a knowledge into the soul which was not there before， like sight into blind eyes.
They undoubtedly say this， he replied.
Whereas， our argument shows that the power and capacity of learning exists in the soul already； and that just as the eye was unable to turn from darkness to light without the whole body， so too the instrument of knowledge can only by the movement of the whole soul be turned from the world of becoming into that of being， and learn by degrees to endure the sight of being， and of the brightest and best of being， or in other words， of the good.
Very true.
And must there not be some art which will effect conversion in the easiest and quickest manner； not implanting the faculty of sight， for that exists already， but has been turned in the wrong direction， and is looking away from the truth?
Yes， he said， such an art may be presumed.
The virtue of wisdom has a divine power which may be turned either towards good or towards evil. And whereas the other socalled virtues of the soul seem to be akin to bodily qualities， for even when they are not originally innate they can be implanted later by habit and exercise， the virtue of wisdom more than anything else contains a divine element which always remains， and by this conversion is rendered useful and profitable； or， on the other hand， hurtful and useless. Did you never observe the narrow intelligence flashing from the keen eye of a clever rogue—how eager he is， how clearly his paltry soul sees the way to his end； he is the reverse of blind， but his keen eyesight is forced into the service of evil， and he is mischievous in proportion to his cleverness?
Very true， he said.
But what if there had been a circumcision of such natures in the days of their youth； and they had been severed from those sensual pleasures， such as eating and drinking， which， like leaden weights， were attached to them at their birth， and which drag them down and turn the vision of their souls upon the things that are below—if， I say， they had been released from these impediments and turned in the opposite direction， the very same faculty in them would have seen the truth as keenly as they see what their eyes are turned to now.
Very likely.
Neither the uneducated nor the overeducated will be good servants of the State. Yes， I said； and there is another thing which is likely， or rather a necessary inference from what has preceded， that neither the uneducated and uninformed of the truth， nor yet those who never make an end of their education， will be able ministers of State； not the former， because they have no single aim of duty which is the rule of all their actions， private as well as public； nor the latter， because they will not act at all except upon compulsion， fancying that they are already dwelling apart in the islands of the blest.
Very true， he replied.
Then， I said， the business of us who are the founders of the State will be to compel the best minds to attain that knowledge which we have already shown to be the greatest of all—they must continue to ascend until they arrive at the good； but when they have ascended and seen enough we must not allow them to do as they do now.
What do you mean?
Men should ascend to the upper world， but they should also return to the lower. I mean that they remain in the upper world: but this must not be allowed； they must be made to descend again among the prisoners in the den， and partake of their labors and honors， whether they are worth having or not.
But is not this unjust?he said； ought we to give them a worse life， when they might have a better?
You have again forgotten， my friend， I said， the intention of the legislator， who did not aim at making any one class in the State happy above the rest； the happiness was to be in the whole State， and he held the citizens together by persuasion and necessity， making them benefactors of the State， and therefore benefactors of one another； to this end he created them， not to please themselves， but to be his instruments in binding up the State.
...
No question.
Who then are those whom we shall compel to be guardians? Surely they will be the men who are wisest about affairs of State， and by whom the State is best administered， and who at the same time have other honors and another and a better life than that of politics?
They are the men， and I will choose them， he replied.
And now shall we consider in what way such guardians will be produced， and how they are to be brought from darkness to light，—as some are said to have ascended from the world below to the gods?
By all means， he replied.
Questions
1. What is the main argument in Platos Republic， Book Ⅶ?
2. What is the conventional interpretation of “Allegory of the Cave” in Platos Republic?
3. How does one better understand Platos “Myth of the Cave”?
4. In Platos “Allegory of the Cave，” in what types of activities are the prisoners engaged?
5. How does the allegory of the cave relate to the theory of form?
6. How do the doctrines of Determinism and Free Will contrast， and how does one use either Determinism or Free Will to interpret Platos myth?
Questions for Further Reflection
1. Why is ancient Greek Civilization the cradle of Western Civilization? How is it different from other ancient civilizations in the world?
2. Why was Socrates sentenced to death? Why did Plato criticize democracy?
3. How was Plato significant in Western Civilization? How were his wittings influential on societies: Ethics, Politics, The Republic, Symposium and Socrates dialogues?
4. How would you explain Aristotle views on pleasure with reference to the ethics and Platos view on pleasure?
5. As a towering figure in ancient Greek philosophy, Why did Aristotle fail to anticipate the great success of Alexander?
References and Further Reading
1. Aristotle.（1999）. Metaphysics. （Joe Sachs，trans.). Santa Fe：Green Lion Press.
2. Aristotle.（2002）. Nicomachean Ethics. （Joe Sachs，trans.). Focus Philosophical Library， Pullins Press.
3. Aristotle.（2006） On the Soul. （Joe Sachs，trans.). Santa Fe：Green Lion Press.
4. Aristotle.（2006）. Poetics. （Joe Sachs，trans.). Newburyport， M.A.: Focus Philosophical Library/ Pullins Press.
5. Aristotle.（1995）. Physics. （Joe Sachs，trans.). Piscataway，N.J.：Rutgers U. P.
6. Benson， H. H. (ed.).（1992）. Essays on the Philosophy of Socrates. New York: Oxford University Press.
7. Brickhouse， T. C. & Smith, N. D.（1994）. Platos Socrates. New York: Oxford University Press.
8. Brickhouse， T. C. & Smith, N. D. （2000）. The Philosophy of Socrates. Boulder: Westview.
9. Morrison， D. R.（2012）. The Cambridge Companion to Socrates. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
10. Rudebusch， G.（2009）. Socrates. Malden， MA: WileyBlackwell.Chapter 2Roman CultureChapter 2Roman Culture
According to legend， Ancient Rome was founded by the two brothers， and demigods， Romulus and Remus， on 21 April 753 BCE. The legend claims that in an argument over who would rule the city (or， in another version， where the city would be located)， Romulus killed Remus and named the city after himself.
Originally a small town on the banks of the Tiber， Rome grew in size and strength， early on， through trade. The location of the city provided merchants with an easily navigable waterway on which to traffic their goods. The city was ruled by seven kings， from Romulus to Tarquin， as it grew in size and power. Greek culture and civilization， which came to Rome via Greek colonies to the south， provided the early Romans with a model on which to build their own culture. From the Greeks they borrowed literacy and religion as well as the fundamentals of architecture.
From the start， the Romans showed a talent for borrowing and improving upon the skills and concepts of other cultures. The Kingdom of Rome grew rapidly from a trading town to a prosperous city between the 8th and 6th centuries BCE. When the last of the seven kings of Rome， Tarquin the Proud， was deposed in 509 BCE， his rival for power， Lucius Junius Brutus， reformed the system of government and established the Roman Republic.
In the late 6th century BCE， the small citystate of Rome overthrew the shackles of monarchy and created a republican government that， in theory if not always in practice， represented the wishes of its citizens. From this basis the city would go on to conquer all of the Italian peninsula and large parts of the Mediterraean world and beyond. The Republic and its institutions of government would endure for five centuries， until， wrecked by civil wars， it would transform into a Principate ruled by emperors.
During the early Roman Republic， important new political offices and institutions were created， and old ones were adapted to cope with the changing needs of the state. The two consuls (who had come to replace the king) were primarily generals whose task was to lead Romes armies in war. The Senate， which may have existed under the monarchy and served as an advisory council for the king， now advised both magistrates and the Roman people. During the republic there were two different popular assemblies， the centuriate assembly and the tribal assembly. In 451 BCE Rome received its first written law code， inscribed upon 12 bronze tablets and publicly displayed in the forum. This socalled Law of the Twelve Tables was to form the basis of all subsequent Roman private law.
During the 6th century BCE， Rome became one of the more important states in Latium. Toward the end of the 5th century BCE， the Romans began to expand at the expense of the Etruscan states， possibly propelled by population growth. The ensuing Latin War (340338 BCE) was quickly decided in Romes favour. Rome was now the master of central Italy and spent the next decade pushing forward its frontier through conquest and colonization. The Romans occupied Carthage and eventually destroyed it completely in 146. The Romans organized the conquered peoples into provinces—under the control of appointed governors with absolute power over all nonRoman citizens—and stationed troops in each， ready to exercise appropriate force if necessary. The ensuing period of unrest and revolution marked the transition of Rome from a republic to an empire.
The Roman Empire， at its height， was the most extensive political and social structure in western civilization. By 285 CE the empire had grown too vast to be ruled from the central government at Rome and so was divided by Emperor Diocletian (r. 284305 CE) into a Western and an Eastern Empire. The Roman Empire began when Augustus Caesar (r. 27 BCE14 CE) became the first emperor of Rome and ended， in the west， when the last Roman emperor， Romulus Augustulus (r. 475476 CE)， was deposed by the Germanic King Odoacer (r. 476 493 CE). In the east， it continued as the Byzantine Empire until the death of Constantine XI (r. 14491453 CE) and the fall of Constantinople to the Ottoman Turks in 1453 CE. The influence of the Roman Empire on western civilization was profound in its lasting contributions to virtually every aspect of western culture.
The inventions and innovations which were generated by the Roman Empire profoundly altered the lives of the ancient people and continue to be used in cultures around the world today. Advancements in the construction of roads and buildings， indoor plumbing， aqueducts， and even fastdrying cement were either invented or improved upon by the Romans. The calendar used in the West derives from the one created by Julius Caesar， and the names of the days of the week (in the romance languages) and months of the year also come from Rome. Even the practice of returning some purchase one finds one does not want come from Rome whose laws made it legal for a consumer to bring back some defective or unwanted merchandise to the seller.
Apartment complexes (known as insula)， public toilets， locks and keys， newspapers， even socks， all were developed by the Romans as were shoes， a postal system (modeled after the Persians)， cosmetics， the magnifying glass， and the concept of satire in literature. During the time of the empire， significant developments were also advanced in the fields of medicine， law， religion， government， and warfare. The Romans were adept at borrowing from， and improving upon those inventions or concepts they found among the indigenous populace of the regions they conquered. It is therefore difficult to say what is an “original” Roman invention and what is an innovation on a preexisting concept， technique， or tool. It can safely be said， however， that the Roman Empire left an enduring legacy which continues to affect the way in which people live in the present day.
On FriendshipMarcus Tullius CiceroPrereading
Marcus Tullius Cicero (10643 BCE) was a Roman statesman， orator， lawyer and philosopher， who served as consul in the year 63 BCE. He came from a wealthy municipal family of the Roman equestrian order， and is considered one of Romes greatest orators and prose stylists.
His influence on the Latin language was so immense that the subsequent history of prose， not only in Latin but in European languages up to the 19th century， was said to be either a reaction against or a return to his style. Cicero introduced the Romans to the chief schools of Greek philosophy and created a Latin philosophical vocabulary distinguishing himself as a translator and philosopher.
Though he was an accomplished orator and successful lawyer， Cicero believed his political career was his most important achievement. It was during his consulship that the second Catilinarian conspiracy attempted to overthrow the government through an attack on the city by outside forces， and Cicero suppressed the revolt by summarily and controversially executing five conspirators. During the chaotic latter half of the 1st century BCE marked by civil wars and the dictatorship of Gaius Julius Caesar， Cicero championed a return to the traditional republican government. Following Julius Caesars death， Cicero became an enemy of Mark Antony in the ensuing power struggle， attacking him in a series of speeches. He was proscribed as an enemy of the state by the Second Triumvirate and consequently executed by soldiers operating on their behalf in 43 BCE after having been intercepted during an attempted flight from the Italian peninsula. His severed hands and head were then， as a final revenge of Mark Antony， displayed on the rostra.
The peak of Ciceros authority and prestige came during the 18thcentury Enlightenment， and his impact on leading Enlightenment thinkers and political theorists was substantial. His works rank among the most influential in European culture， and today still constitute one of the most important bodies of primary material for the writing and revision of Roman history， especially the last days of the Roman Republic.
As a philosopher， Ciceros most important function was to make his countrymen familiar with the main schools of Greek thought. Much of this writing is thus of secondary interest to us in comparison with his originals， but in the fields of religious theory and of the application of philosophy to life he made important firsthand contributions. From these works have been selected the two treatises， On Old Age and On Friendship， which have proved of most permanent and widespread interest to posterity， and which give a clear impression of the way in which a highminded Roman thought about some of the main problems of human life.
Now lets read the text and reflect on the questions that follow.
Text
5. Laelius. I should certainly have no objection if I felt confidence in myself. For the theme is a noble one， and we are (as Fannius has said) at leisure. But who am I and what ability have I? What you propose is all very well for professional philosophers， who are used， particularly if Greeks， to have the subject for discussion proposed to them on the spur of the moment. It is a task of considerable difficulty， and requires no little practice. Therefore for a set discourse on friendship you must go， I think， to professional lecturers. All I can do is to urge on you to regard friendship as the greatest thing in the world； for there is nothing which so fits in with our nature， or is so exactly what we want in prosperity or adversity.
