The Good Is One and Indivisible

'This much may well suffice to set forth the form of false happiness; if this is now clear to thine eyes, the next step is to show what true happiness is.'

'Indeed,' said I, 'I see clearly enough that neither is independence to be found in wealth, nor power in sovereignty, nor reverence in dignities, nor fame in glory, nor true joy in pleasures.'

'Hast thou discerned also the causes why this is so?'

'I seem to have some inkling, but I should like to learn more at large from thee.'

'Why, truly the reason is hard at hand. That which is simple and indivisible by nature human error separates, and transforms from the true and perfect to the false and imperfect. Dost thou imagine that which lacketh nothing can want power?'

'Certainly not.'

'Right; for if there is any feebleness of strength in anything, in this there must necessarily be need of external protection.'

'That is so.'

'Accordingly, the nature of independence and power is one and the same.'

'It seems so.'

'Well, but dost think that anything of such a nature as this can be looked upon with contempt, or is it rather of all things most worthy of veneration?'

'Nay; there can be no doubt as to that.'

'Let us, then, add reverence to independence and power, and conclude these three to be one.'

'We must if we will acknowledge the truth.'

'Thinkest thou, then, this combination of qualities to be obscure and without distinction, or rather famous in all renown? Just consider: can that want renown which has been agreed to be lacking in nothing, to be supreme in power, and right worthy of honour, for the reason that it cannot bestow this upon itself, and so comes to appear somewhat poor in esteem?'

'I cannot but acknowledge that, being what it is, this union of qualities is also right famous.'

'It follows, then, that we must admit that renown is not different from the other three.'

'It does,' said I.

'That, then, which needs nothing outside itself, which can accomplish all things in its own strength, which enjoys fame and compels reverence, must not this evidently be also fully crowned with joy?'

'In sooth, I cannot conceive,' said I, 'how any sadness can find entrance into such a state; wherefore I must needs acknowledge it full of joy—at least, if our former conclusions are to hold.'

'Then, for the same reasons, this also is necessary—that independence, power, renown, reverence, and sweetness of delight, are different only in name, but in substance differ no wise one from the other.'

'It is,' said I.

'This, then, which is one, and simple by nature, human perversity separates, and, in trying to win a part of that which has no parts, fails to attain not only that portion (since there are no portions), but also the whole, to which it does not dream of aspiring.'

'How so?' said I.

'He who, to escape want, seeks riches, gives himself no concern about power; he prefers a mean and low estate, and also denies himself many pleasures dear to nature to avoid losing the money which he has gained. But at this rate he does not even attain to independence—a weakling void of strength, vexed by distresses, mean and despised, and buried in obscurity. He, again, who thirsts alone for power squanders his wealth, despises pleasure, and thinks fame and rank alike worthless without power. But thou seest in how many ways his state also is defective. Sometimes it happens that he lacks necessaries, that he is gnawed by anxieties, and, since he cannot rid himself of these inconveniences, even ceases to have that power which was his whole end and aim. In like manner may we cast up the reckoning in case of rank, of glory, or of pleasure. For since each one of these severally is identical with the rest, whosoever seeks any one of them without the others does not even lay hold of that one which he makes his aim.'

'Well,' said I, 'what then?'

'Suppose anyone desire to obtain them together, he does indeed wish for happiness as a whole; but will he find it in these things which, as we have proved, are unable to bestow what they promise?'

'Nay; by no means,' said I.

'Then, happiness must certainly not be sought in these things which severally are believed to afford some one of the blessings most to be desired.'

'They must not, I admit. No conclusion could be more true.'

'So, then, the form and the causes of false happiness are set before thine eyes. Now turn thy gaze to the other side; there thou wilt straightway see the true happiness I promised.'

'Yea, indeed, 'tis plain to the blind.' said I. 'Thou didst point it out even now in seeking to unfold the causes of the false. For, unless I am mistaken, that is true and perfect happiness which crowns one with the union of independence, power, reverence, renown, and joy. And to prove to thee with how deep an insight I have listened—since all these are the same—that which can truly bestow one of them I know to be without doubt full and complete happiness.'

'Happy art thou, my scholar, in this thy conviction; only one thing shouldst thou add.'

'What is that?' said I.

'Is there aught, thinkest thou, amid these mortal and perishable things which can produce a state such as this?'

'Nay, surely not; and this thou hast so amply demonstrated that no word more is needed.'

'Well, then, these things seem to give to mortals shadows of the true good, or some kind of imperfect good; but the true and perfect good they cannot bestow.'

'Even so,' said I.

'Since, then, thou hast learnt what that true happiness is, and what men falsely call happiness, it now remains that thou shouldst learn from what source to seek this.'

'Yes; to this I have long been eagerly looking forward.'

'Well, since, as Plato maintains in the "Timæus," we ought even in the most trivial matters to implore the Divine protection, what thinkest thou should we now do in order to deserve to find the seat of that highest good?'

