“See,” says Socrates, “if the temperate man and the disorderly man are not like two men having each a large number of casks: the casks of the one are in good condition and full, one with wine, another with honey, a third with milk, and others with other liquors; these liquors, moreover, are rare and hard to get; they cost infinite trouble to obtain; their owner having once filled his barrels, pours henceforth nothing more into them; he has no longer any anxiety concerning them, and is perfectly at ease. The other can, it is true, procure the same liquors, but only with difficulty; his casks, moreover, being leaky and rotten, he is obliged to fill them constantly, day and night, lest he be devoured by burning pains. This picture being an image of both lives, canst thou say that that of the libertine is happier than that of the temperate man?”
A second consideration which may be added to the preceding one is, that the intemperate man, seeking pleasure, does not find it; pleasure passionately pursued changes even into pain: “Intemperance,” says Montaigne, “is the pest of voluptuousness, whilst temperance is its seasoning.” This view of the matter is especially that in which the epicurean moralists delight; they always, in morals, compare one pleasure with another; but it also holds good for those who place duty above pleasure, for it is likewise a duty to prefer a pure, simple, delicate pleasure, to a violent, disorderly, or vulgar pleasure. From this standpoint, we may say with Plato, in his Philebus, that the purest pleasures are not the strongest, and even that the stronger and more ardent a pleasure may be, the nearer it approaches a change into pain. Now, all other duty set aside, one should principally seek the pleasures which are not mixed with pain, because they are the most natural and the most legitimate of all: thus is it that the pleasure we derive from a satisfied appetite is a proper pleasure, however humble it be, whilst the pleasure which carries with it satiety and disgust, indicates by that very fact, that it is against nature, or at least goes beyond nature. Virtue requires, then, that we prefer the first to the second.
140. The pleasures of the senses.—But provided one is content with moderate pleasures, is it allowed to enjoy the pleasures of the senses, or must we rather turn our mind, will, and soul, from them, and rest content with the satisfied want? Montaigne, that naive child of nature, supports the first proposition; Saint Augustine, the apostle of free grace, advocates the second. “Nature,” says Montaigne, “has maternally provided that the actions she enjoins upon us for the satisfaction of our wants be also pleasurable, and she invites us thereto not only through reason, but also by the appetite: it is not right to corrupt her rules.” Not only did Montaigne authorize the pleasure of the senses, but he also favored one’s delighting in it:
“It should be fitly studied, enjoyed, dwelt upon, to show ourselves worthily thankful to him who dispenses it.... To that degree, did I myself follow this precept that in order that the pleasure of sleeping should not stupidly escape me, I found it well in former days, to have myself disturbed in my sleep, that I might catch the feeling of it.... Is there any gratification of the senses? I do not allow them to have it all to themselves; I associate my soul with it, not to lose itself in it, but to find itself in it.... It estimates, thereby, how much it owes God for putting the body at its own disposal, allowing it to enjoy in order and completeness the soft and agreeable functions whereby it pleased him to compensate us by his mercy for the pains his justice inflicts on us in its turn.”
St. Augustine looks at the thing from an entirely different standpoint:
“Thou hast taught me, O my God,” he says, “to look upon food as upon a remedy. But when I pass from the suffering of hunger to the repose of satiety, even in this passage from the one to the other does concupiscence lay its snares for me; for this passage is a pleasure, and there is no other means to reach the end which by necessity we must reach. And although real hunger and thirst—eating and drinking be but a matter of health, yet does pleasure join itself thereto as a dangerous companion, and sometimes it even takes the lead and induces me to do from a sense of pleasure, what I only wish to do for my health. What is enough for health, is not enough for pleasure, and it is often difficult to decide whether it is the wants of the body that require to be met, or the deceiving voluptuousness of concupiscence which subjugates us. In this incertitude our miserable soul rejoices because she finds therein a defense and an excuse, and, not knowing what is sufficient for the maintenance of health, she places the interests of voluptuousness under the shadow of this pretext. Every day I endeavor to resist its temptations and invoke thy hand to save me, and I lay at thy feet my incertitudes, because, alas! my resolution is not yet strong enough.”
It will be seen that the two moralists use both the same principle (namely, the will of Providence) to arrive at entirely different conclusions. According to one, pleasure was instituted by God only as a means to arrive at the satisfaction of bodily wants. It is, then, this satisfaction alone we should have in view. According to the other, God allowing necessity to be accompanied by pleasure, invites us thereby to enjoy pleasure. It seems to us that the two moralists fall here into an excess: for, according to us, we should not too much distrust pleasure nor delight in it too much: pleasure, not being an evil in itself, there is no reason why we should reproach ourselves for enjoying it: for it is as essential to the nature of our being as life itself. We may even say that pleasure is already a superior degree of existence, and it is for this reason that the animal is found to be superior to the plant. The scruples of St. Augustine in regard to pleasure are, therefore, exaggerated. On the other hand, I do not approve of Montaigne’s refinement either; it is not proper to bring the reflective faculties to bear upon sensual pleasures in order to enhance them: to have one’s self waked up in order to take cognizance of the sweetness of sleep is an unjustifiable refinement of sensuality unless one admits pleasure to be the end of life. In one word, it is necessary here to avoid at the same time exaggerated scruples and self-gratification, as occupying the mind more than is necessary with what has but a very inferior value.[95]
Providence, besides, has furnished us means to enhance the pleasures of the senses by mingling with them the pleasures of the mind or heart. “Banquets,” says Kant, “have, besides the physical pleasure they procure us, something that tends to a moral end, namely, to bring together a certain number of people, and to maintain among them an extended interchange of kindly feelings.”
And this austere moralist does not hesitate to lay down certain rules which should preside over refined festivities. We shall be pardoned if we reproduce here some of his witty remarks on that subject. “The good cheer,” he says, “which best accords with humanity, is a good repast in good company; a company which Chesterfield says should not fall below the number of the Graces, nor exceed that of the Muses.... On the contrary, large assemblages and festivities are altogether in bad taste.... To eat alone is unwholesome for a philosophic scholar: it is no restoration, it is rather exhaustion; it is a labor, and not a play revivifying thought. The man who eats alone loses gradually his cheerfulness; he recovers it, on the contrary, when the intermittent jests of a guest give him a new subject of animation which, alone, he would not have been able to discover.” Kant further requires, “that the repast should end with laughter, which, if it is loud and hearty, is a sort of compliment to nature.” Then, after having given rules for table-talk, he concludes by saying: “However insignificant these laws of polite society may appear, especially when compared to morality properly so called, they are, nevertheless, a garment which becomes virtue, and which may be recommended in all seriousness. In fact, thanks to these laws, sensual pleasures are ennobled and increased by mixing with them intellectual pleasures. It is the same with those other pleasures related to the purest and noblest sentiments of the heart, and which, thanks to this alliance, may be reconciled with perfect chastity.
141. The exterior bearing.—Propriety.—Decorum.—Temperance should not be confined to the inner man; it should manifest itself outwardly through acts, words, through proper bearing and attitudes: this is what is called decency; the principal part of which is modesty.