But I must at the very beginning lay down this principle—friendship can only exist between good men. I do not， however， press this too closely， like the philosophers who push their definitions to a superfluous accuracy. They have truth on their side， perhaps， but it is of no practical advantage. Those， I mean， who say that no one but the “wise” is “good.” Granted， by all means. But the “wisdom” they mean is one to which no mortal ever yet attained. We must concern ourselves with the facts of everyday life as we find it—not imaginary and ideal perfections. Even Gaius Fannius， Manius Curius， and Tiberius Coruncanius， whom our ancestors decided to be “wise，” I could never declare to be so according to their standard. Let them， then， keep this word “wisdom” to themselves. Everybody is irritated by it； no one understands what it means. Let them but grant that the men I mentioned were “good.” No， they wont do that either. No one but the “wise” can be allowed that title， say they. Well， then， let us dismiss them and manage as best we may with our own poor mother wit， as the phrase is.
We mean then by the “good” those whose actions and lives leave no question as to their honour， purity， equity， and liberality； who are free from greed， lust， and violence； and who have the courage of their convictions. The men I have just named may serve as examples. Such men as these being generally accounted “good，” let us agree to call them so， on the ground that to the best of human ability they follow nature as the most perfect guide to a good life.
Now this truth seems clear to me， that nature has so formed us that a certain tie unites us all， but that this tie becomes stronger from proximity. So it is that fellowcitizens are preferred in our affections to foreigners， relations to strangers； for in their case Nature herself has caused a kind of friendship to exist， though it is one which lacks some of the elements of permanence. Friendship excels relationship in this， that whereas you may eliminate affection from relationship， you cannot do so from friendship. Without it relationship still exists in name， friendship does not. You may best understand this friendship by considering that， whereas the merely natural ties uniting the human race are indefinite， this one is so concentrated， and confined to so narrow a sphere， that affection is ever shared by two persons only or at most by a few.
6. Now friendship may be thus defined: a complete accord on all subjects human and divine， joined with mutual goodwill and affection. And with the exception of wisdom， I am inclined to think nothing better than this has been given to man by the immortal gods. There are people who give the palm to riches or to good health， or to power and office， many even to sensual pleasures. This last is the ideal of brute beasts； and of the others we may say that they are frail and uncertain， and depend less on our own prudence than on the caprice of fortune. Then there are those who find the “chief good” in virtue. Well， that is a noble doctrine. But the very virtue they talk of is the parent and preserver of friendship， and without it friendship cannot possibly exist.
Let us， I repeat， use the word virtue in the ordinary acceptation and meaning of the term， and do not let us define it in highflown language. Let us account as good the persons usually considered so， such as Paulus， Cato， Gallus， Scipio， and Philus. Such men as these are good enough for everyday life； and we need not trouble ourselves about those ideal characters which are nowhere to be met with.
Well， between men like these， the advantages of friendship are almost more than I can say. To begin with， how can life be worth living， to use the words of Ennius， which lacks that repose which is to be found in the mutual goodwill of a friend? What can be more delightful than to have some one to whom you can say everything with the same absolute confidence as to yourself? Is not prosperity robbed of half its value if you have no one to share your joy? On the other hand， misfortunes would be hard to bear if there were not some one to feel them even more acutely than yourself. In a word， other objects of ambition serve for particular ends—riches for use， power for securing homage， office for reputation， pleasure for enjoyment， health for freedom from pain and the full use of the functions of the body. But friendship embraces innumerable advantages. Turn which way you please， you will find it at hand. It is everywhere； and yet never out of place， never unwelcome. Fire and water themselves， to use a common expression， are not of more universal use than friendship. I am not now speaking of the common or modified form of it， though even that is a source of pleasure and profit， but of that true and complete friendship which existed between the select few who are known to fame. Such friendship enhances prosperity， and relieves adversity of its burden by halving and sharing it.
7. And great and numerous as are the blessings of friendship， this certainly is the sovereign one， that it gives us bright hopes for the future and forbids weakness and despair. In the face of a true friend a man sees as it were a second self. So that where his friend is he is； if his friend be rich， he is not poor； though he be weak， his friends strength is his； and in his friends life he enjoys a second life after his own is finished. This last is perhaps the most difficult to conceive. But such is the effect of the respect， the loving remembrance， and the regret of friends which follow us to the grave. While they take the sting out of death， they add a glory to the life of the survivors. Nay， if you eliminate from nature the tie of affection， there will be an end of house and city， nor will so much as the cultivation of the soil be left. If you dont see the virtue of friendship and harmony， you may learn it by observing the effects of quarrels and feuds. Was any family ever so well established， any State so firmly settled， as to be beyond the reach of utter destruction from animosities and factions? This may teach you the immense advantage of friendship.
They say that a certain philosopher of Agrigentum， in a Greek poem， pronounced with the authority of an oracle the doctrine that whatever in nature and the universe was unchangeable was so in virtue of the binding force of friendship； whatever was changeable was so by the solvent power of discord. And indeed this is a truth which everybody understands and practically attests by experience. For if any marked instance of loyal friendship in confronting or sharing danger comes to light， every one applauds it to the echo. What cheers there were， for instance， all over the theatre at a passage in the new play of my friend and guest Pacuvius； where the king， not knowing which of the two was Orestes， Pylades declared himself to be Orestes， that he might die in his stead， while the real Orestes kept on asserting that it was he. The audience rose en masse and clapped their hands. And this was at an incident in fiction: what would they have done， must we suppose， if it had been in real life? You can easily see what a natural feeling it is， when men who would not have had the resolution to act thus themselves， shewed how right they thought it in another.
I dont think I have any more to say about friendship. If there is any more， and I have no doubt there is much， you must， if you care to do so， consult those who profess to discuss such matters.
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8. Laclius. Now you are really using force. It makes no difference what kind of force you use: force it is. For it is neither easy nor right to refuse a wish of my sonsinlaw， particularly when the wish is a creditable one in itself.
Well， then， it has very often occurred to me when thinking about friendship， that the chief point to be considered was this: is it weakness and want of means that make friendship desired? I mean， is its object an interchange of good offices， so that each may give that in which he is strong， and receive that in which he is weak? Or is it not rather true that， although this is an advantage naturally belonging to friendship， yet its original cause is quite other， prior in time， more noble in character， and springing more directly from our nature itself? The Latin word for friendship—amicitia—is derived from that for love—amor； and love is certainly the prime mover in contracting mutual affection. For as to material advantages， it often happens that those are obtained even by men who are courted by a mere show of friendship and treated with respect from interested motives. But friendship by its nature admits of no feigning， no pretence: as far as it goes it is both genuine and spontaneous. Therefore I gather that friendship springs from a natural impulse rather than a wish for help: from an inclination of the heart， combined with a certain instinctive feeling of love， rather than from a deliberate calculation of the material advantage it was likely to confer. The strength of this feeling you may notice in certain animals. They show such love to their offspring for a certain period， and are so beloved by them， that they clearly have a share in this natural， instinctive affection. But of course it is more evident in the case of man: first， in the natural affection between children and their parents， an affection which only shocking wickedness can sunder； and next， when the passion of love has attained to a like strength—on our finding， that is， some one person with whose character and nature we are in full sympathy， because we think that we perceive in him what I may call the beaconlight of virtue. For nothing inspires love， nothing conciliates affection， like virtue. Why， in a certain sense we may be said to feel affection even for men we have never seen， owing to their honesty and virtue. Who， for instance， fails to dwell on the memory of Gaius Fabricius and Manius Curius with some affection and warmth of feeling， though he has never seen them? Or who but loathes Tarquinius Superbus， Spurius Cassius， Spurius Maelius? We have fought for empire in Italy with two great generals， Pyrrhus and Hannibal. For the former， owing to his probity， we entertain no great feelings of enmity: the latter， owing to his cruelty， our country has detested and always will detest.
9. Now， if the attraction of probity is so great that we can love it not only in those whom we have never seen， but， what is more， actually in an enemy， we need not be surprised if mens affections are roused when they fancy that they have seen virtue and goodness in those with whom a close intimacy is possible. I do not deny that affection is strengthened by the actual receipt of benefits， as well as by the perception of a wish to render service， combined with a closer intercourse. When these are added to the original impulse of the heart， to which I have alluded， a quite surprising warmth of feeling springs up. And if any one thinks that this comes from a sense of weakness， that each may have some one to help him to his particular need， all I can say is that， when he maintains it to be born of want and poverty， he allows to friendship an origin very base， and a pedigree， if I may be allowed the expression， far from noble. If this had been the case， a mans inclination to friendship would be exactly in proportion to his low opinion of his own resources. Whereas the truth is quite the other way. For when a mans confidence in himself is greatest， when he is so fortified by virtue and wisdom as to want nothing and to feel absolutely selfdependent， it is then that he is most conspicuous for seeking out and keeping up friendships. Did Africanus， for example， want anything of me? Not the least in the world! Neither did I of him. In my case it was an admiration of his virtue， in his an opinion， may be， which he entertained of my character， that caused our affection. Closer intimacy added to the warmth of our feelings. But though many great material advantages did ensue， they were not the source from which our affection proceeded. For as we are not beneficent and liberal with any view of extorting gratitude， and do not regard an act of kindness as an investment， but follow a natural inclination to liberality； so we look on friendship as worth trying for， not because we are attracted to it by the expectation of ulterior gain， but in the conviction that what it has to give us is from first to last included in the feeling itself.
Far different is the view of those who， like brute beasts， refer everything to sensual pleasure. And no wonder. Men who have degraded all their powers of thought to an object so mean and contemptible can of course raise their eyes to nothing lofty， to nothing grand and divine. Such persons indeed let us leave out of the present question. And let us accept the doctrine that the sensation of love and the warmth of inclination have their origin in a spontaneous feeling which arises directly the presence of probity is indicated. When once men have conceived the inclination， they of course try to attach themselves to the object of it， and move themselves nearer and nearer to him. Their aim is that they may be on the same footing and the same level in regard to affection， and be more inclined to do a good service than to ask a return， and that there should be this noble rivalry between them. Thus both truths will be established. We shall get the most important material advantages from friendship； and its origin from a natural impulse rather than from a sense of need will be at once more dignified and more in accordance with fact. For if it were true that its material advantages cemented friendship， it would be equally true that any change in them would dissolve it. But nature being incapable of change， it follows that genuine friendships are eternal.
So much for the origin of friendship. But perhaps you would not care to hear any more.
Questions
1. What is Ciceros “Laelius， on Friendship” really about? Does it contain principles that benefit any people at any time?
2. How do you understand what Cicero claims “Ones real friend is his other self”?
3. Why does friendship only exist between people with virtues?
MeditationsMarcus AureliusPrereading
Marcus Aurelius (121180) (Full name Marcus Aurelius Antoninus) is the Roman emperor and philosopher. Aurelius was born in Rome in 121. His father， Annius Verus， was a consular who had stemmed from a long line of nobles； his mother， Domitia Lucilla， was well educated， fluent in Greek， extremely wealthy， and also of aristocratic birth. Incorporated into their sons early education in character， culture， poetry， and public speaking， was an emphasis on instilling in him an appreciation for simplicity. Aureliuss studies continued at home after his father died， and he benefitted from the best tutors in geometry， music， and in Greek and Latin grammar. Aurelius soon came under the care of the childless Hadrian， who became emperor of Rome in 117. In 136 Marcus was betrothed to the daughter of the current consul， Lucius Ceionius Commodus， who was next in line to be emperor. Upon Ceioniuss death in 138， Hadrian adopted Antoninus Pius and made him adopt both Aurelius and Ceioniuss son Lucius Verus. During Piuss reign as emperor from 138 to 161， Aurelius studied rhetoric and law and served in numerous important government positions. His first betrothal having been put aside—probably reflecting political realities—Aurelius married Piuss daughter Faustina in 145. The couple had a daughter the following year. They also had a son， Commodus， in 161. Although Aureliuss claim to the position of emperor was superior to Veruss， Aurelius insisted they rule together， which they did from 161 until 169， when Verus died. It was during the following years of solo rule that Aurelius wrote the bulk of the Meditations. Although during this time the empire was troubled with invasions， nearly constant warfare， and internal strife， early historians soon called it a Golden Age because Aureliuss eminently just rule contrasted so greatly with that of his son， the savage Commodus， who reigned from 180 to 192.
Aurelius is one of the most remembered of the Roman emperors because of his Meditations， a classic work of Stoic philosophy consisting of a collection of his private notes gathered posthumously under one title. As the last of the five “good emperors，” as head of the Roman Empire from 161 to 180， and because he was revered for centuries after as the perfect emperor， Aurelius continues to be of great interest to historians.
While ruler of the Roman Empire during its greatest period， Marcus Aurelius practiced a simple， even austere personal lifestyle based on the sincere belief in Stoic philosophy， which emphasized the overwhelming importance of spiritual and intellectual values over physical or material pleasures. Noted publicly for his restraint， modesty， and nobility， Marcus Aurelius devoted many of his private hours to writing his Meditations， which contained the essence of his version of Stoic ethics. The core of his ethical beliefs may be summed up in a few basic rules: forgive others for their wrongs； be aware of the harm done to people by their own bad actions； avoid judging others； be conscious of your own faults； consider that you cannot know the inner thoughts of others； avoid anger， for life is brief； anger and grief can be worse than actual physical harm； and kindness and friendship are best for all. Although these rules are hardly revolutionary in theory， they assumed and retain importance because they were held by a Roman emperor.
Marcus Aurelius， a stoic in his personal life， was also a Stoic， heir to the philosophic tradition initiated by Zeno of Citium and expanded and continued by Chrysippus of Soloi， Panaetius of Rhodes， Posidonius， Seneca the Younger， and Epictetus. What is central to Stoicism is not a stonelike stubbornness in a world of suffering but a strengthening faith in the way of nature. Nature is one， the substance of God. God is a divine fire that periodically consumes all things. However， although the divine conflagration turns all things and persons to fire—thus effectively uniting all in the purest form possible—things and persons will exist in the next cycle of existence； the cycles of existence and conflagration will succeed each other forever. Virtue for humankind is in willing to be in harmony with the way of nature. Pleasure and pain are irrelevant， if the only good is natures way and obedience to that way. Thus， the stoical attitude is the consequence of a dedication to the Stoical ideal； it is not itself the essence of that ideal.
So conceived， Stoicism can be recognized as close in spirit to Daoism， the philosophy and religion of ancient China， in which obedience to the Dao， the “way” of the universe， is the highest virtue. Like Daoism， Stoicism involves the belief that nature， because it is the matter of God， works only toward the good—although the Chinese did not identify the cosmic power as fire or as God. Finally， to fix the idea of Stoicism， it is helpful to distinguish between Stoicism and Epicureanism. Although both the Stoics and the Epicureans fostered a life of moderation in which the passions would be controlled by will and reason， the Epicureans regarded pleasure as the highest good. Contrary to common belief， they did not endorse a program of wine， women， and song but rather a life of moderation in which the desire for peace and contemplation would take precedence over the desire for gratification of the senses. For the Stoics， virtue itself was the highest good， although it was generally believed that a modest kind of happiness would be the virtuous persons natural reward. Although there are other important differences， one can come to understand the essential distinction between Stoicism and Epicureanism by realizing that for the Stoics， virtue was the highest good， and for the Epicureans， happiness was the highest good and virtue only the means.
In Stoicism， particularly in the later philosophy as exemplified in the Meditations， the ethical elements received more emphasis than the metaphysical. The early philosophy was a pantheistic materialism—because it held that God is fire， and all nature is God—but later Stoics were not interested in developing these ideas， and insofar as fire was mentioned it was in a metaphorical， rather than a metaphysical way.
Now lets read the text and reflect on the questions that follow.
Text
Book One
From my governor， to be neither of the green nor of the blue party at the games in the Circus， nor a partizan either of the Parmularius or the Scutarius at the gladiators fights； from him too I learned endurance of labour， and to want little， and to work with my own hands， and not to meddle with other peoples affairs， and not to be ready to listen to slander.
From Diognetus， not to busy myself about trifling things， and not to give credit to what was said by miracleworkers and jugglers about incantations and the driving away of daemons and such things； and not to breed quails for fighting， nor to give myself up passionately to such things； and to endure freedom of speech； and to have become intimate with philosophy.
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From Apollonius I learned freedom of will and undeviating steadiness of purpose； and to look to nothing else， not even for a moment， except to reason； and to be always the same， in sharp pains， on the occasion of the loss of a child， and in long illness； and to see clearly in a living example that the same man can be both most resolute and yielding， and not peevish in giving his instruction； and to have had before my eyes a man who clearly considered his experience and his skill in expounding philosophical principles as the smallest of his merits； and from him I learned how to receive from friends what are esteemed favours， without being either humbled by them or letting them pass unnoticed.
From Sextus， a benevolent disposition， and the example of a family governed in a fatherly manner， and the idea of living conformably to nature； and gravity without affectation， and to look carefully after the interests of friends， and to tolerate ignorant persons， and those who form opinions without consideration: he had the power of readily accommodating himself to all， so that intercourse with him was more agreeable than any flattery； and at the same time he was most highly venerated by those who associated with him: and he had the faculty both of discovering and ordering， in an intelligent and methodical way， the principles necessary for life； and he never showed anger or any other passion， but was entirely free from passion， and also most affectionate； and he could express approbation without noisy display， and he possessed much knowledge without ostentation.
Book Two
Begin the morning by saying to thyself， I shall meet with the busybody， the ungrateful， arrogant， deceitful， envious，unsocial. All these things happen to them by reason of their ignorance of what is good and evil. But I who have seen the nature of the good that it is beautiful， and of the bad that it is ugly， and the nature of him who does wrong， that it is akin to me， not only of the same blood or seed， but that it participates in the same intelligence and the same portion of the divinity， I can neither be injured by any of them， for no one can fix on me what is ugly， nor can I be angry with my kinsman， nor hate him， for we are made for cooperation， like feet， like hands， like eyelids， like the rows of the upper and lower teeth. To act against one another then is contrary to nature； and it is acting against one another to be vexed and to turn away.
Whatever this is that I am， it is a little flesh and breath， and the ruling part. Throw away thy books； no longer distract thyself: it is not allowed； but as if thou wast now dying， despise the flesh； it is blood and bones and a network， a contexture of nerves， veins， and arteries. See the breath also， what kind of a thing it is， air， and not always the same， but every moment sent out and again sucked in. The third then is the ruling part: consider thus: Thou art an old man； no longer let this be a slave， no longer be pulled by the strings like a puppet to unsocial movements， no longer either be dissatisfied with thy present lot， or shrink from the future.
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Do the things external which fall upon thee distract thee? Give thyself time to learn something new and good， and cease to be whirled around. But then thou must also avoid being carried about the other way. For those too are triflers who have wearied themselves in life by their activity， and yet have no object to which to direct every movement， and， in a word， all their thoughts.
Through not observing what is in the mind of another a man has seldom been seen to be unhappy； but those who do not observe the movements of their own minds must of necessity be unhappy.
How quickly all things disappear， in the universe the bodies themselves， but in time the remembrance of them； what is the nature of all sensible things， and particularly those which attract with the bait of pleasure or terrify by pain， or are noised abroad by vapoury fame； how worthless， and contemptible， and sordid， and perishable， and dead they are—all this it is the part of the intellectual faculty to observe. To observe too who these are whose opinions and voices give reputation； what death is， and the fact that， if a man looks at it in itself， and by the abstractive power of reflection resolves into their parts all the things which present themselves to the imagination in it， he will then consider it to be nothing else than an operation of nature； and if any one is afraid of an operation of nature， he is a child. This， however， is not only an operation of nature， but it is also a thing which conduces to the purposes of nature. To observe too how man comes near to the deity， and by what part of him， and when this part of man is so disposed.
Book Three
We ought to consider not only that our life is daily wasting away and a smaller part of it is left， but another thing also must be taken into the account， that if a man should live longer， it is quite uncertain whether the understanding will still continue sufficient for the comprehension of things， and retain the power of contemplation which strives to acquire the knowledge of the divine and the human. For if he shall begin to fall into dotage， perspiration and nutrition and imagination and appetite， and whatever else there is of the kind， will not fail； but the power of making use of ourselves， and filling up the measure of our duty， and clearly separating all appearances， and considering whether a man should now depart from life， and whatever else of the kind absolutely requires a disciplined reason， all this is already extinguished. We must make haste then， not only because we are daily nearer to death， but also because the conception of things and the understanding of them cease first.
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Body， soul，intelligence: to the body belong sensations， to the soul appetites， to the intelligence principles. To receive the impressions of forms by means of appearances belongs even to animals； to be pulled by the strings of desire belongs both to wild beasts and to men who have made themselves into women， and to a Phalaris and a Nero: and to have the intelligence that guides to the things which appear suitable belongs also to those who do not believe in the gods， and who betray their country， and do their impure deeds when they have shut the doors. If then everything else is common to all that I have mentioned， there remains that which is peculiar to the good man， to be pleased and content with what happens， and with the thread which is spun for him； and not to defile the divinity which is planted in his breast， nor disturb it by a crowd of images， but to preserve it tranquil， following it obediently as a god， neither saying anything contrary to the truth， nor doing anything contrary to justice. And if all men refuse to believe that he lives a simple， modest， and contented life， he is neither angry with any of them， nor does he deviate from the way which leads to the end of life， to which a man ought to come pure， tranquil， ready to depart， and without any compulsion perfectly reconciled to his lot.
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Book Seven
What is badness? It is that which thou hast often seen. And on the occasion of everything which happens keep this in mind， that it is that which thou hast often seen. Everywhere up and down thou wilt find the same things， with which the old histories are filled， those of the middle ages and those of our own day； with which cities and houses are filled now. There is nothing new: all things are both familiar and shortlived.
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How many after being celebrated by fame have been given up to oblivion； and how many who have celebrated the fame of others have long been dead.
Be not ashamed to be helped； for it is thy business to do thy duty like a soldier in the assault on a town. How then， if being lame thou canst not mount up on the battlements alone， but with the help of another it is possible?
Let not future things disturb thee， for thou wilt come to them， if it shall be necessary， having with thee the same reason which now thou usest for present things.
Book Eight
Thou hast not leisure or ability to read. But thou hast leisure or ability to check arrogance: thou hast leisure to be superior to pleasure and pain: thou hast leisure to be superior to love of fame， and not to be vexed at stupid and ungrateful people， nay even to care for them.
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If thou canst see sharp， look and judge wisely， says the philosopher.
In the constitution of the rational animal I see no virtue which is opposed to justice； but I see a virtue which is opposed to love of pleasure， and that is temperance.
Questions
1. Why do we say Marcus Aurelius， a stoic in his personal life， was also a Stoic philosopher?
2. It is claimed that Stoicism can be recognized as close in spirit to Daoism? What do you think?
3. From a modern perspective， Marcus Aurelius is certainly not in the first rank of ancient philosophers. Whats the function and the philosophical value of Marcuss Meditations?
Questions for Further Reflection
1. Why is Roman Civilization related to the ancient Greek Civilization?
2. How did the Roman Empire flourish?
3. Why was Roman Republic replaced by Roman Empire?
4. Was it the Slave Uprising led by Spartacus that led to the decline of Roman Empire?
5. Why was Roman Empire divided into Eastern and Western Roman Empire?
6. Why did Roman Empire collapse?
References and Further Reading
1. Crossley， H. （1882）. The Fourth Book of the Meditations of Marcus Aurelius Antoninus. (A Revised Text with Translation and Commentary). London: Macmillan.
2. Everitt， A. （2002）. Cicero: The Life and Times of Romes Greatest Politician. New York: Random House. Places Ciceros life and career amid the context of the political intrigue and civil unrest of the Roman Republic.
3. Hadot， P. （1998）. The Inner Citadel: The Meditations of Marcus Aurelius. （M. Chase，Trans.）. Cambridge， MA: Harvard University Press； a translation of La Citadelle Intérieure (Paris， 1992).
4. Mitchell， T. N. （1991）. Cicero: The Senior Statesman. New Haven， Conn.: Yale University Press. This twovolume biography is considered one of the most reliable， insightful， and thorough studies available.
5. Steel， C. E. W.（2002）. Cicero， Rhetoric， and Empire. New York: Oxford University Press. A close reading of Ciceros speeches， dissecting his rhetorical strategies， examining the role of political oratory， and placing Ciceros attitude toward empire in the context of his contemporaries.
6. Sellars，J. (2015). Marcus Aurelius. In D. Pritchard， （ed.），Oxford Bibliographies in Philosophy. New York: Oxford University Press. Doi 10.1093/obo/97801953965770278
7. 西塞罗思想介绍：https://iep.utm.edu/cicero/
https://plato.stanford.edu/entries/ancientpolitical/#CicLif
8. 奥勒留思想介绍：https://iep.utm.edu/marcus/
https://plato.stanford.edu/entries/marcusaurelius/Chapter 3The RenaissanceChapter 3The Renaissance
Renaissance， which literally means “rebirth”， generally refers to a dramatic period in European civilization following immediately after the Medieval Ages， which dawned on the collapse of the Roman Empire around the 5th century， and extending to the 17th century of a multitude of convulsions and transformations， giving way to the Age of Enlightenment. It bridged the gap between the Middle Ages and modernday civilization in the Western. Originally the belief that Europeans had eventually rediscovered the superiority of Greek and Roman culture after hundreds of years of intellectual and cultural decline that ignited Europeans passion for new innovations in many fields. It is characterized by a series of literary and cultural movements in the 14th， 15th and 16th centuries， beginning in Italy and eventually expanding into Germany， France， England， and other pockets of Europe. Those engaged were convinced of the possibility of improving human society via classical education， mainly composed of teachings from ancient texts and involving a wide range of disciplines， including poetry， history， rhetoric and moral philosophy. This set the tone for the Renaissance: humanism， which is expounded in the next chapter.
This period exhibits several characteristics that deserve special recognition. Firstly， Renaissance works of art and literature were studied largely for their own sake and were hailed as objects of ideal beauty or learning instead of rigid teachings for its religious significance by theologians， philosophers， and writers in the Middle Ages， though sharing a lively interest in classical literature， especially Latin and Latin translations of Greek. Secondly， public interest shifted from abstract speculations， a prominent feature of the Middle Ages， to the visible world and sensory experience. Human curiosity and objectivity were highly celebrated and advanced. Thirdly， perhaps most importantly， the unique talents and potential of the individuals were much more highly developed than previous ages， placing a new emphasis on education with a goal intended to nurture the individuals talents in all intellectual and physical areas.
Some prominent figures have contributed enormously to the progression of the Renaissance:
Leonardo da Vinci (14521519)， Italian painter， architect， inventor， and “Renaissance man” wellknown for paintings The Mona Lisa and The Last Supper；
Desiderius Erasmus (14661536)， scholar from Holland who defined the humanist movement in Northern Europe and translator of the New Testament into Greek；
Rene Descartes (15961650)， French philosopher and mathematician， father of modern philosophy；
Galileo (15641642)， Italian astronomer， physicist and engineer；
Nicolaus Copernicus (14731543)， mathematician and astronomer；
Thomas Hobbes (15881679)， English philosopher and author of Leviathan；
Geoffrey Chaucer (13431400)， English poet and author of Canterbury Tales；
Dante (12651321)， Italian philosopher， poet， writer and political thinker， author of The Divine Comedy；
John Milton (16081674)， English poet and historian， author of epic peom Paradise Lost；
William Shakespeare (15641616)， Englands “national poet” and playwright famous for his sonnets and plays；
Donatello (13861466)， Italian sculptor celebrated for lifelike sculptures like David；
Michelangelo (14831520)， Italian sculptor， painter， and architect who painted the Sistine Chapel in Rome.
The two pieces of writings presented here are designed to help readers gain some insight into what is the true spirit of Renaissance: In Praise of Folly written by Desiderius Erasmus and Oration on the Dignity of Man by Giovanni Pico della Mirandola. The first one is an excerpt from a halfsatirical work In Praise of Folly， in which the character of “Folly” praises herself and all her “followers”， criticizes a lot of social classes and the church itself. It came out quite as a shock in 1509 when religious establishment still dominated each ones daily life. The second one is a famous public discourse composed in 1486 by Giovanni Pico della Mirandola， an Italian scholar and philosopher. In this discourse Pico attempted to direct our attention on human capacity and human perspective， the importance of liberal arts and human quest for knowledge and his enthusiasm for seeking truth beyond religious instructions.
In Praise of FollyDesiderius ErasmusPrereading
Desiderius Erasmus is a Dutch writer， scholar， and humanist. He is also the chief interpreter to northern Europe of the intellectual currents of the Italian Renaissance.
Written in 1509 and printed in 1511，In Praise of Folly， was translated from Latin and has long been the bestknown work of Desiderius Erasmus. According to the letter sent to Thomas More， Erasmus chose Folly as the narrator “... And therefore， being satisfied that something was to be done， and that that time was no wise proper for any serious matter， I resolved to make some sport with the praise of folly. But who the devil put that in your head? Youll say. The first thing was your surname of More， which comes so near the word Moriae (folly) as you are far from the thing.” It is a satirical criticism of many traditions held by European society， especially those of the Roman Catholic Church and contributed significantly to the beginning of the Protestant Reformation.
In Praise of Folly is often divided into three distinct sections， though without any subheading or chapter head. The first section centers on her intention to admire and commend her own virtues and merits， from which this text is excerpted. Several attendants are introduced as personified characteristics， including Philautia (Self Love)， Kolakia (Flattery)， Lethe (Oblivion)， Anoia (Madness)， etc. The second section continues with Folly criticizing various classes， social and academic. In the third section， Folly turns her attack on Christianity.
Now lets read the text and reflect on the questions that follow.
Text
An oration of feigned matter spoken by Folly in her own person
At what rate so ever the world talks of me (for I am not ignorant what an ill report Folly has got， even among the most foolish)， yet that I am that she， that only she， whose deity recreates both gods and men， even this is a sufficient argument， that I no sooner stepped up to speak to this full assembly than all your faces put on a kind of new and unwonted pleasantness. So suddenly have you cleared your brows， and with so frolic and hearty a laughter given me your applause， that in truth as many of you as I behold on every side of me seem to me no less than Homers gods drunk with nectar and nepenthe； whereas before， you sat as lumpish and pensive as if you had come from consulting an oracle. And as it usually happens when the sun begins to show his beams， or when after a sharp winter the spring breathes afresh on the earth， all things immediately get a new face， new color， and recover as it were a certain kind of youth again: in like manner， by but beholding me you have in an instant gotten another kind of countenance； and so what the otherwise great rhetoricians with their tedious and longstudied orations can hardly effect， to wit， to remove the trouble of the mind， I have done it at once with my single look.
But if you ask me why I appear before you in this strange dress， be pleased to lend me your ears， and Ill tell you； not those ears， I mean， you carry to church， but abroad with you， such as you are wont to prick up to jugglers， fools， and buffoons， and such as our friend Midas once gave to Pan. For I am disposed awhile to play the sophist with you； not of their sort who nowadays boozle young mens heads with certain empty notions and curious trifles， yet teach them nothing but a more than womanish obstinacy of scolding: but Ill imitate those ancients who， that they might the better avoid that infamous appellation of sophi or wise， chose rather to be called sophists. Their business was to celebrate the praises of the gods and valiant men. And the like encomium shall you hear from me， but neither of Hercules nor Solon， but my own dear self， that is to say， Folly.
Nor do I esteem a rush that call it a foolish and insolent thing to praise ones self. Be it as foolish as they would make it， so they confess it proper: and what can be more than that Folly be her own trumpet? For who can set me out better than myself， unless perhaps I could be better known to another than to myself? Though yet I think it somewhat more modest than the general practice of our nobles and wise men who， throwing away all shame， hire some flattering orator or lying poet from whose mouth they may hear their praises， that is to say， mere lies； and yet， composing themselves with a seeming modesty， spread out their peacocks plumes and erect their crests， while this impudent flatterer equals a man of nothing to the gods and proposes him as an absolute pattern of all virtue thats wholly a stranger to it， sets out a pitiful jay in others feathers， washes the blackamoor white， and lastly swells a gnat to an elephant. In short， I will follow that old proverb that says， “He may lawfully praise himself that lives far from neighbors.” Though， by the way， I cannot but wonder at the ingratitude， shall I say， or negligence of men who， notwithstanding they honor me in the first place and are willing enough to confess my bounty， yet not one of them for these so many ages has there been who in some thankful oration has set out the praises of Folly； when yet there has not wanted them whose elaborate endeavors have extolled tyrants， agues， flies， baldness， and such other pests of nature， to their own loss of both time and sleep.
And now you shall hear from me a plain extemporary speech， but so much the truer. Nor would I have you think it like the rest of orators， made for the ostentation of wit； for these， as you know， when they have been beating their heads some thirty years about an oration and at last perhaps produce somewhat that was never their own， shall yet swear they composed it in three days， and that too for diversion: whereas I ever liked it best to speak whatever came first out. But let none of you expect from me that after the manner of rhetoricians I should go about to define what I am， much less use any division； for I hold it equally unlucky to circumscribe her whose deity is universal， or make the least division in that worship about which everything is so generally agreed. Or to what purpose， think you， should I describe myself when I am here present before you， and you behold me speaking? For I am， as you see， that true and only giver of wealth whom the Greeks call Moria， the Latins Stultitia， and our plain English Folly.
Or what need was there to have said so much， as if my very looks were not sufficient to inform you who I am? Or as if any man， mistaking me for wisdom， could not at first sight convince himself by my face the true index of my mind? I am no counterfeit， nor do I carry one thing in my looks and another in my breast. No， I am in every respect so like myself that neither can they dissemble me who arrogate to themselves the appearance and title of wise men and walk like asses in scarlet hoods， though after all their hypocrisy Midas ears will discover their master. A most ungrateful generation of men that， when they are wholly given up to my party， are yet publicly ashamed of the name， as taking it for a reproach； for which cause， since in truth they are morotatoi， fools， and yet would appear to the world to be wise men and Thales， well even call them morosophous， wise fools.
...
And as to the place of my birth， forasmuch as nowadays that is looked upon as a main point of nobility， it was neither， like Apollos， in the floating Delos， nor Venuslike on the rolling sea， nor in any of blind Homers as blind caves: but in the Fortunate Islands， where all things grew without plowing or sowing； where neither labor， nor old age， nor disease was ever heard of； and in whose fields neither daffodil， mallows， onions， beans， and such contemptible things would ever grow， but， on the contrary， rue， angelica， bugloss， marjoram， trefoils， roses， violets， lilies， and all the gardens of Adonis invite both your sight and your smelling. And being thus born， I did not begin the world， as other children are wont， with crying； but straight perched up and smiled on my mother. Nor do I envy to the great Jupiter the goat， his nurse， forasmuch as I was suckled by two jolly nymphs， to wit， Drunkenness， the daughter of Bacchus， and Ignorance， of Pan. And as for such my companions and followers as you perceive about me， if you have a mind to know who they are， you are not like to be the wiser for me， unless it be in Greek:this here， which you observe with that proud cast of her eye， is Philautia， Selflove； she with the smiling countenance， that is ever and anon clapping her hands， is Kolakia， Flattery； she that looks as if she were half asleep is Lethe， Oblivion； she that sits leaning on both elbows with her hands clutched together is Misoponia， Laziness； she with the garland on her head， and that smells so strong of perfumes， is Hedone， Pleasure； she with those staring eyes， moving here and there， is Anoia， Madness； she with the smooth skin and full pampered body is Tryphe， Wantonness； and， as to the two gods that you see with them， the one is Komos， Intemperance， the other Negretos hypnos， Dead Sleep. These， I say， are my household servants， and by their faithful counsels I have subjected all things to my dominion and erected an empire over emperors themselves.
Thus have you had my lineage， education， and companions. And now， lest I may seem to have taken upon me the name of goddess without cause， you shall in the next place understand how far my deity extends， and what advantage by it I have brought both to gods and men. For， if it was not unwisely said by somebody， that this only is to be a god， to help men； and if they are deservedly enrolled among the gods that first brought in corn and wine and such other things as are for the common good of mankind， why am not I of right the alpha， or first， of all the gods? Who being but one， yet bestow all things on all men.
For first， what is more sweet or more precious than life? And yet from whom can it more properly be said to come than from me? For neither the crabfavoured Pallas spear nor the cloudgathering Jupiters shield either beget or propagate mankind； but even he himself， the father of gods and king of men at whose very beck the heavens shake， must lay by his forked thunder and those looks wherewith he conquered the giants and with which at pleasure he frightens the rest of the gods， and like a common stage player put on a disguise as often as he goes about that， which now and then he does， that is to say the getting of children: And the Stoics too， that conceive themselves next to the gods， yet show me one of them， nay the veriest bigot of the sect， and if he do not put off his beard， the badge of wisdom， though yet it be no more than what is common with him and goats； yet at least he must lay by his supercilious gravity， smooth his forehead， shake off his rigid principles， and for some time commit an act of folly and dotage. In fine， that wise man whoever he be， if he intends to have children， must have recourse to me. But tell me， I beseech you， what man is that would submit his neck to the noose of wedlock， if， as wise men should， he did but first truly weigh the inconvenience of the thing? Or what woman is there would ever go to it did she seriously consider either the peril of childbearing or the trouble of bringing them up? So then， if you owe your beings to wedlock， you owe that wedlock to this my follower， Madness； and what you owe to me I have already told you. Again， she that has but once tried what it is， would she， do you think， make a second venture if it were not for my other companion， Oblivion? Nay， even Venus herself， notwithstanding whatever Lucretius has said， would not deny but that all her virtue were lame and fruitless without the help of my deity. For out of that little， odd， ridiculous Maygame came the supercilious philosophers， in whose room have succeeded a kind of people the world calls monks， cardinals， priests， and the most holy popes. And lastly， all that rabble of the poets gods， with which heaven is so thwacked and thronged， that though it be of so vast an extent， they are hardly able to crowd one by another.
But I think it is a small matter that you thus owe your beginning of life to me， unless I also show you that whatever benefit you receive in the progress of it is of my gift likewise. For what other is this? Can that be called life where you take away pleasure? Oh! Do you like what I say? I knew none of you could have so little wit， or so much folly， or wisdom rather， as to be of any other opinion. For even the Stoics themselves that so severely cried down pleasure did but handsomely dissemble， and railed against it to the common people to no other end but that having discouraged them from it， they might the more plentifully enjoy it themselves. But tell me， by Jupiter， what part of mans life is that that is not sad， crabbed， unpleasant， insipid， troublesome， unless it be seasoned with pleasure， that is to say， folly? For the proof of which the never sufficiently praised Sophocles in that his happy elegy of us， “To know nothing is the only happiness，” might be authority enough， but that I intend to take every particular by itself.
And first， who knows not but a mans infancy is the merriest part of life to himself， and most acceptable to others? For what is that in them which we kiss， embrace， cherish， nay enemies succor， but this witchcraft of folly， which wise Nature did of purpose give them into the world with them that they might the more pleasantly pass over the toil of education， and as it were flatter the care and diligence of their nurses? And then for youth， which is in such reputation everywhere， how do all men favor it， study to advance it， and lend it their helping hand? And whence， I pray， all this grace? Whence but from me? by whose kindness， as it understands as little as may be， it is also for that reason the higher privileged from exceptions； and I am mistaken if， when it is grown up and by experience and discipline brought to savor something like man， if in the same instant that beauty does not fade， its liveliness decay， its pleasantness grow flat， and its briskness fail. And by how much the further it runs from me， by so much the less it lives， till it comes to the burden of old age， not only hateful to others， but to itself also.
Which also were altogether insupportable did not I pity its condition， in being present with it， and， as the poets gods were wont to assist such as were dying with some pleasant metamorphosis， help their decrepitness as much as in me lies by bringing them back to a second childhood， from whence they are not improperly called twice children. Which， if you ask me how I do it， I shall not be shy in the point. I bring them to our River Lethe (for its springhead rises in the Fortunate Islands， and that other of hell is but a brook in comparison)， from which， as soon as they have drunk down a long forgetfulness， they wash away by degrees the perplexity of their minds， and so wax young again. But perhaps youll say they are foolish and doting. Admit it； tis the very essence of childhood； as if to be such were not to be a fool， or that that condition had anything pleasant in it， but that it understood nothing. For who would not look upon that child as a prodigy that should have as much wisdom as a man?—according to that common proverb， “I do not like a child that is a man too soon.” Or who would endure a converse or friendship with that old man who to so large an experience of things had joined an equal strength of mind and sharpness of judgment? And therefore for this reason it is that old age dotes； and that it does so， it is beholding to me. Yet， notwithstanding， is this dotard exempt from all those cares that distract a wise man； he is not the less pot companion， nor is he sensible of that burden of life which the more manly age finds enough to do to stand upright under it. And sometimes too， like Plautus old man， he returns to his three letters， A.M.O.， the most unhappy of all things living， if he rightly understood what he did in it.
And yet， so much do I befriend him that I make him well received of his friends and no unpleasant companion； for as much as， according to Homer， Nestors discourse was pleasanter than honey， whereas Achilles was both bitter and malicious； and that of old men， as he has it in another place， florid. In which respect also they have this advantage of children， in that they want the only pleasure of the others life， well suppose it prattling. Add to this that old men are more eagerly delighted with children， and they， again， with old men. “Like to like，” quoted the Devil to the collier. For what difference between them， but that the one has more wrinkles and years upon his head than the other? Otherwise， the brightness of their hair， toothless mouth， weakness of body， love of mild， broken speech， chatting， toying， forgetfulness， inadvertency， and briefly， all other their actions agree in everything. And by how much the nearer they approach to this old age， by so much they grow backward into the likeness of children， until like them they pass from life to death， without any weariness of the one， or sense of the other.
And now， let him that will compare the benefits they receive by me， the metamorphoses of the gods， of whom I shall not mention what they have done in their pettish humors but where they have been most favorable: turning one into a tree， another into a bird， a third into a grasshopper， serpent， or the like. As if there were any difference between perishing and being another thing! But I restore the same man to the best and happiest part of his life. And if men would but refrain from all commerce with wisdom and give up themselves to be governed by me， they should never know what it were to be old， but solace themselves with a perpetual youth. Do but observe our grim philosophers that are perpetually beating their brains on knotty subjects， and for the most part youll find them grown old before they are scarcely young. And whence is it， but that their continual and restless thoughts insensibly prey upon their spirits and dry up their radical moisture? Whereas， on the contrary， my fat fools are as plump and round as a Westphalian hog， and never sensible of old age， unless perhaps， as sometimes it rarely happens， they come to be infected with wisdom， so hard a thing it is for a man to be happy in all things.
And to this purpose is that no small testimony of the proverb， that says， “Folly is the only thing that keeps youth at a stay and old age afar off；” as it is verified in the Brabanders， of whom there goes this common saying， “That age， which is wont to render other men wiser， makes them the greater fools.” And yet there is scarce any nation of a more jocund converse， or that is less sensible of the misery of old age， than they are. And to these， as in situation， so for manner of living， come nearest my friends the Hollanders. And why should I not call them mine， since they are so diligent observers of me that they are commonly called by my name?—of which they are so far from being ashamed， they rather pride themselves in it. Let the foolish world then be packing and seek out Medeas， Circes， Venuses， Auroras， and I know not what other fountains of restoring youth. I am sure I am the only person that both can， and have， made it good. Tis I alone that have that wonderful juice with which Memnons daughter prolonged the youth of her grandfather Tithon. I am that Venus by whose favor Phaon became so young again that Sappho fell in love with him. Mine are those herbs， if yet there be any such， mine those charms， and mine that fountain that not only restores departed youth but， which is more desirable， preserves it perpetual. And if you all subscribe to this opinion， that nothing is better than youth or more execrable than age， I conceive you cannot but see how much you are indebted to me， that have retained so great a good and shut out so great an evil.
Questions
1. Why does Folly try to celebrate herself instead of the Gods or valiant men in this oration?
2. What does Erasmus mean by saying “For who can set me out better than myself， unless perhaps I could be better known to another than to myself”?
3. Who might be called morosophous or wise fools? What are the differences between Folly and them?
4. Who are her companions in the Fortunate Islands? What do they embody in real life?
5. What does Folly try to convey by quoting “To know nothing is the only happiness?”
6. How does Folly prove the pervasiveness of folly whether in gods or ordinary men?
7. What is Follys attitude towards education especially of children?
8. What is suggested of old age when Folly quotes “Folly is the only thing that keeps youth at a stay and old age afar off”? How does she prove that?
Oration on the Dignity of ManGiovanni Pico della MirandolaPrereading
Giovanni Pico della Mirandola is an Italian humanist philosopher. At the age of 23 or in December， 1486， he publicized a list of 900 theses or propositions concerning all subjects and even offered to defend them in public after he returned from his visits of famous universities in Italy and France. The Church was outraged by some of his theses and forbade him to continue his discussions. Pico was not frustrated and invited all interested scholars to dispute them with him the following month. Oration on the Dignity of Man served as an introduction to his defense. Pitifully Pico became increasingly religious after in conflict with the Catholic Church for several years. This discourse was never published in his lifetime.
This text is divided into two sections. The first section presents and deals with the speakers philosophical basis. It begins by praising human beings not as a function of their unique place in Creation， but as an individual of potential thinking capacity. In the second section， Pico announces and justifies the topics to be disputed. He exhibits great courage in defying the so called scholars and the Church.
Now lets read the text and reflect on the questions that follow.
Text
Most esteemed Fathers， I have read in the ancient writings of the Arabians that Abdala the Saracen on being asked what， on this stage， so to say， of the world， seemed to him most evocative of wonder， replied that there was nothing to be seen more marvelous than man. And that celebrated exclamation of Hermes Trismegistus， “What a great miracle is man， Asclepius” confirms this opinion.
And still， as I reflected upon the basis assigned for these estimations， I was not fully persuaded by the diverse reasons advanced for the preeminence of human nature； that man is the intermediary between creatures， that he is the familiar of the gods above him as he is the lord of the beings beneath him； that， by the acuteness of his senses， the inquiry of his reason and the light of his intelligence， he is the interpreter of nature， set midway between the timeless unchanging and the flux of time； the living union (as the Persians say)， the very marriage hymn of the world， and， by Davids testimony but little lower than the angels. These reasons are all， without question， of great weight； nevertheless， they do not touch the principal reasons， those， that is to say， which justify mans unique right for such unbounded admiration. Why， I asked， should we not admire the angels themselves and the beatific choirs more? At long last， however， I feel that I have come to some understanding of why man is the most fortunate of living things and， consequently， deserving of all admiration； of what may be the condition in the hierarchy of beings assigned to him， which draws upon him the envy， not of the brutes alone， but of the astral beings and of the very intelligences which dwell beyond the confines of the world. A thing surpassing belief and smiting the soul with wonder. Still， how could it be otherwise? For it is on this ground that man is， with complete justice， considered and called a great miracle and a being worthy of all admiration.
Hear then， oh Fathers， precisely what this condition of man is； and in the name of your humanity， grant me your benign audition as I pursue this theme.
God the Father， the Mightiest Architect， had already raised， according to the precepts of His hidden wisdom， this world we see， the cosmic dwelling of divinity， a temple most august. He had already adorned the supercelestial region with Intelligences， infused the heavenly globes with the life of immortal souls and set the fermenting dungheap of the inferior world teeming with every form of animal life. But when this work was done， the Divine Artificer still longed for some creature which might comprehend the meaning of so vast an achievement， which might be moved with love at its beauty and smitten with awe at its grandeur. When， consequently， all else had been completed (as both Moses and Timaeus testify)， in the very last place， He bethought Himself of bringing forth man. Truth was， however， that there remained no archetype according to which He might fashion a new offspring， nor in His treasurehouses the wherewithal to endow a new son with a fitting inheritance， nor any place， among the seats of the universe， where this new creature might dispose himself to contemplate the world. All space was already filled； all things had been distributed in the highest， the middle and the lowest orders. Still， it was not in the nature of the power of the Father to fail in this last creative élan； nor was it in the nature of that supreme Wisdom to hesitate through lack of counsel in so crucial a matter； nor， finally， in the nature of His beneficent love to compel the creature destined to praise the divine generosity in all other things to find it wanting in himself.
At last， the Supreme Maker decreed that this creature， to whom He could give nothing wholly his own， should have a share in the particular endowment of every other creature. Taking man， therefore， this creature of indeterminate image， He set him in the middle of the world and thus spoke to him:
“We have given you， O Adam， no visage proper to yourself， nor endowment properly your own， in order that whatever place， whatever form， whatever gifts you may， with premeditation， select， these same you may have and possess through your own judgement and decision. The nature of all other creatures is defined and restricted within laws which we have laid down； you， by contrast， impeded by no such restrictions， may， by your own free will， to whose custody we have assigned you， trace for yourself the lineaments of your own nature. I have placed you at the very center of the world， so that from that vantage point you may with greater ease glance round about you on all that the world contains. We have made you a creature neither of heaven nor of earth， neither mortal nor immortal， in order that you may， as the free and proud shaper of your own being， fashion yourself in the form you may prefer. It will be in your power to descend to the lower， brutish forms of life； you will be able， through your own decision， to rise again to the superior orders whose life is divine.”
Oh unsurpassed generosity of God the Father， Oh wondrous and unsurpassable felicity of man， to whom it is granted to have what he chooses， to be what he wills to be! The brutes， from the moment of their birth， bring with them， as Lucilius says， “from their mothers womb” all that they will ever possess. The highest spiritual beings were， from the very moment of creation， or soon thereafter， fixed in the mode of being which would be theirs through measureless eternities. But upon man， at the moment of his creation， God bestowed seeds pregnant with all possibilities， the germs of every form of life. Whichever of these a man shall cultivate， the same will mature and bear fruit in him. If vegetative， he will become a plant； if sensual， he will become brutish； if rational， he will reveal himself a heavenly being； if intellectual， he will be an angel and the son of God. And if， dissatisfied with the lot of all creatures， he should recollect himself into the center of his own unity， he will there become one spirit with God， in the solitary darkness of the Father， Who is set above all things， himself transcend all creatures.
Who then will not look with awe upon this our chameleon， or who， at least， will look with greater admiration on any other being? This creature， man， whom Asclepius the Athenian， by reason of this very mutability， this nature capable of transforming itself， quite rightly said was symbolized in the mysteries by the figure of Proteus. This is the source of those metamorphoses， or transformations， so celebrated among the Hebrews and among the Pythagoreans； for even the esoteric theology of the Hebrews at times transforms the holy Enoch into that angel of divinity which is sometimes called malakhhashekhinah and at other times transforms other personages into divinities of other names； while the Pythagoreans transform men guilty of crimes into brutes or even， if we are to believe Empedocles， into plants； and Mohammed， imitating them， was known frequently to say that the man who deserts the divine law becomes a brute. And he was right； for it is not the bark that makes the tree， but its insensitive and unresponsive nature； nor the hide which makes the beast of burden， but its brute and sensual soul； nor the orbicular form which makes the heavens， but their harmonious order. Finally， it is not freedom from a body， but its spiritual intelligence， which makes the angel. If you see a man dedicated to his stomach， crawling on the ground， you see a plant and not a man； or if you see a man bedazzled by the empty forms of the imagination， as by the wiles of Calypso， and through their alluring solicitations made a slave to his own senses， you see a brute and not a man. If， however， you see a philosopher， judging and distinguishing all things according to the rule of reason， him shall you hold in veneration， for he is a creature of heaven and not of earth； if， finally， a pure contemplator， unmindful of the body， wholly withdrawn into the inner chambers of the mind， here indeed is neither a creature of earth nor a heavenly creature， but some higher divinity， clothed in human flesh.
Who then will not look with wonder upon man， upon man who， not without reason in the sacred Mosaic and Christian writings， is designated sometimes by the term “all flesh” and sometimes by the term “every creature，” because he molds， fashions and transforms himself into the likeness of all flesh and assumes the characteristic power of every form of life? This is why Evantes the Persian in his exposition of the Chaldean theology， writes that man has no inborn and proper semblance， but many which are extraneous and adventitious: whence the Chaldean saying: “Enosh hu shinnujim vekammah tebhaoth haj”—“man is a living creature of varied， multiform and everchanging nature.”
But what is the purpose of all this? That we may understand—since we have been born into this condition of being what we choose to be—that we ought to be sure above all else that it may never be said against us that， born to a high position， we failed to appreciate it， but fell instead to the estate of brutes and uncomprehending beasts of burden； and that the saying of Aspah the Prophet， “You are all Gods and sons of the Most High，” might rather be true； and finally that we may not， through abuse of the generosity of a most indulgent Father， pervert the free option which he has given us from a saving to a damning gift. Let a certain saving ambition invade our souls so that， impatient of mediocrity， we pant after the highest things and (since， if we will， we can) bend all our efforts to their attainment. Let us disdain things of earth， hold as little worth even the astral orders and， putting behind us all the things of this world， hasten to that court beyond the world， closest to the most exalted Godhead. There， as the sacred mysteries tell us， the Seraphim， Cherubim and Thrones occupy the first places； but， unable to yield to them， and impatient of any second place， let us emulate their dignity and glory. And， if we will it， we shall be inferior to them in nothing.
How must we proceed and what must we do to realize this ambition? Let us observe what they do， what kind of life they lead. For if we lead this kind of life (and we can)， we shall attain their same estate. The Seraphim burns with the fire of charity； from the Cherubim flashes forth the splendor of intelligence； the Thrones stand firm with the firmness of justice. If， consequently， in the pursuit of the active life we govern inferior things by just criteria， we shall be established in the firm position of the Thrones. If， freeing ourselves from active care， we devote our time to contemplation， meditating upon the Creator in His work， and the work in its Creator， we shall be resplendent with the light of the Cherubim. If we burn with love for the Creator only， his consuming fire will quickly transform us into the flaming likeness of the Seraphim. Above the Throne， that is， above the just judge， God sits， judge of the ages. Above the Cherub， that is， the contemplative spirit， He spreads His wings， nourishing him， as it were， with an enveloping warmth. For the spirit of the Lord moves upon the waters， those waters which are above the heavens and which， according to Job， praise the Lord in preaurorial hymns. Whoever is a Seraph， that is a lover， is in God and God is in him； even， it may be said， God and he are one. Great is the power of the Thrones， which we attain by right judgement， highest of all the sublimity of the Seraphim which we attain by loving.
But how can anyone judge or love what he does not know? Moses loved the God whom he had seen and as judge of his people he administered what he had previously seen in contemplation on the mountain. Therefore the Cherub is the intermediary and by his light equally prepares us for the fire of the Seraphim and the judgement of the Thrones. This is the bond which unites the highest minds， the Palladian order which presides over contemplative philosophy； this is then the bond which before all else we must emulate， embrace and comprehend， whence we may be rapt to the heights of love or descend， well instructed and prepared， to the duties of the practical life. But certainly it is worth the effort， if we are to form our life on the model of the Cherubim， to have familiarly before our eyes both its nature and its quality as well as the duties and the functions proper to it. Since it is not granted to us， flesh as we are and knowledgeable only the things of earth， to attain such knowledge by our own efforts， let us have recourse to the ancient Fathers. They can give us the fullest and most reliable testimony concerning these matters because they had an almost domestic and connatural knowledge of them.
Let us ask the Apostle Paul， that vessel of election， in what activity he saw the armies of the Cherubim engaged when he was rapt into the third heaven. He will answer， according to the interpretation of Dionysius， that he saw them first being purified， then illuminated， and finally made perfect. We， therefore， imitating the life of the Cherubim here on earth， by refraining the impulses of our passions through moral science， by dissipating the darkness of reason by dialectic—thus washing away， so to speak， the filth of ignorance and vice—may likewise purify our souls， so that the passions may never run rampant， nor reason， lacking restraint， range beyond its natural limits. Then may we suffuse our purified souls with the light of natural philosophy， bringing it to final perfection by the knowledge of divine things.
Lest we be satisfied to consult only those of our own faith and tradition， let us also have recourse to the patriarch， Jacob， whose likeness， carved on the throne of glory， shines out before us. This wisest of the Fathers who though sleeping in the lower world， still has his eyes fixed on the world above， will admonish us. He will admonish， however， in a figure， for all things appeared in figures to the men of those times: a ladder rises by many rungs from earth to the height of heaven and at its summit sits the Lord， while over its rungs the contemplative angels move， alternately ascending and descending. If this is what we， who wish to imitate the angelic life， must do in our turn， who， I ask， would dare set muddied feet or soiled hands to the ladder of the Lord? It is forbidden， as the mysteries teach， for the impure to touch what is pure. But what are these hands， these feet， of which we speak? The feet， to be sure， of the soul: that is， its most despicable portion by which the soul is held fast to earth as a root to the ground； I mean to say， it alimentary and nutritive faculty where lust ferments and voluptuous softness is fostered. And why may we not call “the hand” that irascible power of the soul， which is the warrior of the appetitive faculty， fighting for it and foraging for it in the dust and the sun， seizing for it all things which， sleeping in the shade， it will devour? Let us bathe in moral philosophy as in a living stream， these hands， that is， the whole sensual part in which the lusts of the body have their seat and which， as the saying is， holds the soul by the scruff of the neck， let us be flung back from that ladder as profane and polluted intruders. Even this， however， will not be enough， if we wish to be the companions of the angels who traverse the ladder of Jacob， unless we are first instructed and rendered able to advance on that ladder duly， step by step， at no point to stray from it and to complete the alternate ascensions and descents. When we shall have been so prepared by the art of discourse or of reason， then， inspired by the spirit of the Cherubim， exercising philosophy through all the rungs of the ladder—that is， of nature—we shall penetrate being from its center to its surface and from its surface to its center. At one time we shall descend， dismembering with titanic force the “unity” of the “many，” like the members of Osiris； at another time， we shall ascend， recollecting those same members， by the power of Phoebus， into their original unity. Finally， in the bosom of the Father， who reigns above the ladder， we shall find perfection and peace in the felicity of theological knowledge.
Let us also inquire of the just Job， who made his covenant with the God of life even before he entered into life， what， above all else， the supreme God desires of those tens of thousands of beings which surround Him. He will answer， without a doubt: peace， just as it is written in the pages of Job: He establishes peace in the high reaches of heaven. And since the middle order interprets the admonitions of the higher to the lower orders， the words of Job the theologian may well be interpreted for us by Empedocles the philosopher. Empedocles teaches us that there is in our souls a dual nature； the one bears us upwards toward the heavenly regions； by the other we are dragged downward toward regions infernal， through friendship and discord， war and peace； so witness those verses in which he laments that， torn by strife and discord， like a madman， in flight from the gods， he is driven into the depths of the sea. For it is a patent thing， O Fathers， that many forces strive within us， in grave， intestine warfare， worse than the civil wars of states. Equally clear is it that， if we are to overcome this warfare， if we are to establish that peace which must establish us finally among the exalted of God， philosophy alone can compose and allay that strife. In the first place， if our man seeks only truce with his enemies， moral philosophy will restrain the unreasoning drives of the protean brute， the passionate violence and wrath of the lion within us. If， acting on wiser counsel， we should seek to secure an unbroken peace， moral philosophy will still be at hand to fulfill our desires abundantly； and having slain either beast， like sacrificed sows， it will establish an inviolable compact of peace between the flesh and the spirit. Dialectic will compose the disorders of reason torn by anxiety and uncertainty amid the conflicting hordes of words and captious reasonings. Natural philosophy will reduce the conflict of opinions and the endless debates which from every side vex， distract and lacerate the disturbed mind. It will compose this conflict， however， in such a manner as to remind us that nature， as Heraclitus wrote， is generated by war and for this reason is called by Homer， “strife.” Natural philosophy， therefore， cannot assure us a true and unshakable peace. To bestow such peace is rather the privilege and office of the queen of the sciences， most holy theology. Natural philosophy will at best point out the way to theology and even accompany us along the path， while theology， seeing us from afar hastening to draw close to her， will call out: “Come unto me you who are spent in labor and I will restore you； come to me and I will give you the peace which the world and nature cannot give.”
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Let us also seek the opinion of Pythagoras， that wisest of men， known as a wise man precisely because he never thought himself worthy of that name. His first precept to us will be: “Never sit on a bushel；” never， that is， through slothful inaction to lose our power of reason， that faculty by which the mind examines， judges and measures all things； but rather unremittingly by the rule and exercise of dialectic， to direct it and keep it agile. Next he will warn us of two things to be avoided at all costs: Neither to make water facing the sun， nor to cut our nails while offering sacrifice. Only when， by moral philosophy， we shall have evacuated the weakening appetites of our tooabundant pleasures and pared away， like nail clippings， the sharp points of anger and wrath in our souls， shall we finally begin to take part in the sacred rites， that is， the mysteries of Bacchus of which we have spoken and to dedicate ourselves to that contemplation of which the Sun is rightly called the father and the guide. Finally， Pythagoras will command us to “Feed the cock”； that is， to nourish the divine part of our soul with the knowledge of divine things as with substantial food and heavenly ambrosia. This is the cock whose visage is the lion， that is， all earthly power， holds in fear and awe. This is the cock to whom， as we read in Job， all understanding was given. At this cocks crowing， erring man returns to his senses. This is the cock which every day， in the morning twilight， with the stars of morning， raises a Te Deum to heaven. This is the cock which Socrates， at the hour of his death， when he hoped he was about to join the divinity of his spirit to the divinity of the higher world and when he was already beyond danger of any bodily illness， said that he owed to Asclepius， that is， the healer of souls.
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Questions
1. What are the principal reasons for the preeminence of humans over other beings according to Pico?
2. Why did “God bestow seeds pregnant with all possibilities” for humans?
3. Can Humans elevate themselves to be Gods? Why or why not?
4. Why does Pico have recourse to some ancient Fathers， such Apostle Paul， Jacob， Job， Moses， Apollo， and the Chaldeans?
5. Is it appropriate to dispute in public the most subtle mysteries of Christian theology? Why or why not?
Questions for Further Reflection
1. Is it true that “A man of great wisdom often appears slowwitted（大智若愚）”? Then what is true wisdom?
2. As a token of the Renaissance， individualism is highly celebrated in the two texts. Then what is individualism? What does it mean in socialistic context?
3. In the early period of Renaissance， God was not to be disposed of but served as a guide for selfliberation or as a means to the end of spiritual freedom. Is it true? Why or why not?
4. Pico demonstrated enormous courage and confidence by proposing the study of philosophy instead of theology and exhibited a high degree of diplomacy in delivering this speech. What can be learned from him?
5. Is it possible for China to initiate the rebirth of its ancient classic literature? What lessons can be recapped from the Renaissance?
References and Further Reading
伊拉斯谟. 愚人颂. 许崇信，译. 沈阳：辽宁教育出版社，2001.Chapter 4HumanismChapter 4Humanism
Humanism， as a predominant set of beliefs， is the fundamental force that empowered artists， scholars， artists， philosophers and even ordinary Europeans to seek truth and the value of the individual beyond the teachings of the Catholic Church in the Renaissance. It was developed in Norther Italy during the 13th and 14th centuries and later spread to other parts of continental Europe and England. It places humans in a pivotal position instead of the Creator. Though it has been touched upon in Chapter 3， it requires further investigation and appreciation of its profound effect on modern western civilization after the end of the Renaissance. This is why a single chapter is reserved for it.
According to Encyclopedia Britannica， early Humanism embraces the following basic principles and attitudes， which may offer some illuminous guide to insight into humanist movement itself. Firstly， early humanists initiated a new conversation with the classics by referring to an inherent and lasting human reality. They achieved this by returning to the classics or translations of Latin works from ancient Rome. Secondly， they engaged themselves in a realism that discarded religious conventions and began to focus on an objective analysis of their sensory experience， which in turn gave rise to the modern social science. Thirdly， humanists exhibited a high degree of independent critical thinking and meticulous attention to details， which was showcased by the great artists Da Vinci. And finally， they cried for personal autonomy and sung the dignity of man， as is shown in Oration on the Dignity of Man. It can be safely concluded that humanism offered a fertile soil for human development in various fields， such as literature， philosophy， art， religion， social science and even natural science.
The two pieces of philosophical discourses presented here are intended for a glimpse of humanism， as it is an impossible mission to cover a topic of such scale and profoundness in such limited space and time. As Kant wrote in Preface to the first edition of Critique of Pure Reason， “it can be said many a book that it would be much shorter if it were not so short.” The ultimate goal of these selections is to kindle their inner sensibilities to converse with these giants. The first text， written by Kant in 1781， is the two prefaces to Critique of Pure Reason， a monumental book in the history of Western philosophy. Kant introduced the historic and academic background to his book in these two prefaces and some prerequisite crucial concepts required to comprehend his thoughts. The second text is an excerpt from A Treatise of Human Nature by David Hume in 1739， a book generally considered as Humes most important work and one of the most influential works in the history of philosophy. Hume shifted his foundation of analysis from empirical investigation， a predominant format at that time， to that of human nature. He also attempted to apply the experimental method of reasoning， widespread in the physical sciences， to the study of human psychology to reveal the extent and force of human understanding. His book can help us gain certain insight into cognitive science. Many theories proposed by Hume have proved valid and solid by modern technologies.
Critique of Pure ReasonImmanuel KantPrereading
Immanuel Kant is a leading figure in the evolution of modern Western philosophy. His systematic effort in the theory of knowledge， ethics and aesthetics laid the foundation for all subsequent studies of philosophy. Here two prefaces to his muchdebated book of Critique of Pure Reason were severed for convenience of study or succession of learning as his philosophical doctrines advanced from those of Humanism， though it would be more appropriate to categorize them in our discussion of Enlightenment.
Critique of Pure Reason (1781) was one of Kants series of monumental works， including Critique of Practical Reason (1788) and Critique of Judgment (1790). In this book， Kant attempted to criticize some metaphysics as they claimed that human mind can find truth by pure thought without referring to the objects of experience. According to Kant， knowledge should not rely on judgments analytically contained in what one already knows but the ones that are a priori， as they are separated from the contingencies of required and synthetic experience. This is what Kant calls Pure Reason. The two prefaces center on the controversies that rose over metaphysics and some basic concepts and their conceptions that occur in this book. They can offer certain pathway to the comprehension of his ideas and book.
Now lets read the text and reflect on the questions that follow.
Text
Preface to the first edition
Human reason has the peculiar fate in one species of its cognitions that it is burdened with questions which it cannot dismiss， since they are given to it as problems by the nature of reason itself， but which it also cannot answer， since they transcend every capacity of human reason.
Reason falls into this perplexity through no fault of its own. It begins from principles whose use is unavoidable in the course of experience and at the same time sufficiently warranted by it. With these principles it rises (as its nature also requires) ever higher， to more remote conditions. But since it becomes aware in this way that its business must always remain incomplete because the questions never cease， reason sees itself necessitated to take refuge in principles that overstep all possible use in experience， and yet seem so unsuspicious that even ordinary common sense agrees with them. But it thereby falls into obscurity and contradictions， from which it can indeed surmise that it must somewhere be proceeding on the ground of hidden errors； but it cannot discover them， for the principles on which it is proceeding， since they surpass the bounds of all experience， no longer recognize any touchstone of experience. The battlefield of these endless controversies is called metaphysics.
There was a time when metaphysics was called the queen of all the sciences， and if the will be taken for the deed， it deserved this title of honor， on account of the preeminent importance of its object. Now， in accordance with the fashion of the age， the queen proves despised on all sides； and the matron， outcast and forsaken， mourns like Hecuba: Modo maxima rerum， tot generis natisque potens—nunc trahor exul， inops—Ovid， Metamorphoses. (Greatest of all by race and birth， I now am cast out， powerless)
In the beginning， under the administration of the dogmatists， her rule was despotic. Yet because her legislation still retained traces of ancient barbarism， this rule gradually degenerated through internal wars into complete anarchy； and the skeptics， a kind of nomads who abhor all permanent cultivation of the soil， shattered civil unity from time to time. But since there were fortunately only a few of them， they could not prevent the dogmatists from continually attempting to rebuild， though never according to a plan unanimously accepted among themselves. Once in recent times it even seemed as though an end would be put to all these controversies， and the lawfulness of all the competing claims would be completely decided， through a certain physiology of the human understanding (by the famous Locke)； but it turned out that although the birth of the purported queen was traced to the rabble of common experience and her pretensions would therefore have been rightly rendered suspicious， nevertheless she still asserted her claims， because in fact this genealogy was attributed to her falsely； thus metaphysics fell back into the same old wormeaten dogmatism， and thus into the same position of contempt out of which the science was to have been extricated. Now after all paths (as we persuade ourselves) have been tried in vain， what rules is tedium and complete indifferentism， the mother of chaos and night in the sciences， but at the same time also the origin， or at least the prelude， of their incipient transformation and enlightenment， when through illapplied effort they have become obscure， confused， and useless.
For it is pointless to affect indifference with respect to such inquiries， to whose object human nature cannot be indifferent. Moreover， however much they may think to make themselves unrecognizable by exchanging the language of the schools for a popular style， these socalled indifferentists， to the extent that they think anything at all， always unavoidably fall back into metaphysical assertions， which they yet professed so much to despise. Nevertheless this indifference， occurring amid the flourishing of all sciences， and directed precisely at those sciences whose results (if such are to be had at all) we could least do without， is a phenomenon deserving our attention and reflection. This is evidently the effect not of the thoughtlessness of our age， but of its ripened power of judgment (Now and again one hears complaints about the superficiality of our ages way of thinking， and about the decay of wellgrounded science. Yet I do not see that those sciences whose grounds are well laid， such as mathematics， physics， etc.， in the least deserve this charge； rather， they maintain their old reputation for wellgroundedness， and in the case of natural science， even surpass it. This same spirit would also prove itself effective in other species of cognition if only care had first been taken to correct their principles. In the absence of this， indifference， doubt， and finally strict criticism are rather proofs of a wellgrounded way of thinking. Our age is the genuine age of criticism， to which everything must submit. Religion through its holiness and legislation through its majesty commonly seek to exempt themselves from it. But in this way they excite a just suspicion against themselves， and cannot lay claim to that unfeigned respect that reason grants only to that which has been able to withstand its free and public examination.)， which will no longer be put off with illusory knowledge， and which demands that reason should take on anew the most difficult of all its tasks， namely， that of selfknowledge， and to institute a court of justice， by which reason may secure its rightful claims while dismissing all its groundless pretensions， and this not by mere decrees but according to its own eternal and unchangeable laws； and this court is none other than the critique of pure reason itself.
Yet by this I do not understand a critique of books and systems， but a critique of the faculty of reason in general， in respect of all the cognitions after which reason might strive independently of all experience， and hence the decision about the possibility or impossibility of a metaphysics in general， and the determination of its sources， as well as its extent and boundaries， all， however， from principles.
It is on this path， the only one left， that I have set forth， and I flatter myself that in following it I have succeeded in removing all those errors that have so far put reason into dissension with itself in its nonexperiential use. I have not avoided reasons questions by pleading the incapacity of human reason as an excuse； rather I have completely specified these questions according to principles， and after discovering the point where reason has misunderstood itself， I have resolved them to reasons full satisfaction. To be sure， the answer to these questions has not turned out just as dogmatically enthusiastic lust for knowledge might have expected； for the latter could not be satisfied except through magical powers in which I am not an expert. Yet this was also not the intent of our reasons natural vocation； and the duty of philosophy was to abolish the semblance arising from misinterpretation， even if many prized and beloved delusions have to be destroyed in the process. In this business I have made comprehensiveness my chief aim in view， and I make bold to say that there cannot be a single metaphysical problem that has not been solved here， or at least to the solution of which the key has not been provided. In fact pure reason is such a perfect unity that if its principle were insufficient for even a single one of the questions that are set for it by its own nature， then this ［principle］ might as well be discarded， because then it also would not be up to answering any of the other questions with complete reliability.
While I am saying this I believe I perceive in the face of the reader an indignation mixed with contempt at claims that are apparently so pretentious and immodest； and yet they are incomparably more moderate than those of any author of the commonest program who pretends to prove the simple nature of the soul or the necessity of a first beginning of the world. For such an author pledges himself to extend human cognition beyond all bounds of possible experience， of which I humbly admit that this wholly surpasses my capacity； instead I have to do merely with reason itself and its pure thinking； to gain exhaustive acquaintance with them I need not seek far beyond myself， because it is in myself that I encounter them， and common logic already also gives me an example of how the simple acts of reason may be fully and systematically enumerated； only here the question is raised how much I may hope to settle with these simple acts if all the material and assistance of experience are taken away from me.
So much for the completeness in reaching each of the ends， and for the comprehensiveness in reaching all of them together， which ends are not proposed arbitrarily， but are set up for us by the nature of cognition itself， as the matter of our critical investigation.
Furthermore， certainty and clarity， two things that concern the form of the investigation， are to be viewed as essential demands， which may rightly be made on the author who ventures upon so slippery an undertaking.
As far as certainty is concerned， I have myself pronounced the judgment that in this kind of inquiry it is in no way allowed to hold opinions， and that anything that even looks like an hypothesis is a forbidden commodity， which should not be put up for sale even at the lowest price but must be confiscated as soon as it is discovered. For every cognition that is supposed to be certain a priori proclaims that it wants to be held for absolutely necessary， and even more is this true of a determination of all pure cognitions a priori， which is to be the standard and thus even the example of all apodictic (philosophical) certainty. Whether I have performed what I have just pledged in that respect remains wholly to the judgment of the reader， since it is appropriate for an author only to present the grounds， but not to judge about their effect on his judges. But in order that he should not inadvertently be the cause of weakening his own arguments， the author may be permitted to note himself those places that， even though they pertain only to the incidental end of the work， may be the occasion for some mistrust， in order that he may in a timely manner counteract the influence that even the readers slightest reservation on this point may have on his judgment over the chief end.
I am acquainted with no investigations more important for getting to the bottom of that faculty we call the understanding， and at the same time for the determination of the rules and boundaries of its use， than those I have undertaken in the second chapter of the Transcendental Analytic， under the title Deduction of the Pure Concepts of the Understanding； they are also the investigations that have cost me the most， but I hope not unrewarded， effort. This inquiry， which goes rather deep， has two sides. One side refers to the objects of the pure understanding， and is supposed to demonstrate and make comprehensible the objective validity of its concepts a priori； thus it belongs essentially to my ends. The other side deals with the pure understanding itself， concerning its possibility and the powers of cognition on which it itself rests； thus it considers it in a subjective relation， and although this exposition is of great importance in respect of my chief end， it does not belong essentially to it； because the chief question always remains: “What and how much can understanding and reason cognize free of all experience? ” and not: “How is the faculty of thinking itself possible?” Since the latter question is something like the search for the cause of a given effect， and is therefore something like a hypothesis (although， as I will elsewhere take the opportunity to show， this is not in fact how matters stand)， it appears as if I am taking the liberty in this case of expressing an opinion， and that the reader might therefore be free to hold another opinion. In view of this I must remind the reader in advance that even in case my subjective deduction does not produce the complete conviction that I expect， the objective deduction that is my primary concern would come into its full strength， on which what is said at pages ［A］923 should even be sufficient by itself.
Finally， as regards clarity， the reader has a right to demand first discursive (logical) clarity， through concepts， but then also intuitive (aesthetic) clarity， through intuitions， that is， through examples or other illustrations in concreto. I have taken sufficient care for the former. That was essential to my undertaking but was also the contingent cause of the fact that I could not satisfy the second demand， which is less strict but still fair. In the progress of my labor I have been almost constantly undecided how to deal with this matter. Examples and illustrations always appeared necessary to me， and hence actually appeared in their proper place in my first draft. But then I looked at the size of my task and the many objects with which I would have to do， and I became aware that this alone， treated in a dry， merely scholastic manner， would suffice to fill an extensive work； thus I found it inadvisable to swell it further with examples and illustrations， which are necessary only for a popular aim， especially since this work could never be made suitable for popular use， and real experts in this science do not have so much need for things to be made easy for them； although this would always be agreeable， here it could also have brought with it something counterproductive. The Abbe Terrasson says that if the size of a book is measured not by the number of pages but by the time needed to understand it， then it can be said of many a book that it would be much shorter if it were not so short. But on the other hand， if we direct our view toward the intelligibility of a whole of speculative cognition that is wideranging and yet is connected in principle， we could with equal right say that many a book would have been much clearer if it had not been made quite so clear. For the aids to clarity help in the parts but often confuse in the whole， since the reader cannot quickly enough attain a survey of the whole； and all their bright colors paint over and make unrecognizable the articulation or structure of the system， which yet matters most when it comes to judging its unity and soundness.
It can， as it seems to me， be no small inducement for the reader to unite his effort with that of the author， when he has the prospect of carrying out， according to the outline given above， a great and important piece of work， and that in a complete and lasting way. Now metaphysics， according to the concepts we will give of it here， is the only one of all the sciences that may promise that little but unified effort， and that indeed in a short time， will complete it in such a way that nothing remains to posterity except to adapt it in a didactic manner to its intentions， yet without being able to add to its content in the least. For it is nothing but the inventory of all we possess through pure reason， ordered systematically. Nothing here can escape us， because what reason brings forth entirely out of itself cannot be hidden， but is brought to light by reason itself as soon as reasons common principle has been discovered. The perfect unity of this kind of cognition， and the fact that it arises solely out of pure concepts without any influence that would extend or increase it from experience or even particular intuition， which would lead to a determinate experience， make this unconditioned completeness not only feasible but also necessary. Tecum habita， et naris quam sit tibi curta supellex.—Persius.(Dwell in your own house， and you will know how simple your possessions are.)
Such a system of pure (speculative) reason I hope myself to deliver under the title Metaphysics of Nature， which will be not half so extensive but will be incomparably richer in content than this critique， which had first to display the sources and conditions of its possibility， and needed to clear and level a ground that was completely overgrown. Here I expect from my reader the patience and impartiality of a judge， but there I will expect the cooperative spirit and assistance of a fellow worker； for however completely the principles of the system may be expounded in the critique， the comprehensiveness of the system itself requires also that no derivative concepts should be lacking， which， however， cannot be estimated a priori in one leap， but must be gradually sought out； likewise， just as in the former the whole synthesis of concepts has been exhausted， so in the latter it would be additionally demanded that the same thing should take place in respect of their analysis， which would be easy and more entertainment than labor.
I have only a few more things to remark with respect to the books printing. Since the beginning of the printing was somewhat delayed， I was able to see only about half the proof sheets， in which I have come upon a few printing errors， though none that confuse the sense except the one occurring at page ［A］ 379， fourth line from the bottom， where specific should be read in place of skeptical. The Antinomy of Pure Reason， from page ［A］ 425 to page ［A］ 461， is arranged in the manner of a table， so that everything belonging to the thesis always continues on the left side and what belongs to the antithesis on the right side， which I did in order to make it easier to compare proposition and counterproposition with one another.
Preface to the second edition
Whether or not the treatment of the cognitions belonging to the concern of reason travels the secure course of a science is something which can soon be judged by its success. If after many preliminaries and preparations are made， a science gets stuck as soon as it approaches its end， or if in order to reach this end it must often go back and set out on a new path； or likewise if it proves impossible for the different coworkers to achieve unanimity as to the way in which they should pursue their common aim； then we may be sure that such a study is merely groping about， that it is still far from having entered upon the secure course of a science； and it is already a service to reason if we can possibly find that path for it， even if we have to give up as futile much of what was included in the end previously formed without deliberation.
That from the earliest times logic has traveled this secure course can be seen from the fact that since the time of Aristotle it has not had to go a single step backwards， unless we count the abolition of a few dispensable subtleties or the more distinct determination of its presentation， which improvements belong more to the elegance than to the security of that science. What is further remarkable about logic is that until now it has also been unable to take a single step forward， and therefore seems to all appearance to be finished and complete. For if some moderns have thought to enlarge it by interpolating psychological chapters about our different cognitive powers (about imagination， wit)， or metaphysical chapters about the origin of cognition or the different kinds of certainty in accordance with the diversity of objects (about idealism， skepticism， etc.)， or anthropological chapters about our prejudice (about their causes and remedies)， then this proceeds only from their ignorance of the peculiar nature of this science. It is not an improvement but a deformation of the sciences when their boundaries are allowed to run over into one another； the boundaries of logic， however， are determined quite precisely by the fact that logic is the science that exhaustively presents and strictly proves nothing but the formal rules of all thinking (whether this thinking be empirical or a priori， whatever origin or object it may have， and whatever contingent or natural obstacles it may meet with in our minds).
For the advantage that has made it so successful， logic has solely its own limitation to thank， since it is thereby justified in abstracting—is indeed obliged to abstract—from all objects of cognition and all the distinctions between them； and in logic， therefore， the understanding has to do with nothing further than itself and its own form. How much more difficult， naturally， must it be for reason to enter upon the secure path of a science if it does not have to do merely with itself， but has to deal with objects too； hence logic as a propadeutic constitutes only the outer courtyard， as it were， to the sciences； and when it comes to information， a logic may indeed be presupposed in judging about the latter， but its acquisition must be sought in the sciences properly and objectively so called.
Insofar as there is to be reason in these sciences， something in them must be cognized a priori， and this cognition can relate to its object in either of two ways， either merely determining the object and its concept (which must be given from elsewhere)， or else also making the object actual. The former is theoretical， the latter practical cognition of reason. In both the pure part， the part in which reason determines its object wholly a priori， must be expounded all by itself， however much or little it may contain， and that part that comes from other sources must not be mixed up with it； for it is bad economy to spend blindly whatever comes in without being able later， when the economy comes to a standstill， to distinguish the part of the revenue that can cover the expenses from the part that must be cut.
Mathematics and physics are the two theoretical cognitions of reason that are supposed to determine their objects a priori， the former entirely purely， the latter at least in part purely but also following the standards of sources of cognition other than reason.
Mathematics has， from the earliest times to which the history of human reason reaches， in that admirable people the Greeks， traveled the secure path of a science. Yet it must not be thought that it was as easy for it as for logic—in which reason has to do only with itself—to find that royal path， or rather itself to open it up； rather， I believe that mathematics was left groping about for a long time (chiefly among the Egyptians)， and that its transformation is to be ascribed to a revolution， brought about by the happy inspiration of a single man in an attempt from which the road to be taken onward could no longer be missed， and the secure course of a science was entered on and prescribed for all time and to an infinite extent. The history of this revolution in the way of thinking—which was far more important than the discovery of the way around the famous CapeⅡ and of the lucky one who brought it about， has not been preserved for us. But the legend handed down to us by Diogenes Laertius—who names the reputed inventor of the smallest elements of geometrical demonstrations， even of those that， according to common judgment， stand in no need of proof—proves that the memory of the alteration wrought by the discovery of this new path in its earliest footsteps must have seemed exceedingly important to mathematicians， and was thereby rendered unforgettable. A new light broke upon the first person who demonstrated the isoscelesa triangle (whether he was called “Thales” or had some other name). For he found that what he had to do was not to trace what he saw in this figure， or even trace its mere concept， and read off， as it were， from the properties of the figure； but rather that he had to produce the latter from what he himself thought into the object and presented (through construction) according to a priori concepts， and that in order to know something securely a priori he had to ascribe to the thing nothing except what followed necessarily from what he himself had put into it in accordance with its concept.
It took natural science much longer to find the highway of science； for it is only about one and a half centuries since the suggestion of the ingenious Francis Bacon partly occasioned this discovery and partly further stimulated it， since one was already on its tracks—which discovery， therefore， can just as much be explained by a sudden revolution in the way of thinking. Here I will consider natural science only insofar as it is grounded on empirical principles.
When Galileo rolled balls of a weight chosen by himself down an inclined plane， or when Torricelli made the air bear a weight that he had previously thought to be equal to that of a known column of water， or when in a later time Stahls changed metals into calyx and then changed the latter back into metal by first removing something and then putting it back again (Here I am not following exactly the thread of the history of the experimental method， whose first beginnings are also not precisely known.)， a light dawned on all those who study nature. They comprehended that reason has insight only into what it itself produces according to its own design； that it must take the lead with principles for its judgments according to constant laws and compel nature to answer its questions， rather than letting nature guide its movements by keeping reason， as it were， in leadingstrings； for otherwise accidental observations， made according to no previously designed plan， can never connect up into a necessary law， which is yet what reason seeks and requires. Reason， in order to be taught by nature， must approach nature with its principles in one hand， according to which alone the agreement among appearances can count as laws， and， in the other hand， the experiments thought out in accordance with these principles—yet in order to be instructed by nature not like a pupil， who has recited to him whatever the teacher wants to say， but like an appointed judge who compels witnesses to answer the questions he puts to them. Thus even physics owes the advantageous revolution in its way of thinking to the inspiration that what reason would not be able to know of itself and has to learn from nature， it has to seek in the latter (though not merely ascribe to it) in accordance with what reason itself puts into nature. This is how natural science was first brought to the secure course of a science after groping about for so many centuries.
Metaphysics—a wholly isolated speculative cognition of reason that elevates itself entirely above all instruction from experience， and that through mere concepts (not， like mathematics， through the application of concepts to intuition)， where reason thus is supposed to be its own pupil—has up to now not been so favored by fate as to have been able to enter upon the secure course of a science， even though it is older than all other sciences， and would remain even if all the others were swallowed up by an allconsuming barbarism. For in it reason continuously gets stuck， even when it claims a priori insight (as it pretends) into those laws confirmed by the commonest experience. In metaphysics we have to retrace our path countless times， because we find that it does not lead where we want to go， and it is so far from reaching unanimity in the assertions of its adherents that it is rather a battlefield， and indeed one that appears to be especially determined for testing ones powers in mock combat； on this battlefield no combatant has ever gained the least bit of ground， nor has any been able to base any lasting possession on his victory. Hence there is no doubt that up to now the procedure of metaphysics has been a mere groping， and what is the worst， a groping among mere concepts.
Now why is it that here the secure path of science still could not be found? Is it perhaps impossible? Why then has nature afflicted our reason with the restless striving for such a path， as if it were one of reasons most important occupations? Still more， how little cause have we to place trust in our reason if in one of the most important parts of our desire for knowledge it does not merely forsake us but even entices us with delusions and in the end betrays us! Or if the path has merely eluded us so far， what indications may we use that might lead us to hope that in renewed attempts we will be luckier than those who have gone before us?
I should think that the examples of mathematics and natural science， which have become what they now are through a revolution brought about all at once， were remarkable enough that we might reflect on the essential element in the change in the ways of thinking that has been so advantageous to them， and， at least as an experiment， imitate it insofar as their analogy with metaphysics， as rational cognition， might permit. Up to now it has been assumed that all our cognition must conform to the objects； but all attempts to find out something about them a priori through concepts that would extend our cognition have， on this presupposition， come to nothing. Hence let us once try whether we do not get farther with the problems of metaphysics by assuming that the objects must conform to our cognition， which would agree better with the requested possibility of an a priori cognition of them， which is to establish something about objects before they are given to us. This would be just like the first thoughts of Copernicus， who， when he did not make good progress in the explanation of the celestial motions if he assumed that the entire celestial host revolves around the observer， tried to see if he might not have greater success if he made the observer revolve and left the stars at rest. Now in metaphysics we can try in a similar way regarding the intuition of objects. If intuition has to conform to the constitution of the objects， then I do not see how we can know anything of them a priori； but if the object (as an object of the senses) conforms to the constitution of our faculty of intuition， then I can very well represent this possibility to myself. Yet because I cannot stop with these intuitions， if they are to become cognitions， but must refer them as representations to something as their object and determine this object through them， I can assume either that the concepts through which I bring about this determination also conform to the objects， and then I am once again in the same difficulty about how I could know anything about them a priori， or else I assume that the objects， or what is the same thing， the experience in which alone they can be cognized (as given objects) conforms to those concepts， in which case I immediately see an easier way out of the difficulty， since experience itself is a kind of cognition requiring the understanding， whose rule I have to presuppose in myself before any object is given to me， hence a priori， which rule is expressed in concepts a priori， to which all objects of experience must therefore necessarily conform， and with which they must agree. As for objects insofar as they are thought merely through reason， and necessarily at that， but that (at least as reason thinks them) cannot be given in experience at all—the attempt to think them (for they must be capable of being thought) will provide a splendid touchstone of what we assume as the altered method of our way of thinking， namely that we can cognize of things a priori only what we ourselves have put into them.
Questions
1. What are principles? How do they contribute to human reason?