'We must invoke the Father of all things,' said I; 'for without this no enterprise sets out from a right beginning.'

'Thou sayest well,' said she; and forthwith lifted up her voice and sang:

"It is enough to have shown so far the form of counterfeit happiness; if you behold it clearly, the next order of things is to show what the true happiness is."

"Indeed," I said, "I see that self-sufficiency cannot come from riches, nor power from kingdoms, nor reverence from dignities, nor fame from glory, nor gladness from pleasures."

"And have you grasped the causes too, why this is so?"

"I seem to glimpse them, as through a tiny chink, but I would rather learn them more openly from you."

"The reason is most ready. For what is by nature simple and undivided, human error separates, and carries over from the true and perfect to the false and imperfect. Do you think that what lacks nothing is in need of power?"

"By no means," I said.

"Rightly so; for if there is anything whose strength is feeble in any respect, in that respect it must need the help of another."

"That is so," I said.

"So self-sufficiency and power have one and the same nature."

"So it seems."

"And do you think a thing of this kind is to be scorned, or, on the contrary, most worthy of the reverence of all things?"

"But this," I said, "cannot even be doubted."

"Then let us add reverence to self-sufficiency and power, so that we may judge these three to be one."

"Let us add it, if indeed we wish to confess the truth."

"What then," she said, "do you think this is obscure and ignoble, or most renowned with all fame? Consider, lest what we have granted to lack nothing, to be most powerful, to be most worthy of honor, should seem to need renown which it could not provide for itself, and on that account should seem in some part more abject."

"I cannot but confess," I said, "that, being what it is, it is also most renowned."

"It follows, then, that we must admit renown differs in nothing from the three above."

"It follows," I said.

"Then that which needs nothing of another's, which can do all things by its own powers, which is renowned and reverend—is it not agreed that this is also most glad?"

"From where any sorrow could creep upon a thing of this kind," I said, "I cannot even imagine; so I must confess it is full of gladness, if the things above stand."

"And by the same reasoning it is also necessary that the names of self-sufficiency, power, renown, reverence, and pleasantness are indeed different, but in their substance in no way differ."

"It is necessary," I said.

"This, then, which is by nature one and simple, human depravity divides up; and while it tries to obtain a part of a thing that has no parts, it gains neither a portion—since there is none—nor the thing itself, which it least aims at."

"In what way?" I said.

"The man who seeks riches in flight from poverty," she said, "takes no trouble about power, prefers to be lowly and obscure, and even withdraws from himself many natural pleasures, lest he lose the money he has acquired. But in this way not even self-sufficiency comes to him, whom strength deserts, whom trouble stings, whom lowliness casts down, whom obscurity hides. The man who desires only to be able—he squanders wealth, despises pleasures, and counts as nothing honor and glory that lack power. But you see how many things fail even him. For it happens that at times he lacks necessities, that he is gnawed by anxieties, and, since he cannot drive these off, he ceases to be powerful in the very thing he most sought. One may reason similarly about honors, glory, pleasures; for since each one of these is the same as the rest, whoever seeks any one of them without the rest does not grasp even the one he desires."

"What then," I said, "if someone should desire to obtain all of them at once?"

"He would indeed wish for the sum of happiness; but will he find it in these, which we have shown cannot confer what they promise?"

"By no means," I said.

"So in these things, which are believed to provide individually some of the things to be sought, happiness is in no way to be tracked down."

"I admit it," I said, "and nothing truer can be said than this."

"You have, then," she said, "both the form of false happiness and its causes. Now turn the gaze of your mind to the opposite side; there you will at once see the true happiness I promised."

"But this," I said, "is plain even to a blind man, and you showed it a little while ago, while trying to lay open the causes of the false. For unless I am mistaken, that is the true and perfect happiness which makes a person self-sufficient, powerful, reverend, renowned, and glad. And, so that you may know I have noticed more deeply: I recognize without ambiguity that the happiness which can truly provide any one of these—since they are all the same—is the full and complete blessedness."

"O my pupil, happy in this opinion, if only you would add this!"

"Add what?" I said.

"Do you think there is anything among these mortal and perishable things that can bring about a state of this kind?"

"By no means," I said, "and you have shown that so well that nothing more could be desired."

"These things, then, seem to give to mortals either images of the true good, or certain imperfect goods, but they cannot confer the true and perfect good."

"I agree," I said.

"Since, then, you have recognized what that true happiness is, and what things counterfeit happiness, it now remains for you to recognize where you can seek this true happiness."

"That indeed," I said, "I have long been eagerly awaiting."

"But since, as it pleases our Plato in the Timaeus, even in the smallest matters divine help ought to be implored, what do you think we should do now, so that we may deserve to find the dwelling of that highest good?"

"We must invoke," I said, "the Father of all things; for without doing so no beginning is rightly laid."

"Rightly," she said; and at once she sang thus: