Introduction Part 3

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This introduction comes from the Cave’s

The Best of Basil the Great on Reading Literature and Education.

__________

LISTEN AND RECEIVE COUNSEL. IN the opening paragraphs of an address intended to advise, Basil directs his students to “eagerly receive my words”—that is, to listen to him and receive his counsel. Why should they do so? To justify himself, Basil turns to Greek literature and, more specifically, to the poet Hesiod.

Before getting on with his explanation, we should note that Basil, with this pivot toward a particular passage of Hesiod and its meaning, is already modeling what he hopes his students will do with Greek literature. They should turn in its direction to understand the nature of the good life and be inspired toward living it. But more on this point as we get to Basil’s other ideas and advice.

Returning to the original point, Basil kindly explains that if his students “eagerly receive [his] words,” they “will belong to the second category of men praised by Hesiod.” What is this category of men like? Quoting the poet, Basil notes that a man in this category is “good and noble” since he is the one “who follows the road mapped out by others.”[i]

This description of the good and noble man—the one who listens to and follows advice—comes from Hesiod’s Works and Days, an epic poem full of epic counsel, in which the poet guides his brother Perses toward “success,” ultimately giving him the fundamental ingredients of a happy life.[ii] Basil’s point, then, is straightforward. The good and noble man follows helpful advice in order to obtain a worthy goal. But more. The goal in this case is not just any random goal; rather, to put it in Aristotle’s terms, it is the good that every human being seeks; it is happiness itself, the good life.[iii] Implied is the fact that the opposite kind of man does not achieve happiness—the one who doesn’t listen to good counsel. Rather, this man—Hesiod calls him “a fool”—ends up with a life of misery and failure.

There’s one last point to explore. Young people should not merely follow the counsel of just anyone. Rather, they should only be open to the right sort of person. Specifically, this person should be “experienced in human affairs,” which means that he or she will likely be older and so will have experienced the “all-instructing vicissitudes of life.” Second, it is important that this person cares for the one receiving the advice. Basil, as it happens, is both. “Thanks to my age,” he explains, he has been “trained by many experiences.” And given his close relationship to his students, he has for them “the same feelings of kindness and goodwill that your own fathers and mothers have.”[iv]

Read with reserve and discrimination, keeping the goal in mind. Basil fully recognizes what he’s up against in advising the young people he is directing. For him, it is a battle of influence. The problem is that every day they go off to school and “encounter the famous thoughts of ancient men through the words they have left behind.”[v] Unlike today, perhaps, the very fact that the speakers or writers were ancient was a powerful attraction to people then alive, a fact that meant lineage, heritage, solidity, and, ultimately, truth—at least the atmosphere or appearance thereof. And to add on the fact that the men themselves and their thoughts were famous or notable was to confirm the conclusion drawn from their antiquity. Such men offered up must-know got-to-have-them sayings and thoughts. Who wouldn’t want to give him or herself over to them?

Not so fast! Basil cautions. The eager young people in his care should only accept the famous thoughts of old with proper reserve and discrimination. “Here is my advice for you, then,” he writes. “You should not once and for all hand over the rudder of your mind to these men—as one might hand over the rudder of a ship to another—to follow along with them wherever they steer you.”[vi] Later on Basil counsels that “we should not admit everything [we read or hear] without discrimination.”[vii] The point, again, has to do with the counsel we require to make sure the literature we read—the men and thoughts we give ourselves over to (all those potential captains who wish to take hold of the rudders of our mind)—is such that it will steer us in the right direction.

In the end, the real emphasis is on the latter, the destination, the place where literature may or may not take us. We must judge what we read based on this point. As Basil puts it, “You should accept from them only what is useful.”[viii] Indeed, he promises that “from this point on … I will instruct you in what these useful things are, and how we should go about separating them from the rest.”[ix]

Returning to the ship and sailing metaphor, Basil points out that “a ship’s captain does not randomly deliver his vessel over to the winds without a plan, but he steers the ship directly to port.”[x] This means that all readers should have a plan and goal in mind when they read. Realizing that there are all kinds of literature that blow in every direction, we should intentionally, instead of randomly, read. The plan itself should be one that acknowledges the varied nature and direction of literature. Most importantly, our reading should have a goal, some presumably worthwhile port toward which it sails, rather than being aimless.

Value what is truly valuable. In determining what the goal or destination should be, Basil suggests we should understand what is truly valuable or good versus what is not—or what is, we might say, less so. To this end, Basil offers a few general rules by which we may evaluate things.

First, the future life has a value that the present life does not have. “We do not assume, young people, that this human life of ours is altogether something valuable. Nor do we consider or call something entirely good which merely contributes to this life alone.”[xi] Basil goes on to make the point in this striking manner:

If someone were to collect every form of prosperity and happiness that has existed from the time when humans first came into being and gather them into a single whole, then he would discover that this collection is not even comparable to the smallest portion of those other goods. On the contrary, all of the goods of this present life together are far removed in worth from the smallest goods of the future life.[xii]

Allied to the first rule is another—that we should value soul-matters over body-matters. Basil states that “inasmuch as the soul is more valuable than the body in all things, so great is the difference between the two lives”—that is the future and present lives.[xiii] In the end, the difference between the future and present and the soul and body is that between reality itself and the “shadows and dreams” we all experience and know that “fall short of reality.”[xiv]

With this latter comparison, Basil points us in the direction of Plato’s Republic and the famous allegory of the cave.[xv]In the allegory, we humans live imprisoned in an unreal world of shadows and echoes that nonetheless seems real. Plato challenges us to break free of our fetters and move out into the light of the sun and the world of real things. As it was for Basil, for Plato the world of real things is that of the soul, which ultimately hungers for and is thus oriented toward the Good itself, that which is true and beautiful.

Take care of your soul—soul care. Given what is truly valuable, Basil counsels that our major concern should be the care of our souls. We should, he says, “devote ourselves to the care of our souls, keeping all our leisure time free from other things.”[xvi]

What is involved in this unique concern? As with any other pursuit, there are dos and don’ts, positives and negatives, things we should cultivate and things we should weed out. We’ll focus on the latter in this section and take up the former in the next.

As for the latter, the basic point is that we should not let the body have its way. “We should quiet the restlessness and confusion produced by the body in the soul with the lash of reason.”[xvii] Positively stated, we should work to free our souls from the passions and desires of the body, caring for the body only insofar as it may serve the soul, freeing it to pursue wisdom. “We should not slavishly serve the body any more than is strictly necessary,” advises Basil. “Instead, we should provide the soul with the best things. Through the wisdom of philosophy we should free the soul as though from a prison from its association with the passions of the body.”[xviii]

And how may we accomplish this all-important task? We may free our souls by scorning everything that surpasses necessity. Basil defines necessity, or need, in terms of the requirements of nature rather than other perceived needs, including the demands of pleasure—for certain foods, or clothing, or perfumes, or music, or entertainments, or sex and the like. “In all other matters, we must be governed by necessity, only giving to the body as much as is beneficial to the soul.”[xix]

Let’s take a moment away from the major point and look at an aside. In discussing “those who go beyond the bounds of necessity,” Basil offers what may be described as an image of addiction, where a person needs more and more in order to satisfy a ravenous urge. Such a person, he says, “resemble[s] people who rush headlong down a slope. They are unable to grab hold of anything to stop their precipitous fall. No, the more they grasp at things, the more things they need to satisfy the desires.”[xx]

Back to the point. What are some general rules for soul care? Here is the general imperative Basil offers: “Purification of the soul includes scorning those pleasures that satisfy the senses”—those pleasures related to seeing, hearing, smelling, touching, and tasting. Accordingly, we receive the following directives: “We must minister to the belly with what is necessary—but not with pleasant foods, necessarily.”[xxi] And, close “your ears to songs that pour over and utterly destroy your soul. I say this because those passions that are the offspring of cupidity and depravity are naturally produced by this kind of music.”[xxii] And, “I am ashamed to even have to forbid filling the air with whole clouds of sweet smelling perfumes that carry pleasure to your nose, or to smear your body with creams and lotions.”[xxiii] And, “what can be said about the importance of not hunting after those pleasures associated with the senses of touch and taste? Such hunting compels those who are devoted to these pleasures to live like wild animals, giving all their attention to the belly and the members below it.”[xxiv] Finally, “in a word, every part of the body should be despised by everyone who does not care to be buried in its pleasures as if in filth.”[xxv]

Moving away from the body itself, Basil advises that we should furthermore not pursue wealth or honor. As he puts it, “What use will we have for wealth if we scorn the pleasures that come through the body?”[xxvi] Or, “are we to despise wealth and scorn the pleasures of the senses and yet go on seeking after flattery and adulation … ?”[xxvii] Basil has a general rule regarding how best to relate to money: “I believe that we should not yearn after wealth when it is absent. And if it is nearby, we should not make it our purpose to possess it as much as we should to dispose of it well.”[xxviii] As for honor, he says, “There is nothing that a prudent man should flee more than living for praise and worrying about what everyone thinks.”[xxix]

Focus on wisdom and the virtues. Whereas the “don’t” half of taking care of the soul is aimed at the body, the “do” part centers on the cultivation of wisdom and virtue. The reason for saying “no” to the body is so we may say “yes” to the soul. When we do so—when we, as Plato and Saint Paul say, “make no provision for the body as a location to satisfy the desires”—we create space within ourselves for “the pursuit of wisdom and philosophy.”[xxx] This pursuit, in turn, as if in a feedback loop, is the means by which our souls become freer and freer. “Through the wisdom of philosophy we should free the soul as though from a prison.”

More specifically, the means by which we free the soul is virtue (the Greek is aretē). Basil tells us that “nearly all those writers who have given us some account of wisdom and philosophy have … discoursed in their writings in praise of virtue.”[xxxi] This is significant because “it is through virtue that we must enter upon this life of ours,” he says.[xxxii] The reason is that virtue is a stable good, the only wealth we may count on that will last forever. “Virtue is the only possession that cannot be taken away. It remains while we are living and when we have completed this life.”[xxxiii]

It is for this reason that an introduction to the concept and practice of the virtues is absolutely essential for the young. “It is no small advantage,” Basil observes, “for a certain friendliness and habitual association with virtue to be produced in the souls of the young.”[xxxiv] By contrast, “habitual contact with the bad words and deeds of [certain] writings is a road leading to bad behavior.”[xxxv] This is so because of the “plasticity of their souls.”[xxxvi] Given the formable or impressionable nature of a young person’s soul or mind, such a one is especially in the position to benefit from literature that declares the value of the good life. To one degree or another, this is true for all of us. Basil accordingly concludes, “if any other man has celebrated virtue … , let us favorably receive his words as leading to the same goal as our own.”[xxxvii] For this reason, Basil turns to the assistance of non-Christian literature, to “outside teachings.”

Train with the help of Greek literature. For Basil, this non-Christian literature, including Greek literature, offers a “preliminary training for the eye of the soul.”[xxxviii] But a preliminary training for what? To explain, Basil uses a number of analogies. “We should see our lives more in terms of athletic contests,” he counsels, “or, if you prefer, music competitions. The competitors prepare themselves with practice exercises for the … contests in which crowns are offered.”[xxxix] Otherwise we should exercise ourselves as soldiers do in preparation for battle. When we read non-Christian literature, Basil suggests that “we imitate those who perform military drills. They gain experience by means of gymnastic exercises and dances. And when it comes to battle, they benefit from the advantages that come from whatever was done in sport.”[xl]

The goal of this preliminary training with non-Christian Greek literature, therefore, is twofold. One, it is aimed at a more advanced training in Christian literature, the sacred Scriptures. Two, it is meant to prepare the reader for the contest of life, the stakes of which are “prizes so extraordinary in terms of their extent and sublimity”[xli]:

So then, we must also acknowledge that a contest lies before us—the greatest of all battles for which we must do all things and toil to the best of our abilities until we are prepared. Therefore, we must associate with poets and prose writers and orators and all other men—which is to say with whomever and wherever we may expect to find some benefit relative to the care of our souls.[xlii]

These are the many non-Christian writers who have written about wisdom and the virtues. And just as certain exercises approximate and so prepare an athlete or soldier for certain athletic contests or battle, so does non-Christian literature prepare a reader for the powerful insights of sacred Scripture and the life that it demands. Basil asserts that such literature is “not entirely different from our own [Christian literature].”[xliii] As such, it has value.

Yet how can we be certain? As Basil himself seems to pose the question, how can we sufficiently affirm “the fact that knowledge outside of our own is not unprofitable for the soul”?[xliv]

Moses and Daniel legitimize it.In order to demonstrate that a Christian can benefit from non-Christian literature, that is from a tradition that stands outside the revealed tradition of sacred Scripture (that is, the Old and New Testaments), as well as Church teaching, Basil turns to the examples of Moses and Daniel. As he points out, both men studied non-scriptural wisdom before turning to the divine truth of the sacred Scriptures:

They say, moreover, that even Moses—that most excellent man whose name for wisdom is greatest among all mankind—exercised his mind in the knowledge of the Egyptians, and in this way he approached the contemplation of the one Who Is. They similarly affirm that the wise man Daniel—though in later times—closely examined and thoroughly learned the wisdom of the Chaldeans before partaking in the divine teachings.[xlv]

How to benefit—read like a bee or a gardener gathering the good and avoiding the bad (examples and warnings). Once Basil establishes the fact that non-Christian literature can be profitable, he turns to how we “should engage with that learning.”[xlvi] First, he reminds us to read in a guarded manner, calling to mind his earlier advice to “accept … only what is useful and know what to disregard.” His concern, as we’ve already noted, is the defense of the soul:

We must watch over our souls with every safeguard, so that we may not unknowingly accept something of the worse kind through the pleasure of the poets’ words, like those who ingest poisons sweetened with honey.[xlvii]

Basil’s ultimate concern, of course, is not merely the defense of the soul but its positive good, “some benefit.”[xlviii]As such, there is both a negative aspect to his advice and one that positively searches for the good. What does this look like in practice?

Basil advises that we should only accept some things in what we read and leave the rest alone. In general, we should learn from and imitate the examples of good men. Just as important, however, is the opposite point that we should avoid imitating the examples of bad men.

The idea is at least as old as the late first century BC Roman historian Livy, who explained that

What chiefly makes the study of history wholesome and profitable is this, that you behold the lessons of every kind of experience set out as on a conspicuous monument. From these you may choose for yourself and for your own state what examples to imitate. You may also choose what examples to avoid imitating—what is shameful from beginning to end.[xlix]

Here’s how Basil makes the point:

As for the literature, then, that contains counsel regarding noble conduct, let us receive it in this manner. And since the outstanding deeds of the men of old have also been preserved for us, either by means of an ongoing oral tradition or safeguarded in the words of the poets and prose writers, then let us not overlook this source in terms of benefit.[l]

Basil goes on to offer the examples of Pericles, Eucleides of Megara, Socrates, and Alexander the Great, and suggests how similar they are to examples found in Christian teachings. His conclusion? “Since these exemplary models are close to the teachings found in our own writings, I declare that it is quite valuable for people your age to imitate them.”[li]

Basil earlier expresses the general rule of what to accept and what to leave alone: “We will certainly accept those passages of theirs in which they praise virtue and condemn vice.”[lii] And speaking of the poets—though the prose writers are no different—he says,

Since every kind of subject is found in their writings, you should not turn your mind to everything found therein, one after another without exception. Rather, whenever they recount for you the words or deeds of good men, you should be pleased with them and admire them, earnestly trying to imitate such as these. But whenever they go through the words and deeds of wicked men, you should avoid such imitation.[liii]

Basil offers two images for how we should approach the vast field of non-Christian literature—the images of the bee and the gardener. Here’s what he has to say about how the bee gathers the good from a field of flowers:

Just as bees know how to extract honey from flowers, which to men are enjoyable only for their sweet fragrance and color, even so with literature, those who look beyond the sweet and agreeable aspects of such writings may gather from them some benefit for their souls. So then, we should engage with literature in a way that follows this image of the bees. For bees neither approach nor land upon every flower without discrimination. Nor do they attempt to carry off the whole flower. Instead, taking only as much as is useful for their work, they are glad to give up the rest. Consequently, if we are wise and moderate, we will acquire from their literature whatever is suitable to us and akin to the truth, while passing over the rest.[liv]

He makes the same point with the image of the gardener:

Just as we avoid the thorns while picking flowers from a rose garden, let us guard against what is harmful when gathering whatever is useful from writings such as these.[lv]

One last point. Basil presents one other way in which we may benefit by reading non-Christian literature. Not only may we collect what is beneficial but familiarity with the not-so-good or the bad will serve to highlight the tremendous value of the good. To use his analogy of the gardener in the rose garden, it is by seeing the ugliness of the thorns and feeling their pointy prick that we know the beauty and softness of the rose. Placing the two realities side by side, we can appreciate even more the value of the one over the other. Therefore, as Basil observes, “putting [‘our own and the other writings’] next to each other, side by side, we can examine the differences between them—which is itself no small advance in establishing the superiority of the better.”[lvi]

Harmonizing your saying and doing—the importance of integrity.The last of Basil’s major ideas is one that is fairly straightforward, one that Greeks and Romans had been making for hundreds of years. It is not enough to read or think about the examples of good men. Rather, as Basil advises us, “we must obey these men and attempt to exhibit their words in our lives.” His point is that there must be “a correspondence between one’s words and deeds”[lvii]—which is to say that our lives must exhibit integrity if reading good literature is to have any final value for us. We should seek the reality of being good rather than the mere appearance. As such, our reading should motivate our living and doing; to some extent, though it is not merely a functional exercise, we read in order to be and to act. If the latter is not present, then there is something out of line.[lviii]

In order to illustrate the point, Basil offers several examples. “A musician would not readily play a lyre that is out of tune,” he says. “Nor would a chorus leader have a choir that sings together without very much harmony.” He finishes with the challenge, “What? Should each man form factions and war within himself? Should his life not agree with his words?”[lix]

One last question—that of timing. When should we strive for integrity? Basil admonishes that, given the uncertainty of the future, the time to act is now. “For it would be shameful,” he declares, “to squander this present season only to beg for it later on while in distress, when there will be no more time.”[lx]

So ends this item. See you in another Cave reading or item.

Notes

[i] Ibid., 1.3. We should note that the first category of man is the one “who sees for himself what must be done”—thus, Basil is not merely promoting an authority-based education. And yet, aside from looking into things for oneself, one should pay attention to the counsel of others. For the original passage, see Hesiod, Works and Days 293-297.

[ii] For Hesiod’s work, see The Best of Hesiod’s Theogony & Works and Days (Sugar Land: The Classics Cave, 2020).

[iii] For more on Aristotle’s conception of this good and happiness, as well as the development of the Greek conception of happiness over time from Homer to Plotinus, see Happiness: What the Ancient Greeks Thought and Said about Happiness (Sugar Land: The Classics Cave, 2020).

[iv] See Basil, How to Benefit from Reading Greek Literature 1.1-3.

[v] Ibid., 1.4.

[vi] Ibid., 1.5.

[vii] Ibid., 8.1.

[viii] Ibid., 1.5. For a similar point, see also 8.1: “We should only accept what is useful.” It is important to point out that Basil is not making a utilitarian argument for education. By usefulness he does not mean certain skills (such as critical thinking) or content (such as vocabulary or the content necessary for what E.D. Hirsch calls “cultural literacy”). By usefulness, he very specifically means that which will help one to live a better life.

[ix] Ibid., 1.5.

[x] Ibid., 8.2. In the same section, Basil also uses the images of an archer shooting for a target and a craftsman acting for an end.

[xi] Ibid., 2.1.

[xii] Ibid., 2.4.

[xiii] Ibid., 2.5.

[xiv] Ibid., 2.4.

[xv] See Plato, Republic 7.514a-517b.

[xvi] Basil, How to Benefit from Reading Greek Literature 9.1.

[xvii] Ibid., 9.15. The reference is to Plato’s Phaedrus 253c-e, where the charioteer of the soul (the intellect or reason) must control one of the soul’s horses—the bad one—by means of “whip and goad.”

[xviii] Ibid., 9.2. The background of Basil’s idea is once again (in part, at least) Plato. See Plato’s Phaedo 82e-83a; 64b-c.

[xix] Ibid., 9.5. For Basil’s definition of need, see 9.18: “And doubtlessly he will define ‘need’ itself in terms of the necessary requirements of nature, and not in terms of pleasure.”

[xx] Ibid., 9.19.

[xxi] Ibid., 9.2.

[xxii] Ibid., 9.7-8. With this, Basil follows a long line of philosophers beginning with Plato that criticized certain kinds of music and the lyric content of that music as being unhealthy for the soul and for a good life. He states that worthless music was popular in his day (see 9.11). Positively, Basil advises, “We must pursue the other kind of music, which is better in itself and leads to better things” (see 9.8-10). What would he have to say about the sort of music we listen to today? For a fairly recent treatment of the influence music has on the soul, see Allan Bloom, The Closing of the American Mind (New York, Simon & Schuster, 1987), 68-81.

[xxiii] Ibid., 9.11.

[xxiv] Ibid., 9.11.

[xxv] Ibid., 9.12.

[xxvi] Ibid., 9.17.

[xxvii] Ibid., 9.24.

[xxviii] Ibid., 9.21. For a similar early view on the use of wealth, see Clement of Alexandria’s The Rich Man’s Salvation.

[xxix] Ibid., 9.25.

[xxx] Ibid., 9.12. The passage from Saint Paul is Romans 13.14: “Put on the Lord Jesus Christ, and make no provision for the flesh, to gratify its desires.” For Plato, see Republic 6.498b-c.

[xxxi] Basil, How to Benefit from Reading Greek Literature 6.1. For a comprehensive presentation of how the ancient Greeks spoke about and understood virtue (or excellence) from Homer to Plotinus, see Aretē (Excellence or Virtue): What the Ancient Greeks Thought and Said about Aretē (Sugar Land: The Classics Cave, 2020).

[xxxii] Ibid., 5.1.

[xxxiii] Ibid., 5.9.

[xxxiv] Ibid., 5.2.

[xxxv] Ibid., 4.2.

[xxxvi] Ibid., 5.2.

[xxxvii] Ibid., 5.5.

[xxxviii] Ibid., 2.6.

[xxxix] Ibid., 8.4.

[xl] Ibid., 2.6.

[xli] Ibid., 8.10.

[xlii] Ibid., 2.7.

[xliii] Ibid., 2.6.

[xliv] Ibid., 4.1.

[xlv] Ibid., 3.3-4. See Acts 7.22 and Daniel 1.4.

[xlvi] Ibid., 4.1.

[xlvii] Ibid., 4.3.

[xlviii] Ibid., 2.7.

[xlix] Titus Livius (Livy), The History of Rome 1.10. For similar points of view, see also Polybius, Histories 1.2, and Diodorus Siculus, Library 10.12.1-2 and 15.11.

[l] Basil, How to Benefit from Reading Greek Literature 7.1.

[li] Ibid., 7.7.

[lii] Ibid., 4.7.

[liii] Ibid., 4.1-2.

[liv] Ibid., 4.7-8.

[lv] Ibid., 4.9.

[lvi] Ibid., 3.1.

[lvii] Ibid., 6.1-2.

[lviii] As Basil puts it, “From the beginning, we should examine at once each one of the teachings and harmonize them with the present goal―according to the Doric proverb, ‘Bringing the stone to the line’ ” (ibid., 4.10).

[lix] Ibid., 6.4.

[lx] Ibid., 10.6.