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 GIFT OF 
 Henry U, Brandenstein 
 
. T^cM.^. ^^*^< 
 
 CICERO'S 
 
 TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS; 
 
 ALSO, TREATISES ON 
 
 THE NATUKE OF THE GODS, 
 
 AND ON 
 
 THE COMMONWEALTH. 
 
 LITERM.LY TRANSLATED, CHIEFLY BY 
 
 c. D. yo:n^ge. 
 
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 1899. 
 
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NOTE 
 
 The greater portion of the Republic was previously translated 
 by Frauds Barham, Esq., and. published in 1841. Although ably 
 performed, it was not sufficiently close for the purpose of the 
 " Classical Library," and was therefore placed in the hands of 
 the present editor for revision, as well as for collation with recent 
 texts. This has occasioned material alterations and additions. 
 
 The treatise "On the Nature of the Gods" is a revision of that 
 usually ascribed to the celebrated Benjamin Franklin. 
 
 M103724 
 
CONTENTS, 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Tusculan Disputations 7 
 
 On the Nature of the Gods 209 
 
 On the Commonwealth 357 
 
THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 In the year a.u.c. 708, and the sixty - second year of 
 Cicero's age, his daughter, Tullia, died in childbed ; and 
 her loss afflicted Cicero to such a degree that he aban- 
 doned all pubUc business, and, leaving the city, retired to 
 Asterra, which was a country house that he had near An- 
 tiura ; where, after a while, he devoted himself to philo- 
 sophical studies, and, besides other works, he published 
 his Treatise de Finibus, and also this treatise called the 
 Tusculan Disputations, of which Middleton gives this con- 
 cise description : 
 
 " The first book teaches us how to contemn the terrors 
 of death, and to look upon it as a blessing rather than an 
 evil: 
 
 " The second, to support pain and affliction with a man- 
 ly fortitude; 
 
 "The third, to appease all our complaints and uneasi- 
 nesses under the accidents of life ; 
 
 "The fourth, to moderate all our other passions; 
 
 "And the fifth explains the sufficiency of virtue to make 
 men happy." 
 
 It was his custom in the opportunities of his leisure to 
 take some friends with him into the country, where, in- 
 stead of amusing themselves with idle sports or feasts, 
 their diversions were wholly speculative, tending to im- 
 prove the mind and enlarge the understanding. In this 
 manner he now spent five days at his Tusculan villa in dis- 
 cussing with his friends the several questions just men- 
 tioned. For, after employing the mornings in declaiming 
 and rhetorical exercises, they used to retire in the after- 
 
8 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 noon into a gallery, called the Academy, Avhich he had 
 built for the purpose of philosophical conferences, where, 
 after the manner of the Greeks, he held a school, as they 
 called it, and invited the company to call for any subject 
 that they desired to liear explained, which being proposed 
 accordingly by some of the audience became immediately 
 the argument of that day's debate. These five conferences, 
 or dialogues, he collected afterward into writing in the 
 very words and manner in which they really passed ; and 
 published them under the title of his Tusculan Disputa- 
 tions, from the name of the villa in which they were held. 
 
 BOOK I. 
 
 ON THE CONTEMPT OF DEATH. 
 
 I. At a time when I had entirely, or to a great degree, 
 released myself from my labors as an advocate, and from 
 my duties as a senator, I had recourse again, Brutus, prin- 
 cipally by your advice, to those studies which never had 
 been out of my mind, although neglected at times, and 
 which after a long interval I resumed ; and now, since the 
 princi])les and rules of all arts which relate to living well 
 depend on the study of wisdom, which is called philoso- 
 phy, I have thought it an employment worthy of me to il- 
 lustrate them in the Latin tongue, not because philosophy 
 could not be understood in the Greek language, or by the 
 teaching of Greek masters ; but it has always been my 
 opinion that our countrymen have, in some instances, made 
 wiser discoveries than the Greeks, with reference to those 
 subjects which they have considered worthy of devoting 
 their attention to, and in others have improved upon their 
 discoveries, so that in one way or other we surpass them 
 on every point ; for, with regard to the manners and hab- 
 its of private life, and family and domestic affairs, we cer- 
 tainly manage them with more elegance, and better than 
 they did ; and as to our republic, that our ancestors have, 
 beyond all dispute, formed on better customs and laws. 
 What shall I say of our military affairs; in which our an- 
 cestors have been most eminent in valor, and still more so 
 
ON THE CONTEMPT OF DEATH. 9 
 
 in discipline? As to those things whicli are attained not 
 by study, but nature, neither Greece, nor any nation, is 
 comparable to us; for what people has displayed such 
 gravity, such steadiness, such greatness of soul, probity, 
 faith such distinguished virtue of every kind, as to be 
 equal to our ancestors. In learning, indeed, and all kinds 
 of literature, Greece did excel us, and it was easy to do 
 so where there was no competition ; for while among the 
 Greeks the poets were the most ancient species of learned 
 men since Homer and Ilesiod lived before the founda- 
 tion of Rome, and Archilochus^ was a contemporary of 
 Romulus we received poetry much later. For it was 
 about five hundred and ten years after the building of 
 Rome before Livius'^ published a play in the consulship of 
 C. Claudius, the son of Coecus, and M. Tuditanus, a year 
 befoie the birth of Ennius, who was older than Plautus 
 and Naevius. 
 
 II. It was, therefore, late before poets were either known 
 or received among us ; though we find in Cato de Origini- 
 bus that the guests used, at their entertainments, to sing 
 the praises of famous men to the sound of the flute ; but 
 a speech of Cato's shows this kind of poetry to have been 
 in no great esteem, as he censures Marcus Nobilior for 
 carrying poets with him into his province; for thafcon- 
 sul, as we know, carried Ennius with him into JEtolia. 
 Therefore the less esteem poets were in, the less were 
 
 ^ Arcliilochus was a native of Paros, and flourished about 714-G7G 
 B.C. His poems were chiefly Iambics of bitter satire. Horace speaks 
 of him as the inventor of Iambics, and calls himself his pupil. 
 
 Parios ego pvimns lambos 
 Ostendi Latio, mimeros auimosqne eecatns 
 Archilochi, nou res et agentia verba Lycamben. 
 
 Epist. I. xix. 25. 
 And in another place he says, 
 
 Archilochuin proprip rabies armavit lambc A. P. 74. 
 
 ' This was Livius Andronicus : he is supposed to have been a native 
 of Tarentum, and he was made prisoner by the Romans, during their 
 Avars in Southern Italy ; owing to which he became tlie slave of M. 
 Liviiis Salinator. He wrote both comedies and tragedies, of which Cic- 
 ero (Brutus 18) speaks very contemptuously, as "Livianaj fabulae non 
 satis dignte qua; iterum legantur" not worth reading a second time. 
 He also wrote a Latin Odyssey, and some hymns, and died probably 
 about 221 B.C. 
 
 1* 
 
10 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 those studies pursued ; though even then those who did 
 dispLiy the greatest abilities that way were not very in- 
 ferior to the Greeks. Do we imagine that if it had been 
 considered commendable in Fabius/ a man of the highest 
 rank, to paint, we should not have had many Polycleti and 
 Parrhasii? Honor nourishes art, and glory is tlie spur 
 with all to studies; while those studies are always neg- 
 lected in every nation which are looked upon disparaging- 
 ly. The Greeks held skill in vocal and instrumental mu- 
 sic as a very important accomplishment, and therefore it 
 is recorded of Epaminondns, who, in my opinion, was the 
 greatest man among the Greeks, that he played excellent- 
 ly on the flute ; and Themistocles, some years before, was 
 deemed ignorant because at an entertainment he declined 
 the lyre when it was offered to iiim. For this reason mu- 
 sicians flourished in Greece; music was a general study ; 
 and whoever was unacquainted with it was not considered 
 as fully instructed in learning. Geometry was in high es- 
 teem with them, therefore none were more honorable than 
 mathematicians. But we have confined this art to bare 
 measuring and calculating. 
 
 III. But, on the contrary, we early entertained an esteem 
 for the orator; though he was not at first a man of learn- 
 ing,*but only quick at speaking : in subsequent times he 
 became learned ; for it is reported that Galba, Africanus, 
 and Loelius were men of learning; and that even Cato, 
 who preceded them in point of time, was a studious man: 
 then succeeded the Lepidi, Carbo, and Gracchi, and so 
 many great orators after them, down to our own times, 
 that we were very little, if at all, inferior to the Greeks. 
 Philosophy has been at a low ebb even to this present 
 time, and has had no assistance from our own language, 
 and so now I have undertaken to raise and illusti-ate it, in 
 order that, as I have been of service to my countrymen, 
 when employed on public affairs, I may, if possible, be so 
 likewise in my retirement; and in this I must take the 
 more pains, because there are already many books in the 
 
 ' C. Fabins, surnamed Pictor, painted the temjjle of Saliis, which the 
 dictator C.Junius Brutus Bnbulns dedicated 302 u.c. The temple was 
 destroyed by fire in the reign of Claudius. The painting is highly 
 praised by Dionysius, xvi. G, 
 
ON THE CONTEMPT OF DEATH. 11 
 
 Latin language which are said to be written inaccurately, 
 having been composed by excellent men, only not of suffi- 
 cient learning ; for, indeed, it is possible that a man may 
 think well, and yet not be able to express his thoughts 
 elegantly ; but for any one to publish thoughts which he 
 can neither arrange skilfully nor illustrate so as to enter- 
 tain his reader, is an unpardonable abuse of letters and 
 retirement: they, therefore, read their books to one an- 
 other, and no one ever takes them up but those who wish 
 to have the same license for careless writing allowed to 
 themselves. Wherefore, if oratory has acquired any rep- 
 utation from my industry, I shall take the more pains to 
 open the fountains of philosophy, from which all my elo- 
 quence has taken its rise. 
 
 IV. But, as Aristotle,^ a man of the greatest genius, and 
 of the most various knowledge, being excited by the glory 
 of the rhetorician Isocrates,'^ commenced teaching young 
 men to speak, and joined philosophy with eloquence : so 
 it is my design not to lay aside my former study of ora- 
 tory, and yet to employ myself at the same time in this 
 greater and more fruitful art; for I have always thought 
 that to be able to speak copiously and elegantly on the 
 most important questions was the most perfect philoso- 
 phy. And I have so diligently applied myself to this pur- 
 suit, that I have already ventured to have a school like the 
 Greeks. And lately wlien you left us, having many of my 
 friends about me, I attempted at my Tusculan villa what 
 I could do in that way ; for as I formerly used to practise 
 declaiming, which nobody continued longer than myself, 
 so this is now to be the declamation of my old age. I de- 
 sired any one to propose a question which he wished to 
 have discussed, and then I argued that point either sit- 
 ting or walking; and so I have compiled the "scholae, as the 
 Greeks call them, of five days, in as many books. We pro- 
 ceeded in this manner: when he who had proposed the 
 subject for discussion had said what he thought proper, I 
 
 ^ For an account of the ancient Greek philosophers, see the sketch at 
 the end of the Disputations. 
 
 "^ Isocrates was born at Athens 43G B.C. He was a pupil of Gorgias, 
 Prodicus, and Socrates. He opened a school of rhetoric, at Athens, with 
 great success. He died by his own hand at the age of ninety-eight. 
 
12 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 spoke against liim ; for this is, you know, the old and So- 
 cratic method of arguing against another's opinion ; for 
 Socrates thought that thus the truth would more easily be 
 arrived at. But to give you a better notion of our dispu- 
 tations, I will not barely send you an account of them, but 
 represent them to you as they were carried on ; therefore 
 let the introduction be thus : 
 
 V. A. To me death seems to be an evil. 
 
 3f. What, to those who are already dead? or to those 
 who must die? 
 
 A. To both. 
 
 M. It is a misery, then, because an evil ? 
 
 A. Certainly. 
 
 M. Then those who have already died, and those who 
 have still got to die, are both miserable ? 
 
 A. So it appears to me. 
 
 M. Then all are miserable ? 
 
 A. Every one. 
 
 31. And, indeed, if you wish to be consistent, all that 
 are already born, or ever shall be, are not only miserable, 
 but always will be so; for should you maintain those only 
 to be miserable, you would not except any one living, for 
 all must die; but there should be an end of misery in 
 death. But seeing that the dead are miserable, we are 
 born to eternal misery, for they must of consequence be 
 miserable who died a hundred thousand years ago ; or 
 rather, all that have ever been born. 
 
 A. So, indeed, I think. 
 
 If. Tell me, I beseech you, are you afraid of the three- 
 headed Cerberus in the shades below, and the roaring 
 waves of Cocytus, and the passage over Acheron, and 
 Tantalus expiring with thirst, while the water touches his 
 chin ; and Sisyphus, 
 
 Who sweats with arduous toil in vain 
 The steepy summit of the mount to gain ? 
 
 Perhaps, too, you dread the inexorable judges, Minos and 
 Rhadamanthus; before whom neither L. Crassus nor M. 
 Antonius can defend you ; and where, since the cause lies 
 before Grecian judges, you will not even be able to employ 
 Demosthenes; but you must plead for yourself before a 
 
ON THE CONTEMPT OF DEATH. 13 
 
 very great assembly. These things perhaps you dread, 
 and therefore look on death as an eternal evil. 
 
 VI. A. Do you take me to be so imbecile as to give 
 credit to such things? 
 
 M. What, do you not believe them? 
 
 A. Not in the least. 
 
 M. I am sorry to hear that. 
 
 A. Why, I beg? 
 
 31. Because I could have been very eloquent in speak- 
 ino^ ag^ainst them. 
 
 A. And who could not on such a subject? or what 
 trouble is it to refute these monstrous inventions of the 
 poets and painters ?^ 
 
 M. And yet you have books of philosophers full of ar- 
 guments against these. 
 
 A. A great waste of time, truly ! for who is so Aveak 
 as to be concerned about them ? 
 
 J\f. If, then, there is no one misei'able in the infernal 
 regions, there can be no one there at all. 
 
 A. I am altogether of that opinion. 
 
 M. Where, then, are those you call miserable? or what 
 place do they inhabit? For, if they exist at all, they must 
 be somewhere. 
 
 A. 1, indeed, am of opinion that they are nowhere. 
 
 M. Then they have no existence at all. 
 
 A. Even so, and yet they are miserable for this very 
 reason, that they have no existence. 
 
 31. I had rather now have you afraid of Cerberus than 
 speak thus inaccurately. 
 
 A. In what respect? 
 
 3f. Because you admit him to exist whose existence 
 you deny with the same breath. Where now is your 
 sagacity ? When you say any one is miserable, you say 
 that he who does not exist, does exist. 
 
 A. I am not so absurd as to say that. 
 
 ' So Horace joins these two classes as inventors of all kinds of improb 
 able fictions : 
 
 Pictoribws atque poetis 
 Quidlibet nudendi semper fait tequa potestas. A. P. 9. 
 
 Which Roscommon translates : 
 
 Painters and poets have been still allow'd 
 Their pencil and their fancies luicoutiued. 
 
14 TflE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 M. What is it that yon do say, then ? 
 
 A. I say, for instance, that Marcus Crassns is miserable 
 in being deprived of such great riches as his by death ; 
 that Cn. Pompey is miserable in being taken from such 
 glory and honor; and, in sliort, that all are miserable who 
 are deprived of this light of life. 
 
 M. You have returned to the same point, for to be mis- 
 erable implies an existence; but you just now denied that 
 the dead had any existence: if, then, they have not, they 
 can be nothing; and if so, they are not even miserable. 
 
 A. Perhaps I do not express what I mean, for I look 
 upon this very circumstance, not to exist after having ex- 
 isted, to be very miserable. 
 
 M. What, more so than not to have existed at all? 
 Therefore, those who are not yet born are miserable be- 
 cause they are not ; and we ourselves, if we are to be mis- 
 erable after death, were miserable before we were born : 
 but I do not remember that I was miserable before I was 
 born ; and I should be glad to know, if your memory is 
 better, what you recollect of yourself before you were 
 born. 
 
 VIT. A. You are pleasant: as if I had said that those 
 men are miserable who are not born, and not that they are 
 so who are dead. 
 
 M. You say, then, that they are so ? 
 
 A. Yes ; I say that because they no longer exist after 
 having existed they are miserable. 
 
 31. You do not perceive that you are asserting contra- 
 dictions ; for what is a greater contradiction, than that 
 that should be not only miserable, but should have any 
 existence at all, which does not exist? When you go out 
 at the Capene gate and see tlie tombs of the Calatini, the 
 Scipios, Servilii, and Metelli, do you look on them as mis- 
 erable ? 
 
 A. Because you press me with a word, henceforward I 
 will not say they are miserable absolutely, but miserable 
 on this account, because they have no existence. 
 
 31. You do not say, then, " M. Crassns is miserable," 
 but only " Misei-able M. Crassns." 
 
 A. Exactly so. 
 
 M. As if it did not follow that whatever you speak of 
 
ON THE CONTEMPT OF DEATH. -15 
 
 in that manner either is or is not. Are you not acquaint- 
 ed with the first principles of logic ? For this is the first 
 thing they lay down, Whatever is asserted (for that is the 
 best way that occurs to me, at the moment, of rendering 
 the Greek term d^iioixa ; if I can think of a more accurate 
 expression hereaftei", I will use it), is asserted as being ei- 
 tlier true or false. When, therefore, you say, " Miserable 
 M. Crassus," you either say this, "M. Crassus is misera- 
 ble," so tliat some judgment may be made whether it is 
 true or false, or you say nothing at all. 
 
 A. Well, then, I now own that the dead are not miser- 
 able, since you have drawn from me a concession that 
 they who do not exist at all can not be miserable. What 
 then ? We that are alive, are we not wretched, seeing we 
 must die? for what is there agreeable in life, w^hen we 
 must night and day reflect that, at some time or other, we 
 must die? 
 
 VIII. 31. Do you not, then, perceive how great is the 
 evil from which you have delivered human nature? 
 
 A. By what means? 
 
 M. Because, if to die were miserable to the dead, to live 
 would be a kind of infinite and eternal misery. Now, 
 however, I see a goal, and when I have reached it, there is 
 nothing more to be feared ; but yon seem to me to follow 
 the opinion of Epicharmus,^ a man of some discernment, 
 and sliar]) enough for a Sicilian. 
 
 A. What opinion ? for I do not recollect it. 
 
 M. I will tell you if I can in Latin ; for you know I am 
 no more used to bring in Latin sentences in a Greek dis- 
 course than Greek in a Latin one. 
 
 A. And that is right enough. But what is that opinion 
 of Epicharmus ? 
 
 ]\, I would not die, but yet 
 
 Am not concerned that I shall be dead. 
 
 A. I now recollect the Greek ; but since you have 
 
 ^ Epicharmus was a native of Cos, but lived at Megara, in Sicily, and 
 when Megara was destroyed, removed to Syracuse, and lived at tiie court 
 of Hiero, where he became tlie first writer of comedies, so that Horace 
 ascribes tlie invention of comedy to him, and so does Theocritus. He 
 lived to a great age. 
 
la THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 obliged me to grant that the dead are not miserable, pro- 
 ceed to convince me that it is not miserable to be under a 
 necessity of dying. 
 
 M. That is easy enough ; but I have greater things in 
 hand. 
 
 A. How comes that to be so easy ? And what are those 
 things of more consequence? 
 
 31. Thus : because, if there is no evil after death, then 
 even death itself can be none ; for that which immediately 
 succeeds that is a state where you grant that there is no 
 evil : so that even to be obliged to die can be no evil, for 
 that is only the being obliged to arrive at a place where 
 we allow that no evil is. 
 
 A. I beg you will be more explicit on this point, for 
 these subtle arguments force me sooner to admissions than 
 to conviction. But what are those more important things 
 about which you say that you are occupied ? 
 
 M. To teach you, if I can, that death is not only no 
 evil, but a good. 
 
 A. I do not insist on that, but should be glad to hear 
 you argue it, for even though you should not prove your 
 point, yet you will prove that death is no evil. But I will 
 not interrupt you; I would rather hear a continued dis- 
 course. 
 
 31. What, if I should ask you a question, would you not 
 answer? 
 
 A. That would look like pride ; but I would rather you 
 should not ask but where necessity requires. 
 
 IX. 3. I will comply with your wishes, and explain as 
 well as I can what you require; but not with any idea 
 that, like the Pythian Apollo, what I say must needs be 
 certain and indisputable, but as a mere man, endeavoring 
 to arrive at probabilities by conjecture, for I have no 
 ground to proceed further on than probability. Those 
 men may call their statements indisputable who assert that 
 what they say can be perceived by the senses, and who 
 proclaim themselves philosophers by profession. 
 
 A. Do as you please : we are ready to hear you. 
 
 31. The first thing, then, is to inquire what death, which 
 seems to be so well understood, really is; for some imag- 
 ine death to be the departure of the soul from the body,* 
 
ON THE CONTEMPT OF DEATH. iV 
 
 otliers think that there is no sucli departure, but that soul 
 and body perish together, and that the soul is extinguished 
 with the body. Of those who think that the soul does de- 
 part from the body, some believe in its immediate disso- 
 lution ; otliers fancy that it continues to exist for a time ; 
 and otliers believe that it lasts forever. There is great 
 dispute even what the soul is, where it is, and whence it 
 is derived : with some, the heart itself (cor) seems to be 
 the soul, hence the expressions, excordes^ vecordes, Con- 
 cordes ; and that prudent Nasica, who was twice consul, 
 was called Corculus, ^. e., wise-heart; and ^lius Sextus is 
 described as Egregie cordatus homo, catiis yEliu' Sextus 
 that great wise-hearted man, sage ^lius. Empedocles 
 imagines the blood, which is suffused over the heart, to 
 be the soul ; to others, a certain part of the brain seems 
 to be the throne of the soul ; others neither allow the heart 
 itself, nor any portion of the brain, to be the soul, but 
 think either that the heart is the seat and abode of the 
 soul, or else that the brain is so. Some would have the 
 soul, or spirit, to be the anima, as our schools generally 
 agree ; and indeed the name signifies as much, for we use 
 the expressions cmimam agere, to live ; animam, efflare, to 
 expire ; animosi, men of spirit ; bene cmitJiati, men of right 
 feeling ; exanimi sententia, according to our real opinion ; 
 and the very word animus is derived from anima. Again, 
 the soul seems to Zeno the Stoic to be fire. 
 
 X. But what I have said as to the heart, the blood, the 
 brain, air, or lire being the soul, are common opinions : the 
 others are only entertained by individuals; and, indeed, 
 there w^ere many among the ancients who held singular 
 opinions on this subject, of whom the latest was Aristoxe- 
 nus, a man who was both a musician and a philosopher. 
 He maintained a certain straining of the body, like what is 
 called harmony in music, to be the soul, and believed that, 
 from the figure and nature of the whole body, various mo- 
 tions are excited, as sounds are from an instrument. He 
 adhered steadily to his system, and yet he said something, 
 the nature of which, whatever it was, had been detailed 
 and explained a great while before by Plato. Xenocrates 
 denied that the soul had any figure, or anything like a 
 body ; but said it was a numbei", the power of which, as 
 
18 THE TUSCULAN DISrUTATIONS. 
 
 Pythagoras had fancied, some ages before, was the great 
 est in nature : his master, Plato, imagined a threefold soul, 
 a dominant portion of which that is to say, reason he had 
 lodged in the head, as in a tower ; and the other two j^arts 
 namely, anger and desire he made subservient to this 
 one, and allotted them distinct abodes, placing anger in the 
 breast, and desire under the prtecordia. But Dicoearchus, 
 in that discourse of some learned disputants, held at Cor- 
 inth, which he details to ns in three books in the first 
 book introduces many speakers ; and in the other two he 
 introduces a certain Pherecrates, an old man of Phthia, 
 who, as he said, was descended from Deucalion ; asserting, 
 that there is in fact no such thing at all as a soul, but 
 that it is a name without a meaning ; and that it is idle to 
 use the expression "animals," or "animated beings;" that 
 neither men nor beasts have minds or souls, but that all 
 that power by which we act or perceive is equally infused 
 into every living creature, and is inseparable from the body, 
 for if it were not, it would be nothing; nor is there any- 
 thing whatever really existing except body, which is a 
 single and simple thing, so fashioned as to live and have 
 its sensations in consequence of the regulations of nature. 
 Aristotle, a man superior to all others, both in genius and 
 industry (I always except Plato), after having embraced 
 these four known sorts of principles, from which all things 
 deduce their origin, imagines that there is a certain fifth 
 nature, from whence comes the soul ; for to think, to fore- 
 see, to learn, to teach, to invent anything, and many other 
 attributes of the same kind, such as to remember, to love, 
 to hate, to desire, to fear, to be pleased or displeased 
 these, and others like them, exist, he thinks, in none of 
 those first four kinds: on such account he adds a fifth 
 kind, which has no name, and so by a new name he calls 
 the soul h'hXexsia, as if it were a certain continued and 
 perpetual motion. 
 
 XL If I have not forgotten anything unintentionally, 
 these are the principal opinions concerning the soul. I 
 have omitted Democritus, a very great man indeed, but 
 one who deduces the soul from the fortuitous concourse 
 of small, light, and round substances ; for, if you believe 
 men of his school, tliere is nothing which a crowd of atoms 
 
ON THE CONTEMPT OF DEATH. 23 
 
 cients for instances, so might I myself. But, somehow or 
 other, there clings to our minds a certain presage of future 
 ages ; and this both exists most firmly, and appears most 
 clearly, in men of the loftiest genius and greatest souls. 
 Take away this, and who would be so mad as to spend his 
 life amidst toils and dangers ? I speak of those in power. 
 What are the poet's views but to be ennobled after death ? 
 What else is the object of these lines. 
 
 Behold old Ennius here, who erst 
 Thy fothers' great exploits rehearsed ? 
 
 He is challenging the reward of glory from those men 
 whose ancestors he himself had ennobled by his poetry. 
 And in the same spirit he says, in another passage, 
 
 Let none with tears my funeral grace, for I 
 Claim from my works an immortality. 
 
 Why do I mention poets? The very mechanics are de- 
 sirous of fame after death. Why did Phidias include a 
 likeness of himself in the shield of Minerva, when he was 
 not allowed to inscribe his name on it? What do our 
 philosophers think on the subject? Do not they put their 
 names to those very books which they write on the con- 
 tempt of glory ? If, then, universal consent is the voice 
 of nature, and if it is the general opinion everywhere that 
 those who have quitted this life are still interested in 
 something, we also must subscribe to that opinion. And 
 if we think that men of the greatest abilities and virtues 
 see most clearly into the power of nature, because they 
 themselves are her most perfect work, it is very probable 
 that, as every great man is especially anxious to benefit 
 posterity, there is something of which he himself will be 
 sensible after death. 
 
 XVI. But as we are led by nature to think there are 
 Gods, and as we discover, by reason, of what description 
 they are, so, by the consent of all nations, we are induced 
 to believe that our souls survive; but where their habita- 
 tion is, and of what character they eventually are, must be 
 learned from reason. The want of any certain reason on 
 which to argue has given rise to the idea of the shades 
 below, and to those fears which you seem, not without 
 
24 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 reason, to despise ; for as our bodies fall to the ground, 
 and are covered with earth {humus), from whence we de- 
 rive the expression to be interred {humari), that has oc- 
 casioned men to imagine that the dead continue, during 
 the remainder of their existence, under ground; which 
 opinion has drawn after it many errors, which the poets 
 have increased; for the theatre, being frequented by a 
 large crowd, among which are women and children, is 
 wont to be greatly affected on hearing such pompous 
 verses as these, 
 
 Lo ! here I am, who scarce could gain this place, 
 Through stony mountains and a dreary waste ; 
 Through cliffs, whose sharpen'd stones tremendous hung, 
 Where dreadful darkness spread itself around. 
 
 And the error prevailed so much, though indeed at pres- 
 ent it seems to me to be removed, that although men 
 knew that the bodies of the dead had been burned, yet 
 they conceived such things to be done in the infernal re- 
 gions as could not be executed or imagined without a 
 body ; for they could not conceive how disembodied souls 
 could exist; and, therefore, they looked out for some shape 
 or figure. This was the origin of all that account of the 
 dead in Homer. This was the idea that caused my friend 
 Appius to frame his Necromancy; and this is how there 
 got about that idea of the lake of Avernus, in my neighbor- 
 hood, 
 
 From whence the souls of undistinguish'd shape, 
 Clad in thick shade, rush from the open gate 
 Of Acheron, vain phantoms of the dead. 
 
 And they must needs have these appearances speak, which 
 is not possible without a tongue, and a palate, and jaws, 
 and without the help of lungs and sides, and without some 
 shape or figure ; for they could see nothing by their mind 
 alone they referred all to their eyes. To witlidraw the 
 mind from sensual objects, and abstract our thoughts from 
 what we are accustomed to, is an attribute of great gen- 
 ius. I am persuaded, indeed, that there were many such 
 men in former ages; but Pherecydes' the Syrian is the 
 
 ' rherecydes was a native of Scyros, one of the Cyclades ; and is 
 said to have obtained his knowledge from the secret books of tiie Phoe- 
 
ON THE CONTEMPT OF DEATH. 25 
 
 first oil record who said that the souls of men were iiii- 
 iiiortal, and he was a philosopher of great antiquity, in the 
 reign of my namesake TuUius. His disciple Pythagoras 
 greatly confirmed this opinion, who came into Italy in the 
 reign of Tarquin the Proud ; and all that country which 
 is called Great Greece was occupied by his school, and lie 
 himself was held in high honor, and had the greatest au- 
 thority ; and the Pythagorean sect was for many ages af- 
 ter in such great credit, that all learning was believed to 
 be confined to that name. 
 
 XVII. But I return to the ancients. They scarcely 
 ever gave any reason for their opinion but wiiat could be 
 explained by numbers or definitions. It is reported of 
 Plato that he came into Italy to make himself acquaint- 
 ed with the Pythagoreans ; and that when there, among 
 others, he made an acquaintance with Archytas^ and Ti- 
 ma3us,^ and learned from them all the tenets of the Py- 
 thagoreans; and that he not only was of the same opinion 
 with Pythagoras concerning the immortality of the soul, 
 but that he also brought reasons in support of it; which, 
 if you have nothing to say against it, I will pass over, and 
 say no more at present about all this hope of immortality. 
 
 A. What, will you leave me when you have raised my 
 expectations so high ? I had rather, so help me Hercules ! 
 be mistaken with Plato, whom I know how much you es- 
 teem, and whom I admire myself, from what you say of 
 him, than be in the right with those others. 
 
 nicians. He is said also to liave been a pupil of Pittacns, the rival of 
 Thales, and the master of Pythagoras, His doctrine was that there were 
 three principles (Ztvg, or iEUier ; XOwi', or Chaos; and Xpovog, or Time) 
 and four elements (Eire, Earth, Air, and Water), from which everything 
 that exists was formed. Vide Smith's Diet. Gr. and Rom. Eiog. 
 
 ^ Archytas was a native of Tarentum, and is said to liave saved the life 
 of Plato by his influence with the tyrant Dionysius, He Avac especially 
 great as a mathematician and geometrician, so that Horace calls him 
 
 Maris et terras numeroque careutis arense 
 Meusorem. Od. i. 2S. 1. 
 
 Plato is supposed to have learned some of his views from him, and 
 Aristotle to have borrowed from him every idea of the Categories. 
 
 ^ This was not Timaius the historian, but a native of Locri, who is 
 said also in the De Einibus (c. 29) to have been a teacher of Plato. 
 There is a treatise extant bearing his name, which is, however, proba- 
 bly spurious, and only an abridgment of Plato's dialogue Tiraajus. 
 
 2 
 
26 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 31. I commend you ; for, indeed,! could myself willing. 
 ly be mistaken in his company. Do we, then, doubt, as 
 we do in other cases (though I think here is very little 
 room for doubt in this case, for the mathematicians prove 
 the facts to us), that the earth is placed in the midst of 
 the world, being, as it were, a sort of point, which they call 
 a KEvrpov, surrounded by the whole heavens ; and that 
 such is the nature of the four principles which are the 
 generating causes of all things, that they have equally di- 
 vided among them the constituents of all bodies; more- 
 over, that earthy and humid bodies are carried at equal 
 angles by their own weight and ponderosity into tlie 
 earth and sea; that the other two parts consist, one of 
 fire, and the other of air? As the two former are carried 
 by their gravity and weigiit into the middle region of the 
 world, so these, on the other hand, ascend by right lines 
 into the celestial regions, either because, owing to their 
 intrinsic natui'e, they are always endeavoring to reach the 
 highest place, or else because lighter bodies are naturally 
 repelled by heavier; and as this is notoriously the case, 
 it must evidently follow that souls, when once they have 
 departed from the body, whether they are animal (by 
 which term I mean capable of breathing) or of the nature 
 of fire, must mount upward. But if the soul is some 
 number, as some people assert, speaking with more sub- 
 tlety than clearness, or if it is that fifth nature, for which 
 it would be more correct to say that we have not given a 
 name to than that we do not correctly understand it still 
 it is too pure and perfect not to go to a great distance from 
 the earth. Something of this sort, then, Ave must believe 
 the soul to be, that we may not commit the folly of think- 
 ing that so active a principle lies immerged in the heart 
 or brain ; or, as Empedocles would have it, in the blood. 
 
 XVIII. We will pass over Dicaarchus,^ with his con- 
 temporary and fellow-disciple Aristoxenus,^ both indeed 
 
 ' Dicaearchus was a native of Messana, in Sicily, thongli he lived chief- 
 ly in Greece. He was one of the later disciples of Aristotle. He was a 
 great geographer, politician, historian, and philosopher, and died about 
 L'.Sr, i5.<-. 
 
 ^ Aristoxenns was a native of Tarentnm, and also a pu])il of Aristo- 
 tle. We know nothing of his opinions except that he held the soul to 
 
ON THE CONTEMPT OF DEATH. 27 
 
 men of learning. One of them seems never even to have 
 been affected with grief, as he could not perceive that he 
 had a soul ; while the other is so pleased with his musical 
 compositions that he endeavors to show an analogy be- 
 twixt them and souls. Now, we may understand har- 
 mony to arise from the intervals of sounds, whose various 
 compositions occasion many harmonies ; but I do not see 
 how a disposition of members, and the figure of a body 
 Avithout a soul, can occasion harmony. He had better, 
 learned as he is, leave these speculations to his master 
 Aristotle, and follow his own trade as a musician. Good 
 advice is given him in that Greek proverb, 
 
 Apply your talents where you best are skill'd. 
 
 I will have nothing at all to do Avith that fortuitous con- 
 course of individual light and round bodies, notwithstand- 
 ino- Democritus insists on their beins: warm and havingj 
 breath, that is to say, life. But this soul, which is com- 
 pounded of either of the four principles from which we 
 assert that all things are derived, is of inflamed air, as 
 seems particularly to have been the opinion of Pansetius, 
 and must necessarily mount upw^ard ; for air and fire have 
 no tendency downward, but always ascend; so should 
 they be dissipatecL that must be at some distance from 
 the earth ; but should they remain, and preserve their 
 original state, it is clearer still that tliey must be carried 
 heavenward, and this gross and concrete air, which is 
 nearest the earth, must be divided and broken by them ; 
 for the soul is warmer, or rather hotter, than that air, which 
 I just now called gross and concrete: and this may be 
 made evident from this consideration that our bodies, be- 
 ing compounded of the earthy class of principles, grow^ 
 warm by the heat of the soul. 
 
 XIX. We may add, that the soul can the more easily 
 escape from this air, which I have often named, and break 
 
 be a harmony of the body ; a doctrine which had been already discussed 
 by Plato in the Phrcdo, and combated by Aristotle. He was a great 
 musician, and the chief portions of his works which have come down 
 to us are fragments of some musical treatises. Smith's Diet. Gr. and 
 Kom. Biog. ; to which source I must acknowledge my obligation for 
 nearly the wiiole of these biographical notes. 
 
28 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 through it, because nothing is swifter than tlie soul; no 
 swiftness is comparable to the swiftness of the soul, 
 which, should it remain uncorrupt and without alteration, 
 must necessarily be carried on with such velocity as to 
 penetrate and divide all tliis atmosphere, where clouds, 
 and rain, and winds are formed, which, in consequence of 
 the exhalations from the earth, is moist and dark : but, 
 when the soul has once got above this region, and falls in 
 with, and recognizes, a nature like its own, it then rests 
 upon fires composed of a combination of thin air and a 
 moderate solar heat, and does not aim at any higher 
 flight; for then, after it has attained a lightness and heat 
 resembling its own, it moves no more, but remains steady, 
 being balanced, as it were, between two equal weights. 
 That, then, is its natural scat where it has penetrated to 
 something like itself, and where, wanting nothing furthei', 
 it may be supported and maintained by the same aliment 
 M'hich nourishes and maintains the stars. 
 
 Now, as we are usually incited to all sorts of desires by 
 the stimulus of the body, and the more so as we endeavor 
 to rival those who are in possession of what we long for, 
 we shall certainly be happy when, being emancipated from 
 that body, we at the same time get rid of these desires 
 and this rivalry. And that which we do at present, 
 when, dismissing all other cares, we curiously examine 
 and look into anything, we shall then do with greater free- 
 dom ; and we shall employ ourselves entirely in the con- 
 templation and examination of things ; because there is 
 naturally in our minds a certain insatiable desire to know 
 the truth, and the very region itself where we shall arrive, 
 as it gives us a more intuitive and easy knowledge of ce- 
 lestial things, will raise our desires after knowledge. For 
 it was this beauty of the heavens, as seen even here upon 
 earth, which gave birth to that national and hereditary 
 philosophy (as Theophrastus calls it), which was thus ex- 
 cited to a desire of knowledge. But those persons will in 
 a most especial degree enjoy this philosophy, who, while 
 they w^ere only inhabitants of this woiid and enveloped in 
 darkness, were still desirous of looking into these things 
 with the eye of their mind. 
 
 XX. For if those men now think that they have attain- 
 
ON THE CONTEMPT OF DEATH. 29 
 
 ed something who have seen the mouth of the Pontus, 
 and those straits which were passed by the ship called 
 Argo, because, 
 
 From Argos she did chosen men convey, 
 
 Bound to fetch back the Golden Fleece, their prey ; 
 
 or those wlio have seen the straits of the ocean, 
 
 Where the swift waves divide the neighboring shores 
 Of Europe, and of Afric ; 
 
 what kind of sight do you imagine that will be when the 
 wdiole earth is laid open to our view? and that, too, not 
 only in its position, form, and boundaries, nor those parts 
 of it only which are habitable, but those also that lie un- 
 cultivated, through the extremities of heat and cold to 
 which they are exposed ; for not even now is it with our 
 eyes that we view what we see, for the body itself has no 
 senses ; but (as the naturalists, ay, and even the physicians 
 assure us, who have opened our bodies, and examined 
 them) there are certain perforated channels from the seat 
 of the soul to the eyes, ears, and nose ; so that frequently, 
 when either prevented by meditation, or the force of some 
 bodily disorder, Ave neither hear nor see, though our eyes 
 and ears are open and in good condition ; so that we may 
 easily apprehend that it is the soul itself which sees and 
 hears, and not those parts which are, as it were, but win- 
 dows to the soul, by means of which, however, she can 
 perceive nothing, unless she is on the spot, and exerts her- 
 self. How shaU we account for tlie fact that by the same 
 power of thinking we comprehend the most different 
 things as color, taste, heat, smell, and sound which the 
 soul could never know by her five messengers, unless every 
 thing were referred to her, and she were the sole judge of 
 all? And we shall certainly discover these things in a 
 more clear and perfect degree when the soul is disengaged 
 from the body, and has arrived at that goal to which nnt- 
 nre leads her; for at present, notwithstanding nature has 
 contrived, with the greatest skill, those channels which 
 lead from the body to the soul, yet are they, in some way 
 or other, stopped up with earthy and concrete bodies ; but 
 wlien we sliall be nothing but soul, then nothing will inter- 
 
30 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 fere to prevent our seeing everything in its real substance 
 and in its true cliaracter. 
 
 XXI. It is true, I might expatiate, did tlie subject re- 
 quire it, on the many and vaiious objects witli whicli th.e 
 soul will be entertained in those heavenly regions; wlien I 
 reflect on which, I am apt to wonder at the boldness of 
 some philosophers, who are so struck with admiration at 
 the knowledge of nature as to thank, in an exulting man- 
 ner, the first inventor and teacher of natural philosophy, 
 and to reverence him as a God ; for they declare that they 
 have been delivered by his means from the greatest tyrants, 
 a perpetual terror, and a fear that molested them by night 
 and day. What is this dread this fear? What old 
 woman is there so weak as to fear these things, which you, 
 forsooth, had you not been acquainted with natural philos- 
 oi)hj, w^ould stand in aw^e of? 
 
 The liallow'd roofs of Acheron, the dread 
 Of Orcus, the pale regions of the dead. 
 
 And does it become a philosopher to boast that he is not 
 afraid of these things, and that he has discovered them to 
 be false ? And from this we may perceive how acute these 
 men were by nature, who, if they had been left without 
 any instruction, would have believed in these things. But 
 now they have certainly made a very fine acquisition in 
 learning that when the day of their death arrives, they 
 will perish entirely. And, if that really is the case for I 
 say nothing either way what is there agreeable or glori- 
 ous in it? Not that I see any reason why the opinion of 
 Pythagoras and Plato may not be true ; but even although 
 Plato were to have assigned no reason for his opinion (ob- 
 serve how^ much I esteem the man), the weight of his au- 
 thority would have borne me down; but he has brought 
 so many reasons, that he appears to me to have endeav- 
 ored to convince others, and certainly to have convinced 
 himself. 
 
 XXII. But there are many who labor on the other side 
 of the question, and condemn souls to death, as if they 
 were criminals capitally convicted ; nor have they any 
 other reason to allege why the immortality of the soul ap- 
 pears to them to be incredible, except that they are not 
 
ON THE CONTEMPT OF DEATH. 31 
 
 able to conceivG what sort of thing the soul can be when 
 disentangled from the body; just as if they could really 
 form a correct idea as to what sort of thing it is, even 
 when it is in the body; what its form, and size, and 
 abode are; so that were they able to have a full view of 
 all that is now hidden from them in a living body, they 
 have no idea whether the soul would be discernible by 
 them, or whether it is of so fine a texture that it would 
 escape their sight. Let those consider this, who say that 
 they are unable to form any idea of the soul without the 
 body, and then they will see whether they can form any 
 adequate idea of what it is when it is in the body. For 
 my own part, when I reflect on the nature of the soul, it 
 appears to me a far more perplexing and obscure question 
 to determine what is its character while it is in the body 
 a place which, as it were, does not belong to it than to 
 imagine what it is when it leaves it, and has arrived at 
 the free aather, which is, if I may so say, its proper, its 
 own habitation. For unless we are to say that we cannot 
 apprehend the character or nature of anything which we 
 have never seen, we certainly may be able to form some 
 notion of God, and of the divine soul when released from 
 the body. Dicaearchus, indeed, and Aristoxenus, because 
 it was hard to understand the existence and substance 
 and nature of the soul, asserted that there was no such 
 thing as a soul at all. It is, indeed, the most difficult 
 thing imaginable to discern the soul by the soul. And 
 this, doubtless, is the meaning of the precept of Apollo, 
 which advises every one to know himself. For I do not 
 apprehend the meaning of the God to have been that we 
 should understand our members, our stature, and form ; 
 for we are not merely bodies ; nor, when I say these things 
 t) you, am I addressing myself to your body : when, there- 
 fore, he says, "Know yourself," he says this, "Inform 
 yourself of the nature of your soul ;" for the body is but 
 a kind of vessel, or receptacle of the soul, and whatever 
 your soul does is your own act. To know the soul, then, 
 unless it had been divine, would not have been a precept 
 of such excellent wisdom as to be attributed to a God ; but 
 even though the soul should not know of what nature it- 
 self is, will you say that it does not even perceive that it 
 
32 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 exists at all, or that it bas motion ? On which is founded 
 that reason of Plato's, which is explained by Socrates in 
 the Pha3drus, and inserted by me, in my sixth book of the 
 Republic. 
 
 XXIII. " That which is always moved is eternal ; but 
 that which gives motion to something else, and is moved 
 itfself by some external cause, when that motion ceases, 
 must necessarily cease to exist. That, therefore, alone, 
 which is self-moved, because it is never foi'saken by itself, 
 can never cease to be moved. Besides, it is the beginning 
 and principle of motion to everything else ; but whatever 
 is a principle has no beginning, for all things arise from 
 that principle, and it cannot itself owe its rise to anything 
 else; for then it would not be a principle did it proceed 
 from anything else. But if it has no beginning, it never 
 will have any end; for a principle which is once extin- 
 guished cannot itself be restored by anything else, nor 
 can it produce anything else from itself; inasmuch as all 
 things must necessarily arise from some first cause. And 
 thus it comes about that the first principle of motion 
 must arise from that thing which is itself moved by itself; 
 and that can neither have a beginning nor an end of its 
 existence, for otherwise the whole heaven and earth would 
 be overset, and all nature would stand still, and not be 
 able to acquire any force by the impulse of which it 
 might be first set in motion. Seeing, then, that it is clear 
 that whatever moves itself is eternal, can there be any 
 doubt that the soul is so? For everything is inanimate 
 which is moved by an external force ; but everything 
 which is animate is moved by an interior force, which also 
 belongs to itself. For this is the peculiar nature and 
 power of the soul ; and if the soul be the only thing in 
 the whole world wliich has the power of self-motion, then 
 certainly it never had a beginning, and therefore it is 
 eternal." 
 
 Now, should all the lower order of philosophers (for so 
 I think they may be called who dissent from Plato and 
 Socrates and that school) unite their force, they never 
 would be able to explain anything so elegantly as this, 
 nor even to understand how ingeniously this conclusion is 
 drawn. The soul, then, perceives itself to have motion, 
 
ON THE CONTEMPT OF DEATH. 33 
 
 and, at the same time that it gets that perception, it is 
 sensible that it derives that motion from its own power, 
 and not from tlie agency of another; and it is impossible 
 that it should ever forsake itself. And these premises 
 compel you to allow its eternity, unless you have some- 
 thing to say against them. 
 
 A. I should myself be very well pleased not to have 
 even a thought arise in my mind against them, so much 
 am I inclined to that opinion. 
 
 XXIV. 31. Well, then, I appeal to you, if the arguments 
 which prove that there is something divine in the souls of 
 men are not equally strong? But if I could account for 
 the origin of these divine properties, then I might also 
 be able to explain how they might cease to exist; for I 
 think I can account for the manner in which the blood, 
 and bile, and phlegm, and bones, and nerves, and veins, and 
 all the limbs, and the shape of the whole body, were put 
 together and made; ay, and even as to the soul itself, were 
 there nothing more in it than a principle of life, then the 
 life of a man might be put upon the same footing as that 
 of a vine or any other tree, and accounted for as caused 
 by nature; for these things, as we say, live. Besides, if 
 desires and aversions were all that belonged to the soul, 
 it would have them only in common with the beasts ; but 
 it has, in the first place, memory, and that, too, so infinite 
 as to recollect an absolute countless number of circum- 
 stances, which Plato will have to be a recollection of a 
 former life; for in that book which is inscribed Menon, 
 Socrates asks a child some questions in geometry, with 
 reference to measuring a square ; his answers are such as 
 a child would make, and yet the questions are so easy, 
 that while answering them, one by one, he comes to the 
 same point as if he had learned geometry. From whence 
 Socrates would infer that learning is nothing more than 
 recollection ; and this topic he explains more accurately 
 in the discourse ^s'hich he held the very day he died ; for 
 he there asserts that any one, who seeming to be entirely 
 illiterate, is yet able to answer a question well that is pro- 
 posed to him, does in so doing manifestly show that he 
 is not learning it tlien, but recollecting it by his memory. 
 Nor is it to be accounted for in any other way, how chil- 
 
34 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 dren come to have notions of so many and such important 
 things as are implanted, and, as it were, sealed up, in their 
 minds (which the Greeks call h'voiai), unless the soul, be- 
 fore it entered the body, had been well stored with knowl- 
 edge. And as it had no existence at all (for this is the 
 invariable doctrine of Plato, who will not admit anything 
 to have a real existence which has a beginning and an 
 end, and who thinks that that alone does really exist which 
 is of such a character as what he calls eidea, and we species), 
 therefore, being shut up in the body, it could not while in 
 the body discover what it knows; but it knew it before, 
 and brought the knowledge with it, so that we are no 
 longer surprised at its extensive and multifarious knowl- 
 edge. Nor does the soul clearly discover its ideas at its 
 iirst resort to this abode to which it is so unaccustomed, 
 and which is in so disturbed a state ; but after having re- 
 freshed and recollected itself, it then by its memory re- 
 covers them ; and, therefore, to learn implies nothing more 
 than to recollect. But I am in a particular manner sur- 
 prised at memory. For what is that faculty by which we 
 remember ? what is its force ? what its nature ? I am 
 not inquiring how great a memory Simonides^ may be 
 said to have had, or Theodectes,'' or that Cineas^ who w\as 
 sent to Rome as ambassador from Pyrrhus ; or, in more 
 modern times, Charraadas;" or, very lately, Metrodorus^ 
 
 ^ The Simonides here meant is the celebrated poet of Ceos, the per- 
 fecter of elegiac poetry among the Greeks. He flourished about the 
 time of the Persian war. Besides his poetry, he is said to have been the 
 inventor of some method of aiding the memory. He died at the court 
 of Hiero, 467 B.C. 
 
 ^ Theodectes was a native of Phaselis, in Pamphylia, a distinguished 
 rhetorician and tragic poet, and flourished in the time of Philip of Mac- 
 edon. He was a pupil of Isocrates, and lived at Athens, and died there 
 at the age of forty-one. 
 
 ^ Cineas was a Thessalian, and (as is said in the text) came to Rome 
 as ambassador from Pyrrhus after the battle of Heraclea, 280 u.c, and 
 his memory is said to have been so great that on the day after his an-i- 
 val he was able to address all the senators and knights by name. He 
 probably died before Pyrrhus returned to Italy, 27G b.c. 
 
 * Charmadas, called also Charmides, was a fellow-pupil with Philo, 
 the Larissncan of Clitomachus, the Carthaginian. He is said by some 
 authors to have founded a fourth academy. 
 
 ^ Metrodorus was a minister of Mithridates the Great ; and employed 
 by him as supreme judge in Pontus, and afterward as an ambassador. 
 
ON THE CONTEMPT OF DEATH. 35 
 
 the Scepsian, or our own contemporary Ilortensius :^ I am 
 speaking of ordinary memory, and especially of those men 
 who are employed in any important study or art, the great 
 capacity of whose minds it is hard to estimate, such num- 
 bers of things do they remember. 
 
 XXV. Should you ask what tliis leads to, I think we 
 may understand what that power is, and whence we have 
 it. It certainly proceeds neither from the heart, nor from 
 the blood, nor from the brain, nor from atoms; whether 
 it be air or fire, I know not, nor am I, as those men are, 
 ashamed, in cases where I am ignorant, to own that I am 
 so. If in any other obscure matter I were able to assert 
 anything positively, then I would swear that the soul, be 
 it air or fire, is divine. Just think, I beseech you : can 
 you imagine this wonderful power of memory to be sown 
 in or to be a part of the composition of the earth, or of 
 this dark and gloomy atmosphere? Though you cannot 
 apprehend what it is, yet you see what kind of thing it is, 
 or if you do not quite see that, yet you certainly see how 
 great it is. What, then? Shall we imagine that there is 
 a kind of measure in the soul, into which, as into a vessel, 
 all that we remember is poured? That indeed is absurd; 
 for how shall we form any idea of the bottom, or of the 
 shape or fashion of such a soul as that? And, again, how 
 are we to conceive how much it is able to contain? Shall 
 we imagine the soul to receive impressions like wax, and 
 memory to be marks of the impressions made on the soul? 
 What are the characters of tlie words, what of the facts 
 themselves? and what, again, is that prodigious greatness 
 which can give rise to impressions of so many things? 
 What, lastly, is that power which investigates secret 
 things, and is called invention and contrivance? Does 
 that man seem to be compounded of this earthly, mortal, 
 and perishing nature who first invented names for every- 
 
 Cicero speaks of him in other places (De Orat. ii, 88) as a man of won- 
 derful memorv, 
 
 ^ Quintus Hortensius was eight years older than Cicero ; and, till 
 Cicero's fame surpassed his, he w-as accounted the most eloquent of all 
 the Romans, lie was Verres's counsel in the prosecution conducted 
 against him by Cicero. Seneca relates that his memory was so great 
 that he could come out of an auction and repeat the catalogue backward. 
 He died 50 b.c. 
 
36 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 tiling, which, if you will believe Pythagorus, is the highest 
 pitch of wisdom ? or he who collected the dispersed in- 
 habitants of the world, and united them in the bonds of 
 social life ? or he who confined the sounds of the voice, 
 which used to seem infinite, to the marks of a few letters? 
 or he who first observed the courses of the planets, their 
 progressive motions, their laws? These were all great 
 men. But they were greater still who invented food, and 
 raiment, and houses; who introduced civilization among 
 us, and armed us against the wild beasts; by whom we 
 were made sociable and polished, and so proceeded from 
 the necessaries of life to its embellishments. For we have 
 provided great entertainments for the cars by inventing 
 and modulating the variety and nature of sounds; we 
 have learned to survey the stars, not only those that are 
 fixed, but also those which are improperly called wander- 
 ing; and the man who has acquainted himself with all 
 their revolutions and motions is fairly considered to have 
 a soul resembling the soul of that Being who has created 
 those stars in the heavens: for w^hen Archimedes de- 
 scribed in a sphere the motions of the moon, sun, and five 
 planets, he did the very same thing as Platd's God, in his 
 Timaeus, who made the world, causing one revolution to 
 adjust motions differing as much as possible in their 
 slowness and velocity. Now, allowing that what we see 
 in the world could not be effected without a God, Archi- 
 medes could not have imitated the same motions in his 
 sphere without a divine soul. 
 
 XXVI. To me, indeed, it appears that even those studies 
 which are more common and in greater esteem are not 
 without some divine energy: so that I do not consider 
 that a poet can produce a serious and sublime poem with- 
 out some divine impulse working on his mind ; nor do I 
 think that eloquence, abounding with sonorous words and 
 fruitful sentences, can flow thus without something be- 
 yond mere human power. But as to philosophy, that is 
 the parent of all the arts: what can we call that but, as 
 Plato says, a gift, or, as I express it, an invention, of the 
 Gods? This it was which first taught us the worship of 
 the Gods ; and then led us on to justice, which arises from 
 the human race being formed into society; and after that 
 
ON THE CONTEMPT OF DEATH. 37 
 
 it imbued us with modesty and elevation of soul. This 
 it was which dispersed darkness from our souls, as it is 
 dispelled from our eyes, enabling us to see all things that 
 are above or below, the beginning, end, and middle of ev- 
 erything. I am convinced entirely that that which could 
 effect so many and such great things must be a divine 
 powx'r. For what is memory of words and circumstances? 
 What, too, is invention? Surely they are things than 
 which nothing greater can be conceived in a God ! For I 
 do not imagine the Gods to be delighted with nectar and 
 ambrosia, or with Juventas presenting them with a cup ; 
 nor do I put any faith in Homer, who says that Ganymede 
 was carried away by the Gods on account of his beauty, 
 in order to give Jupiter his wine. Too weak reasons for 
 doing Laomedon such injury! These were mere inven- 
 tions of Homer, who gave his Gods the imperfections of 
 men. I would rather that he had given men the perfec- 
 tions of the Gods ! those perfections, I mean, of uninter- 
 rupted health, wisdom, invention, memory. Therefore the 
 soul (which is, as I say, divine) is, as Euripides more bold- 
 ly expresses it, a God. And thus, if the divinity be air or 
 fire, the soul of man is the same ; for as that celestial nat- 
 ure has nothing earthly or humid about it, in like manner 
 the soul of man is also free from both these qualities : but 
 if it is of that fifth kind of nature, first introduced by Ar- 
 istotle, then both Gods and souls are of the same. 
 
 XXVII. As this is my opinion, I have explained it in 
 these very words, in my book on Consolation.^ The ori- 
 gin of the soul of man is not to be found upon earth, for 
 there is nothing in the soul of a mixed or concrete nature, 
 or that has any appearance of being formed or made out 
 of the earth ; nothing even humid, or airy, or fiery. For 
 what is there in natures of that kind which has the power 
 of memory, understanding, or thought? which can recol- 
 lect the past, foresee the future, and comprehend the pres- 
 ent? for these capabilities are confined to divine beings; 
 nor can we discover any source from which men could de- 
 rive them, but from God. There is therefore a peculiar 
 
 ' This treatise is one which h:is not come down to ns, but which had 
 been lately composed by Cicero in order to comfort himself for the loss 
 of his daughter. 
 
38 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 nature and power in the soul, distinct from those natures 
 which are more known and familiar to us. Whatever, 
 then, that is which thinks, and which has understanding, 
 and volition, and a principle of life, is heavenly and divine, 
 and on that account must necessarily be eternal; nor can 
 God himself, who is known to us, be conceived to be any- 
 thing ijlse except a soul free and unembarrassed, distinct 
 from all mortal concretion, acquainted with everything, 
 and giving motion to everything, and itself endued with 
 perpetual motion. 
 
 XXVIII. Of this kind and nature is the intellect of man. 
 Where, then, is this intellect seated, and of what character 
 is it? where is your own, and what is its character? Are 
 you able to tell? If I have not faculties for knowing all 
 that I could desire to know, will you not even allow me to 
 make use of those whicli I have ? The soul has not suffi- 
 cient capacity to comprehend itself; yet, the soul, like the 
 eye, tliough it has no distinct view of itself, sees other 
 things : it does not see (which is of least consequence) its 
 own shape; perhaps not, though it possibly may; but we 
 will pass that by: but it certainly sees that it has vigor, 
 sagacity, memory, motion, and velocity; these are all great, 
 divine, eternal properties. What its appearance is, or 
 where it dwells, it is not necessary even to inquire. As 
 when we behold, first of all, the beauty and brilliant ap- 
 pearance of the heavens ; secondly, the vast velocity of its 
 revolutions, beyond power of our imagination to conceive; 
 then the vicissitudes of nights and days, the fourfold divis- 
 ion of the seasons, so well adapted to the ripening of the 
 fruits of the earth, and the temperatui-e of our bodies: 
 and after that we look up to the sun, the moderator and 
 governor of all these things ; and view the moon, by the 
 increase and decrease of its light, marking, as it were, and 
 appointing our holy days ; and see the five planets, borne 
 on in the same circle, divided into twelve ])arts, preserving 
 the same course with the greatest regularity, but with ut- 
 terly dissimilar motions among themselves ; and the night- 
 ly appearance of the heaven, adorned on all sides with 
 stars ; then, the globe of the earth, raised above the sea, 
 and placed in the centre of the universe, inhabited and cul- 
 tivated in its two opposite extremities, one of which, the 
 
ON THE CONTEMPT OF DEATH. 39 
 
 place of our habitation, is situated towards the north pole, 
 under the seven stars : 
 
 Where the cold northern blasts, with horrid sound, 
 Hiirden to ice the snowy cover'd ground ; 
 
 the other, towards the south pole, is unknown to us, but is 
 called by the Greeks avTix&ova: the other parts are uncul- 
 tivated, because they are either frozen with cold, or burned 
 up with heat; but where we dwell, it never fails, in its sea- 
 son, 
 
 To yield a placid sky, to bid the trees 
 Assume the lively verdure of their leaves: 
 The vine to bud, and, joyful in its shoots, 
 Foretell the approaching vintage of its fruits : 
 The ripen'd corn to sing, while all around 
 Full riv'lets glide ; and flowers deck the ground : 
 
 then the multitude of cattle, fit part for food, part for till- 
 ing the ground, others for carrying us, or for clothing us; 
 and man himself, made, as it were, on purpose to contem- 
 plate the heavens and the Gods, and to pay adoration to 
 them: lastly, the whole earth, and wide extending seas, 
 given to man's use. When we view these and numberless 
 other things, can we doubt that they have some being who 
 presides over them, or has made them (if, indeed, they 
 have been made, as is the opinion of Plato, or if, as Aris- 
 totle thinks, they are eternal), or who at all events is the 
 regulator of so immense a fabric and so great a blessing 
 to men ? Thus, though you see not the soul of man, as 
 you see not the Deity, yet, as by the contemplation of his 
 works you are led to acknowledge a God, so you must own 
 the divine power of the soul, from its remembering things, 
 from its invention, from the quickness of its motion, and 
 from all the beauty of virtue. Where, then, is it seated, 
 you will say? 
 
 XXIX. In my o])inion, it is seated in the head, and I can 
 bring you reasons for my adopting that opinion. At pres- 
 ent, let the soul reside where it will, you certainly have 
 one in you. Should you ask what its nature is ? It has 
 one peculiarly its own ; but admitting it to consist of fire, 
 or air, it does not affect the present question. Only ob- 
 serve this, that as you are convinced there is a God, though 
 
40 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 you are ignorant where he resides, and what shape he is 
 of; in like manner you ought to feel assured that you have 
 a soul, though you cannot satisfy yourself of the place of 
 its residence, nor its form. In our knowledge of the soul, 
 unless we are grossly ignorant of natural philosophy, we 
 cannot but be satisfied that it has nothing but what is 
 simple, unmixed, uncompounded, and single ; and if this is 
 admitted, then it cannot be separated, nor divided, nor dis- 
 persed, nor parted, and therefore it cannot perish ; for to 
 perish implies a parting-asunder, a division, a disunion, of 
 those parts which, while it subsisted, were held together 
 by some band. And it was because he was influenced by 
 these and similar reasons that Socrates neither looked out 
 for anybody to ])lead for him when he was accused, nor 
 begged any favor from his judges, but maintained a man- 
 ly freedom, which was the effect not of pride, but of the 
 true greatness of his soul; and on the last day of his life 
 he held a long discourse on this subject; and a few days 
 before, when he might have been easily freed from his con- 
 finement, he refused to be so; and when he had almost 
 actually hold of that deadly cup, he spoke with the air of 
 a man not forced to die, but ascending into heaven. 
 
 XXX. For so indeed he thought himself, and thus he 
 spoke: "That there were two ways, and that the souls 
 of men, at their departure from the body, took different 
 roads; for those which were polluted with vices that are 
 common to men, and which had given themselves up en- 
 tirely to unclean desires, and had become so blinded by 
 them as to have habituated themselves to all manner of 
 debauchery and profligacy, or to have laid detestable 
 schemes for the ruin of their country, took a road wide of 
 that which led to the assembly of the Gods ; but they who 
 had preserved themselves upright and chaste, and free 
 from the slightest contagion of the body, and had always 
 kept themselves as far as possible at a distance from it, 
 and while on earth had proposed to themselves as a model 
 the life of the Gods, found the return to those beings from 
 whom they had come an easy one." Therefore, he argues, 
 that all good and wise men should take example from the 
 swans, who are considered sacred to Apollo, not without 
 reason, but particularly because they seem to have received 
 
ON THE CONTEMPT OF DEATH. 41 
 
 the gift of divination from him, by which, foreseeing how 
 happy it is to die, they leave this world with singing and 
 joy. Nor can any one doubt of this, unless it happens to 
 us who think with care and anxiety about the soul (as is 
 often the case with those who look earnestly at the setting 
 sun), to lose the sight of it entirely ; and so the mind's eye, 
 viewing itself, sometimes grows dull, and for that reason 
 w^e become remiss in our contemplation. Thus our reason- 
 ing is borne about, harassed with doubts and anxieties, not 
 knowing how to proceed, but measui-ing back again those 
 dangerous tracts which it has passed, like a boat tossed 
 about on the boundless ocean. But these reflections are 
 of long standing, and borrowed from the Greeks. But 
 Cato left this world in such a manner as if he were de- 
 lighted that he had found an opportunity of dying; for 
 that God Avho presides in us forbids our departure hence 
 without his leave. But when God himself has given us a 
 just cause, as formerly he did to Socrates, and lately to 
 Cato, and often to many others in such a case, certainly 
 every man of sense would gladly exchange this darkness 
 for that light : not that he would forcibly break from the 
 chains that held him, for that would be against the law ; 
 but, like a man released from prison by a magistrate or 
 some lawful authority, so he too would walk away, being 
 released and discharged by God. For the whole life of a 
 philosopher is, as the same philosopher says, a meditation 
 on death. 
 
 XXXI. For what else is it that we do, when we call off 
 our minds from pleasure, that is to say, from our attention 
 to the body, from the managing our domestic estate, which 
 is a sort of handmaid and servant of the body, or from du- 
 ties of a public nature, or from all other serious business 
 w^hatever ? What else is it, I say, that w^e do, but invite 
 the soul to reflect on itself? oblige it to converse with it- 
 self, and, as far as possible, break off its acquaintance with 
 the body ? Now, to separate the soul from the body, is 
 to learn to die, and nothing else whatever. Wherefore take 
 my advice ; and let us meditate on this, and separate our- 
 selves as far as possible from the body, that is to say, let 
 ns accustom ourselves to die. Tliis will be enjoying a life 
 like that of heaven even while we remain on earth ; and 
 
42 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 when wc are can-ied thither and released from these bonds, 
 our souls will make their progress with more rapidity; for 
 the spirit which has always been fettered by the bonds of 
 the body, even when it is disengaged, advances more slow- 
 ly, just as those do who have worn actual fetters for many 
 years : but when we have arrived at this emancipation 
 from the bonds of the body, then indeed we shall begin to 
 live, for this present life is really death, which I could say 
 a good deal in lamentation for if I chose. 
 
 A. You have lamented it sufficiently in yonr book on 
 Consolation ; and when I read that, there is nothing which 
 I desire more than to leave these tilings; but that desire 
 is increased a great deal by what I have just heard. 
 
 31. The time will come, and that soon, and with equal 
 certainty, whether you hang back or press forward ; for 
 time flies. But death is so far from being an evil, as it 
 lately appeared to you, that I am inclined to suspect, not 
 that there is no other thing which is an evil to man, but 
 rather that there is nothing else which is a real good to 
 him ; if, at least, it is true that w^e become thereby either 
 Gods ourselves, or companions of the Gods. However, 
 this is not of so much consequence, as there are some of 
 ns here who will not allow this. But I w^ill not leave off 
 discussing this point till I have convinced you that death 
 can, npon no consideration whatever, be an evil. 
 
 A. How can it, after what I now know ? 
 
 M. Do you ask how it can? There are crowds of ar- 
 guers who contradict this ; and those not only Epicureans, 
 whom I regard very little, but, somehow or other, almost 
 every man of letters ; and, above all, my favorite Dica3nr- 
 chus is very strenuons in opposing the immortality of the 
 soul : for he has written three books, which are entitled 
 Lesbiacs, because the discourse was held at Mitylene, in 
 which he seeks to prove that souls are mortal. The Stoics, 
 on the other hand, allow us as long a time for enjoyment 
 as the life of a raven ; they allow the soul to exist a great 
 while, but are against its eternity. 
 
 XXXII. Are you willing to hear then why, even allow- 
 ing this, death cannot be an evil. 
 
 A. As you please; but no one shall drive me from my 
 belief in mortality. 
 
ON THE CONTEMPT OE DEATH. 43 
 
 M. I commend you, indeocl, for that ; though we should 
 not be too confident in our belief of anything; for we are 
 frequently disturbed by some subtle conclusion. We give 
 way and change our opinions even in things that are more 
 evident than this; for in this there certainly is some ob- 
 scurity. Therefore, should anything of this kind happen, 
 it is well to be on our guard. 
 
 A. You are right in that; but I will provide against 
 any accident. 
 
 M. Have you any objection to our dismissing our friends 
 the Stoics those, I mean, who allow that the souls exist 
 after they have left the body, but yet deny that they exist 
 forever ? 
 
 A. We certainly may dismiss the consideration of those 
 men who admit that which is the most difticult point in 
 the whole question, namely, that a soul can exist inde- 
 pendently of the body, and yet refuse to grant that which 
 is not only very easy to believe, but which is even the 
 natural consequence of the concession which they have 
 made that if they can exist for a length of time, they 
 most likely do so forever. 
 
 M. You take it right; that is the very thing. Shall we 
 give, therefore, any credit to Panjetius, when he dissents 
 from his master, Plato? whom he everywhere calls divine, 
 the wisest, the holiest of men, the Homer of philosophers, 
 and whom he opposes in nothing except this single opinion 
 of the soul's immortality : for he maintains what nobody 
 denies, that everything which has been generated will per- 
 ish, and that even souls are generated, which he thinks 
 appears from their resemblance to those of the men who 
 begot them ; for that likeness is as apparent in the turn 
 of their minds as in their bodies. But he brings another 
 reason that there is nothing which is sensible of pain 
 which is not also liable to disease; but whatever is liable 
 to disease must be liable to death. The soul is sensible 
 of pain, therefore it is liable to perish. 
 
 XXXHI. These arguments may be refuted ; for they 
 proceed from his not knowing that, while discussing the 
 subject of the immortality of the soul, he is speaking of 
 the intellect, which is free from all turbid motion ; but 
 not of those parts of the mind in which those disorders, 
 
44 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 anger and lust, have their seat, and which he whom he is 
 opposing, when he argues thus, imagines to be distinct 
 and separate from the mind. Now this resemblance is 
 more remarkable in beasts, whose souls are void of reason. 
 But the likeness in men consists more in the configuration 
 of the bodies: and it is of no little consequence in what 
 bodies the soul is lodged ; for there are many things which 
 depend on the body that give an edge to the soul, many 
 which blunt it. Aristotle, indeed, says that all men of 
 great genius are melancholy; so that I should not have 
 been displeased to have been somewhat duller than I am. 
 He instances many, and, as if it were matter of fact, brings 
 his reasons for it. But if the power of those things that 
 proceed from the body be so great as to influence the 
 mind (for they are the tilings, whatever they are, that oc- 
 casion this likeness), still that does not necessarily prove 
 why a similitude of souls should be generated. I say 
 nothing about cases of nnlikeness. I wish Panaetius could 
 be here: he lived with Africanus. I would inquire of 
 him which of his family the nephew of Af ricanus's brother 
 was like? Possibly he may in person have resembled his 
 father ; but in his manners he was so like every profligate, 
 abandoned man, that it was impossible to be more so. 
 Whom did the grandson of P. Crassus, that wise and elo- 
 quent and most distinguished man, resemble? Or the re- 
 lations and sons of many other excellent men, whose names 
 there is no occasion to mention ? But what are we doing ? 
 Have we forgotten that our purpose was, when we had 
 sufficiently spoken on the subject of the immortality of 
 the soul, to prove that, even if the soul did perish, there 
 would be, even then, no evil in death ? 
 
 A. I remembered it very well; but I had no dislike to 
 your digressing a little from your original design, while 
 you were talking of the soul's immortality. 
 
 M. I perceive you have sublime thoughts, and are eager 
 to mount up to heaven. 
 
 XXXIV. I am not without hopes myself that such may 
 be our fate. But admit what they assert that tlie soul 
 does not continue to exist after death. 
 
 A. Should it be so, I see that we are then deprived of 
 the hopes of a happier life. 
 
ON THE CONTEMPT OF DEATH. 45 
 
 M. But what is there of evil in that opinion ? For let 
 the soul perish as the body: is there any pain, or indeed 
 any feeUng at all, in the body after death ? No one, in- 
 deed, asserts that; though Epicurus charges Deniocritus 
 with saying so ; but the disciples of Deniocritus deny it. 
 No sense, therefore, remains in the soul; for the soul is 
 nowhere. Where, then, is the evil? for there is nothing 
 but these two things. Is it because the mere separation 
 of the soul and body cannot be effected without pain ? 
 But even should that be granted, how small a pain must 
 that be ! Yet I think that it is false, and that it is very 
 often unaccompanied by any sensation at all, and some- 
 times even attended with pleasure ; but certainly the whole 
 must be very trifling, whatever it is, for it is instantaneous. 
 What makes us uneasy, or rather gives us pain, is the 
 leaving all the good things of life. But just consider if I 
 might not more properly say, leaving the evils of life; 
 only there is no reason for my now occupying myself in 
 bewailing the life of man, and yet I might, with very good 
 reason. But what occasion is there, when what I am la- 
 boring to prove is that no one is miserable after death, to 
 make life more miserable by lamenting over it? I have 
 done that in the book which I wrote, in order to comfort 
 myself as well as I could. If, then, our inquiry is after 
 truth, death withdraws us from evil, not from good. This 
 subject is indeed so copiously handled by llegesias, the 
 Cyrenaic philosopher, that he is said to have been forbid- 
 den by Ptolemy from delivering his lectures in the schools, 
 because some who heard him made away Avith themselves. 
 There is, too, an epigram of Callimachus^ on Cleombrotus 
 of Ambracia, who, without any misfortune having befall- 
 en him, as he says, threw himself from a wall into the sea, 
 after he had read a book of Plato's. The book I mention- 
 ed of that Hegesias is called 'ATrofv-ap-epdir, or "A Man who 
 * The epigram is, 
 
 Ei'7ra9 "HAie X^P^> KXeoju/SpoTO? "Q.^PpaKiw-ty': 
 
 riXar' a<}) v^r\\ov reixeoi ei? 'Ai8r)v, 
 cif joi/ ovSev \6u)v OavaTou kukov, uW nXfiTwvov 
 
 ev TO irepl i/zi'-XI? TP"MM' uvaXe^dfxevo^. 
 
 Whicli ma}' be translated, perhaps, 
 
 Farewell, O sun, Cleombrotus exclaim'd, 
 Then plunged from off a height beneath the sea ; 
 
 Stung by pain, of no disgrace ashamed. 
 But moved by Plato's high philosophy. 
 
46 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 starves liimselfj" in which a man is represented as kilHng 
 himself by starvation, till he is prevented by his friends, 
 in reply to whom he reckons up all the miseries of human 
 life. I might do the same, though not so fully as he, who 
 thinks it not worth any man's while to live. I pass over 
 others. Was it even worth my while to live, for, had I 
 died before I was deprived of the comforts of my own 
 family, and of the honors which I received for my public 
 services, would not death have taken me from the evils of 
 life rather than from its blessings? 
 
 XXXV. Mention, therefore, some one, who uexev knew 
 distress; who never received any blow from fortune. 
 The great Metellus had four distinguished sons; but 
 Priam had fifty, seventeen of whom were born to him by 
 his lawful wife. Fortune had the same power over both, 
 though she exercised it but on one ; for Metellus was laid 
 on his funeral pile by a great company of sons and daugh- 
 ters, grandsons, and granddaughters; but Priam fell by 
 the hand of an enemy, after having fled to the altar, and 
 having seen himself deprived of all his numerous progeny. 
 Had he died before the death of his sons and the ruin of 
 his kingdom. 
 
 With all his mighty wealth elate, * 
 
 Under rich canopies of state ; 
 
 would he then have been taken from good or from evil? 
 It would indeed, at that time, have appeared that he was 
 being taken away from good; yet surely it would have 
 turned out advantageous for him ; nor should we have 
 had these mournful verses, 
 
 Lo ! these all perish 'd in one flaming pile ; 
 The foe old Priam did of life beguile, 
 And with his blood, thy altar, Jove, defile. 
 
 As if anything better could have happened to him at that 
 time than to lose his life in that manner ; but yet, if it had 
 befallen him sooner, it would have prevented all those con- 
 sequences; but even as it was, it released him from any 
 further sense of them. The case of our friend Pompey* 
 
 * This is alluded to by Juvenal : 
 
 Provida Ponipeio dederat Campania febres 
 Optaudaa : sed multje urbes et publica vota 
 Vicenint. I^itur Fortuiia ipeius et Urbip, 
 Servatum victo caput abstulit Sat. x. 283. 
 
ON THE CONTEMPT OF DEATH. 47 
 
 was soinetliing better: once, when he had been very ill 
 at Naples, the Neapolitans, on his recovery, put crowns 
 on their heads, as did those of Puteoli; the people flocked 
 from the country to congratulate hira it is a Grecian 
 custom, and a foolish one; still it is a sign of good fort- 
 une. But the qu-estion is, had he died, would he have 
 been taken from good, or from evil? Certainly from 
 evil. He would not have been engaged in a war with his 
 father-in-law;^ he Avould not have taken up arms before 
 he was prepared ; he would not have left his own house, 
 nor fled from Italy; he would not, after the loss of his 
 army, have fallen unarmed into the hands of slaves, and 
 been put to death by them ; liis children would not have 
 been destroyed ; nor would his whole fortune have come 
 into the possession of the conquerors. Did not he, then, 
 who, if he had died at that time, would Jiave died in all 
 his glory, owe all the great and terrible misfortunes into 
 which he subsequently fell to the prolongation of his life 
 at that time ? 
 
 XXXVI. These calamities are avoided by death, for 
 even though they should never happen, there is a possibil- 
 ity that they may; but it never occurs to a man that such 
 a disaster may befall him liimself. Every one hopes to 
 be as happy as Metellus : as if the number of the happy 
 exceeded that of the miserable; or as if there were any 
 certainty in human affairs; or, again, as if there were 
 more rational foundation for hope than fear. But should 
 we grant them even this, that men are by death deprived 
 of good things ; would it follow that the dead are there- 
 fore in need of the good things of life, and are miserable 
 on that account? Certainly they must necessarily say so. 
 Can he who does not exist be in need of anything? To 
 be in need of has a melancholy sound, because it in effect 
 amounts to this he had, but he has not; he regrets, he 
 looks back upon, he wants. Such are, I suppose, the dis- 
 
 She died the year before the death of Crassus, in Partliia. Virgil 
 speaks of Cajsar and Pompey as relations, using the same expression 
 (socer) as Cicero : 
 
 Aorgeribns socer Alpinis atque arce Mouoeci 
 
 Desceudeus, geuer udversis iustructus Eois. ^n. vl. 830. 
 
48 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 tresses of one wlio is in need of. Is he deprived of eyes? 
 to be blind is misery. Is be destitute of children ? not to 
 have them is misery. These considerations apply to the 
 living, but the dead are neither in need of the blessings 
 of life, nor of life itself. But when I am speaking of the 
 dead, I am speaking of those who have no existence. But 
 would any one say of us, who do exist, that we want 
 horns or wings? Certainly not. Should it be asked, 
 why not? the answer would be, that not to have what 
 neither custom nor nature has fitted you for would not 
 imply a want of them, even though you were sensible that 
 you had them not. This argument should be pressed 
 over and over again, after that point has once been estab- 
 lished, which, if souls are mortal, there can be no dispute 
 about I mean, that the destruction of them by death is 
 so entire as to ^-emove even the least suspicion of any 
 sense remaining. When, therefore, this point is once well 
 grounded and established, we must correctly define what 
 the term to want means; that there may be no mistake 
 in the word. To vvnut, then, signifies this: to be without 
 that which you would be glad to have; for inclination for 
 a thing is implied in the word want, excepting when we 
 use the word in an entirely different sense, as we do when 
 we say that a fever is wanting to any one. For it admits 
 of a different interpretation, when you are witliout a cer- 
 tain thing, and are sensible that you are without it, but 
 yet can easily dispense with having it. " To w^ant," then, 
 is an expression which you cannot apply to the dead ; nor 
 is the mere fact of wanting something necessarily lamen- 
 table. The proper expression ought to be, " that they 
 want a good," and that is an evil. 
 
 But a living man does not want a good, unless he is dis- 
 tressed without it; and yet, we can easily understand 
 how any man alive can be without a kingdom. But this 
 cannot be predicated of you with any accuracy : it might 
 have been asserted of Tarquin, when he was driven from 
 his kingdom. But when such an expression is used re- 
 specting the dead, it is absolutely unintelligible. For to 
 want implies to be sensible; but the dead are insensible: 
 therefore, the dead can be in no want. 
 
 XXXVII. But what occasion is there to philosophize 
 
ON THE CONTEMPT OF DEATH. 49 
 
 here in a matter with which we see tliat philosophy is but 
 little concerned ? How often have not only our generals, 
 but whole armies, rushed on certain death ! But if it had 
 been a thing to be feared, L. Brutus would never have 
 fallen in fight, to prevent the return of that tyrant whom 
 he had expelled; nor would Decius the father have been 
 slain in fighting with the Latins; nor would his son, 
 w^hen engaged with the Etruscans, nor his grandson with 
 Pyrrhus, have exposed themselves to the enemy's darts. 
 Spain would never have seen, in one campaign, the Scip- 
 ios fall fighting for their country ; nor would the plains 
 of Canna3 have witnessed the death of Paulus and Gemi- 
 nus, or Yenusia that of Marcellus ; nor would the Latins 
 have beheld the death of Albinus, nor the Leucanians 
 that of Gracchus. But are any of these miserable now? 
 Nay, they w^ere not so even at the first moment after they 
 had breathed their last; nor can any one be miserable af- 
 ter he has lost all sensation. Oh, but the mere circum- 
 stance of beino: without sensation is miserable. It misjht 
 be so if being without sensation were the same thmg as 
 wanting it; but as it is evident there can be nothing of 
 any kind in that which has no existence, what can tliere 
 be afflicting to that which can neither feel want nor be 
 sensible of anything? We might be said to have repeat- 
 ed this over too often, only that here lies all that the soul 
 shudders at from the fear of death. For whoever can 
 clearly apprehend that which is as manifest as the light 
 that when both soul and body are consumed, and there 
 is a total destruction, then that which was an animal be- 
 comes nothing will clearly see that there is no difference 
 between a Hippocentaur, which never had existence, and 
 King Agamemnon ; and that M. Camillus is no more con- 
 cerned about this present civil war than I was at the 
 sacking of Rome, when he w^as living. 
 
 XXXVIII. Wiiy, then, should Camillus be affected with 
 the thoughts of these things happening three hundred and 
 fifty years after his time ? And why should I be uneasy 
 if I were to expect that some nation might possess itself 
 of this city ten thousand years hence ? Because so great 
 is our regard for our country, as not to be measured by 
 our own feeling, but by its own actual safety. 
 
 3 
 
50 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 Death, then, which threatens us daily from a thousand 
 accidents, and whicli, by reason of the shortness of life, 
 can never be far off, does not deter a wise man from mak- 
 ing such provision for his country and his family as he 
 hopes may last forever ; and from regarding posterity, of 
 which he can never have any real perception, as belonging 
 to himself. Wherefore a man may act for eternity, even 
 though he be persuaded that his soul is mortal ; not, in- 
 deed, from a desire of glory, which he will be insensible 
 of, but from a principle of virtue, which glory will inevita- 
 bly attend, though that is not his object. The process, 
 indeed, of nature is this: that just in the same manner as 
 our birth was the beginning of things with us, so death 
 will be the end; and as we were noways concerned with 
 anything before we were born, so neither shall we be after 
 we are dead. And in this state of things where can the 
 evil be, since death has no connection with either the 
 living or the dead? The one have no existence at all, the 
 other are not yet affected by it. They who make the least 
 of death consider it as having a great resemblance to sleej) ; 
 as if any one would choose to live ninety years on condi- 
 tion that, at the expiration of sixty, he should sleep out 
 the remainder. The very swine would not accept of life 
 on those terms, much less I. Endymion, indeed, if you 
 listen to fables, slept once on a time on Latmus, a moun- 
 tain of Caria, and for such a length of time that I imagine 
 he is not as yet awake. Do you think that he is concern- 
 ed at the Moon's being in difHculties, though it was by 
 her that he was thrown into that sleep, in order that she 
 might kiss him while sleeping. For what should he be 
 concerned for who has not even any sensation ? You look 
 on sleep as an image of death, and you take tliat on you 
 daily ; and have you, then, any doubt that there is no sen- 
 sation in deatl), when you see there is none in sleep, which 
 is its near resemblance? 
 
 XXXIX. Away, then, with those follies, which are little 
 better than the old women's dreams, such as that it is mis- 
 erable to die before our time. What time do you mean? 
 That of nature? But she lias only lent you life, as she 
 might lend you money, without fixing any certain time 
 for its repayment. Have you any grounds of complaint. 
 
ON THE CONTEMPT OF DEATH. 61 
 
 tlien, lliat slie recalls it at lier pleasure? for you received 
 it on these terms. They that complain thus allow that if 
 a young child dies, the survivors ought to bear his loss 
 with equanimity ; that if an infant in the cradle dies, they 
 ought not even to utter a complaint; and yet nature has 
 been more severe with them in demanding back what she 
 gave. Tiiey answer by saying that such have not tasted 
 the sweets of life; while the other had begun to conceive 
 hopes of great happiness, and, indeed, had begun to realize 
 them. Men judge better in other things, and allow a part 
 to be preferable to none. Why do they not admit the 
 same estimate in life? Though Callimachus does not 
 speak amiss in saying that more tears had flowed from 
 Priam than his son ; yet they are thought happier who 
 die after they have reached old age. It would be hard to 
 say why; for I do not apprehend that any one, if a longer 
 life were granted to him, would find it happier. There is 
 nothing more agreeable to a man than prudence, which old 
 age most certainly bestows on a man, though it may strip 
 Iiim of everything else. But what age is long, or what is 
 there at all long to a man ? Does not 
 
 Old np;e, though unregarded, still attend 
 
 On childhood's pastimes, as the cares of men ? 
 
 But because there is nothing beyond old age, Ave call that 
 long : all these things are said to be long or short, accord- 
 ing to the proportion of time they were given us for. 
 Artistotle saith there is a kind of insect near the river 
 Ilypanis, which runs from a certain part of Europe into 
 the Pontus, whose life consists but of one day; those that 
 die at the eighth hour die in full age; those who die 
 when the sun sets are very old, especially wlien the days 
 are at the longest. Compare our longest life with eter- 
 nity, and we shall be found almost as short-lived as those 
 little animals. 
 
 XL. Let us, then, despise all these follies for what 
 softer name can I give to such levities? and let us lay 
 the foundation of our happiness in the strength and great- 
 ness of our minds, in a contempt and disregard of all 
 eartlily things, and in the practice of every virtue. For 
 at present we are enervated by the softness of our imagi- 
 
62 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 nations, so that, slionld we leave this world before the 
 promises of our fortune-tellers are made good to us, wc 
 should think ourselves deprived of some great advantages, 
 and seem disappointed and forlorn. But if, through life, 
 we are in continual suspense, still expecting, still desiring, 
 and are in continual pain and toi-ture, good Gods ! how 
 pleasant must that journey be which ends in security and 
 ease ! How pleased am I with Theramenes ! Of how ex- 
 alted a soul does he api3ear ! For, although we never read 
 of him without tears, yet that illustrious man is not to be 
 lamented in his death, who, when he had been imprisoned 
 by the command of the thirty tyrants, drank off, at one 
 draught, as if he had been thirsty, the poisoned cup, and 
 threw the remainder out of it with such force that it 
 sounded as it fell; and then, on hearing the sound of the 
 drops, he said, with a smile, "I drink this to the most ex- 
 cellent Critias," who had been his most bitter enemy; for 
 it is customary among the Greeks, at their banquets, to 
 name the person to whom they intend to deliver the cup. 
 This celebrated man was pleasant to the last, even when 
 he had received the poison into his bowels, and truly fore- 
 told the death of that man whom he named when he drank 
 the poison, and that death soon followed. Who that 
 thinks death an evil could approve of the evenness of tem- 
 per in this great man at the instant of dying ? Socrates 
 came, a few years after, to the same prison and the same 
 cup by as great iniquity on the part of his judges as the 
 tyrants displayed when they executed Theramenes. What 
 a speech is that which Plato makes him deliver before his 
 judges, after they had condemned him to death ! 
 
 XLI. "I am not without hopes, O judges, that it is a 
 favorable circumstance for me that I am condenmed to 
 die; for one of these two things must necessarily happen 
 eitlier that death will deprive me entirely of all sense, or 
 else that, by dying, I shall go from hence into some other 
 place; wherefore, if all sense is utterly extinguished, and if 
 death is like that sleep which sometimes is so undisturbed 
 as to be even without the visions of dreams in that case, 
 O ye good Gods! what gain is it to die? or what length 
 'of days can be imagined which would be preferable to 
 Buch a night? And if the constant course of future time 
 
ON THE CONTEMPT OF DEATH. 63 
 
 is to resemble that nigbt, who is happier than I am ? But 
 if, on the other liand, what is said be true, namely, that 
 death is but a removal to those regions where the souls of 
 the departed dwell, then that state must be more happy- 
 still ^to have escaped from those who call themselves 
 judges, and to appear before such as are truly so Minos, 
 Rhadamanthus, ^acus, Triptolemns" and 'to meet with 
 those who have lived with justice and probity !* Can this 
 change of abode appear otherwise than great to you? 
 What bounds can you set to the value of conversing with 
 Orplieus, and Musa^us, and Homer, and Hesiod ? I would 
 even, were it possible, willingly die often, in order to prove 
 the certainty of what I speak of.V What delight must it 
 be to meet with Palamedes, and Ajax, and others, who 
 have been betrayed by the iniquity of their judges ! Then, 
 also, should I experience the wisdom of even that king of 
 kings, who led his vast troops to Troy, and the prudence 
 of Ulysses and Sisyphus : nor should I then be condemned 
 for prosecuting my inquiries on such subjects in the same 
 w^ay in which I have done here on earth.' And even you, 
 my judges, you, I mean, who have voted for my acquittal, 
 do not you fear death, for nothing bad can befall a good 
 man, whether he be alive or dead; nor are his concerns 
 ever overlooked by the Gods ; nor in niy case either has 
 this befallen me by chance ; and I have nothing to charge 
 those men with who accused or condemned me but the 
 fact that they believed that they were doing me harm." 
 In this manner he proceeded. There is no part of his 
 speech which I admire more than his last words j/" But it 
 is time," says he, " for me now to go hence, that I may 
 die; and for you, that you may continue to live. Which 
 condition of the two is the best, the immortal Gods know ; 
 but I do not believe that any mortal man does." 
 
 * This idea is beautifully expanded by Byron : 
 
 Yet if, as holiest men have deem'd, there be 
 A land of sonls beyond that sable shore 
 To shame the doctrine of the Sadducee 
 And sophist, madly vain of dubious lore, 
 How sweet it were in concert to adore 
 With those who made our mortal labors light, 
 To hear each voice we fear'd to hear no more, 
 Behold each mighty shade reveal'd to sight, 
 The Bactriau, Saraiau sage, and all who taught the right ! 
 
 Childe Harold, ii. 
 
64 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 XLII. Surely I would rather have had this man's soul 
 than all the fortunes of those who sat in judgment on 
 him ; although that very thing which he says no one ex- 
 cept the Gods know, namely, whether life or death is most 
 preferable, he knows himself, for he had previously stated 
 his opinion on it; but he maintained to the last that fa- 
 vorite maxim of his, of affirming nothing. And let us, 
 too, adhere to this rule of not thinking anything an evil 
 which is a general provision of nature ; and let us assure 
 ourselves, that if death is an evil, it is an eternal evil, for 
 death seems to be the end of a miserable life ; but if death 
 is a misery, there can be no end of that. But why do I 
 mention Socrates, or Theramenes, men distinguished by the 
 glory of virtue and wisdom ? when a certain Lacedemo- 
 nian, whose name is not so much as known, held death 
 in such contempt, that, wlien led to it by the ephori, he 
 bore a cheerful and pleasant countenance; and, when he 
 was asked by one of his enemies whether he despised the 
 laws of Lycurgus, " On the contrary," answered he, "I am 
 greatly obliged to him, for he has amerced me in a fine 
 which I can pay without borrowing, or taking uj) money 
 at interest." This was a man worthy of Sparta. And I 
 am almost persuaded of his innocence because of the 
 greatness of his soul. Our own city has produced many 
 such. /But why should I name generals, and other men 
 of high rank, when Cato could wi'ite that legions have 
 marched with alacrity to that place from whence they 
 never expected to return? With no less greatness of 
 soul fell the Lacedaimonians at Thcrmopylas, on whom Si- 
 mouides wrote the following epitaph : 
 
 Go, stranger, tell the Spartans, here we lie, 
 Who to support their laws durst boldly die.* 
 
 What was it that Leonidas, their general, said to them ? 
 "March on with courage, my Lacedaemonians. To-night, 
 perhaps, we shall sup in the regions below."^This was a 
 brave nation while the laws of Lycurgus were in force. 
 One of them, when a Persian had said to him in conversa- 
 
 * The epitaph in the original is : 
 
 ''il fe'i/' iiffuXov \aKe6atiiovioii ojt r^ie 
 
ON THE CONTEMPT OF DEATH. 66 
 
 tion, "We shall hide the sun from your sight by the num. 
 ber of our arrows and darts," replied, " We shall fight, 
 then, in the shade." Do I talk of their men ? How great 
 was that Laceda3monian woman, who had sent her son to 
 battle, and when she heard that he was slain, said, "I bore 
 him for that purpose, that you might have a man who 
 durst die for his country !" However, it is a matter of 
 notoriety that the Spartans were bold and hardy, for the 
 discipline of a republic has great influence. 
 
 XLIH. What, then, have we not reason to admire 
 Theodorus the Cyrenean, a philosoplier of no small dis- 
 tinction, who, when Lysimachus threatened to crucify him, 
 bade him keep those menaces for his courtiers? "To 
 Theodorus it makes no difference whether he rot in the 
 air on underground." By wliich saying of the philoso- 
 pher^'! am reminded to say something of the custom of 
 func^ral^^and sepulture, and of funeral ceremonies, which 
 is, indeed, not a difticult subject, especially if we recollect 
 what has been before said about insensibility. The opin- 
 ion o^r SocratesC"especting this matter is clearly stated in 
 the book which treats of his death, of which we have al- 
 ready said so much ; for when he had discussed the im- 
 mortality of the soul, and when the time of his dying was 
 approaching rapidlyjbeing asked by Criton how he would 
 be buried, "I have taken a great deal of pains," saith he, 
 " my friends, to no purpose, for I have not convinced our 
 Criton that I shall fly from hence, and leave no part of 
 me behind/ Notwithstanding, Criton, if you can overtake 
 me, wheresoever you get hold of me, bury me as you 
 please : (but believe me, none of you will be able to catch 
 me when I have flown away from hence.'/ CTliat was ex- 
 cellently said, inasmuch as he allows his friend to do as 
 he pleased, and yet shows his indifference about anything 
 of this kind.) /Diogenes was rougher, though of the same 
 opinion ; but in his character of a Cynic he expressed him- 
 self in a somewhat liarsher manner; he ordered himself to 
 be thrown anywhere without being buried. And when his 
 friends replied, " What ! to the birds and beasts ?" " By no 
 means," saith he; "place my staff near me, that I may 
 drive them away." " How can you do that," they answer, 
 " for you will not perceive them ?" " How am I then in- 
 
5G THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 jured b;^ being torn by those animals, if I have no sensa^ 
 lion?"^7Anaxagoras, when he was at the point of death 
 at Lampsacns, and was asked by his friends, whether, if 
 anything shonld happen to him, he would not choose to 
 be carried to Clazomenae, his country, made this excellent 
 answer, " There is," says he, " no occasion for that, for 
 all places are at an equal distance from the infernal re- 
 gions." There is one thing to be observed with respect 
 to the whole subject of burial, that it relates to the body, 
 whether the soul live or die. Now, with regard to the 
 body, it is clear that, Avhether the soul live or die, that has 
 no sensation. 
 
 XLIV. But all things are full of errors. Achilles drags 
 Hector, tied to his chariot ; he thinks, I suppose, he tears 
 his flesh, and that Hector feels the pain of it ; therefore, 
 he avenges himself on him, as he imagines. But Hecuba 
 bewails this as a sore misfortune : 
 
 I saw (a dreadful sight) great Hector slain, 
 Dragg'd at Achilles' car along the plain. 
 
 What Hector? or how long w^ill he be Hector? Accius 
 is better in this, and Achilles, too, is sometimes reasonable : 
 
 I Hector's body to his sire convey 'd, 
 Hector I sent to the infernal shade. 
 
 It was not Hector that you dragged along, but a body that 
 had been Hector's. Here another starts from underground, 
 and will not suffer his mother to sleep : 
 
 To thee I call, my once-loved parent, hear, 
 Nor longer with thy sleep relieve tliy care ; 
 Thine eye which pities not is closed arise ; 
 Ling'ring I wait the unpaid obsequies. 
 
 When these verses are sung with a slow and melancholy 
 tune, so as to affect the whole theatre with sadness, one 
 can scarce help thinking those unhappy that are unburied : 
 
 Ere the devouring dogs and hungry vultures 
 
 He is afraid he shall not have the use of his limbs so well 
 if they are torn to pieces, but is under no such a})prehen- 
 sions if they arc burned : 
 
ON THE CONTEMPT OF DEATH. 67 
 
 Nor leave my naked bones, ray poor remains, 
 To shameful violence and bloody stains. 
 
 I do not understand wliat he could fear who could pour 
 forth such excellent verses to the sound of the flute. We 
 must, therefore, adhere to this, that nothing is to be re- 
 garded after we are dead, though many people revenge 
 themselves on their dead enemies. Thyestes pours forth 
 several curses in some good lines of Ennius, praying, first 
 of all, that Atreus may perish by a shipwreck, which is 
 certainly a very terrible thing, for such a death is not free 
 from very grievous sensations. Then follow these un- 
 meaning expressions : 
 
 May 
 On the sharp rock his mangled carcass lie, 
 ' His entrails torn, to hungry birds a prey ! 
 May ho convulsive writhe his bleeding side, 
 And with his clotted gore the stones be dyed ! 
 
 llie rocks themselves were not more destitute of feeling 
 than he who was hanging to them by his side; though 
 Thyestes imagines he is wishing him the greatest torture. 
 It would be torture, indeed, if he were sensible; but as ho 
 is not, it can be none; then how very unmeaning is this: 
 
 Let him, still hovering o'er the Stygian Avave, 
 Ne'er reach the body's peaceful port, the grave ! 
 
 You see under what mistaken notions all this is said. He 
 imagines the body has its haven, and that the dead are at 
 rest in their graves. Pelops was greatly to blame in not 
 having informed and taught his son what regard was due 
 to everytliing. 
 
 XLV. But what occasion is there to animadvert on the 
 opinions of individuals, when we may observe whole na- 
 tions to fall into all sorts of errors? The Egyptians em- 
 balm their dead, and keep them in their houses; the Per- 
 sians dress them over with wax, and then bury them, that 
 they may preserve their bodies as long as possible. It is 
 customary with the Magi to bury none of their order, un- 
 less they have been first torn by wild beasts. In Hyrca- 
 nia, the people maintain dogs for the public use; the no- 
 bles have their own and we know that they have a good 
 breed of dogs; but every one, according to his abilitv, 
 
 3* 
 
58 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 provides himself with some, in order to be torn by them ; 
 and they hold that to be the best kind of interment. Chry- 
 sippns, who is curious in all kinds of historical facts, has 
 collected many other things of this kind ; but some of them 
 are so offensive as not to admit of being related. All that 
 has been said of burying is not worth our regard with re- 
 spect to ourselves, though it is not to be neglected as to 
 our friends, provided we are thoroughly aware that the 
 dead are insensible. But the living, indeed, should con- 
 sider what is due to custom and opinion ; only they should 
 at the same time consider that the dead are noways inter- 
 ested in it. But death truly is then met with the greatest 
 tranquillity when the dying man can comfort himself with 
 his own praise. No one dies too soon who has finished 
 the course of perfect virtue. I myself have known many 
 occasions when I have seemed in danger of immediate 
 death ; oh ! how I wish it had come to me ! for I have 
 gained nothing by the delay. I had gone over and over 
 again the duties of life ; nothing remained but to contend 
 with fortune. If reason, then, cannot sufficiently fortify 
 us to enable us to feel a contempt for death, at all events 
 let our past life prove that we have lived long enough, and 
 even longer than was necessary; for notwithstanding the 
 deprivation of sense, the dead are not without that good 
 which peduliarly belongs to them, namely, the praise and 
 glory which they have acquired, even though they are not 
 sensible of it. For although there be nothing in glory to 
 make it desirable, yet it follows virtue as its shadow ; and 
 the genuine judgment of the multitude on good men, if 
 ever they form any, is more to their own praise than of 
 any real advantage to the dead. Yet I cannot say, how- 
 ever it may be received, that Lycurgus and Solon have no 
 glory from their laws, and from the political constitution 
 which they established in their country; or that Themis- 
 tocles and Epaminondas have not glory from their martial 
 virtue. 
 
 XLVI. For Neptune shall sooner bury Salamis itself 
 with his waters than the memory of the trophies gained 
 there ; and the Boeotian Leuctra shall perish sooner than 
 the glory of that great battle. And longer still sliall fame 
 be before it deserts Curius, and Fabricius, and Calatinus, 
 
ON THE CONTEMPT OF DEATH. .59 
 
 and the two Scipios, and the two Africani, and Maximus, 
 and Marcellus, and Paulus, and Cato, and Lselius, and num- 
 berless other heroes; and whoever has caught any resem- 
 bLance of them, not estimating it by common fame, but by 
 the real applause of good men, may with confidence, when 
 the occasion requires, approach death, on which we are 
 sure that even if the chief good is not continued, at least 
 no evil is. Such a man would even wish to die while in 
 prosperity ; for all the favors that could be heaped on him 
 would not be so agreeable to him as the loss of them would 
 be painful. That speech of the Laceda3monian seems to 
 have the same meaning, who, when Diagoras the Rhodian, 
 who had himself been a conqueror at the Olympic games, 
 saw two of his own sons conquerors there on the same 
 day, approached the old man, and, congratulating him, said, 
 "You should die now, Diagoras, for no greater happiness 
 can possibly await you." The Greeks look on these as 
 great things; perhaps they think too highly of them, or, 
 rather, they did so then. And so he who said this to Di- 
 agoras, looking on it as something very glorious, that three 
 men out of one family should have been conquerors there, 
 thought it could answer no purpose to him to continue 
 any longer in life, where he could only be exposed to a re- 
 verse of fortune. 
 
 I might have given you a sufficient answer, as it seems 
 to me, on this point, in a few words, as you had allowed 
 the dead were not exposed to any positive evil ; but I have 
 spoken at greater length on the subject for this reason, be- 
 cause this is our greatest consolation in the losing and be- 
 wailing of our friends. For we ought to bear with mod- 
 eration any grief which arises from ourselves, or is endured 
 on our own account, lest we should seem to be too much 
 Influenced by self-love. But should we suspect our de- 
 parted friends to be under those evils, which they are gen- 
 erally imagined to be, and to be sensible of them, then such 
 a suspicion would give us intolerable pain ; and according- 
 ly I wished, for my own sake, to pluck up this opinion by 
 the roots, and on that account I have been perhaps some- 
 what more prolix than was necessary. 
 
 XLVII. A. More prolix than was necessary ? Certain- 
 ly not, in my opinion. For I was induced, by the former 
 
60 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 part of your speech, to wish to die; but, by the latter, 
 sometimes not to be unwilling, and at others to be wholly 
 indifferent about it. But the effect of your whole argu- 
 ment is, that I am convinced that deatii ought not to be 
 classed among the evils. 
 
 M. Do you, then, expect that I am to give you a regu- 
 lar peroration, like the rhetoricians, or shall I forego that 
 art? 
 
 A. I would not have you give over an art which you 
 have set off to such advantage ; and you w^ere in the right 
 to do so, foi-, to speak the truth, it also has set you oft". 
 But what is that peroration? For I should be glad to 
 hear it, whatever it is. 
 
 M. It is customary, in the schools, to produce the opin- 
 ions of the immortal Gods on death; nor are these opin- 
 ions the fruits of the imagination alone of the lecturers, 
 but they have the authority of Herodotus and many oth- 
 ers. Cleobis and Biton are the first they mention, sons of 
 the Argive priestess; the story is a well-known one. As it 
 was necessary that she should be drawn in a chariot to a 
 certain annual sacrifice, which was solemnized at a temple 
 some considerable distance from the town, and the cattle 
 that were to draw the chariot had not arrived, those two 
 young men whom I have just mentioned, pulling off their 
 garments, and anointing their bodies with oil, harnessed 
 themselves to the yoke. And in this manner the priestess 
 was conveyed to the temple ; and when the chariot had ar- 
 rived at the proper place, she is said to have entreated the 
 Goddess to bestow on them, as a reward for their piety, 
 the greatest gift that a God could confer on man. And 
 the young men, after having feasted with their mother, fell 
 asleep ; and in the morning they were found dead. Tro- 
 phonius and Agamedes are said to have put up the same 
 petition, for they, having built a temple to Apollo at Del- 
 phi, offered suppHcations to the God, and desired of him 
 some extraordinary reward for their care and labor, par- 
 ticularizing nothing, but asking for whatever was best for 
 men. Accordingly, Apollo signified to them that he would 
 bestow it on them in three days, and on the third day at 
 daybreak they were found dead. And so they say that 
 this was a formal decision pronounced by that God to 
 
ON THE CONTEMPT OF DEATH. 61 
 
 whom the rest of the deities have assigned the province of 
 divining with an accuracy superior to that of all the rest. 
 XL VIII. There is also a story told of Silenus, who, 
 when taken prisoner by Midas, is said to have made him 
 this jDresent for his ransom namely, that he informed 
 him' that never to have been born was by far the great- 
 est blessing that could happen to man ; and that the next 
 best thing was to die very soon ; which very opinion Eu- 
 ripides makes use of in his Cresphontes, saying. 
 
 When man is born, 'tis fit, with solemn sliow, 
 We speak our sense of liis approacliing woe ; 
 Witli other gestures and a different eye, 
 Prochiim our pleasure when he's bid to die.'^ 
 
 There is something like this in Grantor's Consolation ; for 
 he says that Terina3us oi Elysia, when he was bitterly la- 
 menting the loss of his son, came to a place of divination 
 to be informed why he was visited with so great affliction, 
 and received in his tablet these three verses : 
 
 Thou fool, to murmur at'Euthynous' death! 
 The blooming youth to fate resigns his breath : 
 The fate, whereon your happiness depends, 
 At once the parent and the son befriends.^ 
 
 On these and similar authorities they affirm that the ques- 
 tion has been determined by the Gods. Nay, more ; Al- 
 cidamas, an ancient rhetorician of the very highest reputa- 
 tion, wrote even in praise of death, which he endeavored 
 to establish by an enumeration of the evils of life; and 
 his Dissertation has a great deal of eloquence in it; but 
 
 ^ This was expressed in the Greek verses, 
 
 'Apx'/r fJiiv fii^ (pvvat inixOoviottriv apiarov, 
 (piiVTa d' OTTO)? wKicTTa 7ru\a9 'Aidiio wepJjjat* 
 
 which by some authors are attributed to Homer. 
 
 ^ This is the first fragment of the Cresphontes. Ed. Var. vii., p. 594. 
 
 "Edei flip rjjua? cruWoyov Troiov/jitvov^ 
 Toi/ ^I'w-ra Opt)vel^v, e\^ oa epxerat kukcx. 
 Tov 6' av OavouTa Ka't irovcov ireTrav/Jievov 
 XaipovTui eu(pr]/j.o'ivTav eKTrefineiv boixatv 
 
 ^ The Greek verses are quoted by Plutarch : 
 
 Hirov vrjTTie, iiXiOtoi cppeve^ avdpwv 
 EvOui/oo^ Keirai ixoipibiw OavuTW 
 OvK r]v 7ap ^weiv KaXov auTi^ out*- "yovi'vJt. 
 
62 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 he was unacquainted with the more refined argnments of 
 the philosophers. By the orators, indeed, to die for our 
 country is always considered not only as glorious, but 
 even as happy : tliey go back as far as Erechtheus,^ whose 
 very daughters underwent death, for the safety of their 
 fellow-citizens : they instance Codrus, who threw himself 
 hito the midst of his enemies, dressed like a common man, 
 that his royal robes might not betray him, because the 
 oracle had declared the Athenians conquerors, if their 
 king was slain. Menoeceus^ is not overlooked by them, 
 who, in compliance with the injunctions of an oracle, 
 freely shed his blood for his country. Iphigenia order- 
 ed herself to be conveyed to Aulis, to be sacrificed, that 
 her blood might be the cause of spilling that of her ene- 
 mies. 
 
 XLIX. From hence they proceed to instances of a fresh- 
 er date. Harmodius and Aristogiton are in everybody's 
 mouth ; the memory of Leonidas the Lacedaemonian and 
 Epaminondas the Theban is as fresh as ever. Those phi- 
 losophers were not acquainted with the many instances in 
 our country to give a list of whom would take up too 
 much time who, we see, considered death desirable as 
 long as it was accompanied with honor. But, notwith- 
 standing this is the correct view of the case, we must use 
 much persuasion, speak as if we were endued with some 
 higher authority, in order to bring men to begin to wish 
 to die, or cease to be afraid of death. For if that last day 
 does not occasion an entire extinction, but a change of 
 abode only, what can be more desirable ? And if it, on 
 the other hand, destroys, and absolutely puts an end to us, 
 what can be preferable to the having a deep sleep fall 
 on us, in the midst of the fatigues of life, and being thus 
 overtaken, to sleep to eternity ? And, should this really 
 
 * This refers to the story that when Eumolpns, the son of Neptune, 
 whose assistance tlie Kleusinians had called in against the Athenians, had 
 been slain by the Athenians, an oracle demanded the sacrifice of one of 
 the daughters of Erechtheus, the King of Athens. And when one was 
 drawn by lot, the others voluntarily accompanied her to death. 
 
 ^ Mcnoeceus was son of Creon, and in the war of the Argives against 
 Thebes, Teresias declared that theTlicbans should conquer if Menoeccus 
 would sacrifice himself for his country; and accordingly he killed him- 
 self outside the gates of Thebes. 
 
ON THE CONTEMPT OF DEATH. 63 
 
 be the case, then Ennius's language is more consistent 
 with wisdom than Solon's ; for our Ennius says, 
 
 Let none bestow upon my passing bier 
 One needless sigh or unavailing tear. 
 
 But the wise Solon says, 
 
 Let me not unlamented die, but o'er my bier 
 Burst forth the tender sigh, the friendly tear.* 
 
 But let us, if indeed it should be our fate to know the 
 time which is appointed by the Gods for us to die, prepare 
 ourselves for it with a cheerful and grateful mind, think- 
 ing ourselves like men W'ho are delivered from a jail, and 
 released from their fetters, for the purpose of going back 
 to our eternal habitation, which may be more emphatically 
 called our ow^n ; or else to be divested of all sense and 
 trouble. If, on the other hand, we should have no notice 
 given us of this decree, yet let us cultivate such a disposi- 
 tion as to look on that formidable hour of death as happy 
 for us, though shocking to our friends ; and let us never 
 imagine anything to be an evil which is an appointment 
 of the immortal Gods, or of nature, the common parent of 
 all. For it is not by hazard or without design that we 
 have been born and situated as we have. On the contrary, 
 beyond all doubt there is a certain power which consults 
 the happiness of human nature ; and this would neither 
 have produced nor provided for a being which, after hav- 
 ing gone through the labors of life, was to fall into eternal 
 misery by death. Let us rather infer that we have a re- 
 treat and haven prepared for us, which I wish we could 
 crowd all sail and arrive at; but though the winds should 
 not serve, and we should be driven back, yet we shall to a 
 certainty arrive at that point eventually, though somewhat 
 later. But how can that be miserable for one which all 
 must of necessity undergo? I have given you a perora- 
 tion, that you might not think I had overlooked or neglect- 
 ed anything. 
 
 A. I am persuaded you have not; and, indeed, that 
 peroration has confirmed me. 
 
 * The Greek is, 
 
 IJ.{]6e fJioi a(cXai/o-TOf ddvaroi noXot, uWa (piXoiat 
 Trott](TaiiJ.t OavMV aXyea Kal o-roi/ax^f. 
 
64 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 M. I am glad it has had that effect. But it is now 
 time to consult our health. To-morrow, and all the time 
 we continue in this Tusculan villa, let us consider this sub- 
 ject; and especially those portions of it which may ease 
 our pain, alleviate our fears, and lessen our desires, which 
 is the greatest advantage we can reap from the whole of 
 philosophy. 
 
 BOOK 11. 
 
 ON BEARING PAIN. 
 
 T. N'eoptolemus, in Ennius, indeed, says that the study 
 of philosophy was expedient for him; but that it re- 
 quired limiting to a few subjects, for that to give himself 
 np entirely to it was what he did not approve of. And 
 for my part, Brutus, I am perfectly persuaded that it is 
 expedient for me to philosophize ; for what can I do bet- 
 ter, especially as I have no regular occupation ? But I 
 am not for limiting my philosophy to a few subjects, as 
 he does; for philosophy is a matter in which it is diffi- 
 cult to acquire a little knowledge without acquainting 
 yourself with many, or all its branches, nor can you well 
 take a few subjects without selecting them out of a great 
 number; nor can any one, who has acquired the knowl- 
 edge of a few points, avoid endeavoring with the same 
 eagerness to understand more. But still, in a busy life, 
 and in one mainly occupied with military matters, such as 
 that of Neoptolemus was at that time, even that limited 
 degree of acquaintance with philosophy may be of great 
 use, and may yield fruit, not perhaps so plentiful as a 
 thorough knowledge of the whole of philosophy, but yet 
 such as in some degree may at times deliver us from the 
 dominion of our desires, our sorrows, and our fears; just 
 as the effect of that discussion which we lately maintained 
 in my Tusculan villa seemed to be that a great contempt 
 of death was engendered, which contempt is of no small 
 efficacy towards delivering the mind from fear; for who- 
 ever dreads what cannot be avoided can by no means live 
 with a quiet and tranquil mind. But he who is under no 
 
ON BEARING PAIN. 65 
 
 fear of death, not only because it is a thing absolutely in- 
 evitable, but also because he is persuaded that death itself 
 hath nothing terrible in it, provides himself with a very 
 great resource towards a happy life. However, I am not 
 ignorant that many will argue strenuously against us; 
 and, indeed, that is a thing which can never be avoided, 
 except by abstaining from writing at all. For if my 
 Orations, which were addressed to the judgment and ap- 
 probation of the people (for that is a popular art, and the 
 object of oratory is popular applause), have been criti- 
 cised by some people who are incUned to withhold tiieir 
 praise from everything but what they are persuaded they 
 can attain to themselves, and who limit their ideas of 
 good speaking by the hopes which they conceive of what 
 they themselves may attain to, and who declare, when 
 they are overwhelmed with a flow of words and sen- 
 tences, that they prefer the utmost poverty of thought 
 and expression to that plenty and copiousness (from 
 which arose the Attic kind of oratory, which they who pro- 
 fessed it were strangers to, though they have now been 
 some time silenced, and laughed out of the very courts of 
 justice), what may I not expect, when at present I cannot 
 have the least countenance from the people by whom I 
 used to be upheld before? For philosophy is satisfied 
 w^ith a few judges, and of her own accord industriously 
 avoids the multitude, who are jealous of it, and utterly 
 displeased with it ; so that, should any one undertake to 
 cry down the whole of it, he would have the people on his 
 side ; while, if he should attack that school which I par- 
 ticularly profess, he would have great assistance from 
 those of the other philosophers. 
 
 II. But I have answered the detractors of philosophy 
 in general, in my Hortensius. And what I had to say in 
 favor of the Academics, is, I think, explained with suffi- 
 cient accuracy in my four books of the Academic Ques- 
 tion. 
 
 But yet I am so far from desiring that no one should 
 write against m.e, that it is what I most earnestly wish ; 
 for philosophy would never have been in such esteem in 
 Greece itself, if it had not been for the strength which it 
 acquired from the contentions and disputations of the 
 
66 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 most learned men ; and therefore I recommend all men 
 who have abilities to follow my advice to snatch this art 
 also from declining Greece, and to transport it to this 
 city; as our ancestors by their study and industry have 
 imported all their other arts which were worth having. 
 Thus the praise of oratory, raised from a low degree, is 
 arrived at such perfection that it must now decline, and, 
 as is the nature of all things, verge to its dissolution in a 
 very short time. Let ])hilosophy, then, derive its birth in 
 Latin language from this time, and let us lend it our as- 
 sistance, and bear patiently to be contradicted and re- 
 futed; and altliough those men may dislike such treat- 
 ment who are bound and devoted to certain predeter- 
 mined opinions, and are under such obligations to main- 
 tain them that they are forced, for the sake of consist- 
 ency, to adhere to them even though they do not them- 
 selves wholly approve of them ; we, on the other hand, 
 who pursue only probabilities, and who cannot go beyond 
 that which seems really likely, can confute others with- 
 out obstinacy, and are prepared to be confuted ourselves 
 without resentment. Besides, if these studies are ever 
 brought home to us, we shall not want even Greek libra- 
 ries, in which there is an infinite number of books, by 
 reason of the multitude of authors among them ; for it is 
 a common practice with many to repeat the same things 
 which have been written by others, which serves no pur- 
 pose but to stuff their shelves; and this will be our case, 
 too, if many apply themselves to this study. 
 
 in. But let us excite those, if possible, who have had 
 a liberal education, and are masters of an elegant style, 
 and who philosophize with reason and method. 
 
 For there is a certain class of them who would willing- 
 ly be called philosophers, whose books in or.r language 
 are said to be numerous, and which I do not despise; for, 
 indeed, I never read them: but still, because the authors 
 themselves declare that they wn-ite without any regularity, 
 or method, or elegance, or ornament, I do not care to read 
 what must be so void of entertainment. There is no 
 one in the least acquainted with literature who does not 
 know the style and sentiments of that school ; wherefore, 
 since they arc at no pains to express themselves well, I 
 
ON BEARING PAIN. 67 
 
 do not see why they should be read by anybody except 
 by one another. Let them read them, if they please, who 
 are of the same opinions; for in the same manner as all 
 men read Plato and the other Socratics, with those who 
 sprang from them, even those who do not agree with 
 their opinions, or are very indifferent about them; but 
 scarcely any one except tlieir own disciples take Epicurus 
 or Metrodorus into their hands; so they alone read these 
 Latin books who tliink that the arguments contained in 
 them are sound. But, in my opinion, whatever is pub- 
 lished should be recommended to the reading of every 
 man of learning; and though we may not succeed in this 
 ourselves, yet nevertheless we must be sensible that this 
 ought to be the aim of every writer. And on this ac- 
 count I have always been pleased with the custom of the 
 Peripatetics and Academics, of disputing on both sides of 
 the question; not solely from its being the only method 
 of discovering what is probable on every subject, but also 
 because it affords the greatest scope for practising elo- 
 quence; a method that Aristotle first made use of, and 
 afterward all the Aristotelians ; and in our own memory 
 Philo, whom we have often heard, appointed one time to 
 treat of the precepts of the rhetoricians, and another for 
 philosophical discussion, to which custom I was brought 
 to conform by my friends at my Tusculuin ; and accord- 
 ingly our leisure time was spent in this manner. And 
 therefore, as yesterday before noon we applied ourselves 
 to speaking, and in the afternoon ^vent down into the 
 Academy, the discussions which were held there I have 
 acquainted you with, not in the manner of a narration, but 
 in almost the very same words which were employed in 
 the debate. 
 
 IV. Tlie discourse, then, was introduced in this manner 
 while we were walking, and it was commenced by some 
 such an opening as this : 
 
 A. It is not to be expressed how much I was delighted, 
 or rather edified, by your discourse of yesterday. For 
 although I am conscious to myself that I have never been 
 too fond of life, yet at times, when I have considered that 
 there would be an end to this life, and that I must some 
 time or other part with all its good things, a certain dread 
 
68 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 and uneasiness used to intrude itself on my thoughts; 
 but now, believe me, I am so freed from that kind of un- 
 easiness that there is nothing that I think less worth any 
 regard. 
 
 M. I am not at all surprised at that, for it is the effect 
 of philosophy, which is the medicine of our souls ; it ban- 
 ishes all groundless apprehensions, frees us from desires, 
 and drives away fears : but it has not the same influence 
 over all men ; it is of very great influence when it falls in 
 with a disposition well adapted to it. For not only does 
 Fortune, as the old proverb says, assist the bold, but rea- 
 son does so in a still greater degree ; for it, by certain 
 precepts, as it were, strengthens even courage itself. You 
 were born naturally great and soaring, and with a con- 
 tempt for all things which pertain to man alone ; there- 
 fore a discourse against death took easy possession of a 
 brave soul. But do you imagine that these same argu- 
 ments have any force with those very persons who have 
 invented, and canvassed, and published them, excepting in- 
 deed some very few particular persons ? For how few 
 l^hilosophers will you meet with whose life and manners 
 are conformable to the dictates of reason ! who look on 
 their profession, not as a means of displaying their learn- 
 ing, but as a rule for their own practice ! who follow their 
 own precepts, and comply with their own decrees ! You 
 may see some of such levity and such vanity, that it would 
 have been better for them to have been ignorant; some 
 covetous of money, some others eager for glory, many 
 slaves to their lusts ; so that their discourses and their 
 actions are most strangely at variance ; than which noth- 
 ing in my opinion can be more unbecoming : for just as 
 if one who professed to teach grammar should speak with 
 impropriety, or a master of music sing out of tune, such 
 conduct has the worst appearance in these men, because 
 they blunder in the very particular with which they pro- 
 fess that they are well acquainted. So a philosopher who 
 errs in the conduct of his life is the more infamous be- 
 cause he is erring in the very thing which he pretends to 
 teach, and, while he lays down rules to regulate life by, is 
 irregular in his own life. 
 
 V. A. Should this be the case, is it not to be feared that 
 
ON BEARING PAIN. 69 
 
 you arc dressing up philosophy in false colors ? For what 
 stronger argument can there be that it is of little use than 
 that some very profound philosophers live in a discredita- 
 ble manner? 
 
 31. That, indeed, is no argument at all, for as all tlie 
 fields Avhich are cultivated are not fruitful (and this senti- 
 ment of Accius is false, and asserted without any founda- 
 tion, 
 
 The ground yon sow on is of small avail ; 
 To yield a crop good seed can never fail), 
 
 it is not every mind which has been properly cultivated 
 that produces fruit; and, to go on with the comparison, as 
 a field, although it may be naturally fruitful, cannot pro- 
 duce a crop without dressing, so neither can the mind 
 without education ; such is the weakness of either with- 
 out the other. Whereas philosophy is the culture of the 
 mind : this it is which plucks up vices by the roots ; pre- 
 pares the mind for the receiving of seeds ; commits them 
 to it, or, as I may say, sows them, in the hope that, when 
 come to maturity, they may produce a plentiful harvest. 
 Let us proceed, then, as we began. Say, if you please, 
 what shall be the subject of our disputation. 
 
 A. I look on pain to be the greatest of all evils. 
 
 3L What, even greater than infamy? 
 
 A. I dare not indeed assert that ; and I blush to think 
 I am so soon driven from my ground. 
 
 M. You would have had greater reason for blushing 
 had you persevered in it ; for what is so unbecoming 
 what can appear worse to you, than disgrace, wickedness, 
 immorality? To avoid which, what pain is there which 
 we ouglit not (I will not say to avoid shirking, but even) 
 of our own accord to encounter, and undergo, and even to 
 court? 
 
 A. I am entirely of that opinion; but, notwithstanding 
 that pain is not the greatest evil, yet surely it is an evil. 
 
 31. Do you perceive, then, how much of the terror of 
 pain you liave given up on a small hint? 
 
 A. I see that plainly; but I should be glad to give up 
 more of it. 
 
 3f. I will endeavor to make you do so; but it is a great 
 
VO THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 undertaking, and I must have a disposition on your part 
 which is not inclined to offer any obstacles. 
 
 A. You shall have such : for as I behaved yesterday, so 
 now I will follow reason wherever she leads. 
 
 VI. M. Fii'st, then, I Avill speak of the weakness of many 
 philosophers, and those, too, of various sects ; the head of 
 whom, both in authority and antiquity, was Aristippus, 
 the pupil of Socrates, who hesitated not to say that pain 
 was the greatest of all evils. And after him Epicurus 
 easily gave in to this effeminate and enervated doctrine. 
 After him Hieronymus the Rhodian said, that to be with- 
 out pain was the cliief good, so great an evil did pain ap- 
 pear to him to be. Tlie rest, with the exceptions of Zeno, 
 Aristo, Pyrrho, were pretty much of the same opinion 
 that you were of just now that it was indeed an evil, 
 but that tiiere wero many worse. When, then, nature her- 
 self, and a certain generous feeling of virtue, at once pre- 
 vents you from persisting in the assertion that pain is the 
 chief evil, and when you were driven from such an opin- 
 ion when disgrace was contrasted with pain, shall philoso- 
 phy, the preceptress of life, cling to this idea for so many 
 ages? What duty of life, what praise, what reputation, 
 would be of such consequence that a man should be desir- 
 ous of gaining it at the expense of submitting to bodily 
 pain, when he has persuaded himself that pain is the 
 greatest evil? On the other side, what disgrace, Avhat ig- 
 nominy, would he not submit to that he might avoid pain, 
 when persuaded that it was the greatest of evils? Be- 
 sides, v/hat person, if it be only true that pain is the great- 
 est of evils, is not miserable, not only when he actually 
 feels pain, but also whenever he is aware that it may be- 
 fall him. And who is there whom pain may not befall? 
 So that it is clear that there is absolutely no one who can 
 possibly be happy. Metrodorus, indeed, thinks that man 
 perfectly happy whose body is free from all disorders, and 
 who has an assurance that it will always continue so; but 
 who is there who can be assured of that? 
 
 VII. But Epicurus, indeed, says such things that it 
 should seem that his design was only to make people 
 laugh ; for lie affirms somewhere that if a wise man were 
 to be burned or put to the torture you expect, perhaps, 
 
ON BEARING PAIN. 11 
 
 that he is going to say he would bear it, he would support 
 himself under it with resolution, he would not yield to it 
 (and that, by Hercules ! would be very commendable, and 
 worthy of that very Hercules whom I have just invoked) : 
 but even this will not satisfy Epicurus, that robust and 
 hardy man ! No; his wise man, even if he were in Phal- 
 aris's bull, would say. How sweet it is ! how little do I 
 regard it ! What, sweet ? Is it not sufficient, if it is not 
 disagreeable ? But those very men who deny pain to be 
 an evil are not in the habit of saying that it is agreeable 
 to any one to be tormented ; they rather say that it is 
 cruel, or hard to bear, afflicting, unnatural, but still not an 
 evil: while this man who says that it is the only evil, and 
 the very worst of all evils, yet thinks that a wise man 
 would pronounce it sweet. I do not require of you to 
 speak of pain in the same woixls which Epicurus uses a 
 man, as you know^, devoted to pleasure : he may make no 
 difference, if he pleases, between Phalaris's bull and his 
 own bed; but I cannot allow the wise man to be so indif- 
 ferent about pain. If he bears it with courage, it is suffi- 
 cient: that he should rejoice in it, I do not expect; for 
 pain is, beyond all question, sharp, bitter, against nature, 
 hard to submit to and to bear. Observe Philoctetes: We 
 may allow him to lament, for he saw Hercules himself 
 groaning loudly through extremity of pain on Mount QEta. 
 The arrows with which Hercules presented hiui were then 
 no consolation to him, when 
 
 The viper's bite, impregnating liis veins 
 With poison, rack'd him with its bitter pains. 
 
 And therefore he cries out, desiring help, and wishing to 
 die. 
 
 Oh tliat some friendly hand its aid would lend, 
 My body from this rock's vast height to send 
 Into the briny deep ! I'm all on fire, 
 And by this fatal wound must soon expire. 
 
 It is hard to say that the man who was obliged to cry out 
 in this manner was not oppressed with evil, and great evil, 
 too. 
 
 VIII. But let us observe Hercules himself, who was sub- 
 dued by pain at the very time when he was on the point 
 
V2 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 of attaining immortality by death. What words does 
 Sophocles here put in his mouth, in his Trachinite ? who, 
 when Deianira had put upon him a tunic dyed in the cen- 
 taur's blood, and it stuck to his entrails, says. 
 
 What toitnves I endure no words can tell, 
 Far greater these, than those which erst befell 
 From the dire terror of thy consort, Jove 
 E'en stern Eurystheus' dire command above ; 
 Tliis of thy daughter, OEneus, is the fruit, 
 Beguiling me with her envcnom'd suit, 
 Whose close embrace doth on my entrails prey, 
 Consuming life ; my lungs forbid to play ; 
 The blood forsakes ray veins ; my manly heart 
 Forgets to beat ; enervated, each part 
 Neglects its office, while my fiital doom 
 Proceeds ignobly from the weaver's loom. 
 The hand of foe ne'er hurt me, nor the fierce 
 Giant issuing from his parent earth. 
 Ne'er could the Centaur such a blow enforce, 
 No barbarous foe, nor all the Grecian force ; 
 This arm no savage people could withstand, 
 Whose realms I traversed to reform the land. 
 Thus, though I ever bore a manly heart, 
 I fall a victim to a woman's art. 
 IX. Assist, my son, if thou that name dost hear, 
 
 My groans preferring to thy mother's tear : 
 Convey her here, if, in thy pious heart. 
 Thy mother shares not an unequal part : 
 Proceed, be bold, thy father's fate bemoan, 
 Nations will join, you will not weep alone. 
 Oh, what a sight is this same briny source, 
 Unknown before, through all my labors' course ! 
 That virtue, which could brave each toil but late^ 
 With woman's weakness now bewails its fate. 
 Approach, my son ; behold thy father laid, 
 A wither'd carcass that implores thy aid ; 
 Let all behold : and thou, imperious Jove, 
 On me direct thy lightning from above : 
 Now all its force the poison doth assume. 
 And my burnt entrails with its flame consume. 
 Crestfallen, unembraced, I now let fall 
 Listless, those hands that lately conquer'd all ; 
 When the Nemrcan lion own'd their force, 
 And he indignant fell a breathless corse ; 
 The serpent slew, of the Lernean lake. 
 As did the Hydra of its force ])artake: 
 ]iy this, too, fell the Erymanthian boar: 
 E'en Cerberus did his weak strength deplore. 
 
ON BEARING PAIN. 73 
 
 This sinewy ann did OA'ercome with ease 
 That dragon, guardian of the Golden Fleece. 
 My many conquests let some others trace ; 
 It's mine to say, I never knew disgrace. ^ 
 
 Can we, then, despise pain, when we see Hercules himself 
 giving vent to his expressions of agony with such impa- 
 tience ? 
 
 X. Let us see what ^schylus says, who was not only 
 a poet, but a Pythagorean philosopher also, for that is the 
 account which you have received of him; how doth he 
 make Prometheus bear the pain he suffered for the Lem- 
 nian theft, when he clandestinely stole away the celestial 
 fire, and bestowed it on men, and was severely punished 
 by Jupiter for the theft. Fastened to Mount Caucasus, 
 he speaks thus : 
 
 Thou heav'n-born race of Titans here fast bound, 
 Behold thy brother! As the sailors sound 
 With care the bottom, and their ships confine 
 To some safe shore, with anchor and with line ; 
 So, by Jove's dread decree, the God of fire 
 Confines me here the victim of Jove's ire. 
 With baneful art his dire machine he shapes ; 
 From such a God what mortal e'er escapes ? 
 When each third day shall triumph o'er the night, 
 Then doth the vulture, with his talons light. 
 Seize on my entrails ; which, in rav'nous guise, 
 He preys on ! then Avith wing extended flies 
 Aloft, and brushes with his plumes the gore : 
 But when dire Jove my liver doth restore, 
 Back he returns impetuous to his prey, 
 Clapping his wings, he cuts th' ethereal way. 
 Thus do I nourish with my blood this pest, 
 Confined my arms, unable to contest ; 
 Entreating only that in pity Jove 
 Would take my life, and this cursed plague remove. 
 But endless ages past unheard my moan, 
 Sooner shall drops dissolve this very stone. '^ 
 
 And therefore it scarcely seems possible to avoid calling 
 a man who is suffering, miserable ; and if he is miserable, 
 then pain is an evil. 
 
 ' Soph. Trach. 1047. 
 
 ^ The lines quoted by Cicero here appear to have come from the Latin 
 play of Prometheus by Accius ; the ideas are borrowed, rather than trans- 
 lated, from the Prometheus of ^Eschylus. 
 
 4 
 
14 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 XT. A. Hitherto you are on my side ; I will see to that 
 by-and-by; and, in the mean while, whence are those 
 verses? I do not remember them. 
 
 M. I will inform you, for you are in tlie right to ask. 
 Do you see that I have much leisure ? 
 
 A, What, then ? 
 
 M. I imagine, when you were at Athens, you attended 
 frequently at the schools of the philosophers. 
 
 A. Yes, and with great pleasure. 
 
 M. You observed, then, that though none of them at 
 that time were very eloquent, yet they used to mix verses 
 with their harangues. 
 
 A. Yes, and particularly Dionysius the Stoic used to 
 employ a great many. 
 
 31. You say right; but they were quoted without any 
 appropriateness or elegance. But our friend Philo used 
 to give a few select lines and well adapted; and in imita- 
 tion of him, ever since I took a fancy to this kind of el- 
 derly declamation, I have been very fond of quoting our 
 jDoets; and where I cannot be supplied from them, I trans- 
 late from the Greek, that the Latin language may not want 
 any kind of ornament in this kind of disputation. 
 
 But do you not see how much harm is done by poets? 
 They introduce the bravest men lamenting over their mis- 
 fortunes: they soften our minds; and they are, besides, so 
 entertaining, that we do not only read them, but get them 
 by heart. Thus the influence of the poets is added to our 
 want of discipline at home, and our tender and delicate 
 manner of living, so that between them they have deprived 
 virtue of all its vigor and energy. Plato, therefore, was 
 right in banishing them from his commonwealth, where he 
 required the best morals, and the best form of govern- 
 ment. But we, who have all our learning from Greece, 
 read and learn these works of theirs from oui- childhood ; 
 and look on this as a liberal and learned education. 
 
 XII. But why are we angry with the poets? We may 
 find some philosophers, those masters of virtue, who have 
 taught that pain was the greatest of evils. But you, young 
 man, when you said but just now that it appeared so to 
 you, upon being asked by mo what appeared greater than 
 infamy, gave up that opinion at a word. Suppose I ask 
 
ON BEARING PAIN. 75 
 
 Epicurus the same question. He Avill answer that a tri- 
 fling degree of pain is a greater evil than the greatest in- 
 famy ; for that there is no evil in infamy itself, unless 
 attended with pain. What pain, then, attends Epicurus, 
 when he says that very thing, that pain is the greatest 
 evil! And yet nothing can be a greater disgrace to a phi- 
 losopher than to talk thus. Therefore, you allowed enough 
 when you admitted that infamy appeared to you to be a 
 greater evil than j^ain. And if you abide by this admis- 
 sion, you will see how far pain should be resisted ; and 
 that our inquiry should be not so much whether pain be 
 an evil, as how the mind may be fortified for resisting it. 
 The Stoics infer from some petty quibbling arguments 
 that it is no evil, as if the dispute were about a word, and 
 not about the thing itself. Why do you impose upon me, 
 Zeno? For when you deny what appears very dreadful 
 to me to be an evil, I am deceived, and am at a loss to 
 know why that which appears to me to be a most miser- 
 able thing should be no evil. The answer is, that nothing 
 is an evil but what is base and vicious. You return to 
 your trifling, for you do not remove what made me un- 
 easy. I know that pain is not vice you need not inform 
 me of that : but show me that it makes no difference to 
 me whether I am in pain or not. It has never anything 
 to do, say you, with a happy life, for that depends upon 
 virtue alone; but yet pain is to be avoided. If I ask, 
 why? It is disagreeable, against nature, hard to bear, 
 woful and afliicting. 
 
 XIII. Here are many words to express that by so many 
 different forms which we call by the single word evil. 
 You are defining pain, instead of removing it, when you 
 say, it is disagreeable, unnatural, scarcely possible to be 
 endured or borne, nor are you wrong in saying so : but 
 the man who vaunts himself in such a manner should not 
 give way in his conduct, if it be true that nothing is good 
 but what is honest, and nothing evil but what is disgrace- 
 ful. This would be wishing, not proving. This argu- 
 ment is a better one, and has more truth in it that all 
 things which Nature abhors are to be looked upon as 
 evil ; that those which she approves of are to be consider- 
 ed as good : for when this is admitted, and the dispute 
 
16 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 about words removed, that which they with reas'on em- 
 brace, and which we call honest, right, becoming, and 
 sometimes include under the general name of virtue, ap- 
 pears so far superior to everything else that all other 
 things which are looked upon as the gifts of fortune, or 
 the good things of the body, seem trifling and insignifi- 
 cant; and no evil whatever, nor all the collective body of 
 evils together, appears to be compared to the evil of in- 
 famy. Wherefore, if, as you granted in the beginning, 
 infamy is worse than pain, pjiin is certainly nothing; for 
 while it appears to you base and unmanly to groan, cry 
 out, lament, or faint under pain ; while you cherish notions 
 of probity, dignity, honor, and, keeping your eye on them, 
 refrain yourself, pain will certainly yield to virtue, and, by 
 the influence of imagination, will lose its whole force. 
 For you must either admit tiiat there is no such thing as 
 virtue, or you must despise every kind of pain. Will you 
 allow of such a virtue as jjrudence, without which no vir- 
 tue whatever can even be conceived ? What, then ? Will 
 that suffer you to labor and take pains to no purpose? 
 Will temperance permit you to do anything to excess ? 
 Will it be possible for justice to be maintained by one 
 who through the force of pain discovers secrets, or betrays 
 his confederates, or deserts many duties of life? Will 
 you act in a manner consistently with courage, and its at- 
 tendants, greatness of soul, resolution, patience, and con- 
 tempt for all worldly things? Can you hear yourself call- 
 ed a great man when you lie grovelling, dejected, and de- 
 ploring your condition with a lamentable voice; no one 
 would call you even a man while in such a condition. 
 You must therefore cither abandon all pretensions to cour- 
 age, or else pain must be put out of the question. 
 
 XIV. You know very well that, even though part of 
 your Corinthian furniture were gone, the remainder might 
 be safe without that; but if you lose one virtue (though 
 virtue in reality cannot be lost), still if, I say, you shoukl 
 acknowledge that you were deficient in one, you would be 
 stripped of all. Can you, then, call yourself a brave man, 
 of a great soul, endued with patience and steadiness above 
 the frowns of fortune? or Philoctetes? for I choose to in- 
 stance him, rather than yourself, for he certainly was not 
 
ON BEARING TAIN. 11 
 
 a brave man, who lay in his bed, which was watered with 
 his tears. 
 
 Whose gronns, bewailings, and whose bitter cries, 
 With grief incessant rent the very skies. 
 
 I do not deny pain to be pain for were that the case, in 
 what would courage consist? but I say it should be tis- 
 suaged by patience, if there be such a thing as patience : 
 if there be no such thing, why do we speak so in praise of 
 philosophy? or why do we glory in its name? Does pain 
 annoy us ? Let it sting us to the heart : if you are with- 
 out defensive armor, bare your throat to it; but if you 
 are secured by Vulcanian armor, that is to say by resolu- 
 tion, resist it. Should you fail to do so, that guardian of 
 your honor, your courage, will forsake and leave you. By 
 the laws of Lycurgus, and by those which were given to 
 the Cretans by Jupiter, or which Minos established under 
 the direction of Jupiter, as the poets say, the youths of 
 the State are trained by the practice of hunting, running, 
 enduring hunger and thirst, cold and heat. The boys at 
 Sparta are scourged so at the altars that blood follows the 
 lash in abundance; nay, sometimes, as I used to hear when 
 I was there, they are whipped even to death; and yet not 
 one of them was ever heard to cry out, or so much as 
 groan. What, then? Shall men not be able to bear what 
 boys do? and shall custom have such great force, and rea- 
 son none at all ? 
 
 XV. There is some difference between labor and pain ; 
 they border upon one another, but still there is a certain 
 difference between them. Labor is a certain exercise of 
 the mind or body, in some employment or undertaking of 
 serious trouble and importance; but pain is a sharp mo- 
 tion in the body, disagreeable to our senses. Both these 
 feelings, the Greeks, whose language is more copious than 
 ours, express by the common name of Uorog: therefore 
 they call industrious men painstaking, or, rather, fond of 
 labor ; we, more conveniently, call them laborious ; for la- 
 boring is one thing, and enduring pain another. You see, 
 O Greece ! your barrenness of words, sometimes, though 
 you think you are always so rich in them. I say, then, 
 that there is a difference between laborinoj and beino- in 
 
78 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 pain. When Cains Marins had an operation performed 
 for a swelling in his thigh, he felt pain ; when he headed 
 his troops in a very hot season, he labored. Yet these 
 two feelings bear some resemblance to one another ; for 
 the accustoming ourselves to labor makes the endurance 
 of pain more easy to us. And it was because they were 
 influenced by this reason that the founders of the Grecian 
 form of government provided that the bodies of their 
 youth should be strengthened by labor, which custom the 
 Spartans transferred even to their women, who in other 
 cities lived more delicately, keeping within the walls of 
 their houses ; but it was otherwise with the Spartans. 
 
 The Spartan women, with a manly air, 
 Fatigues and dangers with their husbands share ; 
 They in fantastic sports liave no delight, 
 Partners with them in exercise and fight. 
 
 And in these laborious exercises pain interferes sometimes. 
 They are thrown down, receive blows, have bad falls, and 
 are bruised, and the labor itself produces a sort of callous- 
 ness to pain. 
 
 XVI. As to military service (I speak of our own, not 
 of that of the Spartans, for they used to march slowly to 
 the sound of the flute, and scarce a word of command was 
 given without an anapaest), you may see, in the first place, 
 whence the very name of an army {exercitusy is derived; 
 and, secondly, how great the labor is of an army on its 
 march : then consider that they carry more than a fort- 
 night's provision, and whatever else they may want; that 
 they carry the burden of the stakes,'^ for as to shield, sword, 
 or helmet, they look on them as no more encumbrance than 
 their own limbs, for they say that arms are the limbs of 
 a soldier, and those, indeed, they carry so commodiously 
 that, when there is occasion, they throw down their bur- 
 dens, and use their arms as readily as their limbs. Why 
 need I mention the exercises of the legions? And how 
 great the labor is which is undergone in the running, en- 
 counters, sliouts ! Hence it is that their minds are worked 
 
 * From exerceo. 
 
 ^ Each soldier carried a stake, to help form a palisade in front of the 
 camp. 
 
ON BEARING PAIN. ^9 
 
 up to make so light of wounds in action. Take a soldier 
 of equal bravery, but undisciplined, and he will seem a 
 woman. Why is it that there is this sensible difference 
 between a raw recruit and a veteran soldier? The age of 
 the young soldiers is for the most part in their favor; but 
 it is practice only that enables men to bear labor and de- 
 spise wounds. Moreover, we often see, when the wounded 
 are carried off the field, the raw, untried soldier, though 
 but slightly wounded, cries out most shamefully ; but the 
 more brave, experienced veteran only inquires for some one 
 to dress his wounds, and says, 
 
 Patroclus, to thy aid I must appeal 
 
 Ere worse ensue, my bleeding wounds to heal ; 
 
 The sons of ^sculapius are employ'd, 
 
 No room for me, so many are annoy'd. 
 
 XVII. This is certainly Eurypylns himself. What an 
 experienced man ! While his friend is continually enlarg- 
 ing on his misfortunes, you may observe that he is so far 
 from weeping that he even assigns a reason why he should 
 bear his wounds with patience. 
 
 Who at his enemy a stroke directs, 
 His sword to light upon himself expects. 
 
 Patroclus, I suppose, will lead him off to his chamber to 
 bind up his wounds, at least if he be a man : but not a 
 word of that; he only inquires how the battle went: 
 
 Say how the Argives bear themselves in fight? 
 
 And yet no words can show the truth as well as those, your 
 deeds and visible sufferings. 
 
 Peace ! and my wounds bind up ; 
 
 but though Eurypylus could bear these afflictions, ^sopus 
 could not, 
 
 Where Hector's fortune press'd our yielding troops ; 
 
 and he explains the rest, though in pain. So unbounded 
 is military glory in a brave man! Shall, then, a veteran 
 soldier be able to behave in this manner, and shall a wise 
 and learned man not be able? Surely the latter might be 
 
80 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 able to bear pain better, and in no small degree either. At 
 present, however, I am confining myself to what is engen- 
 dered by practice and discipline. I am not yet come to 
 speak of reason and philosophy. You may often hear of old 
 women living without victuals for three or four days ; but 
 take away a wrestler's provisions but for one day, and he 
 will implore the aid of Jupiter Olympius, the very God for 
 whom he exercises himself : he will cry out that he cannot 
 endure it. Great is the force of custom ! Sportsmen will 
 continue whole nights in the snow ; they will bear being- 
 aim ost frozen upon the mountains. From practice boxers 
 will not so much as utter a groan, however bruised by the 
 cestus. But what do you think of those to whom a vic- 
 tory in the Olympic games seemed almost on a par with 
 the ancient consulships of the Roman people? What 
 wounds will the gladiators bear, who are either barbarians, 
 or the very dregs of mankind ! How do they, who are 
 trained to it, prefer being wounded to basely avoiding it ! 
 How often do they prove that they consider nothing but 
 the giving satisfaction to their masters or to the people ! 
 for when covered with wounds, they send to their masters 
 to learn their pleasure: if it is their will, they are ready to 
 lie down and die. What gladiator, of even moderate rep- 
 utation, ever gave a sigh? who ever turned pale? wlio 
 ever disgraced himself either in the actual combat, or even 
 when about to die? who that had been defeated ever drew 
 in his neck to avoid the stroke of death ? So great is the 
 force of practice, deliberation, and custom ! Shall this, 
 then, be done by 
 
 A Samnite rascal, wovtliy of his trade ; 
 
 and shall a man born to glory have so soft a part in his 
 soul as not to be able to fortify it by reason and reflection? 
 The sight of the gladiators' combats is by some looked on 
 as cruel and inluiman, and I do not know, as it is at present 
 managed, but it may be so; but when the guilty fought, 
 we might receive by our ears perhaps (but certainly by 
 our eyes we could not) better training to harden us against 
 pain and death. 
 
 XVIII. I have now said enough about the effects of ex- 
 ercise, custom, and careful meditation. Proceed we now 
 
ON BEAKING PAIN. 81 
 
 to consider the force of reason, unless you have something 
 to reply to what has been said. 
 
 A. That I should interrupt you ! By no means ; for 
 your discourse has brought me over to your opinion. Let 
 the Stoics, then, think it their business to determine wheth- 
 er pain be an evil or not, while they endeavor to show by 
 some strained and trilling conclusions, which are nothing 
 to the purpose, that pain is no evil. My opinion is, that 
 whatever it is, it is not so great as it appears; and I say, 
 that men are influenced to a great extent by some false 
 representations and appearance of it, and that all which is 
 really felt is capable of being endured. Where shall I be- 
 gin, then ? Shall I superficially go over what I said be- 
 fore, that my discourse may have a greater scope? 
 
 This, then, is agreed upon by all, and not only by learned 
 men, but also by the unlearned, that it becomes the brave 
 and magnanimous those that have patience and a spirit 
 above this world not to give way to pain. Nor has there 
 ever been any one who did not commend a man who bore 
 it in this manner. That, then, which is expected from a 
 brave man, and is commended when it is seen, it must sure- 
 ly be base in any one to be afraid of at its approach, or 
 not to bear when it comes. But I would have you con- 
 sider whether, as all the right affections of the soul are 
 classed under the name of virtues, the truth is that this is 
 not properly the name of them all, but that they all have 
 their name from that leading virtue which is superior to 
 all the rest : for the name " virtue" comes from vir, a man, 
 and courage is the peculiar distinction of a man : and this 
 virtue has two principal duties, to despise death and pain. 
 We must, then, exert tliese, if we would bo men of virtue, 
 or, rather, if we would be men, because virtue {virtus) takes 
 its very name from vir, man. 
 
 XIX. You may inquire, perhaps, how ? And such an 
 inquiry is not amiss, for philosophy is ready with her as- 
 sistance. Epicurus offers himself to you, a man far from 
 a bad or, I should rather say, a very good man : he ad- 
 vises no more than he knows. " Despise pain," says he. 
 Who is it saith this? Is it the same man who calls pain 
 the greatest of all evils? It is not, indeed, very consist- 
 ent in him. Let us hear w^hat he savs : " If the pain is ex- 
 
 4^^ 
 
82 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 cessive, it must needs be short." I must have that over 
 again, for I do not apprehend what you mean exactly by 
 " excessive " or " short." That is excessive than which 
 nothing can be greater; that is short than which noth- 
 ing is shorter, I do not regard the greatness of any pain 
 from which, by reason of the shortness of its continuance, 
 I shall be delivered almost before it reaches me. But if 
 the pain be as great as that of Philoctetes, it will appear 
 great indeed to me, but yet not the greatest that I am 
 capable of bearing ; for the pain is confined to my foot. 
 But my eye may pain me, I may have a pain in the head, 
 or sides, or lungs, or in every part of me. It is far, then, 
 from being excessive. Therefore, says he, pain of a long 
 continuance has more pleasure in it than uneasiness. 
 Now, I cannot bring myself to say so great a man talks 
 nonsense; but I imagine he is laughing at us. My opin- 
 ion is that the greatest pain (I say the greatest, though it 
 may be ten atoms less than another) is not therefore short, 
 because acute. I could name to you a great many good 
 men who have been tormented many years with the acutest 
 pains of the gout. But this cautious man doth not deter- 
 mine the measure of that greatness or of duration, so as to 
 enable us to know what he calls excessive with regard to 
 pain, or short with respect to its continuance. Let us pass 
 him by, tlien, as one who says just nothing at all; and let 
 us force him to acknowledge, notwithstanding he might 
 behave himself somewhat boldly under his colic and his 
 strangury, that no remedy against pain can be had from 
 him who looks on pain as the greatest of all evils. We 
 must apply, then, for relief elsewhere, and nowhere better 
 (if we seek for what is most consistent with itself) than 
 to those who place the chief good in honesty, and the 
 greatest evil in infamy. You dare not so much as groan, 
 or discover the least uneasiness in their company, for vir- 
 tue itself speaks to you through them. 
 
 XX. Will you, when you may observe children at Lace- 
 daimon, and young men at Olympia, and barbarians in the 
 amphitheatre, receive the severest wounds, and bear them 
 without once opening their mouths will you, I say, if any 
 pain should by chance attack you, cry out like a woman ? 
 Will you not rather bear it with resolution and constan. 
 
ON BEARING PAIN. 83 
 
 cy ? and not cry, It is intolerable ; nature cannot bear it ! 
 I hear what you say : Boys bear this because they are 
 led thereto by glory ; some bear it through shame, many 
 through fear, and yet are we afraid that nature cannot 
 bear what is borne by many, and in such different cir- 
 cumstances? Nature not only bears it, but challenges it, 
 for there is nothing with her preferable, nothing which 
 she desires more than credit, and reputation, and praise, 
 and honor, and glory. I choose here to describe this one 
 thing under many names, and I have used many that you 
 may have the clearer idea of it ; for what I mean to say is, 
 that whatever is desirable of itself, proceeding from vir- 
 tue, or placed in virtue, and commendable on its own ac- 
 count (which I would rather agree to call the only good 
 than deny it to be the chief good) is what men should pre- 
 fer above all things. And as we declare this to be the 
 case with respect to honesty, so w^e speak in tlie contra- 
 ry manner of infamy ; nothing is so odious, so detesta- 
 ble, nothing so unworthy of a man. And if you are thor- 
 oughly convinced of this (for, at the beginning of this dis- 
 course, you allowed that there appeared to you more evil 
 in infamy than in pain), it follows that you ought to have 
 the command over yourself, though I scarcely know how 
 this expression may seem an accurate one, which appears 
 to represent man as made up of two natures, so that one 
 should be in command and the other be subject to it. 
 
 XXI. Yet this division does not proceed from igno- 
 rance; for the soul admits of a twofold division, one of 
 which partakes of reason, the other is wdtliout it. When, 
 therefore, we are ordered to give a law to ourselves, the 
 meaning is, that reason should restrain our rashness. 
 There is in the soul of every man something naturally soft, 
 low, enervated in a manner, and languid. Were there 
 nothing besides this, men would be the greatest of mon- 
 sters ; but there is present to every man reason, which pre- 
 sides over and gives laws to all ; which, by improving it- 
 self, and making continual advances, becomes perfect vir- 
 tue. It behooves a man, then, to take care that reason 
 shall have the command over that part wdiich is bound 
 to practise obedience. In what manner? you will say. 
 Why, as a master has over his slave, a general over his 
 
84 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 army, a father over his son. If that part of the soul 
 which I have called soft behaves disgracefully, if it gives 
 itself up to lamentations and womanish tears, then let it 
 be restrained, and committed to tlie care of friends and 
 relations, for we often see those persons brought to or- 
 der by shame whom no reasons can influence. Therefore, 
 we should confiire those feelings, like our servants, in safe 
 custody, and almost with chains. But those who have 
 more resolution, and yet are not utterly immovable, we 
 should encourage with our exhortations, as we would good 
 soldiers, to recollect themselves, and maintain their honor. 
 That wisest man of all Greece, in the Niptrae, does not la- 
 ment too much over his wounds, or, rather, he is moderate 
 in his grief : 
 
 Move slow, my fiiends ; your hasty speed refrain, 
 Lest by your motion you increase my pain. 
 
 Pacuvius is better in this than Sophocles, for in the 
 one Ulysses bemoans his wounds too vehemently; for the 
 veiy people who carried him after he was wounded, 
 though his grief was moderate, yet, considering the dignity 
 of the man, did not scruple to say, 
 
 And thou, Ulysses, long to war inured, 
 
 Thy wounds, though great, too feebly hast endured. 
 
 The wise poet understood that custom was no contempti- 
 ble instructor how to bear pain. But the same hero com- 
 plains with more decency, though in great j^ain : 
 
 Assist, support me, never leave me so ; 
 Unbind my wounds, oh ! execrable woe ! 
 
 He begins to give way, but instantly checks himself: 
 
 Away ! begone ! but cover first tlie sore ; 
 
 For your rude hands but make my pains the more. 
 
 Do you observe how he constrains himself? not that his 
 bodily pains were less, but because lie checks the anguish 
 of his mind. Therefore, in the conclusion of the Niptrae, 
 he blames others, even when he himself is dying : 
 
 Complaints of fortune may become the man, 
 None but a woman will thus weeping stand. 
 
ON BEARING TAIN. 86 
 
 And so that soft place in liis soul obeys his reason, just as 
 an abashed soldier does his stern commander. 
 
 XXII. The man, then, in whom absolute wisdom exists 
 (such a man, indeed, we have never as yet seen, but the 
 philosophers have described in their writings what sort of 
 man he will be, if he should exist) ; such a man, or at least 
 that perfect and absolute reason which exists in him, will 
 have the same authority over the inferior part as a good 
 parent has over his dutiful children : he will bring it to 
 obey his nod without any trouble or difficulty. He will 
 rouse himself, prepare and arm himself, to oppose pain 
 as he would an enemy. If you inquire what arms he will 
 provide himself with, they will be contention, encourage- 
 ment, discourse with himself. He will say thus to himself: 
 Take care that you are guilty of nothing base, languid, or 
 unmanly. He will turn over in his mind all the different 
 kinds of honor. Zeno of Elea will occur to him, who suf- 
 fered everything rather than betray his confederates in the 
 design of putting an end to the tyranny. He will reflect 
 on Anaxarchus, the pupil of Democritus, who, having fall- 
 en into the hands of Nicocreon, King of Cyprus, without 
 the least entreaty for mercy or refusal, submitted to every 
 kind of torture. Calanus the Indian will occur to him, an 
 ignorant man and a barbarian, born at the foot of Mount 
 Caucasus, who committed himself to the flames by his own 
 free, voluntary act. But we, if we have the toothache, 
 or a pain in the foot, or if the body be anyways affected, 
 cannot bear it. For our sentiments of pain as well as 
 pleasure are so trifling and effeminate, we are so enervated 
 and relaxed by luxuries, that we cannot bear the sting of 
 a bee without crying out. But Caius Marius, a plain 
 countryman, but of a manly soul, when he had an operation 
 performed on him, as I mentioned above, at first refused 
 to be tied down ; and he is the first instance of any one's 
 having had an operation performed on him without be- 
 ing tied down. Why, then, did others bear it afterward ? 
 Why, from the force of example. You see, then, that pain 
 exists more in opinion than in nature; and yet the same 
 Marius gave a proof that there is something very sharp in 
 pain, for he would not submit to have the other thigh cut. 
 So that he bore his pain with resolution as a man ; but, 
 
86 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 like a reasonable person, he was not willing to undergo 
 any greater j^ain without some necessary reason. The 
 whole, then, consists in this that you should have com- 
 mand over yourself. I have already told you wliat kind 
 of command this is ; and by considering what is most con- 
 sistent with patience, fortitude, and greatness of soul, a 
 man not only restrains himself, but, somehow or otlier, mit- 
 igates even pain itself. 
 
 XXIII. Even as in a battle the dastardly and timorous 
 soldier throws away his shield on the first appearance of 
 an enemy, and runs as fast as he can, and on that account 
 loses his life sometimcG, though he has never received even 
 one wound, wlicn he who stands his ground has noth- 
 ing of the sort happen to him, so they who cannot bear 
 the appearance of pain throw themselves away, and give 
 themselves up to affliction and dismay. But they that 
 oppose it, often come off more than a match for it. For 
 the body has a certain resemblance to the soul: as bur- 
 dens ai'e more easily borne the more the body is exerted, 
 while they crush us if we give way, so the soul by exert- 
 ing itself resists tlie whole weight that would oppress it; 
 but if it yields, it is so pressed that it cannot support it- 
 self. And if Ave consider tilings truly, the soul should ex- 
 ert itself in every pursuit, for that is the only security for 
 its doing its duty. But this should be principally regard- 
 ed in pain, that we must not do anything timidly, or das- 
 tardly, or basely, or slavishly, or effeminately, and, above 
 all things, we must dismiss and avoid that Philoctetean 
 sort of outcry. A man is allowed sometimes to groan, but 
 yet seldom ; but it is not permissible even in a woman to 
 howl ; for such a noise as this is forbidden, by the twelve 
 tables, to be used even at funerals. Nor does a wise or 
 brave man ever groan, unless when he exerts himself to 
 give his resolution greater force, as they who run in the 
 stadium make as much noise as they can. The wrestlers, 
 too, do the same when they are training; and the boxers, 
 when they aim a blow with the cestus at their adversary, 
 give a groan, not because they are in pain, or from a sink- 
 ing of their spirits, but because their whole body is put 
 upon the stretch by the throwing-out of these groans, and 
 the blow comes the stroncjer 
 
ON BEARING PAIN. 87 
 
 XXIV. What ! they who would speak louder than ordi- 
 nary, are they satisfied with working their jaws, sides, or 
 tongue, or stretching the common organs of speech and 
 utterance? The whole body and every muscle is at full 
 stretch, if I may be allowed the expression ; every nerve is 
 exerted to assist their voice. I have actually seen the knees 
 of Marcus Antonius touch the ground when he was speak- 
 ing with vehemence for himself, with relation to the Ya- 
 rian law. For, as the engines you throw stones or darts 
 with throw them out with the greater force the more they 
 are strained and drawn back; so it is in speaking, run- 
 ning, or boxing the more people strain themselves, the 
 greater their force. Since, therefore, this exertion has so 
 much influence if in a moment of pain groans help to 
 strengthen the mind, let us use them; but if they be 
 groans of lamentation, if they be the expression of weak- 
 ness or abjectness, or unmanly weeping, then I should 
 scarcely call him a man who yielded to them. For even 
 supposing that such groaning could give any ease, it still 
 should be considered whether it v/ere consistent with a 
 brave and resolute man. But if it does not ease our pain, 
 why should we debase ourselves to no purpose? For 
 what is more unbecoming in a man than to cry like a 
 woman? But this precept which is laid down with re- 
 spect to pain is not confined to it. We should apply this 
 exertion of the soul to everything else. Is anger in- 
 flamed? is lust excited? we must have recourse to the 
 same citadel, and apply to the same arms. But since it is 
 pain which we are at present discussing, we will let the 
 other subjects alone. To bear pain, then, sedately and 
 calmly, it is of great use to consider Avith all our soul, as 
 the saying is, how noble it is to do so, for we are naturally 
 desirous (as I said before, but it cannot be too often re- 
 peated) and very much inclined to what is honorable, of 
 which, if we discover but the least glimpse, there is noth- 
 ing which we are not prepared to undergo and suffer to 
 attain it. From this impulse of our minds, this desire for 
 genuine glory and honorable conduct, it is that such dan- 
 gers are supported in war, and that brave men are not 
 sensible of their wounds in action, or, if they are sensible 
 of them, prefer death to the departing but the leflst step 
 
88 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 from their honor. The Decii saw the shining swords of 
 their enemies when they were rusliing into tlie battle. 
 But the honorable character and the glory of tlie death 
 whicli they were seeking made all fear of death of lit- 
 tle weight. Do you imagine that Epaminondas groaned 
 when he perceived that his life was flowing out with his 
 blood? No; for he left his country triumphing over the 
 Lacedgemonians, whereas he had found it in subjection to 
 them. These are the comforts, these are the things that 
 assuage the greatest pain. 
 
 XXV. You may ask, How the case is in peace? What 
 is to be done at home ? How we are to beliave in bed ? 
 You bring me back to the jDhilosopherSj who seldom go 
 to war. Among these, Dionysius of Heraclea, a man cer- 
 tainly of no resolution, having learned fortitude of Zeno, 
 quitted it on being in pain ; for, being tormented with a 
 pain in his kidneys, in bewailing himself he cried out that 
 those things were false which ho had formerly conceived 
 of pain. And when his fellow-disciple, Cleanthes, asked 
 him why he had changed his opinion, he answered, " That 
 the case of any man who had applied so much time to 
 philosophy, and yet was unable to bear pain, might be a 
 sufHcient proof that pain is an evil ; that he himself had 
 spent many years at philosophy, and yet could not bear 
 pain : it followed, therefore, that pain was an evil." It is 
 reported that Cleanthes on that struck his foot on the 
 groimd, and repeated a verse out of the Epigonae: 
 
 Amphiaraus, hear'st thou this below? 
 
 He meant Zeno: he was sorry the other had degenerated 
 from him. 
 
 But it was not so with our friend Posidonius, whom 1 
 have often seen myself ; and I will tell you what Pompey 
 used to say of him : that when he came to Rhodes, after 
 his departure from Syria, he had a great desire to hear 
 Posidonius, but was informed that he was very ill of a se- 
 vere fit of the gout; yet he had great inclitiation to pay a 
 visit to so famous a ])hilosopher. Accordingly, when he 
 had seen him, and paid his com])liments, and had spoken 
 with great respect of him, he said he was very sorry that 
 he could not hear him lecture. "But indeed you may," 
 
ON BEARING PAIN. 89 
 
 replied the other, " nor will I suffer any bodily pain to oc- 
 casion so great a man to visit me in vain." On this Pom- 
 l^ey relates that, as he lay on his bed, he disputed with 
 great dignity and fluency on this very subject : that noth- 
 ing was good but what was honest; and that in his par- 
 oxysms he would often say, " Pain, it is to no purpose ; 
 notwithstanding you are troublesome, I will never ac- 
 knowledge you an evil." And in general all celebrated 
 and notorious afflictions become endurable by disregard- 
 ing them. 
 
 XXVI. Do we not observe that where those exercises 
 called gymnastic are in esteem, those who enter the lists 
 never concern themselves about dangers? that where the 
 praise of riding and hunting is highly esteemed, they who 
 practice these arts decline no pain ? What shall I say of 
 our own ambitious pursuits or desire of honors ? What 
 fire have not candidates run through to gain a single 
 vote? Therefore Africanus had always in his hands 
 Xenophon, the pupil of Socrates, being particularly pleased 
 w^ith his saying, that the same labors were not equally 
 heavy to the general and to the common man, because the 
 honor itself made the labor lighter to the general. But 
 yet, so it happens, that even with the illiterate vulgar an 
 idea of honor is of great influence, though they cannot un- 
 derstand what it is. They are led by report and common 
 opinion to look on that as honorable whicli has the general 
 voice. Not that I would have you, should the multitude 
 be ever so fond of you, rely on their judgment, nor ap- 
 prove of everything which they think right: you must 
 use your own judgment. If you are satisfied with your- 
 self when you have approved of what is right, you will 
 not only have the mastery over yourself (which I recom- 
 mended to you just now), but over everybody, and every- 
 thing. Lay this down, then, as a rule, that a great ca- 
 pacity, and lofty elevation of soul, which distinguishes it- 
 self most by despising and looking down with contempt 
 on pain, is the most excellent of all things, and the more 
 so if it does not depend on the people and does not aim at 
 applause, but derives its satisfaction from itself. Besides, 
 to me, indeed, everything seems the more commendable 
 the less the peo])le are courted, and the fewer eyes there 
 
90 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 are to see it. ISTot that you should avoid the public, for 
 every generous action loves the public view ; yet no the- 
 atre for virtue is equal to a consciousness of it. 
 
 XXVII. And let this be principally considered : that 
 this bearing of pain, which I have often said is to be 
 strengthened by an exertion of the soul, should be the 
 s^me in everything. For you meet with many who, 
 through a desire of victory, or for glory, or to maintain 
 their rights, or their liberty, liave boldly received wounds, 
 and borne themselves up under them ; and yet those very 
 same persons, by relaxing that intenseness of their minds, 
 were unequal to bearing the pain of a disease; for they 
 did not support themselves under their former sufferings 
 by reason or philosophy, but by inclination and glory. 
 Therefore some barbarians and savage people are able to 
 fight very stoutly with the sword, but cannot bear sick- 
 ness like men ; but the Grecians, men of no great courage, 
 but as wise as human nature will admit of, cannot look an 
 enemy in the face, yet the same will bear to be visited 
 with sickness tolerably, and with a sufficiently manly spir- 
 it; and the Cimbrians and Celtiberians are very alert in 
 battle, but bemoan themselves in sickness. For nothing 
 can be consistent which has not reason for its foundation. 
 But when you see those who are led by inclination or 
 opinion, not retarded by pain in their pursuits, nor hin- 
 dered by it from succeeding in them, you may conclude, 
 either that pain is no evil, or that, notwithstanding you 
 may choose to call an evil whatever is disagreeable and 
 contrary to nature, yet it is so very trifling an evil that it 
 may so effectually be got the better of by virtue as quite 
 to disappear. And I would have you tliink of this night 
 and day ; for this argument will spread itself, and take up 
 more room some time or other, and not be confined to 
 pain alone; for if the motives to all our actions are to 
 avoid disgrace and acquire honor, we may not only despise 
 the stings of pain, but the storms of fortune, especially if 
 we have recourse to that retreat which Avas pointed out in 
 our yesterday's discussion ; for, as if some God had ad- 
 vised a man who was pursued by pirates to throw himself 
 overboard, saying, "There is something at hand to receive 
 you; either a dolphin will take you up, as it did Arion of 
 
ON GtllEF OF MIND. 91 
 
 Methymna; or those horses sent by Neptune to Pelops 
 (who are said to have carried chariots so rapidly as to be 
 borne up by the waves) will receive you, and convey you 
 wherever you please. Cast away all fear." So, though 
 your pains be ever so sharp and disagreeable, if tbe case 
 is not_ such that it is worth your while to endure them, 
 you see whither you may betake yourself. I think this 
 will do for the present. But perhaps you still abide by 
 your opinion. 
 
 A. Not in the least, indeed ; and I hope I am freed by 
 these two days' discourses from the fear of two things 
 that I greatly dreaded. 
 
 M. To-morrow, then, for rhetoric, as we were saying. 
 But I see we must not drop our philosophy. 
 
 A. No, indeed ; we will have the one in the forenoon, 
 and this at the usual time. 
 
 31. It shall be so, and I will comply with your very 
 laudable inclinations. 
 
 BOOK III. 
 
 ON GRIEF OF MIXD. 
 
 I. What reason shall I assign, O Brutus, wdiy, as we 
 consist ol; mind and body, the art of curing and preserv- 
 ing the body should be so much sought after, and the in- 
 vention of it, as being so useful, should be ascribed to the 
 immortal Gods; but the medicine of the mind should not 
 have been so much the object of inquiry while it was un- 
 known, nor so much attended to and cultivated after its 
 discovery, nor so well received or approved of by some, 
 and accounted actually disagreeable, and looked upon with 
 an envious eye by many ? Is it because we, by means of 
 the mind, judge of the pains and disorders of the body, 
 but do not, by means of the body, arrive at any perception 
 of the disorders of the mind ? Hence it comes that the 
 mind only judges of itself when that very faculty by which 
 it is judged is in a bad state. Had nature given us facul- 
 ties for discerning and viewing herself, and could we go 
 through life by keeping our eye on her our best guide 
 
92 thp: tusculan disputations. 
 
 there would be no reason certainly why any one should be 
 in want of philosophy or learning; but, as it is, she has 
 furnished us only with some feeble rays of light, which 
 we immediately extinguish so completely by evil habits 
 and erroneous opinions that the light of nature is nowhere 
 visible. The seeds of virtues are natural to our constitu- 
 tions, and, were they suffered to come to maturity, would 
 naturally conduct us to a happy life; but now, as soon as 
 we are born and received into the world, we are instantly 
 familiarized with all kinds of depravity and perversity of 
 opinions; so that we may be said almost to suck in error 
 with our nurse's milk. When we return to our parents, 
 and are put into the hands of tutors and governors, we 
 are imbued with so many errors that truth gives place to 
 falsehood, and nature herself to established opinion. 
 
 II. To these we may add the poets ; who, on account of 
 the appearance they exhibit of learning and wisdom, are 
 heard, read, and got by heart, and make a deep impres- 
 sion on our minds. But when to these are added the peo- 
 ple, who are, as it were, one great body of instructors, and 
 the multitude, who declare unanimously for what is wrong, 
 then are we altogether overwhelmed with bad opinions, 
 and revolt entirely from nature; so that they seem to de- 
 prive us of our best guide who have decided that there is 
 nothing better for man, nothing more worthy of being de- 
 sired by him, nothing more excellent, than honors and 
 commands, and a high reputation with the people ; which 
 indeed every excellent man aims at ; but while he pursues 
 that only true honor which nature has in view above all 
 other objects, he finds himself busied in arrant trifles, and 
 in pursuit of no conspicuous form of virtue, but only some 
 shadowy representation of glory. For glory is a real and 
 express substance, not a mere shadow. It consists in the 
 united praise of good men, the free voice of those who 
 form a true judgment of pre-eminent virtue; it is, as it 
 were, the very echo of virtue; and being generally the 
 attendant on laudable actions, should not be slighted by 
 good men. But popular fame, which would pretend to 
 imitate it, is hasty and inconsiderate, and generally com- 
 mends wicked and immoral actions, and throws discredit 
 upon the appearance and beauty of honesty by assuming 
 
ON GRIEF OF MIND. 93 
 
 a resemblance of it. And it is owing to their not beii liv- 
 able to discover the difference between them that some 
 men, ignorant of real excellence, and in what it consists, 
 have been the destruction of their country and of them- 
 selves. And thus the best men have erred, not so much 
 in their intentions as by a mistaken conduct. What? is 
 no cure to be attempted to be applied to those who are 
 carried away by the love of money, or the lust of pleasures, 
 by which they are rendered little short of madmen, which 
 is the case of all weak people ? or is it because the disor- 
 ders of the mind are less dangerous than those of the 
 body ? or because the body will admit of a cure, while 
 thei'c is no medicine whatever for the mind ? 
 
 III. But there are more disorders of the mind than of 
 the body, and they are of a more dangerous nature ; for 
 these very disorders are the more offensive because they 
 belong to the mind and disturb it; and the mind^ when 
 disordered, is, as Ennius says, in a constant error : it can 
 neither bear nor endure anything, and is under the per- 
 petual influence of desires. Now, what disorders can be 
 worse to the body than these tv\^o distempers of the mind 
 (for I overlook others), weakness and desire? But how, 
 indeed, can it be maintained that the mind cannot pre- 
 scribe for itself, when she it is who has invented the med- 
 icines for the body, when, witli regard to bodily cures, 
 constitution and nature have a great share, nor do all who 
 suffer themselves to be cured find tliat effect instantly; 
 but those minds which are disposed to bo cured, and sub- 
 mit to the precepts of the wise, may undoubtedly recover 
 a healthy state ? Philosophy is certainly the medicine of 
 the soul, whose assistance we do not seek from abroad, as 
 in bodily disorders, but we ourselves are bound to exert 
 our utmost energy and power in order to effect our cure. 
 But as to philosophy in general, I have, I think, in my 
 Hortensius, sufficiently spoken of the credit and attention 
 which it deserves: since that, indeed, I have been contin- 
 ually either disputing or writing on its most material 
 branches ; and I have laid down in these books all the dis- 
 cussions which took place between myself and my particu- 
 lar friends at my Tusculan villa. But as I have spoken 
 in the two former of pain and death, this book shall be 
 
94 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 devoted to the account of the third day of our disputa- 
 tions. 
 
 We came down into the Academy when the day was 
 ah-eady declining towards afternoon, and I asked one of 
 those who were present to propose a subject for us to dis- 
 course on ; and then the business was carried on in this 
 manner : 
 
 IV. A. My opinion is, that a wise man is subject to 
 grief. 
 
 M. What, and to the other perturbations of mind, as 
 fears, lusts, anger? For these are pretty much like what 
 the Greeks call TraOri. I might call them diseases, and 
 that would be a literal translation, but it is not agreeable 
 to our way of speaking. For envy, delight, and pleasure 
 are all called by the Greeks diseases, being affections of 
 the mind not in subordination to reason ; but we, I think, 
 are right in calling the same motions of a disturbed soul 
 perturbations, and in very seldom using the term diseases; 
 though, perhaps, it appears otherwise to you. 
 
 A. I am of your opinion. 
 
 M. And do you think a wise man subject to these? 
 
 A. Entirely, I think. 
 
 M. Then that boasted wisdom is but of small account, 
 if it differs so little from madness ? 
 
 A. What? does every commotion of the mind seem to 
 you to be madness? 
 
 31. Not to me only; but I apprehend, though I have 
 often been surprised at it, that it appeared so to our an- 
 cestors many ages before Socrates; from whom is derived 
 all that philosophy which relates to life and morals. 
 
 A. How so ? 
 
 M. Because the name madness^ implies a sickness of 
 the mind and disease ; that is to say, an unsoundness and 
 an unhealthiness of mind, which they call madness. But 
 the philosophers call all perturbations of the soul diseases, 
 and their opinion is that no fool is ever free from these ; 
 but all that are diseased are unsound; and the minds of 
 all fools arc diseased ; thei'efore all fools are mad. For 
 they held that soundness of the mind depends on a cer- 
 
 * Insnniii from in, a particle of negative force in composition, and 
 sanus, Jjcalthy, sound. 
 
ON GRIEF OF MIND. 96 
 
 tain tranquillity and steadiness; and a mind which was 
 destitute of these qualities they called insane, because 
 soundness was inconsistent with a perturbed mind just 
 as much as with a disordered body. 
 
 V. Nor were they less ingenious in calling the state of 
 the soul devoid of the light of the mind, " a being out of 
 one's mind," ''' a being beside one's self." From whence 
 we may understand that they who gave these names to 
 things were of the same opinion with Socrates, that all 
 silly people were unsound, which the Stoics have care- 
 fully preserved as being derived from him ; for whatever 
 mind is distempered (and, as I just now said, the philoso- 
 phers call all perturbed motions of the mind distempers) 
 is no more sound than a body is when in a fit of sick- 
 ness. Hence it is that wisdom is the soundness of the 
 mind, folly a sort of unsoundness, which is insanity, or a 
 being out of one's mind: and these are much better ex- 
 pressed by the Latin words than the Greek, which you 
 will find the case also in many other topics. But we 
 will discuss that point elsewhere: let us now attend to 
 our present subject. The very meaning of the word de- 
 scribes the whole thing about which we are inquiring, 
 both as to its substance and character. For we must 
 necessarily understand by "sound" those whose minds 
 are under no perturbation from any motion as if it were 
 a disease. They who are differently affected we must 
 necessarily call "unsound." So that nothing is better 
 than what is usual in Latin, to say that they who are run 
 away with by their lust or anger have quitted the com- 
 mand over themselves; though anger includes lust, for 
 anger is defined to be the lust of revenge. They, then, 
 who are said not to be masters of themselves, are said 
 to be so because they are not under the government of 
 reason, to which is assigned by nature the power over 
 the whole soul. Why the Greeks should call this ixavia^ 
 I do not easily apprehend; but we define it much bet- 
 ter than they, for we distinguish this madness {insania), 
 which, being allied to folly, is more extensive, from what 
 we call furor, or raving. The Greeks, indeed, would do 
 so too, l3ut they have no one word that will express it : 
 what we call furor, they call fieXayxoXia, as if the reason 
 
96 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 were affected only by a black bile, and not disturbed as 
 often by a violent rage, or fear, or grief. Thus we say 
 Athamas, Alcmajon, Ajax, and Orestes were raving (fu- 
 rere) ; because a person affected in this manner was not 
 allowed by the Twelve Tables to have the management 
 of his own affairs ; therefore the words are not, if he is 
 mad {insamis), but if he begins to be raving (furiosus). 
 For they looked upon madness to be an unsettled humor 
 that proceeded froui not being of sound mind ; yet such 
 a person might perform his ordinary duties, and dis- 
 charge the usual and customary requirements of life : but 
 they considered one that v>'as raving as afflicted with a 
 total blindness of the mind, which, notwithstanding it is 
 allowed to be greater than madness, is nevertheless of 
 such a nature that a wise man may be subject to raving 
 (furor), but cannot possibly be afflicted by insanity (in- 
 sania). But this is another question: let us now return 
 to our original subject. 
 
 VI. I think you said that it was your opinion that a 
 wise man was liable to grief. 
 
 A. And so, indeed, I think. 
 
 31. It is natural enough to think so, for we are not the 
 offspring of flints; but we have by nature something soft 
 and tender in our souls, which may be put into a violent 
 motion by grief, as by a storm ; nor did that Grantor, who 
 was one of the most distinguished men that our Academy 
 lias ever pro(5uced, say this amiss : " I am by no means of 
 their opinion who talk so much in praise of I know not 
 what insensibility, which neither can exist, nor ought to 
 exist. " I would choose," says he, " never to be ill ; but 
 should I be so, still I should choose to retain my sensa- 
 tion, whether there was to be an amputation or any other 
 separation of anything from my body. For that insensi- 
 bility cannot be but at the expense of some unnatural fe- 
 rocity of mind, or stupor of body." But let us consider 
 whether to talk in this manner be not allowing that we 
 are weak, and yielding to our softness. Notwithstanding, 
 let us be hardy enough, not only to lop oft' every arm of 
 our miseries, but even to pluck up every fibre of their 
 roots. Yet still something, perhaps, may be left behind, 
 so deep does folly strike its roots: but whatever may be 
 
ON GRIEF OF MIND. 97 
 
 left, it will bo no more than is necessary. Bat let us be 
 persuaded of this, that unless the mind be in a sound state, 
 which philosophy alone can effect, there can be no end of 
 our miseries. Wherefore, as we began, let us submit our- 
 selves to it for a cure ; we shall be cured if we choose to 
 be. I shall advance something further. I shall not treat 
 of grief alone, though that indeed is the principal thing; 
 but, as I originally proposed, of every perturbation of the 
 mind, as I termed it; disorder, as the Greeks call it: and 
 first, witli your leave, I shall treat it in the manner of the 
 Stoics, whose method is to reduce their arguments into a 
 very small space; afterward I shall enlarge more in my 
 own way. 
 
 VII. A man of courage is also full of faith. I do not 
 use the word confident, because, owing to an erroneous 
 custom of speaking, that word has come to be used in a 
 bad sense, though it is derived from confiding, which is 
 commendable. But he who is full of faith is certainly un- 
 der no fear; for there is an inconsistency between faith 
 and fear. Now, whoever is subject to grief is subject to 
 fear; for whatever things we grieve at when present we 
 dread when hanging over us and approaching. Thus it 
 comes about that grief is inconsistent with courage : it is 
 very probable, therefore, that whoever is subject to grief 
 is also liable to fear, and to a broken kind of spirits and 
 sinking. Now, whenever these befall a man, he is in a 
 servile state, and must own that he is overpowered ; for 
 whoever admits these feelings, must admit timidity and 
 cowardice. But these cannot enter into the mind of a 
 man of courage; neither, therefore, can grief: but the man 
 of courage is the only wise man; therefore grief cannot 
 befall the wise man. It is, besides, necessary that w^hoever 
 is brave should be a man of great soul ; that whoever is a 
 man of a great soul should be invincible ; whoever is in- 
 vincible looks down with contempt on all things here, and 
 considers them beneath him. But no one can despise 
 those things on account of which he may be affected with 
 grief; from whence it follows that a wise man is never af- 
 fected with grief : for all wise men are brave ; therefore a 
 wise man is not subject to grief. And as the eye, when 
 disordered, is not in a good condition for performing its 
 
 5 
 
98 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 office properly ; and as the other parts, and the whole 
 body itself, when unsettled, cannot perform their office 
 and business ; so the mind, when disordered, is but ill- 
 fitted to perform its duty. The office of the mind is to 
 use its reason well; but the mind of a wise man is always 
 in condition to make the best use of his reason, and there- 
 fore is never out of order. But grief is a disorder of the 
 mind ; therefore a wise man will be always free from it. 
 
 VIII. And from these considerations we may get at a 
 very probable definition of the temperate man, whom the 
 Greeks call aojcppioy: and they call that virtue (rojtppocruvrjy, 
 which I at one time call temperance, at another time mod- 
 eration, and sometimes even modesty; but I do not know 
 whether that virtue may not be properly called frugality, 
 which has a more confined meaning with the Greeks; 
 for they call frugal men -xprjcrlfiovg, which implies only that 
 they are useful; but our name has a more extensive mean- 
 ing: for all abstinence, all innocency (which the Greeks 
 have no ordinary name for, though they might use the 
 word a/3\a/3fta, for innocency is that disposition of mind 
 which would offend no one) and several other virtues are 
 comprehended under frugality; but if this quality were 
 of less importance, and confined in as small a compass as 
 some imagine, the surname of Piso^ would not have been 
 in so great esteem. But as we allow him not the name 
 of a frugal man [frugi), who either quits his post through 
 fear, which is cowardice; or who reserves to his own use 
 what was privately committed to his keeping, which is in- 
 justice; or who fails in his military undertakings through- 
 rashness, which is folly for that reason the word frugali- 
 ty takes in these three virtues of fortitude, justice, and 
 prudence, though it is indeed common to all virtues, for 
 they are all connected and knit together. Let us allow, 
 then, frugality itself to be another and fourth virtue; for 
 its peculiar property seems to be, to govern and appease 
 all tendencies to too eager a desire after anything, to re- 
 strain lust, and to preserve a decent steadiness in every- 
 thing. The vice in contrast to this is called prodigality 
 (nequitia). Frugality, I imagine, is derived from the 
 
 * The man who first received this surname was L. Calpiirnins Piso, 
 who was consul, 133 B.C., in the Servile War. 
 
ON GRIEF OF MIND. 99 
 
 word /ri/^e, the best thing wliicli tlie earth produces; ne- 
 quitia is derived (though this is perhaps rather more 
 strained; still, let us try it; we shall only be thought to 
 have been trifling if there is nothing in what we say) from 
 the fact of everything being to no purpose {nequicquam) 
 in such a man ; from which circumstance he is called also 
 Nihil, nothing. Whoever is frugal, then, or, if it is more 
 agreeable to you, whoever is moderate and temperate, such 
 a one must of course be consistent ; whoever is consistent, 
 must be quiet; the quiet man must be free from all per- 
 turbation, therefore from grief likewise: and these are the 
 properties of a wise man ; therefore a wise man must be 
 f i-ee from grief. 
 
 IX. So that Dionysius of Heraclea is right when, upon 
 this complaint of Achilles in Homer, 
 
 Well hast thon spoke, but at the tyrant's name 
 My rage rekindles, and my soul's in flame : 
 'Tis just resentment, and becomes the brave, 
 Disgraced, dishonor'd like the vilest slave^ 
 
 he reasons thus: Is the hand as it should be, when it is 
 affected with a swelling? or is it possible for any other 
 member of the body, when swollen or enlarged, to be in any 
 other than a disordered state? Must not the mind, then, 
 when it is puffed up, or distended, be out of order? But 
 the mind of a wise man is always free from every kind of 
 disorder: it never swells, never is puffed up; but the mind 
 when in anger is in a different state. A wise man, there- 
 fore, is never angry; for when he is angry, he lusts after 
 something; for whoever is angry naturally has a longing 
 desire to give all the pain he can to the person who he 
 thinks has injured him; and whoever has this earnest 
 desire must necessarily be much pleased with the accom- 
 plishment of his wishes; hence he is delighted with his 
 neighbor's misery; and as a wise man is not capable of 
 such feelings as these, he is therefore not capable of anger. 
 But should a wise man be subject to grief, he may like- 
 
 * The Greek is, 
 
 'AWri /uot oibitveTat Kpahit] x6\io ottttot' 6Ke'ivov 
 MvrjaoiJiut 09 ix ucTu^t]\ov tf 'Ap-yet'oto-tv tpe^ev. II. ix. 642. 
 
 I have given Pope's translation in the text. 
 
100 TJIE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 wise be subject to anger; for as he is free from anger, he 
 must likewise be free from grief. Again, could a wise 
 man be subject to grief, he might also be liable to pity, or 
 even might be open to a disposition towards envy {inviden- 
 tki) ; I do not say to envy {invidia), for that can only ex- 
 ist by the very act of envying : but we may fairly form the 
 word invidentia from invidendo, and so avoid the doubt- 
 ful name iiividla; for this word is probably derived from 
 in and video, looking too closely into another's fortune ; 
 as it is said in the Melanippus, 
 
 Who envies me the flower of my children ? 
 
 where the Latin is invidit florem. It may appear not 
 good Latin, but it is very well put by Accius ; for as video 
 governs an accusative case, so it is more correct to say in- 
 video floretn than j^or/. We are debarred from saying so 
 by common usage. The poet stood in his own right, and 
 expressed himself with more freedom. 
 
 X. Therefore compassion and envy are consistent in the 
 same man ; for whoever is uneasy at any one's adversity 
 is also uneasy at another's prosperity: as Theophrastus, 
 while he laments the death of his companion Callisthenes, 
 is at the same time disturbed at the success of Alexander; 
 and therefore he says that Callisthenes met with a man of 
 the greatest power and good fortune, but one who did not 
 know how to make use of his good fortune. And as pity 
 is an uneasiness which arises from the misfortunes of an- 
 other, so envy is an uneasiness that proceeds from the good 
 success of another : therefore whoever is capable of pity is 
 capable of envy. But a wise man is incapable of envy, 
 and consequently incapable of pity. But were a wise man 
 used to grieve, to pity also would be familiar to him ; there- 
 fore to grieve is a feeling which cannot affect a Avise man. 
 Now, though these reasonings of the Stoics, and their con- 
 clusions, are rather strained and distorted, and ought to be 
 expressed in a less stringent and narrow manner, yet great 
 stress is to be laid on the opinions of those men who have 
 a peculiarly bold and manly turn of thought and sentiment. 
 For our friends the Peripatetics, notwithstanding all their 
 erudition, gravity, and fluency of language, do not satisfy 
 me about the moderation of these disorders and diseases 
 
ON GRIEF OF MIND. , , , _101 
 
 o ' ,--' ' iv '' ' ,'- ' " ' 
 of the soul which they insist lipon ;foi^ every ^i;l,t)l6tiglt 
 moderate, is in its nature great. But our object is to 
 make out that tlie wise man is free from all evil ; for as 
 the body is unsound if it is ever so slightly affected, so the 
 mind under any moderate disorder loses its soundness; 
 therefoi-e the Romans have, with their usual accuracy of 
 expression, called trouble, and anguish, and vexation, on 
 account of the analogy between a troubled mind and a 
 diseased body, disorders. The Greeks call all perturbation 
 of mind by pretty nearly the same name; for they name 
 every turbid motion of the soul ttuSoc, that is to say, a dis- 
 temper. But we have given them a more proper name ; 
 for a disorder of the mind is very like a disease of the 
 body. But lust does not resemble sickness ; neither does 
 immoderate joy, which is an elated and exulting pleas- 
 ure of the mind. Fear, too, is not very like a distemper, 
 though it is akin to grief of mind, but properly, as is also 
 the case with sickness of the body, so too sickness of mind 
 has no name separated from pain. And therefore I must 
 explain the origin of this pain, that is to say, the cause that 
 occasions this grief in the mind, as if it were a sickness of 
 the body. For as physicians think they have found out 
 the cure when they have discovered the cause of the dis- 
 temper, so we shall discover tlie method of curing melan- 
 choly when the cause of it is found out. 
 
 XL The wdiole cause, then, is in opinion; and this ob- 
 servation applies not to this grief alone, but to every other 
 disorder of the mind, which are of four sorts, but consist- 
 ing of many parts. For as every disorder or perturbation 
 is a motion of the mind, either devoid of reason, or in de- 
 spite of reason, or in disobedience to reason, and as that 
 motion is excited by an opinion of either good or evil; 
 these four perturbations are divided equally into two 
 parts : for two of them proceed from an opinion of good, 
 one of which is an exulting pleasure, that is to say, a joy 
 elated beyond measure, arising from an opinion of some 
 present great good ; the other is a desire which may fairly 
 be called even a lust, and is an immoderate inclination af- 
 ter some conceived great good without any obedience to 
 reason. Therefore these two kinds, the exulting pleasure 
 and the lust, have their rise from an opinion of good, as 
 
102 .THE. TUSGIH^AN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 the^bthev tY^o, ie&r m\^ ^nfe'f, have from an opinion of evil. 
 For fear is an opinion of some great evil impending over 
 us, and grief is an opinion of some great evil present; and, 
 indeed, it is a freslily conceived o])inion of an evil so great 
 that to grieve at it seems right: it is of that kind that he 
 who is uneasy at it thinks he has good reason to be so. 
 Now we should exert our utmost efforts to oppose these 
 perturbations which are, as it were, so many furies let 
 loose upon us and urged on by folly if we are desirous 
 to pass this share of life that is allotted to us with ease 
 and satisfaction. But of the other feelings I shall speak 
 elsewhere : our business at present is to drive away grief 
 if we can, for that shall be the object of our present dis- 
 cussion, since you have said that it was your opinion that 
 a wise man might be subject to grief, which I can by no 
 means allow of; for it is a frightful, miserable, and detest- 
 able thing, which we should fly from with our utmost ef- 
 forts with all our sails and oars, as I may say. 
 
 XIL That descendant of Tantalus, how does he appear 
 to you he who sprung from Pelops, who formerly stole 
 Ilippodamia from her father-in-law. King (Enomaus, and 
 married her by force? he who was descended from Ju- 
 piter himself, how broken-hearted and dispirited does he 
 not seem ! 
 
 Stand off, my friends, nor come within my shade, 
 That no pollutions your sound hearts pervade, 
 So foul a stain my body doth partake. 
 
 Will you condemn yourself, Thyestes, and deprive yourself 
 of life, on account of the greatness of another's crime? 
 What do you think of that son of Pha3bus? Do you not 
 look upon him as unworthy of his own father's light? 
 
 Hollow his eyes, his body worn away. 
 His furrow'd cheeks his frequent tears betray ; 
 His beard neglected, and his hoary hairs 
 Hough and uncomb'd, bespeak his bitter cares. 
 
 O foolish ^etes ! these are evils which you yourself have 
 been the cause of, and are not occasioned by any accidents 
 with which chance has visited you; and you behaved as 
 you did, even after you had been inured to your distress, 
 and after the first swelling of the mind had subsided ! 
 whereas grief consists (as I shall show) in the notion of 
 
ON GRIEF OF MIND. 103 
 
 some recent evil but your grief, it is very plain, proceeded 
 from the loss of your kingdom, not of your daughter, for 
 you hated her, and perhaps with reason, but you could not 
 calmly bear to part with your kingdom. But surely it 
 is an impudent grief which preys upon a man for not be- 
 ing able to command those that are free. Dionysius, it is 
 true, the tyrant of Syracuse, when driven from his country, 
 taught a school at Corinth ; so incapable was he of living 
 without some authority. But what could be more impu- 
 dent than Tarquin, who made war upon those who could 
 not bear his tyranny; and, Avhen he could not recover his 
 kingdom by the aid of the forces of the Veientians and 
 the Latins, is said to have betaken himself to Cuma, and 
 to have died in that city of old age and grief ! 
 
 XIII. Do you, then, think that it can befall a wise man 
 to be oppressed with grief, that is to say, with misery ? 
 for, as all perturbation is misery, grief is the rack itself. 
 Lust is attended with heat, exulting joy with levity, fear 
 with meanness, but grief with something greater than 
 these ; it consumes, torments, afflicts, and disgraces a man ; 
 it tears him, preys upon his mind, and utterly destroys 
 him : if we do not so divest ourselves of it as to throw it 
 completely off, we cannot be free from misery. And it is 
 clear that there must be grief where anything has the ap- 
 pearance of a present sore and oppressing evil. Epicurus 
 is of opinion that grief arises naturally from the imagina- 
 tion of any evil; so that whosoever is eye-witness of any 
 great misfortune, if he conceives that the like may pos- 
 sibly befall himself, becomes sad instantly from such an 
 idea. The Cyrenaics think that grief is not engendered 
 by every kind of evil, but only by unexpected, unforeseen 
 evil; and that circumstance is, indeed, of no small effect 
 on the heightening of grief; for whatsoever comes of a 
 sudden appears more formidable. Hence these Hues are 
 deservedly commended : 
 
 I knew my son, when first he drew his breath, 
 Destined by fate to an untimely death ; 
 And when I sent him to defend the Greeks, 
 War was his business, not your sportive freaks. 
 
 Xiy. Therefore, this ruminating beforehand upon fut- 
 ure evils which you see at a distance makes their approach 
 
104 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 more tolerable ; and on this account what Euripides makes 
 Theseus say is much commended. You will give me leave 
 to translate them, as is usual with me : 
 
 I treasured up what some learn'd sage did tell, 
 
 And on my future misery did dwell ; 
 
 I thought of bitter death, of being drove 
 
 Far from my home by exile, and I strove 
 
 With every evil to possess my mind. 
 
 That, when they came,.I the less care might find.^ 
 
 But Euripides says that of himself, which Theseus said he 
 had heard from some learned man, for the poet had been 
 a pupil of Anaxagoras, who, as they relate, on hearing of 
 the death of his son, said, " I knew that my son was mor- 
 tal;" which speech seems to intimate that such tilings 
 afflict those men who have not thought on them befoi-e. 
 Therefore, there is no doubt but that all those things whicli 
 are considered evils are the heavier from not being fore- 
 seen. Though, notwithstanding this is not the only cir- 
 cumstance which occasions the greatest grief, still, as the 
 mind, by foreseeing and preparing for it, has great power 
 to make all grief the less, a man should at all times consid- 
 er all the events that may befall him in this life ; and cer- 
 tainly the excellence and divine nature of wisdom consists 
 in taking a near view of, and gaining a thorough acquaint- 
 ance with, all human affairs, in not being surprised when 
 anything happens, and in thinking, before the event, that 
 there is nothing but what may come to pass. 
 
 Wherefore ev'ry man, 
 When his affairs go on most swimmingly, 
 E'en then it most behooves to arm himself 
 Against the coming storm : loss, danger, exile, 
 Returning ever, let him look to meet ; 
 His son in fault, wife dead, or daughter sick : 
 All common accidents, and may have happen'd 
 That nothing shall seem new or strange. But if 
 Aught has fall'n out beyond his hopes, all that 
 Let him account clear gain.'' 
 
 * This is from the Theseus : 
 
 'Eyu> 6e TOVTO napu cro<pov tivo? naOuiv 
 elv <pf}ovrida<! voZv (rviJL(j>opiii t' t/3aXA<)jLinv 
 (jyv^dv'T e/iufTcp 7rpo(TT(/t<9 Trarpav fr7i)9. 
 OavuTOVi t' uwpov^, Kai kukwv (iXXay odovv 
 
 M>; fioi vkopjov npoamaov jUaWoi/ duKOi. 
 
 Tcr. rhorm. II. i. 11. 
 
ON GRIEF OF MIND. 105 
 
 XV. Therefore, as Terence has so well expressed what 
 he borrowed from philosophy, shall not we, from whose 
 fountains he drew it, say the same thing in a better man- 
 ner, and abide by it witli more steadiness ? Hence came 
 that steady countenance, whicli, according to Xantippe, 
 her husband Socrates always had; so that she said that 
 she never observed any difference in his looks when he 
 went out and when he came home. Yet the look of that 
 old Roman, M. Crassus, who, as Lucilius says, never smiled 
 but once in his lifetime, was not of this kind, but placid 
 and serene, for so we are told. He, indeed, might well 
 have had the same look at all times who never changed 
 his mind, from which the countenance derives its expres- 
 sion. So that I am ready to borrow of the Cyrenaics 
 those arms against the accidents and events of life by 
 means of which, by long premeditation, they break the 
 force of all approaching evils; and at the same time I 
 think that those very evils themselves arise more from 
 opinion tlian nature, for if they were real, no forecast could 
 make them lighter. But I shall speak more particularly 
 on these matters after I have first considered Epicurus's 
 opinion, who thinks that all people must necessarily be 
 uneasy who believe themselves to be in any evils, let them 
 be either foreseen and expected, or habitual to them; for 
 with him evils are not the less by reason of their contin- 
 uance, nor the lighter for having been foreseen ; and it 
 is folly to ruminate on evils to come, or such as, perhaps, 
 never may come : every evil is disagreeable enough when 
 it does come ; but he who is constantly considering that 
 some evil may befall him is loading himself with a perpet- 
 ual evil ; and even should such evil never light on him, he 
 voluntarily takes upon himself uimecessary misery, so that 
 he is under constant uneasiness, whether he actually suf- 
 fers any evil, or only thinks of it. But he makes the alle- 
 viation of grief depend on two things a ceasing to think 
 on evil, and a turning to the contemplntion of pleasure. 
 For he thinks that the mind may possibly be under the 
 power of reason, and follow her directions : he forbids us, 
 therefore, to mind trouble, and calls us off from sorrowful 
 reflections; he throws a mist over our eyes to hinder us 
 from the contemplation of misery. Having sounded a rc- 
 
 5* 
 
106 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 treat from this statement, he drives our thoughts on again, 
 and encouraojes them to view and enoraoe the wliole mind 
 in the various pleasures with which he thinks the life of 
 a wise man abounds, either from reflecting on the past, 
 or from the hope of what is to come. I have said tliese 
 things in my own way ; the Epicureans have theirs. How- 
 ever, let us examine what they say ; how they say it is of 
 little consequence. 
 
 XVI. In the first place, they are wrong in forbidding 
 men to premeditate on futurity and blaming their wish to 
 do so ; for there, is nothing that breaks the edge of grief 
 and lightens it more tlian considering, during one's whole 
 life, that there is nothing which it is impossible should 
 happen, or than, considering what human nature is, on 
 what conditions life was given, and how we may comply 
 with them. The effect of which is that we are always 
 grieving, but that we never do so ; for whoever reflects on 
 the nature of things, the various turns of life, and the weak- 
 ness of human nature, grieves, indeed, at that reflection ; 
 but while so grieving he is, above all other times, behaving 
 as a wise man, for he gains these two things by it: one, 
 that while he is considering the state of human nature he 
 is performing the especial duties of philosophy, and is pro- 
 vided with a triple medicine against adversity in the first 
 place, because he has long reflected that such things might 
 befall him, and this reflection by itself contributes much 
 towards lessening and weakening all misfortunes; and, sec- 
 ondly, because he is persuaded that we should bear all the 
 accidents which can happen to man with the feelings and 
 spirit of a man; and, lastly, because he considers that what 
 is blamable is the only evil. But it is not your fault that 
 something haj happened to you which it was impossible 
 for man to avoid. For that withdrawing of our thoughts 
 which he recommends when he calls us off from contem- 
 plating our misfortunes is an imaginary action ; for it is 
 not in our power to dissemble or to forget those evils which 
 lie heavy on us; they tear, vex, and sting us they burn 
 us up, and leave no breathing-time. And do you order us 
 to forget them (for such forgetfulness is contrary to nat- 
 ure), and at the same time deprive us of the only assist- 
 ance which nature affords, the beinc: accustomed to them? 
 
ON GRIEF OF MIND. 107 
 
 For that, though it is but a slow medicine (I mean that 
 which is brought by lapse of time), is still a very effectual 
 one. You order me to employ my thoughts on something 
 good, and forget my misfortunes. You would say some- 
 thing Avorthy a great philosopher if you thought those 
 things good which are best suited to the dignity of human 
 nature. 
 
 XVII. Should Pythagoras, Socrates, or Plato say to me, 
 Why are you dejected or sad? Why do you faint, and 
 yield to fortune, which, perhaps, may have power to harass 
 and disturb you, but should not quite unman you? There 
 is great power in the virtues ; rouse them, if they chance 
 to droop. Take fortitude for your guide, which will give 
 you such spirits that you will despise everything that can 
 befall man, and look on it as a trifle. Add to this temper- 
 ance, which is moderation, and which was just now called 
 frugality, which will not suffer you to do anything base or 
 bad for what is woi'se or baser than an effeminate man ? 
 Not even justice will suffer you to act in this manner, 
 though she seems to have the least weight in this affair ; 
 but still, notwithstanding, even she will inform you that 
 you are doubly unjust Avhen you both require what does 
 not belong to you, inasmuch as though you who have been 
 born mortal demand to be placed in the condition of the 
 immortals, and at the same time you take it much to heart 
 that you are to restore what was lent you. What answer 
 will you make to prudence, who informs you that she is 
 a virtue sufficient of herself both to teach you a good life 
 and also to secure you a happy one? And, indeed, if she 
 were fettered by external circumstances, and dependent on 
 others, and if she did not originate in herself and return to 
 lierself, and also embrace everything in herself, so as to 
 seek no adventitious aid from any quarter, I cannot imag- 
 ine why she should appear deserving of such lofty pane- 
 gyrics, or of being sought after with such excessive eager- 
 ness. Now, Epicurus, if you call me back to such goods 
 as these, I will obey you, and follow you, and use you as 
 my guide, and even forget, as you order me, all my mis- 
 fortunes ; and I will do this the more readily from a per- 
 suasion that they are not to be ranked among evils at all. 
 But you are for bringing my thoughts over to pleasure. 
 
108 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 What pleasures? Pleasures of the body, I imagine, or 
 such as are recollected or imagined on account of the 
 body. Is this all? Do I explain your opinion riglitly? 
 for your disciples are used to deny that we understand at 
 all what -Epicurus means. This is what he says, and wliat 
 that subtle fellow, old Zeno, who is one of the sharpest of 
 them, used, when I was attending lectures at Athens, to 
 enforce and talk so loudly of; saying that he alone was 
 liappy who could enjoy present pleasure, and who was at 
 the same time persuaded that he should enjoy it without 
 pain, either during the whole or the greatest part of his 
 life ; or if, should any pain interfere, if it was very sharp, 
 then it must be short; should it be of longer continuance, 
 it would have more of what was sweet than bitter in it; 
 that whosoever reflected on these things would be happy, 
 especially if satisfied with the good things which he had 
 already enjoyed, and if he were without fear of death or 
 of the Gods. 
 
 XVIII. You have here a representation of a happy life 
 according to Epicurus, in the words of Zeno, so that there 
 is no room for contradiction in any j^oint. What, then ? 
 Can the proposing and thinking of such a life make Thy- 
 estes's grief the less, or ^etes's, of whom I spoke above, 
 or Telamon's, who was driven from his country to penury 
 and banishment? in wonder at whom men exclaimed thus: 
 
 Is tliis the man surpassing glory raised? 
 
 Is this that Telamon so highly praised 
 
 By wondering Greece, at whose sight, like the sun, 
 
 All others with diminish'd lustre shone ? 
 
 Now, should any one, as the same author says, find his 
 spirits sink with the loss of his fortune, he must apply to 
 those grave philosophers of antiquity for relief, and not to 
 these voluptuaries : for what great abundance of good do 
 they promise? Suppose that we allow that to be without 
 pain is the chief good? Yet that is not called pleasure. 
 But it is not necessary at present to go through the whole : 
 the question is, to what point are we to advance in order 
 to abate our grief? Grant that to be in pain is the great- 
 est evil : whosoever, then, has proceeded so far as not to 
 be in pain, is he, therefore, in immediate possession of the 
 greatest good ? Why, Epicurus, do we use any evasions, 
 
ON GRIEF OF MIND. 109 
 
 and not allow in our own words the same feeling to be 
 pleasure which you are used to boast of with such assur- 
 ance? Are these your words or not?' This is what you 
 say in that book which contains all the doctrine of your 
 school; for I will perform on this occasion the office of 
 a translator, lest any one should imagine that I am invent- 
 ing anything. Thus you speak; "Nor can I form any 
 notion of the chief good, abstracted from those pleasures 
 which are perceived by taste, or from what depends on 
 hearing music, or abstracted from ideas raised by exter- 
 nal objects visible to the eye, or by agreeable motions, or 
 from those other pleasures which are perceived by the 
 whole man by means of any of his senses; nor can it pos- 
 sibly be said that the pleasures of the mind are excited 
 only by what is good, for I have perceived men's minds 
 to be pleased with the hopes of enjoying those things 
 which I mentioned above, and with the idea that it should 
 enjoy them without any interruption from pain." And 
 these are his exact words, so that any one may understand 
 what were the pleasures with which Epicurus was ac- 
 quainted. Then he speaks thus, a little lower down: "I 
 have often inquired of those who have been called wise men 
 what would be the remaining good if they should exclude 
 from consideration all these pleasures, unless they meant 
 to give us nothing but words. I could never learn any- 
 thing from them; and unless they choose that all virtue 
 and wisdom should vanish and come to nothing, they must 
 say with me that the only road to happiness lies through 
 those pleasures which I mentioned above." What fol- 
 lows is much the same, and his whole book on the chief 
 good everywhere abounds with the same opinions. Will 
 you, then, invite Telamon to this kind of life to ease his 
 grief? And should you observe any one of your friends 
 under affliction, would you rather prescribe him a stur- 
 geon than a treatise of Socrates? or advise him to listen 
 to the music of a water-organ rather than to Plato? or 
 lay before him the beauty and variety of some garden, 
 put a nosegay to his nose, burn perfumes before him, and 
 bid him crown himself with a garland of roses and wood- 
 bines? Should you add one thing more, you would cer- 
 tainly wipe out all his grief. 
 
110 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 XIX. Epicurus must admit these arguments, or he must 
 take out of his book what I just now said was a literal 
 translation ; or, rather, he must destroy his whole book, 
 for it is crammed full of pleasures. We must inquire, 
 then, how we can ease him of his grief who speaks in this 
 manner: 
 
 My present state proceeds from fortune's stings ; 
 By birth I boast of a descent from kings; 
 Hence may you see from what a noble height 
 I"m sunic by fortune to this abject pHght. 
 
 What! to ease his grief, must we mix him a cup of sweet 
 wine, or something of that kind ? Lo ! the same poet pre- 
 sents us with another sentiment somewhere else : 
 
 I, Hector, once so great, now chiim your aid. 
 We should assist her, for she looks out for help: 
 
 Where shall I now ap])ly, where seek support ? 
 Where hence betake me, or to whom resort ? 
 No means reninin of comfort or of joy, 
 In flames my pahice, and in ruins Troy ; 
 Each wall, so late superb, deformed nods, 
 And not an altar's left t' appease the Gods. 
 
 You know^ what should follow, and particularly this : 
 
 Of father, country, nnd of friends bereft, 
 Not one of all tliese sumptuous temples left. 
 Which, wbile tlie fortune of our house did stand, 
 With rich-wrought ceilings spoke the artist's hand. 
 
 O excellent poet ! though despised by those who sing the 
 verses of Euphorion. He is sensible that all things which 
 come on a sudden are harder to be borne. Therefore, 
 when he had set oft' the riches of Priam to the best ad- 
 vantage, which had the appearance of a long continuance, 
 what does he add ? 
 
 Lo ! these all perish'd in one blazing pile ; 
 The foe old Priam of bis life beguiled, 
 And with his blood, thy altar, Jove, defiled. 
 
 Admirable poetry ! There is something mournful in the 
 subject, as well as in the words and measure. We must 
 drive away this grief of hers: liow is that to be done? 
 Shall we lay her on a bed of down; introduce a singer; 
 
ON GRIEF OF MIND. Ill 
 
 shall we burn cedar, or present her with some pleasant 
 liquor, and provide her something to eat? Are these the 
 good things which remove the most afflicting grief ? For 
 you but just now said you knew of no other good. I 
 should agree with Epicurus that we ought to be called off 
 from grief to contemplate good things, if we could only 
 agree upon wliat was good. 
 
 XX. It may be said, What ! do you imagine Epicurus 
 really meant this, and that he maintained anything so sen- 
 sual ? Indeed I do not imagine so, for I am sensible that 
 he has uttered many excellent things and sentiments, and 
 delivered maxims of great weight. Therefore, as I said 
 before, I am speaking of his acuteness, not of his morals. 
 Though he should hold those pleasures in contempt which 
 he just now commended, yet I must remember wherein 
 he places the chief good. For he was not contented with 
 barely saying this, but he has explained Avhat he meant : 
 he says that taste, and embraces, and sports, and music, 
 and those forms which affect the eyes with pleasure, are 
 the chief good. Have I invented this? have I misrepre- 
 sented him ? I should be glad to be confuted ; for what 
 am I endeavoring at but to clear up truth in every ques- 
 tion? Well, but the same man says that pleasure is at 
 its height where pain ceases, and that to be free from all 
 pain is the very greatest pleasure. Here are three very 
 great mistakes in a very few words. One is, that he con- 
 tradicts himself; for, but just now, he could not imagine 
 anything good unless the senses were in a manner tickled 
 with some pleasure; but now he says that to be free from 
 pain is the highest pleasure. Can any one contradict him- 
 self more? The next mistake is, that where there is natu- 
 rally a threefold division the first, to be pleased ; next, to 
 be in pain ; the last, to be affected neither by pleasure nor 
 pain he imagines the first and the last to be the same, 
 and makes no difference between pleasure and a cessation 
 of pain. The last mistake he falls into in common with 
 some others, which is this: that as virtue is the most de- 
 sirable thing, and as philosophy has been investigated with 
 a view to the attainment of it, he has separated the chief 
 good from virtue. But he commends virtue, and that fre- 
 quently ; and indeed C. Gracchus, when he had made the 
 
112 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 largest distributions of the public money, and had ex- 
 hausted the treasury, nevertheless spoke much of defend- 
 ing the treasury. What signifies what men say when we 
 see what tliey do? That Piso, who was surnamed Frugal, 
 had always harangued against the law that was proposed 
 for distributing the corn ; but when it had passed, though 
 a man of consular dignity, he came to receive the corn. 
 Gracchus observed Piso standing in the court, and asked 
 him, in the hearing of the people, how it was consistent 
 for him to take corn by a law he had himself opposed. 
 "It was," said he, "against your distributing my goods 
 to every man as you thought proper; but, as you do so, I 
 claim my share." Did not this grave and wise man suffi- 
 ciently show that the public revenue was dissipated by the 
 Sempronian law? Read Gracchus's speeches, and you 
 will pronounce him the advocate of the treasury. Epicu- 
 rus denies that any one can live pleasantly who does not 
 lead a life of virtue ; he denies that fortune has any power 
 over a wise man ; he prefers a spare diet to great plenty, 
 and maintains tliat a wise man is always happy. All these 
 things become a philosopher to say, but they are not con- 
 sistent with pleasure. 13ut the reply is, that he doth not 
 mean that pleasure : let him mean any pleasure, it must be 
 such a one as makes no part of virtue. But suppose we 
 are mistaken as to his pleasure ; are w^e so, too, as to his 
 pain ? I maintain, therefore, the impropriety of language 
 which that man uses, when talking of virtue, who would 
 measure every great evil by pain. 
 
 XXI. And indeed the Epicureans, those best of men 
 for there is no order of men more innocent complain 
 that I take great pains to inveigh against Epicurus. We 
 are rivals, I suppose, for some honor or distinction. I 
 place the chief good in the mind, he in the body; I in vir- 
 tue, he in pleasure ; and the Epicureans are up in arms, 
 and implore the assistance of their neighbors, and many 
 are ready to fly to their aid. But as for my part, I de- 
 clare that I am very indifferent about the matter, and that 
 I consider the Avhole discussion which they are so anxious 
 about at an end. For what ! is the contention about the 
 Punic war? on which very subject, though M. Cato and 
 L. Lentulus were of dift'erent opinions, still there was no 
 
ON GRIEF OF MIND. 113 
 
 difference between them. But these men behave with too 
 much heat, especially as the opinions which they would 
 uphold are no very spirited ones, and such as they dare 
 not plead for either in the senate or before the assembly 
 of the people, or before the army or the censors. But, 
 however, I will argue with them another time, and with 
 such a disposition that no quarrel shall arise between us ; 
 for I shall be ready to yield to their opinions when found- 
 ed on truth. Only I must give them this advice : That 
 were it ever so true, that a wise man regards nothing but 
 the body, or, to express myself with more decency, nev- 
 er does anything except what is expedient, and views all 
 things with exclusive reference to his own advantage, as 
 such things are not very commendable, they should confine 
 them to their own breasts, and leave off talking with that 
 parade of them. 
 
 XXII. What remains is the opinion of the Cyrenaics, 
 who think that men grieve when anything happens unex- 
 pectedly. And that is indeed, as I said before, a great 
 aggravation of a misfortune ; and I know that it appeared 
 so to Chrysippus " Whatever falls out unexpected is so 
 much the heavier." But the whole question does not turn 
 on this; though the sudden approach of an enemy some- 
 times occasions more confusion than it would if you had 
 expected him, and a sudden storm at sea throws the sail- 
 ors into a greater fright than one which they have fore- 
 seen ; and it is the same in many other cases. But when 
 you carefully consider the nature of what was expected, 
 you will find nothing more than that all things which 
 come on a sudden appear greater; and this upon two ac- 
 counts : first of all, because you have not time to consider 
 how great the accident is ; and, secondly, because you are 
 probably persuaded that you could have guarded against 
 it had you foreseen it, and therefore the misfortune, hav- 
 ing been seemingly encountered by your own fault, makes 
 your grief the greater. That it is so, time evinces ; which, 
 as it advances, brings with it so much mitigation that 
 though the same misfortunes continue, the grief not only 
 becomes the less, but in some cases is entirely removed. 
 Many Carthaginians were slaves at Rome, and many Mace- 
 donians, when Perseus their king was taken prisoner. I saw, 
 
114 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 too, when I was a young man, some Corinthians in the Pelo- 
 ponnesus. They might all have lamented with Andromache, 
 
 All these I 
 
 but they hud perhaps given over lamenting themselves, 
 for by their countenances, and speech, and other gestures 
 you might have taken them for Argives or Sicyonians. 
 And I myself was more concerned at the ruined walls 
 of Corinth than the Corinthians themselves were, whose 
 minds by frequent reflection and time had become callous 
 to such sights. I have read a book of Clitomachus, which 
 he sent to his fellow-citizens who were prisoners, to com- 
 fort them after the destruction of Carthage. There is in it 
 a treatise written by Carneades, which, as Clitomachus says, 
 he had inserted into his book ; the subject was, " That it ap- 
 peared probable that a wise man would grieve at the state 
 of subjection of his country," and all the arguments which 
 Carneades used against this proposition are set down in 
 the book. There the philosopher applies such a strong 
 medicine to a fresh grief as would be quite unnecessary 
 in one of any continuance ; nor, if this very book had been 
 sent to the captives some years after, would it have found 
 any Avounds to cure, but only scars ; for grief, by a gen- 
 tle progress and slow degrees, wears away imperceptibly. 
 Not that the circumstances which gave rise to it are alter- 
 ed, or can be, but that custom teaches what reason should 
 that those tilings which before seemed to be of some con- 
 sequence are of no such groat importance after all. 
 
 XXIII. It may be said, AVIiat occasion is there to apply 
 to reason, or to any sort of consolation such as we gen- 
 erally make use of, to mitigate the grief of the afflicted ? 
 For we have this argument always at hand, that nothing 
 ought to appear unexpected. But how will any one be 
 enabled to bear his misfortunes the better by knowing 
 that it is unavoidable that such things sliould happen 
 to man ? Saying this subtracts nothing from the sum of 
 the grief : it only asserts that nothing has fallen out but 
 what might have been anticipated ; and yet this manner 
 of speaking has some little consolation in it, though I ap- 
 prehend not a great deal. Therefore those unlooked-for 
 things have not so much force as to give rise to all our 
 
ON GRIEF OF MIND. 115 
 
 grief; tlie blow perhaps may fall the heavier, but whatever 
 happens does not appear the greater on that account. No, 
 it is the fact of its having happened lately, and not of its 
 having befallen us unexpectedly, that makes it seem the 
 greater. There are two ways, tlien, of discerning the 
 truth, not only of things that seem evil, but of those that 
 have the appearance of good. For we either inquire into 
 the nature of the thing, of what description, and magni- 
 tude, and importance it is as sometimes with regard to 
 poverty, the burden of which we may lighten when by our 
 disputations we show how few things nature requires, and 
 of wliat a trifling kind they are or, without any subtle ar- 
 guing, we refer them to examples, as here we instance a Soc- 
 rates, there a Diogenes, and then again that line in Caecilius, 
 
 Wisdom is oft conceal'd in mean attire. 
 
 For as poverty is of equal weight with all, what reason 
 can be given why what Avas borne by Fabricius should be 
 spoken of by any one else as unsupportable when it falls 
 upon themselves ? Of a piece with this is that other way 
 of comforting, which consists in pointing out that nothing 
 has happened but what is common to human nature; for 
 this argument doth not only inform us what human nature 
 is, but implies that all things are tolerable which others 
 have borne and are bearing. 
 
 XXIV. Is poverty the subject? They tell you of many 
 who have submitted to it with patience. Is it the con- 
 tempt of honors? They acquaint you with some who 
 never enjoyed any, and were the happier for it; and of 
 those who have preferred a private retired life to public 
 employment, mentioning their names with respect; they 
 tell you of the verse^ of that most powerful king who 
 praises an old man, and pronounces him happy because he 
 was unknown to fame and seemed likely to arrive at the 
 hour of death in obscurity and without notice. Thus, 
 too, they have examples for those who are deprived of 
 their children : they who are under any great grief are 
 comforted by instances of like aflliction ; and thus the en- 
 
 ^ This refers to the speech of Agamemnon in Euripides, in the Iphi- 
 genia in Aulis, 
 
 ZrjXfi tre, yepov, 
 ^t}\S> V uvSpSiv or uKivdvvov 
 piov efcTrepacr', uyvw^, uKXet'ji. V. 15. 
 
116 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 durance of every misfortune is rendered more easy by the 
 fact of others having undergone the same, and the fate of 
 others causes what has liappened to appear less important 
 than it has been previously thought, and reflection thus 
 discovers to us how much opinion had imposed on us. 
 And this is what the Telamon declares, " I, when my son 
 was born," etc.; and thus Theseus, "I on my future mis- 
 ery did dwell ;" and Anaxagoras, " I knew my son was 
 mortal." All these men, by frequently reflecting on hu- 
 man affairs, had discovered that they were by no means to 
 be estimated by the opinion of the multitude ; and, indeed, 
 it seems to me to be pretty much the same case with those 
 who consider beforehand as with those who derive their 
 remedies from time, excepting that a kind of reason cures 
 the one, and the other remedy is provided by nature ; by 
 wbich we discover (and this contains the whole marrow 
 of the matter) that what was imagined to be the greatest 
 evil is by no means so great as to defeat the happiness of 
 life. And the effect of this is, that the blow is greater by 
 reason of its not liaving been foreseen, and not, as they 
 suppose, that when similar misfortunes befall two different 
 people, that man only is affected with grief whom this 
 calamity has befallen unexpectedly. So that some persons, 
 under the oppression of grief, are said to have borne it 
 actually worse for hearing of this common condition of 
 man, that we are born under such conditions as render it 
 impossible for a man to be exempt from all evil. 
 
 XXV. For this reason Carneades, as I see our friend 
 Antiochus writes, used to blame Chrysippus for commend- 
 ing these verses of Euripides : 
 
 Man, doom'd to cave, to pain, disease, and strife, 
 Walks liis short journey thro' tlie A'ale of life : 
 Watchful attends the cradle and the grave, 
 And passing generations longs to save : 
 Last, dies himself: yet wherefore should we mourn? 
 For man must to his kindred dust return ; 
 Submit to the destroying hand of fate, 
 As ripen'd ears the harvest-sickle wait.* 
 
 * This is a fragment from the Ilypsipyle : 
 
 E^u fxiv oiidelv (';<7T(V ou irovei /3f)OTWv' 
 Otinrct re rtKva X"Tep' av Krarat veit, 
 auTor TC OviiaKei. Ka't t(i5' tix^oi/Tui ftpOTOt 
 elf fTv (jiepovrei f^iv' uvw^KaioiV S' t'x^* 
 ftiov Oepi^etv iuaje KiipiriiJiov ajdxw. 
 
ON GRIEF OF MIND. 117 
 
 lie would not allow a speech of this kind to avail at all to 
 tlie cure of our grief, for he said it was a lamentable case 
 itself that we were fallen into the hands of such a cruel 
 fate; and that a speech like that, preaching up comfort 
 from the misfortunes of another, was a comfort adapted 
 only to those of a malevolent disposition. But to me it 
 appears far otherwise ; for the necessity of bearing what 
 is the common condition of humanity forbids your resist- 
 ing the will of the Gods, and reminds you that you are a 
 man, which reflection greatly alleviates grief; and the enu- 
 meration of tliese examples is not produced with a view to 
 please those of a malevolent disposition, but in order that 
 any one in affliction may be induced to bear what he ob- 
 serves many others have previously borne with tranquillity 
 and moderation. For they who are falling to pieces, and 
 cannot hold together through the greatness of their grief, 
 should be supported by all kinds of assistance. From 
 whence Chrysippus thinks that grief is called Xvttt], as it 
 were Xvaig, that is to say, a dissolution of the whole man 
 the whole of which I think may be pulled np by the 
 roots by explainiiyg, as I said at the beginning, the cause 
 of grief; for it is nothing else but an opinion and judg- 
 ment formed of a present acute evil. And thus any bodi- 
 ly pain, let it be ever ,50 grie\ous, may be endurable where 
 any hopes are proposed of some considerable good ; and 
 we receive such consolation from a virtuous and illustrious 
 life that they who lead such lives are seldom attacked by 
 grief, or but slightly affected by it, 
 
 XXVI. But as besides this opinion of great evil there is 
 this other added also that we ought to lament-what has 
 happened, that it is right so to do, and part of our duty, 
 then is brought about that terrible disorder of mind, grief. 
 And it is to this opinion that we owe all those various and 
 horrid kinds of lamentation, that neglect of our persons, 
 that womanish tearing of our cheeks, that striking on our 
 thighs, breasts, and heads. Thus Agamemnon, in Homer 
 and in Accius, 
 
 Tears in his grief his uncomb'd locks;' 
 
 from whence comes that pleasant saying of Bion, that the 
 
 * IloXXae Ik Ke(paXijg TrpoOeXvfivovg eX/cero x^^T^i^- H- x. 15. 
 
118 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 foolish king in liis sorrow tore away the hairs of his 
 head, imagining that his grief would be alleviated by bald- 
 ness. But men do all these things from being persuaded 
 that they ought to do so. And thus ^schines inveighs 
 against Demosthenes for sacriticing within seven days af- 
 ter the death of his daughter. But with what eloquence, 
 with what fluency, does he attack him ! what sentiments 
 does he collect ! what words does he hurl against him ! 
 You may see by this that an orator may do anything ; but 
 nobody would approve of such license if it were not that 
 we have an idea innate in our minds that every good man 
 ought to lament the loss of a relation as bitterly as possi- 
 ble. And it is owing to this that some men, when in sor- 
 row, betake themselves to deserts, as Homer says of Bel- 
 lerophon : 
 
 Distracted in liis mind, 
 Forsook by heaven, forsaking human kind, 
 Wide o'er the Alcian field he chose to stray, 
 A long, forlorn, uncomfortable way !^ 
 
 And thus Niobe is feigned to have been turned into stone, 
 from her never speaking, I suppose, in her grief. But 
 they imagine Hecuba to have been converted into a bitch, 
 from her rage and bitterness of mind. There are others 
 who love to converse with solitude itself when in grief, as 
 the nurse in Ennius, 
 
 Fain would I to the heavens and earth relate 
 Medea's ceaseless woes and cruel fate.^ 
 
 XXVH. Now all these things are done in grief, from a 
 persuasion of their truth and propriety and necessity; and 
 it is plain that those who behave thus do so from a con- 
 viction of its being their duty; for should these mourners 
 by chance drop their grief, and either act or speak for a 
 moment in a more calm or cheei-ful manner, they presently 
 check themselves and return to their lamentations again, 
 and blame tliemselves for having been guilty of any inter- 
 
 * "Htoi o KUTTTri^iov TO 'AXtjiov oloQ okaTO 
 ov Ovjihv KUTtdwr, ttutov dvOpwTnov akuivojv. II. vi. 20!. 
 
 ' This is a translation from Euripides : 
 
 "ilaW 'ifAtpov fi virfiXOe 7p re k ovpavM 
 
 Xi^at txoXovarf dePpo Mide<a9 n'-xa?. Med. 6T 
 
ON GRIEF OF MIND. 119 
 
 missions from their grief; and parents and masters gen- 
 erally correct children not by words only, but by blows, 
 if they show any levity by either word or deed when the 
 family is under affliction, and, as it were, oblige them to 
 be sorrowful. What ! does it not appear, when you have 
 ceased to mourn, and have discovered that your grief has 
 been ineffectual, that the whole of that mourning was vol- 
 untary on your part? What does that man say in Ter- 
 ence who punishes himself, the Self-tormentor? 
 
 I think I do my son less harm, O Chiemes, 
 As long as I myself am miserable. 
 
 He determines to be miserable: and can any one deter- 
 mine on anything against his will? 
 
 I Avell miglit think that I deserved all evil. 
 
 He would think he deserved any misfortune were he oth- 
 erwise than miserable ! Therefore, you see, the evil is in 
 opinion, not in nature. How is it when some things do of 
 themselves prevent your grieving at them? as in Homer, 
 so many died and were buried daily that they had not 
 leisure to grieve : where you find these lines 
 
 The great, the bold, by thousands daily fall, 
 And endless were the grief to weep for all. 
 Eternal sorrows what avails to shed ? 
 Greece honors not with solenm fasts the dead : 
 Enough when death demands the brave to pay 
 The tribute of a melancholy day. 
 One chief with patience to the grave resign'd, 
 Our care devolves on others left behind.^ 
 
 Therefore it is in our own power to lay aside grief upon 
 occasion ; and is there any opportunity (seeing the thing 
 is in our ow^n power) that we should let slip of getting rid 
 of care and grief? It was plain that the friends of Cnceus 
 Pompeius, when they saw him fainting under his wounds, 
 at the very moment of that most miserable and bitter 
 sight were under great uneasiness how they themselves, 
 
 ' Air}v yap iroWoi Kai t7r))Tptf.ioi yftara Travra 
 TriTTTOixTii', TTOTS Kiv TiQ avaifi'tvatit TToi'Oio ; 
 dXXa xp)) Tov fxiv KaroQairTeniv, oq ks Odvrjcri, 
 VTjXia Qvjiov txovTac, tir' ri^iari ^aKpvtravrac. 
 
 Horn. 11. xix. 22G. 
 
120 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 surrounded by the enemy as they were, should escape, and 
 were employed in nothing but encouraging the rowers and 
 aiding their escape; but when they reached Tyre, they 
 began to grieve and lament over him. Therefore, as fear 
 with them prevailed over grief, camiot reason and true 
 philosophy have the same effect with a wise man ? 
 
 XXVIII. But what is there more effectual to dispel 
 grief than the discovery that it answers no purpose, and 
 has been undergone to no account? Therefore, if we can 
 get rid of it, we need never have been subject to it. It 
 must be acknowledged, then, that men take up grief wil- 
 fully and knowingly ; and this appears from the patience 
 of those who, after they have been exercised in afflictions 
 and are better able to bear whatever befalls them, suppose 
 themselves hardened against fortune; as that person in 
 Euripides, 
 
 Had this the first essay of fortune been, 
 And I no storms tliro' all my life had seen, 
 Wild as a colt I'd broke from reason's sway ; 
 But frequent griefs have taught me to obey.^ 
 
 As, then, the frequent bearing of misery makes grief the 
 lighter, we must necessarily perceive that the cause and 
 original of it does not lie in the calamity itself. Your 
 principal philosophers, or lovers of wisdom, though they 
 have not yet arrived at perfect wisdom, are not they sen- 
 sible that they are in the greatest evil? For they are fool- 
 ish, and foolishness is the greatest of all evils, and yet they 
 lament not. How shall we account for this? Because 
 opinion is not fixed upon that kind of evil, it is not our 
 opinion that it is right, meet, and our duty to be uneasy 
 because we arc not all wise men. Whereas this opinion 
 is strongly affixed to that uneasiness where mourning is 
 concerned, which is the greatest of all grief. Therefore 
 Aristotle, when he blnmes some ancient philosophers for 
 imagining that by their genius they had brought philoso- 
 
 ^ This is one of the fragments of Euripides which we are unable to 
 assign to any play in particular ; it occurs Var. Ed. Tr. Inc. 107. 
 
 El juei/ To5' ii/iup npwTov tjv KaKovn^vw 
 , Kai fii) ixaKpnv h)j 6ia ttoccoi/ IvavaroXovv 
 
 'nu>\ov,X'''^^vov upTiu)? dcdtyfitvov' 
 
 vvv d' u/i/j'Ai'/s cI/X(,KaJ KuT^pTUKu/r KaKwv. 
 
ON GRIEF OF MIND. 121 
 
 phy to the highest perfection, says, they must be either 
 extremely foolish or extremely vain ; but that he himself 
 could see that great improvements had been made therein 
 in a few years, and that philosophy would in a little time 
 arrive at perfection. And Theophrastus is reported to 
 have reproached nature at his death for giving to stags 
 and crows so long a life, which was of no use to them, 
 but allowing only so short a span to men, to whom length 
 of days would have been of the greatest use; for if the 
 life of man could have been lengthened, it would have been 
 able to provide itself with all kinds of learning, and with 
 arts in the greatest perfection. He lamented, therefore, 
 that he was dying just when he had begun to discover 
 these. What! does not every grave and distinguished 
 philosopher acknowledge himself ignorant of many things, 
 and confess that there are many things which he must 
 learn over and over again? And yet, though these men 
 are sensible that they are standing still in the very mid- 
 way of folly, than which nothing can be worse, they are 
 under no great affliction, because no opinion that it is their 
 duty to lament is ever mingled with this knowledge. 
 What shall we say of those who think it unbecoming in a 
 man to grieve ? among whom we may reckon Q. Maximus, 
 Avhen he buried his son that had been consul, and L. Pau- 
 lus, who lost two sons within a few days of one another. 
 Of the same opinion was M. Cato, who lost his son just 
 after he had been elected praetor, and many others, whose 
 names I have collected in my book on Consolation. Now 
 what made these men so easy, but their persuasion that 
 grief and lamentation was not becoming in a man ? There- 
 fore, as some give themselves up to grief from an opinion 
 that it is right so to do, they refrained themselves, from 
 an opinion that it was discreditable ; from which we may 
 infer that grief is owing more to opinion than nature. 
 
 XXIX. It may be said, on the other side. Who is so 
 mad as to grieve of his own accord ? Pain proceeds from 
 nature, which you must submit to, say they, agreeably to 
 what even your own Grantor teaches, for it presses and 
 gains upon you unavoidably, and cannot possibly be re- 
 sisted. So that the very same Oileus, in Sophocles, who 
 had before comforted Telamon on the death of Ajax, on 
 
 6 
 
122 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 hearing of the death of his own son, is broken-hearted 
 On this alteration of his mind we have these lines : 
 
 Show me the man so well by wisdom taught 
 That what he charges to another's fault, 
 When like affliction doth himself betide, 
 True to his own wise counsel will abide.^ 
 
 Now, when they urge these things, their endeavor is to 
 prove that nature is absolutely and wholly irresistible; 
 and yet the same people allow that we take greater grief 
 on ourselves than nature requires. What madness is it, 
 then, in us to require the same from others? But there 
 are many reasons for our taking grief on us. The first is 
 from the opinion of some evil, on the discovery and cer- 
 tainty of which grief comes of course. Besides, many peo- 
 ple are persuaded that they are doing something very ac- 
 ceptable to the dead when they lament bitterly over them. 
 To these may be added a kind of womanish superstition, 
 in imagining that when they have been stricken by the 
 afflictions sent by the Gods, to acknowledge themselves 
 afflicted and humbled by them is the readiest way of ap- 
 peasing them. But most men appear to be unaware what 
 contradictions these things are full of. They commend 
 those who die calmly, but they blame those who can bear 
 the loss of another with the same calmness, as if it were 
 possible that it should be true, as is occasionally said in 
 love speeches, that any one can love another more than 
 himself. There is, indeed, something excellent in this, and, 
 if you examine it, something no less just than true, that we 
 love those who ought to be most dear to us as well as we 
 love ourselves; but to love them more than ourselves is 
 absolutely impossible; nor is it desirable in friendship that 
 I should love my friend more than myself, or that he should 
 love me so; for this would occasion much confusion in 
 life, and break in upon all the duties of it. 
 
 1 This is only a fragment, preserved by Stobacus : 
 
 Toi'9 ^' av jj.eyio'Tov': Kal cro(f)U)TUTOVi (()pevl 
 Toiouad' 'iSoU' av, otoy ea-rt vvv i>de, 
 KaXSiv KaKuif Trf)U(T(Tovrt crvfL-nnpaivktrat' 
 brav 6e balyaav av?)p6<; evTv\ow to irplv 
 fxcioTTCf' epeiffrj tov /3iov iraKivTiJOTrov, 
 Tu iroWu (jtpovdu Kui KuKuii- etpt]fxi:va. 
 
ON GRIEF OF MIND. 123 
 
 XXX. Bat we will speak of this anotliei* time : at pres- 
 ent it is sufficient not to attribute our misery to the loss of 
 our friends, nor to love them more than, if they themselves 
 could be sensible of our conduct, they would approve of, 
 or at least not more than we do ourselves. Now as to 
 what they say, that some are not at all appeased by our 
 consolations ; and, moreover, as to what they add, that 
 the comforters themselves acknowledge they are miserable 
 when fortune varies the attack and falls on them in both 
 these cases the solution is easy : for the fault here is not 
 in nature, but in our own folly ; and much may be said 
 against folly. But men who do not admit of consolation 
 seem to bespeak misery for themselves ; and they who can- 
 not bear their misfortunes with that temper which they 
 recommend to others are not more faulty in this particu- 
 lar than most other persons ; for we see that covetous 
 men find fault with others who are covetous, as do the 
 vainglorious with those who appear too wholly devoted 
 to the pursuit of glory. For it is the peculiar character- 
 istic of folly to perceive the vices of others, but to for- 
 get its own. But since we find that grief is removed 
 by length of time, we have the greatest proof that the 
 strength of it depends not merely on time, but on the daily 
 consideration of it. For if the cause continues the same, 
 and the man be the same, how can there be any alteration 
 in the grief, if there is no change in what occasioned the 
 grief, nor in him who grieves ? Therefore it is from daily 
 reflecting that there is no real evil in the circumstance for 
 which you grieve, and not from the length of time, that 
 you procure a remedy for your grief. 
 
 XXXI. Here some people talk of moderate grief; but 
 if such be natural, what occasion is there for consolation ? 
 for nature herself will determine the measure of it : but if 
 it depends on and is caused by opinion, the whole opinion 
 should be destroyed. I think that it has been sufficiently 
 said, that grief arises from an opinion of some present 
 evil, which includes this belief, that it is incumbent on us 
 to grieve. To this definition Zeno has added, very justly, 
 that the opinion of this present evil should be recent. Now 
 this word recent they explain thus : those are not the only 
 recent things which happened a little Avhile ago ; but as 
 
124 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 long as there sliall be any force, or vigor, or freshness in 
 that imagined evil, so long it is entitled to the name of re- 
 cent. Take the case of Artemisia, the wife of Mansolns, 
 King of Caria, who made that noble sepnlchre at lialicar- 
 nassus ; while she lived, she lived in grief, and died of it, 
 being worn out by it, for that opinion was always recent 
 with her: but you cannot call that recent which has al- 
 ready begun to decay through time. Now the duty of a 
 comforter is, to remove grief entirely, to quiet it, or draw 
 it off as much as you can, or else to keep it under, and 
 prevent its spreading any further, and to divert one's at- 
 tention to other matters. There are some who think, with 
 Cleanthes, that the only duty of a comforter is to prove 
 that what one is lamenting is by no means an evil. Oth- 
 ers, as the Peripatetics, prefer urging tliat the evil is not 
 great. Others, with Epicurus, seek to divert your atten- 
 tion from the evil to good: some think it sufficient to 
 show that nothing has happened but what you had reason 
 to expect ; and this is the practice of the Cyrenaics. But 
 Chrysippus thinks that the main thing in comforting is, 
 to remove the opinion from the person w^ho is grieving, 
 that to grieve is his bounden duty. There are others who 
 bring together all these various kinds of consolations, for 
 people are differently affected ; as I have done myself in 
 my book on Consolation ; for as my own mind was much 
 disordered, I have attempted in that book to discover ev- 
 ery method of cure. But the proper season is as much to 
 be attended to in the cure of the mind as of the body; as 
 Prometheus in ^schylus, on its being said to him, 
 
 I think, Prometheus, you this tenet hold, 
 That all men's reason should their rage control ? 
 answers. 
 
 Yes, Avhen one reason properly applies ; 
 Ill-timed advice will make the storm but rise.* 
 
 XXXII. But the principal medicine to be applied in 
 consolation is, to maintain either that it is no evil at all, 
 
 ' Qk. OlJKOVV TlpOfJ1]9iV TOVTO yiyVU)(TKllQ OTI 
 
 dpyfiQ voaovarjQ ilaiv larpoi \6yoi. 
 Tip. f('iv TiQ Iv Katpq) yt fiaXOnrrrry Kenp 
 
 Kai JJ.IJ (TcppiyCovTa Ov/wv icfxvatvt) f3i{t. 
 
 ^sch. Prom. v. 378. 
 
ON GRIEF OF MIND. 125 
 
 or a very inconsiderable one : the next best to that is, to 
 speak of the common condition of life, having a view, if 
 possible, to the state of the person whom you comfort par- 
 ticularly. Tlie third is, that it is folly to wear one's self 
 out with grief which can avail nothing. For the comfort 
 of Cleanthes is suitable only for a wise man, who is in no 
 need of any comfort at all ; for could you persuade one in 
 grief that nothing is an evil but what is base, you would 
 not only cure him of grief, but folly. But the time for 
 such precepts is not well chosen. Besides, Cleanthes does 
 not seem to me sufficiently aware that affliction may very 
 often proceed from that very thing which he himself al- 
 lows to be the greatest misfortune. For what shall we 
 say? When Socrates had convinced Alcibiades, as we 
 are told, that he had no distinctive qualifications as a man 
 different from other people, and that, in fact, there was no 
 difference between him, though a man of the highest rank, 
 and a porter ; and when Alcibiades became uneasy at this, 
 and entreated Socrates, with tears in his eyes, to make him 
 a man of virtue, and to cure him of that mean position ; 
 what shall we say to this, Cleanthes? Was there no evil 
 in what afflicted Alcibiades thus? What strange things 
 does Lycon say? who, making light of grief, says that it 
 arises from trifles, from things that affect our fortune or 
 bodies, not from the evils of the mind. What, then? did 
 not the grief of Alcibiades proceed from the defects and 
 evils of the mind ? I have already said enough of Epicu- 
 rus's consolation. 
 
 XXXIII. Nor is that consolation much to be relied on, 
 though it is frequently practised, and sometimes has some 
 effect, namely, " That you are not alone in this." It has 
 its effect, as I said, but not always, nor with every person, 
 for some reject it; but much depends on the application 
 of it ; for you ought rather to show, not how men in gen- 
 eral have been affected with such evils, but how men of 
 sense have borne them. As to Chrysippus's method, it is 
 certainly founded in truth ; but it is difficult to apply it in 
 time of distress. It is a work of no small difficulty to 
 persuade a person in affliction that he grieves merely be- 
 cause he thinks it right so to do. Certainly, then, as in 
 pleadings we do not state all cases alike (if I may adopt 
 
126 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 the language of lawyers for a moment), but adapt what 
 we have to say to the time, to the nature of the subject 
 under debate, and to the person ; so, too, in alleviating 
 grief, regard should be had to what kind of cure the party 
 to be comforted can admit of. But, somehow or other, 
 we have rambled from what you originally proposed. For 
 your question was concerning a wise man, with whom 
 nothing can have the appearance of evil that is not dishon- 
 orable; or at least, anything else would seem so small an 
 evil that by his wisdom he would so overmatch it as to 
 make it wholly disappear ; and such a man makes no addi- 
 tion to his grief through opinion, and never conceives it 
 right to torment himself above measure, nor to wear him- 
 self out with grief, which is the meanest thing imagina- 
 ble. Reason, however, it seems, has demonstrated (though 
 it was not directly our object at the moment to inquire 
 whether anything can be called an evil except what is 
 base) that it is in our power to discern that all the evil 
 which there is in affliction has nothing natural in it, but is 
 contracted by our own voluntary judgment of it, and the 
 error of opinion. 
 
 XXXIV. But the kind of affliction of which I have 
 treated is that which is the greatest ; in order that when 
 we have once got rid of that, it may appear a business of 
 less consequence to look after remedies for the others. For 
 there are certain things which are usually said about pov- 
 erty ; and also certain statements ordinarily applied to re- 
 tired and undistinguished life. There are particular trea- 
 tises on banishment, on the ruin of one's country, on sla- 
 very, on weakness, on blindness, and on every incident that 
 can come under the name of an evil. The Greeks divide 
 these into different treatises and distinct books ; but they 
 do it for the sake of employment: not but that all such 
 discussions are full of entertainment. And yet, as physi- 
 cians, in curing the whole body, attend to even the most 
 insignificant part of the body which is at all disordered, 
 so does philosophy act, after it has removed grief in gen- 
 eral ; still, if any other deficiency exists should poverty 
 bite, should ignominy sting, should banishment bring a 
 dark cloud over us, or should any of those things which I 
 have just mentioned appear, there is for each its appropri- 
 
ON GRIEF OF MIND. 127 
 
 ate consolation, which you shall hear whenever you please. 
 But we must have recourse again to the same original 
 principle, that a wise man is free from all sorrow, because 
 it is vain, because it answers no purpose, because it is not 
 founded in nature, but on opinion and prejudice, and is 
 engendered by a kind of invitation to grieve, when once 
 men have imagined that it is their duty to do so. When, 
 then, we have subtracted what is altogether voluntary, that 
 mournful uneasiness will be removed ; yet some little anx- 
 iety, some slight pricking, will still remain. They may in- 
 deed call this natural, provided they give it not that hor- 
 rid, solemn, melancholy name of grief, which can by no 
 means consist with wisdom. But how various and how 
 bitter are the roots of grief ! Whatever they are, I pro- 
 pose, after having felled the trunk, to destroy them all; 
 even if it should be necessary, by allotting a separate dis- 
 sertation to each, for I have leisure enough to do so, what- 
 ever time it may take up. But the principle of every un- 
 easiness is the same, though they may appear under differ- 
 ent names. For envy is an uneasiness ; so are emulation, 
 detraction, anguish, sorrow, sadness, tribulation, lamenta- 
 tion, vexation, grief, trouble, affliction, and despair. The 
 Stoics define all these different feelings; and all those 
 words which I have mentioned belong to different things, 
 and do not, as they seem, express the same ideas ; but they* 
 are to a certain extent distinct, as I shall make appear per- 
 haps in another place. These are those fibres of the roots 
 which, as I said at first, must be traced back and cut off 
 and destroyed, so that not one shall remain. You say it 
 is a great and difficult undertaking: who denies it? But 
 what is there of any excellency which has not its difficulty ? 
 Yet philosophy undertakes to effect it, provided we ad- 
 mit its superintendence. But enough of this. The other 
 books, whenever you please, shall be ready for you here 
 or anywhere else. 
 
128 THE l^SCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 BOOK IV. 
 
 ON OTHER PERTURBATIONS OP THE MIND. 
 
 I. I HAVE often wondered, Brutus, on many occasions, 
 at tlie ingenuity and virtues of our countrymen ; but 
 nothing has surprised me more than their development 
 in those studies, which, though they came somewhat late 
 to us, have been transported into this city from Greece. 
 For the system of auspices, and religious ceremonies, and 
 courts of justice, and appeals to the people, the senate, 
 the establishment of an army of cavalry and infantry, and 
 the whole miUtary discipline, were instituted as early as 
 the foundation of the city by royal authority, partly too 
 by laws, not without the assistance of the Gods. Then 
 with Avhat a surprising and incredible progress did our 
 ancestors advance towards all kind of excellence, when 
 once the republic was freed from the regal power ! Not 
 that this is a proper occasion to treat of the manners and 
 customs of our ancestors, or of the discipline and consti- 
 tution of the city ; for I have elsewhere, particularly in 
 the six books I wrote on the Republic, given a sufficient- 
 ly accurate account of them. But while I am on this 
 subject, and considering the study of philosophy, I meet 
 with many reasons to imagine that those studies were 
 brought to us from abroad, and not merely imported, but 
 preserved and improved; for they had Pythagoras, a man 
 of consummate wisdom and nobleness of character, in a 
 manner, before their eyes, who was in Italy at the time 
 that Lucius Brutus, the illustrious founder of your nobil- 
 ity, delivered his country from tyranny. As the doctrine 
 of Pythagoras spread itself on all sides, it seems probable 
 to me that it reached this city; and this is not only prob- 
 able of itself, but it does really appear to have been the 
 case from many remains of it. For who can imagine 
 that, when it flourished so much in that part of Italy 
 which was called Magna GraBcia, and in some of the 
 
ON OTHER PERTURBATIONS OF THE MIND. 129 
 
 largest and most powerful cities, in which, first the name 
 of Pythagoras, and then that of those men who wxre af- 
 terward his followers, was in so high esteem ; who can 
 imagine, I say, that our people could shut their ears to 
 what was said by such learned men ? Besides, it is even 
 ray opinion that it was the great esteem in which the Py- 
 thagoreans were held, that gave rise to that opinion among 
 those who came after him, that King Numa was a Py- 
 thagorean. For, being acquainted with the doctrine and 
 principles of Pythagoras, and having heard from their an- 
 cestors that this king was a very wise and just man, and 
 not being able to distinguish accurately between times 
 and periods that were so remote, they inferred, from his 
 being so eminent for his wisdom, that he had been a pu- 
 pil of Pythagoras. 
 
 II. So far ^ve proceed on conjecture. As to the ves- 
 tiges of the Pythagoreans, though I might collect many, 
 I shall use but a few; because they have no connection 
 with our present purpose. For, as it is reported to have 
 been a custom with them to deliver certain precepts in a 
 more abstruse manner in verse, and to bring their minds 
 from severe tliought to a more composed state by songs 
 and musical instruments; so Cato, a writer of the very 
 highest authority, says in his Origins, that it was custom- 
 ary with our ancestors for the guests at their entertain- 
 ments, every one in his turn, to celebrate the praises and 
 virtues of illustrious men in song to the sound of the 
 flute ; from whence it is clear that poems and songs were 
 then composed for the voice. And, indeed, it is also clear 
 that poetry was in fashion from the laws of the Twelve 
 Tables, wherein it is provided that no song should be 
 made to the injury of another. Another argument of the 
 erudition of those times is, that they played on instru- 
 ments before the shrines of their Gods, and at the en- 
 tertainments of their magistrates ; but that custom was pe- 
 culiar to the sect I am speaking of. To me, indeed, that 
 poem of Appius Caucus, which Pana3tius commends so 
 much in a certain letter of his which is addressed to 
 Quintus Tubero, has all the marks of a Pythagorean au- 
 thor. We have many things derived from the Pythago- 
 reans in our customs, which I pass over, that we may 
 
 6* 
 
130 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 not seem to have learned that elsewhere which we look 
 upon ourselves as the inventors of. But to return to our 
 purpose. How many great poets as well as orators have 
 sprung up among us ! and in what a short time ! so that 
 it is evident that our people could arrive at any learning 
 as soon as they had an inclination for it. But of other 
 studies I shall speak elsewhere if there is occasion, as I 
 have already often done. 
 
 III. The study of philosophy is certainly of long stand- 
 ing with us; but yet I do not find that I can give you the 
 names of any philosopher before the age of Laelius and 
 Scipio, in whose younger days we find that Diogenes the 
 Stoic, and Carneades the Academic, were sent as ambas- 
 sadors by the Athenians to our senate. And as these had 
 never been concerned in public affairs, and one of them 
 was a Cyrenean, the other a Babylonian, they certainly 
 would never have been forced from their studies, nor 
 chosen for that employment, unless the study of philoso- 
 phy had been in vogue with some of the great men at that 
 time; who, though they might employ their pens on oth- 
 er subjects some on civil law, others on oratory, others 
 on th8 history of former times yet promoted this most 
 extensive of all arts, the principle of living well, even more 
 by their life than by their writings. So that of that true 
 and elegant philosophy (which was derived from Soc- 
 rates, and is still preserved by the Peripatetics and by 
 the Stoics, though they express themselves differently in 
 their disputes with the Academics) there are few or no 
 Latin records; whether this proceeds from the impor- 
 tance of the thing itself, or from men's being otherwise em- 
 ployed, or from their concluding that the capacity of the 
 people was not equal to the apprehension of them. But, 
 during this silence, C. Amafinius arose and took upon him- 
 self to speak; on the publishing of whose writings the 
 people were moved, and enlisted themselves chiefly under 
 this sect, either because the doctrine was more easily 
 understood, or because they were invited thereto by the 
 ])leasing thoughts of an^usement, or that, because there 
 was nothing better, they laid hold of what was offered 
 them. And after Amafinius, wdicn many of the same sen- 
 timents had written much about them, the Pythagoreans 
 
ON OTHER PERTURBATIONS OF THE MIND. 131 
 
 spread over all Italy : but that these doctrines should be 
 so easily understood and approved of by the unlearned is 
 a great proof that they were not written with any great 
 subtlety, and they think their establishment to be owing 
 to this. 
 
 IV. But let every one defend his own opinion, for every 
 one is at liberty to choose what he likes : I shall keep to 
 my old custom ; and, being under no restraint from the 
 laws of any jjarticular school, which in philosophy every 
 one must necessarily confine himself to, I shall always in- 
 quire wliat has the most probability in every question, and 
 this system, which I have often practised on other occa- 
 sions, I have adhered closely to in my Tusculan Disputa- 
 tions. Therefore, as I have acquainted you with the dis- 
 putations of the three former days, this book shall con- 
 clude the discussion of the fourth day. When we had 
 come down into the Academy, as we had done the former 
 days, the business was carried on thus : 
 
 M. Let any one say, who pleases, what he would wish 
 to have discussed. 
 
 A. I do not think a wise man can possibly be free from 
 every perturbation of mind. 
 
 M. He seemed by yesterday's discourse to be free from 
 grief; unless you agreed with us only to avoid taking uptime. 
 
 A. Not at all on that account, for I was extremely satis- 
 fied with your discourse. 
 
 M. You do not think, then, that a wise man is subject 
 to grief ? 
 
 A. No, by no means. 
 
 3f. But if that cannot disorder the mind of a wise man, 
 nothing else can. For what can such a man be disturbed 
 by fear ? Fear proceeds from the same things when ab- 
 sent which occasion grief when present. Take away grief, 
 then, and you remove fear. 
 
 The two remaining perturbations are, a joy elate above 
 measure, and lust ; and if a wise man is not subject to 
 these, his mind will be always at rest. 
 
 A. I am entirely of that opinion. 
 
 31. Which, then, shall we do? Shall I immediately 
 crowd all my sails? or shall I make use of my oars, as if 
 I were just endeavoring to get clear cf the harbor? 
 
132 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 A. What is it that you mean, for I do not exactly com- 
 prehend you? 
 
 V. M. Because, Chiysippus and the Stoics, when they 
 discuss the perturbations of the mind, make great part 
 of their debate to consist in definitions and distinctions; 
 while they employ but few words on the subject of cur- 
 ing the mind, and preventing it from being disordered. 
 Whereas the Peripatetics bring a great many tilings to 
 promote the cure of it, but have no regard to their thorny 
 partitions and definitions. My question, then, w^as, whether 
 I should instantly unfold the sails of my eloquence, or be 
 content for a while to make less way wdth the oars of logic? 
 
 A. Let it be so ; for by the employment of both these 
 means the subject of our inquiry will be more thoroughly 
 discussed. 
 
 31. It is certainly the better way ; and should anything 
 be too obscure, you may examine that afterward. 
 
 A. I will do so ; but those very obscure points you will, 
 as usual, deliver with more clearness than the Greeks. 
 
 M. I will, indeed, endeavor to do so; but it well re- 
 quires great attention, lest, by losing one word, the whole 
 should escape you. What the Greeks call Trddrj we choose 
 to name perturbations (or disorders) rather than diseases; 
 in explaining which, I shall follow, first, that very old de- 
 scription of Pythagoras, and afterward that of Plato; for 
 they both divide the mind into two parts, and make one 
 of these partake of reason, and the other they represent 
 without it. In that which partakes of reason they place 
 tranquillity, that is to say, a placid and undisturbed con- 
 stancy; to the other they assign the turbid motions of an- 
 ger and desire, which are contrary and opposite to reason. 
 Let this, then, be our principle, the spring of all our rea- 
 sonings. But notwithstanding, I shall use the partitions 
 and definitions of the Stoics in describing these perturba- 
 tions; who seem to me to have shown very great acute- 
 iiess on this question. 
 
 VL Zeno's definition, then, is this: "A perturbation" 
 (which he calls a ttuOoc) " is a commotion of the mind re- 
 pugnant to reason, and against nature." Some of them 
 define it even more briefly, saying that a perturbation is 
 a somewhat too vehement appetite ; but by too vehement 
 
ON OTHER PERTURBATIONS OF THE MIND. 133 
 
 they mean an appetite that recedes further from the con- 
 stancy of nature. But they would have the divisions of 
 perturbations to arise from two imagined goods, and from 
 two imagined evils ; and thus they become four : from the 
 good proceed lust and joy joy having reference to some 
 present good, and lust to some future one. They suppose 
 fear and grief to proceed from evils : fear from something 
 future, grief from something present ; for whatever things 
 are dreaded as approaching always occasion grief when 
 present. But joy and lust depend on the opinion of good ; 
 as lust, being inflamed and provoked, is carried on eager- 
 ly towards what has the appearance of good ; and joy is 
 transported and exults on obtaining what was desired: for 
 Ave naturally pursue those things that have the appearance 
 of good, and avoid the contrary. Wherefore, as soon as 
 anything that has the appearance of good presents itself, 
 nature incites ns to endeavor to obtain it. Now, where 
 this strong desire is consistent and founded on prudence, 
 it is by the Stoics called povXrjtric, and the name which we 
 give it is volition ; and tliis they allow to none but their 
 wise man, and define it thus : Volition is a reasonable de- 
 sire ; but whatever is incited too violently in opposition to 
 reason, that is a lust, or an unbridled desire, which is dis- 
 coverable in all fools. And, therefore, when we are affect- 
 ed so as to be placed in any good condition, we are moved 
 in two ways ; for when the mind is moved in a placid and 
 calm motion, consistent with reason, that is called joy ; 
 but when it exults with a vain, wanton exultation, or im- 
 moderate joy, then that feeling may be called immoderate 
 ecstasy or transport, which they define to be an elation of 
 the mind without reason. And as we naturally desire good 
 things, so in like manner we naturally seek to avoid what 
 is evil ; and this avoidance of which, if conducted in ac- 
 cordance with reason, is called caution ; and this the wise 
 man alone is supposed to have : but that caution which is 
 not under the guidance of reason, but is attended with a 
 base and low dejection, is called fear. Fear is, therefore, 
 caution destitute of reason. But a wise man is not affect- 
 ed by any present evil ; while the grief of a fool proceeds 
 from being affected with an imaginary evil, by which his 
 mind is contracted and sunk, since it is not under the do- 
 
134 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 minion of reason. This, then, is the first definition, which 
 makes grief to consist in a shrinking of the mind contra- 
 ry to the dictates of reason. Thus, there are four pertur- 
 bations, and but three cahii rational emotions; for grief 
 has no exact opposite. 
 
 VII. But they insist upon it that all perturbations de- 
 pend on opinion and judgment; therefore they define 
 them more strictly, in order not only the better to show 
 how blamable they are, but to discover how much they 
 are in our power. Grief, then, is a recent opinion of some 
 present evil, in which it seems to be right that the mind 
 should shrink and be dejected. Joy is a recent opinion 
 of a present good, in which it seems to be right that the 
 mind should be elated. Fear is an opinion of an impend- 
 ing evil which we apprehend will be intolerable. Lust is 
 an opinion of a good to come, which would be of advan- 
 tage were it already come, and present with us. But how- 
 ever I have named the judgments and opinions of pertur- 
 bations, their meaning is, not that merely the perturbations 
 consist in them, but that the effects likewise of these per- 
 turbations do so ; as grief occasions a kind of painful 
 pricking, and fear engenders a recoil or sudden abandon- 
 ment of the mind, joy gives rise to a profuse mirth, 
 while lust is the parent of an unbridled habit of coveting. 
 But that imagination, which I have included in all the 
 above definitions, they would have to consist in assenting 
 without warrantable grounds. Now, every perturbation 
 has many subordinate parts annexed to it of the same 
 kind. Grief is attended with enviousness {invidentid) I 
 use that word for instruction's sake, though it is not so 
 common; because envy (invidia) takes in not only the 
 person who envies, but the person, too, who is envied em- 
 ulation, detraction, pity, vexation, mourning, sadness, trib- 
 ulation, sorrow, lamentation, solicitude, disquiet of mind, 
 pain, despair, and many other similar feelings are so too. 
 Under fear are comprehended sloth, shame, terror, coward- 
 ice, fainting, confusion, astonishment. In pleasure they 
 comprehend malevolence that is, pleased at another's mis- 
 fortune delight, boastfulness, and the like. To lust they 
 associate anger, fury, hatred, enmity, discord, wants, desire, 
 and other feeliuirs of that kind. 
 
ON OTHER PERTURBATIONS OF THE MIND. 135 
 
 But tliey define these in this manner : 
 
 VIII. Enviousness {iiividentia), they say, is a grief aris< 
 ing from the prosperous circumstances of another, which 
 are in no degree injuiious to the person Avho envies ; for 
 whei'e any one grieves at the prosperity of another, by 
 which he is injured, such a one is not properly said to 
 envy as when Agamemnon grieves at Hector's success ; 
 but where any one, who is in no way hurt by the prosper- 
 ity of another, is in pain at his success, such a one envies 
 indeed. Now the name " emulation " is taken in a double 
 sense, so that the same word may stand for praise and 
 dispraise: for the imitation of virtue is called emulation 
 (however, that sense of it I shall have no occasion for 
 here, for that carries praise with it) ; but emulation is 
 also a term applied to grief at another's enjoying what I 
 desired to have, and am without. Detraction (and I mer.u 
 by that, jealousy) is a grief even at another's enjoying 
 what I had a great inclination for. Pity is a grief at the 
 misery of another who suffers wrongfully; for no one is 
 moved by pity at the punishment of a parricide or of a 
 betrayer of his country. Vexation is a pressing grief. 
 Mourning is a grief at the bitter death of one who was 
 dear to you. Sadness is a grief attended with tears. 
 Tribulation is a painful grief. Sorrow, an excruciating 
 grief. Lamentation, a grief where we loudly bewail our- 
 selves. Solicitude, a pensive grief. Trouble, a continued 
 grief. Affliction, a grief that harasses the body. De- 
 spair, a grief that excludes all hope of better things to 
 come. But those feelings which are included under fear, 
 they define thus : There is sloth, which is a dread of some 
 ensuing labor ; shame and terror, which affect the body 
 hence blushing attends shame ; a paleness, and tremor, and 
 chattering of the teeth attend terror cowardice, which is 
 an apprehension of some approaching evil ; dread, a fear 
 that unhinges the mind, whence comes that line of En- 
 nius, 
 
 Then dread discluirged all wisdom from my mind ; 
 
 fainting is the associate and constant attendant on dread ; 
 confusion, a fear that drives away all thought; alarm, a 
 continued fear. 
 
136 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 IX. Tiie different species into which they divide pleas 
 ure come under this description ; so that malevolence is a 
 pleasm-e in the misfortunes of another, without any advan- 
 tage to yourself; delight, a pleasure that soothes the mind 
 by agreeable impressions on the ear. What is said of the 
 ear may be applied to the sight, to the touch, smell, and 
 taste. All feelings of this kind fire a sort of melting pleas- 
 ure that dissolves the mind. Boastfulness is a pleasure 
 that consists in making an appearance, and setting off your- 
 self with insolence. The subordinate species of lust they 
 define in this manner: Anger is a lust of punishing anyone 
 who, as we imagine, has injured us without cause. Heat 
 is anger just forming and beginning to exist, which the 
 Greeks call dufiojaiQ. Hatred is a settled anger. Enmity 
 is anger w^aiting for an opportunity of revenge. Discord 
 is a sharper anger conceived deeply in the mind and heart. 
 Want an insatiable lust. Regret is when one eagerly 
 wishes to see a person who is absent. Now here they 
 have a distinction ; so that with them regret is a lust con- 
 ceived on hearing of certain things reported of some one, 
 or of many, which the Greeks call KaTTjyoplj/iara, or predic- 
 aments ; as that they are in possession of riches and hon- 
 ors : but want is a lust for those very honors and riches. 
 But these deiiners make intemperance the fountain of all 
 these perturbations ; which is an absolute revolt from the 
 mind and right reason a state so averse to all rules of 
 reason that the appetites of the mind can by no means be 
 governed and restrained. As, therefore, temperance ap- 
 peases these desires, making them obey right reason, and 
 maintains the well-weighed judgments of the mind, so in- 
 temperance, which is in opposition to this, inflames, con- 
 founds, and puts every state of the mind into a violent mo- 
 tion. Thus, grief and fear, and every other perturbation 
 of the mind, liave their rise from intemperance. 
 
 X. Just as distempers and sickness are bred in the 
 body from the corruption of the blood, and the too great 
 abundance of phlegm and bile, so the mind is deprived of 
 its health, and disordered with sickness, from a confusion 
 of depraved opinions that are in opposition to one another. 
 From these perturbations arise, first, diseases, which they 
 call voaiifiaTa', and also those feelings which are in opposi- 
 
ON OTHER PERTURBATIONS OF THE MIND. 137 
 
 tion to these diseases, and which admit certain faulty dis- 
 tastes or loathings ; then come sicknesses, which are called 
 appioffrrjfiaTa by the Stoics, and these two have their op- 
 posite aversions. Here the Stoics, especially Chrysippns, 
 give themselves unnecessary trouble to show the analogy 
 which the diseases of the mind have to those of the body : 
 but, overlooking all that they say as of little consequence, 
 I shall treat only of the thing itself. Let us, then, under- 
 stand perturbation to imply a restlessness from the varie- 
 ty and confusion of contradictory opinions ; and that when 
 this heat and disturbance of the mind is of any standing, 
 and has taken up its residence, as it were, in the veins and 
 marrow, then commence diseases and sickness, and those 
 aversions which are in opposition to these diseases and 
 sicknesses. 
 
 XI. What I say here may be distinguished in thought, 
 though they are in fact the same; inasmuch as they both 
 have their rise from lust and joy. For should money be 
 the object of our desire, and should we not instantly apply 
 to reason, as if it w^ere a kind of Socratic medicine to heal 
 this desire, the evil glides into our veins, and cleaves to 
 our bowels, and from thence proceeds a distemper or sick- 
 ness, which, when it is of any continuance, is incurable, and 
 the name of this disease is covetousness. It is the same 
 with other diseases ; as the desire of glory, a passion for 
 women, to which the Greeks give the name of (j)i\oyvyia : 
 and thus all other diseases and sicknesses are generated. 
 But those feelings which are the contrary of these are 
 supposed to have fear for their foundation, as a hatred of 
 women, such as is displayed in the Woman-hater of Atil- 
 ius; or the hatred of the whole human species, as Timon 
 is reported to have done, whom they call the Misanthrope. 
 Of the same kind is inhospitality. And all these diseases 
 proceed from a certain dread of such things as they hate 
 and avoid. But they define sickness of mind to be an 
 overweening opinion, and that fixed and deeply implanted 
 in the heart, of something as very desirable which is by 
 no means so. What proceeds from aversion, they define 
 thus : a vehement idea of something to be avoided, deep- 
 ly implanted, and inherent in our minds, when there is no 
 reason for avoiding it; and this kind of opinion is a de- 
 
138 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 liberate belief that one understands things of which one 
 is wholly ignorant. Now, sickness of the mind has all 
 these subordinate divisions : avarice, ambition, fondness 
 for women, obstinacy, gluttony, drunkenness, covetousness, 
 and other similar vices. But avarice is a violent opin- 
 ion about money, as if it were vehemently to be desired and 
 sought after, whicli opinion is deeply implanted and inher- 
 ent in our minds ; and the definition of all the other simi- 
 lar feelings resembles these. But the definitions of aver- 
 sions are of this sort : inhospitality is a vehement opinion, 
 deeply implanted and inherent in your mind, that you 
 should avoid a stranger. Thus, too, the hatred of women, 
 like that felt by Hippolytus, is defined ; and the hatred of 
 the human species like that displayed by Timon. 
 
 XII. But to come to the analogy of the state of body 
 and mind, which I shall sometimes make use of, though 
 more sparingly than the Stoics. Some men are more in- 
 clined to particular disorders than others ; and, therefore, 
 we say that some people are rheumatic, others dropsical, 
 not because they are so at present, but because they are 
 often so : some are inclined to fear, others to some other 
 perturbation. Thus in some there is a continual anxiety, 
 owing to which they are anxious; in some a hastiness of 
 temper, which differs from anger, as anxiety differs from 
 anguish : for all are not anxious who are sometimes vexed, 
 nor are they who are anxious always uneasy in that man- 
 ner: as there is a difference between being drunk and 
 drunkenness ; and it is one thing to be a lover, another to 
 be given to women. And this disposition of particular 
 people to particular disorders is very common : for it re- 
 lates to all perturbations ; it appears in many vices, though 
 it has no name. Some are, therefore, said to be envious, 
 malevolent, spiteful, fearful, pitiful, from a propensity to 
 those perturbations, not from their being always carried 
 away by them. Now this propensity to these particular 
 disorders may be called a sickness from analogy with the 
 body; meaning, that is to say, nothing more than a pro- 
 pensity towards sickness. But with i-egard to whatever 
 is good, as some are more inclined to different good qual- 
 ities than others, we may call this a facility or tendency : 
 this tendency to evil is a proclivity or inclination to falling ; 
 
ox OTHER PERTURBATIONS OF THE MIND. 139 
 
 but where anytliing is neither good nor bad, it may have 
 tlie former name. 
 
 XIII. Even as there may be, witli respect to the body, 
 a disease, a sickness, and a defect, so it is with tlie mind. 
 They call that a disease where the whole body is corrupt- 
 ed ; they call that sickness where a disease is attended 
 with a weakness, and that a defect wdiere the parts of 
 the body are not well compacted together; from whence 
 it follows that the membei's are misshapen, crooked, and 
 deformed. So that these two, a disease and sickness, pro- 
 ceed from a violent concussion and perturbation of the 
 health of the whole body; but a defect discovers itself 
 even when the body is in perfect health. But a disease 
 of the mind is distinguishable only in thought from a sick- 
 ness. But a viciousness is a habit or affection discordant 
 and inconsistent with itself through life. Thus it happens 
 that, in the one case, a disease and sickness may arise 
 from a corruption of opinions ; in the other case, the con- 
 sequence may be inconstancy and inconsistency. For ev- 
 ery vice of the mind does not imply a disunion of parts; 
 as is the case w^ith those who are not far from being wise 
 men. With them there is that affection which is incon- 
 sistent with itself while it is foolish ; but it is not distort- 
 ed, nor depraved. But diseases and sicknesses are parts 
 of viciousness ; but it is a question whether perturbations 
 are parts of the same, for vices are permanent affections : 
 perturbations are such as are restless ; so that they cannot 
 be parts of permanent ones. As there is some analogy 
 between the nature of the body and mind in evil, so is 
 there in good ; for the distinctions of the body are beauty, 
 strength, health, firmness, quickness of motion : the same 
 may be said of the mind. The body is said to be in a 
 good state when all those things on which health depends 
 are consistent: the same may be said of the mind when 
 its judgments and opinions are not at variance with one 
 another. And this union is the virtue of the mind, which, 
 according to some people, is temperance itself; others 
 make it consist in an obedience to the precepts of temper- 
 ance, and a compliance with them, not allowing it to be 
 any distinct species of itself. But, be it one or the other, 
 it is to be found only in a wnse man. But there is a cer- 
 
140 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 tain soundness of mind, which even a fool may have, when 
 the perturbation of his mind is removed by the care and 
 management of his physicians. And as wliat is called 
 beauty arises from an exact proportion of the limbs, to- 
 gether with a certain sweetness of complexion, so the 
 beauty of the mind consists in an equality and constancy 
 of opinions and judgments, joined to a certain firmness 
 and stability, pursuing virtue, or containing within itself 
 the very essence of virtue. Besides, we give the very 
 same names to the faculties of the mind as we do to the 
 powers of the body, the nerves, and other powers of action. 
 Thus the velocity of the body is called swiftness : a praise 
 which we ascribe to the mind, from its running over in its 
 thoughts so many things in so short a time. 
 
 XIV. Herein, indeed, the mind and body are unlike: 
 that though the mind when in perfect health may be visit- 
 -ed by sickness, as the body may, yet the body may be dis- 
 ordered without our fault; the mind cannot. For all the 
 disorders and perturbations of the mind proceed from a 
 neglect of reason ; these disorders, therefore, are confined 
 to men: the beasts are not subject to such perturbations, 
 though they act sometimes as if they had reason. There 
 is a difference, too, between ingenious and dull men ; the 
 ingenious, like the Corinthian brass, which is long before 
 it receives rust, are longer before they fall into these per- 
 turbations, and are recovered sooner : the case is different 
 with the dull. Nor does the mind of an ingenious man 
 fall into every kind of perturbation, for it never yields to 
 any that are brutish and savage; and some of their per- 
 turbations have at first even the appearance of humanity, 
 as mercy, grief, and fear. But the sicknesses and diseases 
 of the mind are thought to be harder to eradicate than 
 those leading vices which are in opposition to virtues ; for 
 vices may be removed, though the diseases of the mind 
 should continue, which diseases are not cured with that 
 expedition with which vices are removed. I have now 
 acquainted you with the arguments which the Stoics put 
 forth with such exactness ; which they call logic, from 
 their close arguing : and since my discourse has got clear 
 of these rocks, I will proceed witli the remainder of it, 
 provided I have been sufiiciently clear in what I have al- 
 
ON OTHER PERTURBATIONS OF THE MIND. 141 
 
 ready said, considering the obscurity of the subject I have 
 treated. 
 
 A. Clear enough ; but should there be occasion for a 
 more exact inquiry, I shall take another opportunity of 
 asking you. I expect you now to hoist your sails, as you 
 just now called them, and proceed on your course. 
 
 XV. M. Since I have spoken before of virtue in other 
 places, and shall often have occasion to speak again (for a 
 great many questions that relate to life and manners arise 
 from the spring of virtue) ; and since, as I say, virtue con- 
 sists in a settled and uniform affection of mind, making 
 those persons praiseworthy who are possessed of lier, she 
 herself also, independent of anything else, without regard 
 to any advantage, must be praiseworthy ; for from her 
 proceed good inclinations, opinions, actions, and the whole 
 of right reason; though virtue may be defined in a few 
 words to be right reason itself. The opposite to this is 
 viciousness (for so I choose to translate what the Greeks 
 call Kada, rather than by perverseness ; for perverseuess is 
 the name of a particular vice; but viciousness includes 
 all), from whence arise those perturbations which, as I 
 just now said, are turl)id and violent motions of the mind, 
 repugnant to reason, and enemies in a high degree to the 
 peace of the mind and a tranquil life, for they introduce 
 piercing and anxious cares, and afflict and debilitate the 
 mind through fear ; they violently inflame our hearts with 
 exaggerated appetite, which is in reality an impotence of 
 mind, utterly irreconcilable with temperance and moder- 
 ation, which we sometimes call desire, and sometimes lust, 
 and which, should it even attain the object of its wishes, 
 immediately becomes so elated that it loses all its resolu- 
 tion, and knows not what to pursue ; so that he was in the 
 right who said "that exaggerated pleasure was the very 
 greatest of mistakes." Virtue, then, alone can effect the 
 cure of these evils. 
 
 XVI. For what is not only more miserable, but more 
 base and sordid, than a man afflicted, weakened, and op- 
 pressed with grief? And little short of this misery is one 
 who dreads some approaching evil, and who, through 
 faintheartedness, is under continual suspense. The poets, 
 to express the greatness of this evil, imagine a stone to 
 
142 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 hang over the head of Tantalus, as a punishment for his / 
 wickedness, his pride, and his boasting. And this is the 
 common punishment of folly ; for there hangs over the 
 head of every one whose mind revolts from reason some 
 similar fear. And as these perturbations of the mind, 
 grief and fear, are of a most wasting nature, so those two 
 others, though of a more meriy cast (I mean lust, which 
 is always coveting something with eagerness, and empty 
 mirth, which is an exulting joy), differ very little from 
 madness. Hence you may understand what sort of person 
 he is whom we call at one time moderate, at another mod- 
 est or temperate, at another constant and virtuous ; while 
 sometimes we include all these names in the word frugal- 
 ity, as the crown of all; for if that word did not include 
 all virtues, it would never have been proverbial to say that 
 a frugal m.iii does everything rightly. But when the Stoics 
 apply this saying to their wise man, they seem to exalt him 
 too much, and to speak of him with too much admiration. 
 XVII. Whoever, then, through moderation and constan- 
 cy, is at rest in his mind, and in calm possession of him- 
 self, so as neither to pine witii care, nor be dejected with 
 fear, nor to be inflamed with desire, coveting something 
 greedily, nor relaxed by extravagant mirth such a man 
 is that identical wise man whom we are inquiring for : he 
 is the happy man, to whom nothing in this life seems in- 
 tolerable enough to depress him ; nothing exquisite enough 
 to transport him unduly. For what is there in this life 
 that can ai)pear great to him who has acquainted himself 
 with eternity and the utmost extent of the universe? Foi' 
 what is there in human knowledge, or the short span of 
 this life, that can appear great to a wise man ? whose mind 
 is always so upon its guard that nothing can befall him 
 which is unforeseen, nothing which is unexpected, noth- 
 ing, in short, which is new. Such a man takes so exact a 
 survey on all sides of him, that he always knows the prop- 
 er place and spot to live in free from all the troubles and 
 annoyances of life, and encounters every accident that fort- 
 une can bring upon him with a becoming calmness. Who- 
 ever conducts himself in tliis manner will be free from 
 grief, and from every other perturbation ; and a mind free 
 from these feelings renders men completely happy ; where- 
 
ON OTHER PERTURBATIONS OF THE MIND. 143 
 
 as a mind disordered and drawn off from right and un- 
 erring reason loses at once, not only its resolution, but its 
 liealth. Therefore the thoughts and declarations of the 
 Peripatetics are soft and effeminate, for they say that the 
 mind must necessarily be agitated, but at the same time 
 they lay down certain bounds beyond which tliat agitation 
 is not to proceed. And do you set bounds to vice ? or is 
 it no vice to disobey reason? Does not reason sufficient- 
 ly declare that there is no real good which you should de- 
 sire too ardently, or the possession of which you should al- 
 low to transport you ? and that there is no evil that should 
 be able to overwhelm you, or the suspicion of which should 
 distract you ? and that all these things assume too melan- 
 choly or too cheerful an appearance through our own er- 
 ror? But if fools find tliis error lessened by time, so that, 
 though the cause remains the same, they are not affected 
 in the same manner, after some time, as they were at first, 
 why, surely a wise man ought not to be influenced at all 
 by it. But what are those degrees by wliich we are to 
 limit it? Let us fix these degrees in grief, a difficult sub- 
 ject, and one much canvassed. Fannius writes that P. 
 Rutilius took it much to heart that his brother was refused 
 the consulship; but he seems to have been too much af- 
 fected by this disappointment, for it was the occasion of 
 his death : he ought, therefore, to have borne it with more 
 moderation. But let us suppose that wliile he was bear- 
 ing this with moderation, tlie death of his children had in-' 
 tervened ; here would have started a fresh grief, whicli, ad- 
 mitting it to be moderate in itself, yet still must have been 
 a great addition to the other. Now, to these let us add 
 some acute pains of body, the loss of his fortune, blindness, 
 banishment. Supposing, then, each separate misfortune to 
 occasion a separate additional grief, the whole would be 
 too great to be supportable. 
 
 XVIII. The man who attempts to set bounds to vice 
 acts like one who should throw himself headlong from 
 Leucate, persuaded that he could stop himself whenever 
 he pleased. Now, as that is impossible, so a perturbed 
 and disordered mind cannot restrain itself, and stop where 
 it pleases. Certainly whatever is bad in its increase is 
 bad in its birth. Now grief and all other perturbations 
 
144 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 are doubtless baneful in their progress, and have, there- 
 fore, no small share of evil at the beginning ; for they go 
 on of themselves when once tliey depart from reason, for 
 every weakness is self-indulgent, and indiscreetly launches 
 out, and does not know where to stop. So that it makes 
 no difference whether you approve of moderate perturba- 
 tions of mind, or of moderate injustice, moderate coward- 
 ice, and moderate intemperance; for whoever prescribes 
 bounds to vice admits a part of it, which, as it is odious 
 of itself, becomes the more so as it stands on slippery 
 ground, and, being once set forward, glides on headlong, 
 and cannot by any means be stopped. 
 
 XIX. Why should I say more? Why should I add 
 that the Peripatetics say that these perturbations, which 
 we insist upon it should be extirpated, are not only natu- 
 ral, but were given to men by nature for a good purpose? 
 They usually talk in this manner. In the first place, they 
 say much in praise of anger; they call it the whetstone 
 of courage, and they say that angry men exert themselves 
 most against an enemy or against a bad citizen: that those 
 reasons are of little weight which are the motives of men 
 who think thus, as it is a just war; it becomes us to iight 
 for our laws, our liberties, our country : they will allow no 
 force to these arguments unless our courage is warmed by 
 anger. Nor do they confine their argument to warriors; 
 but their opinion is that no one can issue any rigid com- 
 mands without some bitterness and anger. In short, they 
 have no notion of an orator either accusing or even de- 
 fending a client without he is spurred on by anger. And 
 though this anger should not be real, still they think his 
 words and gestures ought to wear the appearance of it, so 
 that the action of the orator may excite the anger of his 
 hearer. And they deny that any man has ever been seen 
 who does not know what it is to be angry ; and they name 
 what we call lenity by the bad appellation of indolence. 
 Nor do they commend only this lust (for anger is, as I de- 
 fined it above, the lust of revenge), but they maintain that 
 kind of lust or desire to be given us by nature for very 
 good purposes, saying that no one can execute anything 
 well but what he is in earnest about. Themistocles used 
 to walk in the public places in the night because he could 
 
ON OTHER PERTURBATIONS OF THE MIND. 145 
 
 not sleep ; and when asked the reason, his answer was, that 
 Miltiades's trophies kept him awake. Who has not heard 
 how Demosthenes used to watch, who said that it gave 
 him pain if any mechanic was up in a morning at his 
 work before him? Lastly, they urge that some of the 
 greatest philosophers would never have made that prog- 
 ress in their studies without some ardent desire spurring 
 them on. We are informed that Pythagoras, Democritus, 
 and Plato visited the remotest parts of the world; for 
 they thought that they ought to go wherever anything 
 was to be learned. Now, it is not conceivable that these 
 things could be effected by anything but by the greatest 
 ardor of mind. 
 
 XX. They say that even grief, which we have already 
 said ought to be avoided as a monstrous and fierce beast, 
 was appointed by nature, not without some good purpose, 
 in order that men should lament when they had committed 
 a fault, well knowing they had exposed themselves to cor- 
 rection, rebuke, and ignominy ; for they think that those 
 who can bear ignominy and infamy without pain have ac- 
 quired a complete impunity for all sorts of crimes; for 
 with them reproach is a stronger check than conscience. 
 From whence we have that scene in Afranius borrowed 
 from common life; for when the abandoned son saith, 
 " Wretched that I am !" the severe father replies, 
 
 Let liim but grieve, no matter what the cause. 
 
 And they say the other divisions of sorrow have their use; 
 that pity incites us to hasten to the assistance of otherp, 
 and to alleviate the calamities of men who have unde- 
 servedly fallen into them; that even envy and detraction 
 are not without their use, as when a man sees that another 
 person has attained what he cannot, or observes another 
 to be equally successful with himself; that he who should 
 take away fear w^ould take away all industry in life, which 
 those men exert in the greatest degree who are afraid of 
 the laws and of the magistrates, who dread poverty, igno- 
 miny, death, and pain. But while they argue thus, they 
 allow indeed of these feelings being retrenched, though 
 they deny that they either can or should be plncked up 
 by the roots; so that their opinion is that mediocrity is 
 
 7 
 
146 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 best in everything. When they reason in this manner, what 
 think you is what they say worth attending to or not? 
 
 A. I think it is. I wait, therefore, to hear what you 
 will say in reply to them. 
 
 XXI. M. Perhaps I may find something to say; but I 
 will make this observation first: do you take notice with 
 what modesty the Academics behave themselves ? for they 
 speak plainly to the purpose. The Peripatetics are an- 
 swered by the Stoics ; they have my leave to fight it out, 
 who think myself no otherwise concerned than to inquire 
 for what may seem to be most probable. Our present 
 business is, then, to see if we can meet with anything in 
 this question which is the probable, for beyond such ap- 
 ])roximation to truth as that human nature cannot proceed. 
 The definition of a perturbation, as Zeno, I think, lias 
 rightly determined it, is thus : That a perturbation is a 
 commotion of the mind against nature, in opposition to 
 right reason ; or, more briefly, thus, that a perturbation is 
 a somewhat too vehement appetite; and when he says 
 somewhat too vehement, he means such as is at a greater 
 distance from the constant course of nature. What can I 
 say to these definitions? The greater part of them we 
 have from those who dispute with sagacity and acuteness : 
 some of them expressions, indeed, such as the "ardors of 
 the mind," and " the whetstones of virtue," savoring of the 
 pomp of rhetoricians. As to the question, if a brave man 
 can maintain his courage without becoming angry, it may 
 be questioned with regard to the gladiators; though we 
 often observe much resolution even in them : they meet, 
 converse, they make objections and demands, they agree 
 about terms, so that they seem calm rather than angry. 
 But let us admit a man of the name of Placideianus, who 
 was one of that trade, to be in such a mind, as Lucilius 
 relates of him, 
 
 If for liis blood yoti thirst, the task he iniiie; 
 His laurels at my feet he shall resign ; 
 Not but I know, before 1 reach his heart, 
 First on myself a wound he will impart. 
 I hate the man ; enraged I fight, and straight 
 In action we had been, but that I wait 
 Till each his sword had fitted to his hand. 
 My rage I scarce can keep within command. 
 
ON OTHEU PERTUKBATIONS OF THE MIND. 147 
 
 XXII. But we see Ajax in Homer advancing to meet 
 Hector in battle clieerfully, without any of this boister- 
 ous wrath. For he had no sooner taken up his arms than 
 the first step which he made inspired his associates with 
 joy, his enemies with fear; so that even Hector, as he is 
 represented by Homer,^ trembling, condemned himself for 
 having challenged him to fight. Yet these heroes conversed 
 together, calmly and quietly, before they engaged; nor 
 did they show any anger or outrageous behavior during 
 the combat. Nor do I imagine that Torquatus, the first 
 who obtained this surname, was in a rage when he plun- 
 dered the Gaul of his collar ; or that Marcellus's courage 
 at Clastidium was only owing to his anger. I could al- 
 most swear that Africanus, with whom we are better ac- 
 quainted, from our recollection of him being more recent, 
 was noways inflamed by anger when he covered Alieims 
 Pelignus with his shield, and drove his sword into the 
 enemy's breast. There may be some doubt of L. Brutus, 
 whether he was not influenced by extraordinary hatred of 
 the tyrant, so as to attack iVruns with more than usual 
 rashness; for I observe that they mutually killed each 
 other in close fight. Why, then, do you call in the assist- 
 ance of anger? Would courage, unless it began to get 
 
 ^ Cicevo alludes here to 11. vii. 211, which is thus translated by Pope: 
 
 His massy javelin quivering in his liand, 
 He stood the bulwark of the Grecian band ; 
 Through every Argive heart new transport ran, 
 All Troy stood trembling at the mighty man : 
 E'en Hector paused, and with new doubt oppress'd, 
 Felt his great heart suspended in his breast ; 
 'Twas vain to seek retreat, and vain to fear, 
 Himself had challenged, and the foe drew near. 
 
 But Melmoth (Note on the Familiar Letters of Cicero, book ii. Let. 23) 
 rightly accuses Cicero of having misunderstood Homer, who "by no 
 means represents Hector as being thus totally dismayed at the approach 
 of his adversary; and, indeed, it would have been inconsistent with the 
 general character of that hero to have described him under such circum- 
 stances of terror." 
 
 Tov &e Kal 'ApycTo^ jut7' eyrjOeov eio-opocoi/rer, 
 Tptocif dfc TpoiJioi 'ii/09 inrrjkvOe ivia tKaaTOV, 
 "EKTOpt d' ahr(^ ifvfioi evi aTi]Oeaai itonavaev. 
 
 But there is a great difference, as Dr. Clarke remarks, between %/oc 
 kvl GTrjdtaaL TrdTaaoev and Kapdiri i^cj Grrjdeuv eBpuGKEV, or rp6/uo(; alvoQ 
 VTrT/Xvde yvla. The Trojans, says Homer, trembled at tire sight of Ajax, 
 and even Hector himself felt some emotion in his breast. 
 
148 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 furious, lose its energy? What! do you imagine that 
 Hercules, whom the very courage which you would try to 
 represent as anger raised to heaven, was angry when he 
 engaged the Erymanthian boar, or the Nemjean lion ? Or 
 w^as Theseus in a passion when he seized on the horns of 
 the Marathonian bull ? Take care how you make courage 
 to depend in tlie least on rage. For anger is altogether 
 irrational, and that is not courage which is void of reason. 
 XXIII. We ouglit to hold all things here in contempt ; 
 death is to be looked on with indifference; pains and la- 
 bors must be considered as easily supportable. And when 
 these sentiments are established on judgment and convic- 
 tion, then will that stout and firm courage take place; 
 unless you attribute to anger whatever is done with ve- 
 hemence, alacrity, and spirit. To me, indeed, that very 
 Scipio^ who was chief priest, that favorer of the saying of 
 the Stoics, " That no private man could be a wise man," 
 does not seem to be angry with Tiberius Gracchus, even 
 when he left the consul in a hesitating frame of mind, and, 
 though a private man himself, commanded, with the au- 
 thority of a consul, that all who meant well to the repub- 
 lic should follow him. I do not know whether I have done 
 anything in the republic that has the appearance of cour- 
 age ; but if I have, I certainly did not do it in wrath. 
 Doth anything come nearer madness than anger? And 
 indeed Ennius has well defined it as the beginning of mad- 
 ness. The changing color, tlie alteration of our voice, the 
 look of our eyes, our manner of fetching our breath, the 
 little command we have over our words and actions, how 
 little do all these things indicate a sound mind ! What 
 can make a worse appearance than Homer's Achilles, or 
 Agamemnon, during the quarrel? And as to Ajax, anger 
 drove him into downright madness, and was the occasion 
 of his death. Courage, therefore, does not want the as-, 
 sistance of anger; it is sufficiently provided, armed, and 
 prepared of itself. We may as well say that drunkenness 
 or madness is of service to courage, because those who 
 
 ' Cicero means Scipio Nasica, who, in the riots consequent on the re- 
 election of Tiberius Gracchus to the tribunate, 133 B.C., liaving called 
 in vain on the- consul, Mucins Scajvola, to save tiio republic, attacked 
 Gracchus himself, who was slain in the tumult. 
 
ON OTHER PERTURBATIONS OF THE MIND. 149 
 
 are mad or drunk often do a great many things with un- 
 usual vehemence. Ajax was always brave; but still be 
 was most brave when he was in that state of frenzy , 
 
 The greatest feat that Ajax e'er achieved 
 Was, when his single arm the Greeks relieved. 
 Quitting the field ; urged on by rising rage, 
 Forced the declining troops again t' engage. 
 
 Shall we say, then, that madness has its use? 
 
 XXIV. Examine the definitions of courage: you will 
 find it does not require the assistance of passion. Cour- 
 age is, then, an affection of mind that endures all things, 
 being itself in proper subjection to the highest of all laws; 
 or it may be called a firm maintenance of judgment in 
 supporting or repelling everything that has a formidable 
 appearance, or a knowledge of what is formidable or oth- 
 erwise, and maintaining invariably a stable judgment of 
 all such things, so as to bear them or despise them ; or, in 
 fewer words, according to Chrysippus (for the above defi- 
 nitions are Sphaerus's, a man of the first ability as a layer- 
 down of definitions, as the Stoics think. But they are all 
 pretty much alike : they give us only common notions, 
 some one way, and some another). But what is Chrysip- 
 pus's definition? Fortitude, says he, is the knowledge of 
 all things that are bearable, or an affection of the mind 
 which bears and supports everything in obedience to the 
 chief law of reason without fear. Now, though we should 
 attack these men in the same manner as Carneades used 
 to do, I fear they are the only real philosophers; for 
 which of these definitions is there which does not explain 
 that obscure and intricate notion of courage which every 
 man conceives within himself? And when it is thus ex- 
 plained, what can a warrior, a commander, or an orator 
 want more? And no one can think that they will be 
 unable to behave themselves courageously without anger. 
 What ! do not even the Stoics, who maintain that all fools 
 are mad, make the same inferences? for, take aw\ay per- 
 turbations, especially a hastiness of temper, and they will 
 appear to talk very absurdly. But what they assert is 
 this : they say that all fools are mad, as all dunghills stink ; 
 not that they always do so, but stir them, and you will 
 perceive it. And in like manner, a warra-tempered man la 
 
150 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 not always in a passion ; but provoke him, and you will 
 see him run mad. Now, that very warlike anger, which 
 is of such service in war, what is the use of it to him 
 when he is at home with his wife, children, and family? 
 Is there, then, anything tliat a disturbed mind can do bet- 
 ter than one which is calm and steady? Or cnn any one 
 be angry without a perturbation of mind ? Our people, 
 then, were in the right, who, as all vices depend on our 
 manners, and nothing is worse than a passionate dispo- 
 sition, called angry men the only morose men.^ 
 
 XXY. Anger is in no wise becoming in an orator, 
 though it is not amiss to affect it. Do you imagine that 
 I am angry when in pleading I use any extraordinary ve- 
 hemence and sharpness? What! when I write out my 
 speeches after all is over and past, am I then angry while 
 writing? Or do you think ^sopus was ever angry Avhen 
 he acted, or Accius was so when he wrote ? Those men, 
 indeed, act very well, but the orator acts better than the 
 player, provided he be really an orator ; but, then, they 
 carry it on without passion, and with a composed mind. 
 But what wantonness is it to commend lust ! You pro- 
 duce Themistocles and Demosthenes; to these you add 
 Pythagoras, Democritus, and Plato. What ! do you then 
 call studies lust? But these studies of the most excellent 
 and admirable things, such as those were which you bring 
 forward on all occasions, ought to be composed and tran- 
 quil; and what kind of philosophers are they who com- 
 mend grief, than which nothing is more detestable ? Afra- 
 nius has said much to this purpose: 
 
 Let him but grieve, no matter what the cause. 
 
 But he spoke this of a debauched and dissolute youth. 
 But we are inquiring into the conduct of a constant and 
 wise man. We may even allow a centurion or standard- 
 bearer to be angry, or any others, whom, not to explain 
 too far the mysteries of the rhetoricians, I shall not men- 
 tion here; for to touch the passions, where reason cannot 
 be come at, may have its use; but my inquiry, as I often 
 repeat, is about a wise man. 
 
 * Morosus is evidently derived from mores ^^ Morosus, mos, stubborn- 
 ness, self-will, etc." lllUdle and Arnold, Lat, Diet. 
 
ON OTHER PERTURBATIONS OF THE MIND. 151 
 
 XXVI. But even envy, detraction, pity, have their use. 
 Why should you pity rather than assist, if it is in your 
 power to do so ? Is it because you cannot be liberal with- 
 out pity ? We should not take sorrows on ourselves upon 
 another's account; but we ought to relieve others of their 
 grief if we can. But to detract from another's reputation, 
 or to rival him with that vicious emulation which resem- 
 bles an enmity, of what use can that conduct be? Now, 
 envy implies being uneasy at another's good because one 
 does not enjoy it one's self; but detraction is the being 
 uneasy at another's good, merely because he enjoys it. 
 How can it be right that you should voluntarily grieve, 
 rather than take the trouble of acquiring what you want 
 to have ? for it is madness in the highest degree to desire 
 to be the only one that has any particular happiness. But 
 who can with correctness speak in praise of a mediocrity 
 of evils ? Can any one in whom there is lust or desire be 
 otherwise than libidinous or desirous? or can a man who 
 is occupied by anger avoid being angry? or can one who 
 is exposed to any vexation escape being vexed ? or if he is 
 under the influence of fear, must he not be fearful? Do 
 we look, then, on the Hbidinous, the angry, the anxious, and 
 the timid man, as persons of wisdom, of excellence? of 
 which I could speak very copiously and diffusely, but I 
 wish to be as concise as possible. And so I will merely 
 say tliat wisdom is an acquaintance with all divine and 
 human affairs, and a knowledge of the cause of everything. 
 Hence it is that it imitates what is divine, and looks upon 
 all human concerns as inferior to virtue. Did you, then, 
 say that it Avas your opinion that such a man was as nat- 
 urally liable to perturbation as the sea is exposed to winds? 
 What is there that can discompose such gravity and con- 
 stancy ? Anything sudden or unforeseen ? How can any- 
 thing^ of this kind befall one to whom nothino; is sudden 
 and unforeseen that can happen to man ? Now, as to their 
 saying that redundancies should be pared off, and only 
 what is natural remain, what, I pray you, can be natural 
 which may be too exuberant? 
 
 XXVII. All these assertions proceed from the roots of 
 errors, which must be entirely plucked up and destroyed, 
 not pared and amputated. But as I suspect that your in- 
 
152 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 quiry is not so much respecting the wise man as concern-' 
 ing yourself (for you allow that he is free from all pertur- 
 bations, and you would willingly be so too yourself), let us 
 see what remedies there are which may be applied by ])hi- 
 losophy to the diseases of the mind. There is certainly 
 some remedy; nor has nature been so unkind to the hu- 
 man race as to have discovered so many things salutary to 
 the body, and none which are medicinal to the mind. She 
 has even been kinder to the mind than to the body ; inas- 
 much as you must seek abroad for the assistance which 
 the body requires, while the mind has all that it requires 
 within itself. But in proportion as the excellency of the 
 mind is of a higher and more divine nature, the more dil- 
 igence does it require; and therefore reason, when it is 
 well applied, discovers what is best, but when it is neg- 
 lected, it becomes involved in many errors. I shall apply, 
 then, all my discourse to you ; for though you pretend to 
 be inquiring about the wise man, your inquiry may pos- 
 sibly be about yourself. Various, then, are the cures ol 
 those perturbations which I have expounded, for every dis- 
 order is not to be appeased the same way. One medicine 
 must be applied to the man who mourns, another to the 
 pitiful, another to the person who envies ; for there is this 
 difference to be maintained in all the four perturbations : 
 we are to consider whether our discourse had better be 
 directed to perturbations in general, which are a contempt 
 of reason, or a somewhat too vehement appetite ; or wheth- 
 er it would be better applied to particular descriptions, as, 
 for instance, to fear, lust, and the rest, and whether it ap- 
 pears preferable to endeavor to remove that which has oc- 
 casioned the grief, or rather to attempt wholly to eradi- 
 cate every kind of grief. As, should any one grieve that 
 he is poor, the question is. Would you maintain poverty to 
 be no evil, or would you contend that a man ought not to 
 grieve at anything? Certainly this last is the best course ; 
 for should you not convince him with regard to poverty, 
 you must allow him to grieve ; but if you remove grief by 
 particular arguments, such as I used yesterday, the evil of 
 poverty is in some manner removed. 
 
 XXVIII. But any perturbation of the mind of this sort 
 may be, as it were, wiped away by the method of nppeas- 
 
ON OTHER PERTURBATIONS OF THE MIND. 153 
 
 ing the mind, if you succeed in showing that there is no 
 good in tiiat which has given rise to joy and hist, nor any 
 evil in that which has occasioned fear or grief. But cer- 
 tainly the most effectual cure is to be achieved by show- 
 ing that all perturbations are of themselves vicious, and 
 have nothing natural or necessary in them. As we see, 
 grief itself is easily softened when we charge those who 
 grieve with weakness and an effeminate mind; or when 
 we commend the gravity and constancy of those who bear 
 calmly whatever befalls them here, as accidents to which 
 all men are liable ; and, indeed, this is generally the feeling 
 of those who look on these as real evils, but yet think they 
 should be borne with resignation. One imagines pleasure 
 to be a good, another money ; and yet the one may be 
 called oft: from intemperance, the other from covetousness. 
 The other method and address, which, at the same time 
 that it removes the false opinion, withdraws the disorder, 
 has more subtlety in it; but it seldom succeeds, and is 
 not applicable to vulgar minds, for there are some dis- 
 eases which that medicine can by no means remove. For, 
 should any one be uneasy because he is without virtue, 
 without courage, destitute of a sense of duty or honesty, 
 his anxiety proceeds from a real evil; and yet wq must ap- 
 ply another method of cure to him, and such a one as 
 all the philosophers, however they may differ about other 
 things, agree in. For they must necessarily agree in this, 
 that commotions of the mind in opposition to right rea- 
 son are vicious ; and that even admitting those things to 
 be evils which occasion fear or grief, and those to be 
 goods Avliich provoke desire or joy, yet that very com- 
 motion itself is vicious; for w^e mean by the expressions 
 magnanimous and brave, one who is resolute, sedate, 
 grave, and su])erior to everything in this life; but one 
 who either grieves, or fears, or covets, or is transported 
 with passion, cannot come under that denomination; for 
 these things are consistent only with those who look on 
 the things of this world as things with which their minds 
 are unequal to contend. 
 
 XXIX. Wherefore, as I before said, the philosophers 
 have all one method of cure, so that we need say nothing 
 about whnt sort of thing that is which disturbs the mind. 
 
154 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 but we must speak only concerning the perturbation itself. 
 Thus, first, with regard to desire itself, when the business 
 is only to remove that, the inquiry is not to be, whether 
 that thing be good or evil which provokes lust, but the 
 lust itself is to be removed; so that whether whatever is 
 honest is the chief good, or whether it consists in pleasure, 
 or in both these things together, or in the other three 
 kinds of goods, yet should there be in any one too vehe- 
 ment an appetite for even virtue itself, the whole discourse 
 should be directed to the deterring him from that vehe- 
 mence. But human nature, when placed in a conspicuous 
 point of view, gives us every argument for appeasing the 
 mind, and, to make this the more distinct, the laws and 
 conditions of life should be explained in our discourse. 
 Therefore, it was not without reason that Socrates is re- 
 ported, when Euripides was exhibiting his play called 
 Orestes, to have repeated the first three verses of that 
 tragedy 
 
 What tragic story men can mournful tell, 
 Whate'er fiom fate or from the gods befell, 
 That human nature can support ^ 
 
 But, in order to persuade those to whom any misfortune 
 has happened that they can and ought to bear it, it is very 
 useful to set before them an enumeration of other persons 
 who have borne similar calamities. Indeed, the method of 
 appeasing grief was explained in my dispute of yester- 
 day, and in my book on Consolation, which I wrote in the 
 midst of my own grief; for I was not myself so wise a 
 man as to be insensible to grief, and I used this, notwith- 
 standing Chrysippus's advice to the contrary, who is 
 against applying a medicine to the agitations of the mind 
 while they are fresh; but I did it, and committed a vio- 
 lence on nature, that the greatness of my grief might give 
 way to the greatness of the medicine. 
 
 XXX. But fear borders upon grief, of which I have al- 
 ready said enough; but I must say a little more on that. 
 Now, as grief proceeds from what is present, so does fear 
 
 * In the original they run thus : 
 
 OvK iffTiv oiibiv detvov w6' elneiv Hiror, 
 Ovde ndOov, ov6e ^i)fi<pof)<t Oeti\aTOV 
 '^Hf OVK av upon' ax^of iivOpwnov <pvan. 
 
ON OTHER PERTURBATIONS OF THE MIND. 155 
 
 from future evil; so that some have said that fear is a 
 certain part of grief : others have called fear the harbin- 
 ger of trouble, which, as it were, introduces the ensuing 
 evil. Now, the reasons that make what is present sup- 
 portable, make what is to come very contemptible; for, 
 with regard to both, we should take care to do nothing 
 low or grovelling, soft or effeminate, mean or abject. But, 
 notwithstanding we should speak of the inconstancy, im- 
 becility, and levity of fear itself, yet it is of very great 
 service to speak contemptuously of those very things of 
 which we are afraid. So that it fell out very well, wheth- 
 er it was by accident or design, that I disputed the first 
 and second day on death and pain the two things that 
 are the most dreaded : now, if what I then said was ap- 
 proved of, we are in a great degree freed from fear. And 
 this is sufficient, as far as regards the opinion of evils. 
 
 XXXI. Proceed we now to what are goods that is to 
 say, to joy and desire. To me, indeed, one thing alone 
 seems to embrace the question of all that relates to the 
 perturbations of the mind the fact, namely, that all per- 
 turbations are in our own power ; that they are taken up 
 upon opinion, and are voluntary. This error, then, must 
 be got rid of; this opinion must be removed ; and, as with 
 regard to imagined evils, we are to make them more sup- 
 portable, so with respect to goods, we are to lessen the 
 violent effects of those things which are called great and 
 joyous. But one thing is to be observed, that equally re- 
 lates both to good and evil : that, should it be difficult to 
 persuade any one that none of those things which disturb 
 the mind are to be looked on as good or evil, yet a differ- 
 ent cure is to be applied to different feelings; and the 
 malevolent person is to be corrected by one way of reason- 
 ing, the lover by another, the anxious man by another, and 
 the fearful by another : and it w^ould be easy for any one 
 who pursues the best approved method of reasoning, with 
 regard to good and evil, to maintain that no fool can be 
 affected with joy, as he never can have anything good. 
 But, at present, my discourse proceeds upon the common 
 received notions. Let, then, honors, riches, pleasures, and 
 the rest be the very good things which they are imagined 
 to be ; yet a too elevated and exulting joy on the posses- 
 
156 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 sion of them is unbecoming; just as, though it might be 
 allowable to laugh, to giggle would be indecent. Thus, a 
 mind enlarged by joy is as blamable as a contraction of it 
 by grief; and eager longing is a sign of as much levity in 
 desiring as immoderate joy is in possesising; and, as those 
 who are too dejected are said to be effeminate, so tliey 
 who are too elated with joy are properly called volatile; 
 and as feeUiig envy is a part of grief, and the being 
 pleased with another's misfortune is a kind of joy, both 
 these feelings are usually corrected by showing the wild- 
 ness and insensibility of tliem : and as it becomes a man 
 to be cautious, but it is unbecoming in him to be fearful, 
 so to be pleased is proper, but to be joyful improper. I 
 have, in order that I might be the better understood, dis- 
 tinguished i^leasure from joy. I have already said above, 
 that a contraction of the mind can never be right, but that 
 an elation of it may; for the joy of Hector in Nasvius is 
 one thing 
 
 'Tis joy indeed to hear my praises sung 
 
 By you, who are the theme of honor's tongue 
 
 but that of the character in Trabea another : " The kind 
 procuress, allured by my money, will observe my nod, will 
 watch my desires, and study my will. If I but move the 
 door with my little finger, instantly it flies open; and if 
 Chrysis should unexpectedly discover me, she will run 
 with joy to meet me, and throw herself into my arms." 
 Now he will tell you how excellent he thinks this : 
 
 Not even fortune herself is so fortunate. 
 
 XXXII. Any one who attends the least to the subject 
 will be convinced how unbecoming this joy is. And as 
 they are very shameful who are immoderately delighted 
 with the enjoyment of venereal pleasures, so are they very 
 scandalous who lust vehemently after them. And all that 
 which is commonly called love (and, believe me, I can find 
 out no other name to call it by) is of such a trivial nature 
 that nothing, I think, is to be compared to it : of which 
 Ca3cilius says, 
 
 I hold the man of every sense bereaved 
 
 Who grants not Love to be of Gods the chief: 
 
ON OTHER PERTURBATIONS OF THE MIND. 157 
 
 Whose mighty power whatever is good effects, 
 Who gives to each his beauty and defects : 
 Hence, health and sickness ; wit and folly, hence, 
 The God that love and hatred doth dispense! 
 
 An excellent corrector of life this same poetry, which 
 thinks that love, the promoter of debauchery and vanity, 
 should have a place in the council of the Gods ! I am 
 speaking of comedy, which could not subsist at all without 
 our approving of these debaucheries. But what said that 
 chief of the Argonauts in tragedy ? 
 
 My life I owe to honor lesa than love. 
 
 What, then, are we to say of this love of Medea? what a 
 train of miseries did it occasion ! And yet the same woman 
 has the assurance to say to her father, in another poet, that 
 she had a husband 
 
 Dearer by love than ever fathers were. 
 
 XXXIII. However, we may allow the poets to trifle, in 
 whose fables w^e see Jupiter himself engaged in these de- 
 baucheries : but let us apply to the masters of virtue 
 the philosophers who deny love to be anything carnal; 
 and in this they differ from Epicurus, who, I think, is not 
 much mistaken. For what is that love of friendship? 
 How comes it that no one is in love with a deformed 
 young man, or a handsome old one ? I am of opinion 
 that this love of men had its rise from the Gymnastics of 
 the Greeks, where these kinds of loves are admissible and 
 permitted ; therefore Ennius spoke well : 
 
 The censure of this crime to those is due 
 Who naked bodies first exposed to view. 
 
 Now, supposing them chaste, which I think is hardly pos- 
 sible, they are uneasy and distressed, and the more so be- 
 cause they contain and refrain themselves. But, to pass 
 ovoi* the love of women, where nature has allowed more 
 liberty, who can misunderstand the poets in their rape of 
 Ganymede, or not apprehend what Laius says, and what 
 he desires, in Euripides ? Lastly, what have the principal 
 poets and the most learned men published of themselves 
 in their poems and songs ? What doth Alcaeus, who was 
 
158 THE TUSCULAN DISrUTATIONS. 
 
 distinguished in his own repubUc for liis bravery, write on 
 the love of young men ? And as for Anacreon's poetry, it 
 is wholly on love. But Ibycus of Rhegium appears, from 
 his writings, to have had this love stronger on him than 
 all the rest. 
 
 XXXIV. Now we see that the loves of all these writ- 
 ers were entirely libidinous. There have arisen also some 
 among us philosophers (and Plato is at the head of them, 
 whom Dicsearchus blames not without reason) who liave 
 countenanced love. The Stoics, in truth, say, not only 
 that their wise man may be a lover, but they even define 
 love itself as an endeavor to originate friendship out of 
 the appearance of beauty. Now, provided there is any 
 one in the nature of things without desire, without care, 
 without a sigh, such a one may be a lover ; for he is free 
 from all lust : but I have nothing to say to him, as it is 
 lust of which I am now speaking. But should there be 
 any love as theVe certainly is which is but little, or per- 
 haps not at all, short of madness, such as his is in the 
 Leucadia 
 
 Should there be any God whose care I am 
 
 it is incumbent on all the Gods to see that he enjoys his 
 
 amorous pleasure. 
 
 Wretch that I am ! 
 
 Nothing is more true, and he says very appropriately, 
 
 What, are you sane, who at this rate lament ? 
 
 He seems even to his friends to be out of his senses : then 
 how tragical he becomes ! 
 
 Thy aid, divine Apollo, I implore. 
 
 And thine, dread ruler of the wat'ry store! 
 
 Oh ! all ye winds, assist me I 
 
 He thinks that the whole world ought to apply itself to 
 help his love: he excludes Venus alone, as unkind to him. 
 
 Thy aid, O Venus, why should I invoke ? 
 
 He thinks Venus too much employed in her own lust to 
 have regard to anything else, as if he himself had not said 
 and committed these shameful thino^s from lust. 
 
ON OTHER PERTURBATIONS OF THE MIND. 159 
 
 XXXy. Now, the cure for one who is affected in this 
 manner is to show how light, how contemptible, how 
 very trifling he is in what he desires; how he may turn 
 his affections to another object, or accomplish his desires 
 by some other means; or else to persuade him that he 
 may entirely disregard it: sometimes he is to be led away 
 to objects of another kind, to study, business, or other 
 I different engagements and concerns: very often the cure 
 is effected by change of place, as sick people, that have 
 not recovered their strength, are benefited by change of 
 air. Some people think an old love may be driven out 
 by a new one, as one nail drives out another: but, above 
 all things, the man thus afflicted should be advised what 
 madness love is : for of all the perturbations of the mind, 
 there is not one which is more vehement; for (without 
 charging it with rapes, debaucheries, adultery, or even in- 
 cest, the baseness of any of these being very blamable; 
 not, I say, to mention these) the very perturbation of the 
 mind in love is base of itself, for, to pass over all its acts 
 of downright madness, what weakness do not those very 
 things which are looked upon as indifferent argue? 
 
 Affronts and jealousies, jars, squabbles, wars, 
 Then peace again. The man who seeks to fix 
 These restless feelings, and to subjugate 
 Them to" some regular law, is just as wise 
 As one who'd try to Iny down rules by which 
 Men should go mad/ 
 
 Now, is not this inconstancy and mutability of mind 
 enough to deter any one by its own deformity? We are 
 to demonstrate, as was said of every perturbation, that 
 there are no such feelings which do not consist entire- 
 ly of opinion and judgment, and are not owing to our- 
 selves. For if love were natural, all Avould be in love, 
 and always so, and all love the same object; nor would 
 one be deterred by shame, another by reflection, another 
 by satiety. 
 
 XXXVI. Anger, too, when it disturbs the mind any 
 time, leaves no room to doubt its being madness : by the 
 
 ' This passage is from the Eunuch of Terence, act i., sc. 1, 14. 
 
160 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 instigation of which wc see such contention as this be- 
 tween brothers : 
 
 Where was there ever impudence Hke thine ? 
 Who on thy malice ever could refine ?' 
 
 You know w^hat follows : for abuses are thrown out by 
 these brothers with great bitterness in every other verse; 
 so that you may easily know them for the sons of Atreus, 
 of that Atreus who invented a new punishment for his 
 brother : 
 
 I who his cruel heart to gall am bent, 
 Some new, unheard-of torment must invent. 
 
 N'ow, what were these inventions? Hear Tliyestes: 
 
 My impious brother fain would have me eat 
 My children, and thus serves them up for meat. 
 
 To what length now will not anger go ? even as far as 
 madness. Therefore we say, properly enough, that angry 
 men have given up their power, that is, they are out of 
 the power of advice, reason, and understanding; for these 
 ought to have power over the whole mind. [N^ow, you 
 should put those out of the way whom they endeavor to 
 attack till they have recollected themselves ; but what does 
 recollection here imply but getting together again the dis- 
 persed parts of their mind into their proper place ? or else 
 you must beg and entreat them, if they have the means 
 of revenge, to defer it to another opportunity, till their 
 anger cools. But the expression of cooling implies, cer- 
 tainly, that there was a heat raised in their minds in op- 
 position to reason ; from which consideration that saying 
 of Archytas is commended, who being somewhat provoked 
 at his steward, " How would I have treated you," said he, 
 " if I had not been in a passion ?" 
 
 XXXVn. Where, then, are they who say that anger 
 has its use ? Can madness be of any use ? But still it is 
 natural. Can anything be natural that is against reason ? 
 or how is it, if anger is natural, that one person is more 
 inclined to anger than another? or that the lust of revenge 
 should cease before it has revenged itself ? or that any one 
 
 ' These verses are from the Atreus of Accius. 
 
ON OTHER PERTURBATIONS OF THE MIND. IGl 
 
 should repent of what he had done in a passion ? as we see 
 that Alexander the king did, who could scarcely keep his 
 hands from himself, when he had killed his favorite Cly- 
 tus, so great was his compunction. Now who that is ac- 
 quainted with these instances can doubt that this motion 
 of the mind is altogether in opinion and voluntary ? for 
 who can doubt that disorders of the mind, such as covet- 
 ousness and a desire of glory, arise from a great estima- 
 tion of those things by which the mind is disordered ? 
 from whence we may understand that every perturbation 
 of the mind is founded in opinion. And if boldness that 
 is to say, a firm assurance of mind is a kind of knowledge 
 and serious opinion not hastily taken up, then diffidence 
 is a fear of an expected and impending evil ; and if hope 
 is an expectation of good, fear must, of course, be an ex- 
 pectation of evil. Thus fear and other perturbations are 
 evils. Therefore, as constancy proceeds from knowledge, 
 so does perturbation from error. Now, they who are said 
 to be naturally inclined to anger, or to pity, or to envy, or 
 to any feeling of this kind, their minds are constitutional- 
 ly, as it were, in bad health ; yet they are curable, as the 
 disposition of Socrates is said to have been ; for when Zo- 
 pyrus, who professed to know the character of every one 
 from his person, had heaped a great many vices on him in 
 a public assembly, he w\is laughed at by others, who could 
 perceive no such vices in Socrates ; but Socrates kept him 
 in countenance by declaring that such vices were natural 
 to him, but that he had got the better of them by his rea- 
 son. Therefore, as any one who has the appearance of the 
 best constitution may yet appear to be naturally rather in- 
 clined to some particular disorder, so different minds may 
 be more particularly inclined to different diseases. But as 
 to those men who are said to be vicious, not by nature, 
 but their own fault, their vices proceed from w^rong opin- 
 ions of good and bad things, so that one is more prone than 
 another to different motions and perturbations. But, just 
 as it is in the case of the body, an inveterate disease is 
 harder to be got rid of than a sudden disorder ; and it is 
 more easy to cure a fresh tumor in the eyes than to re- 
 move a defluxion of any continuance. 
 
 XXXVIII. But as the cause of perturbations is now dis- 
 
162 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 covered, for all of them arise from the judgment or opin- 
 ion, or volition, I shall put an end to this discourse. But 
 we ought to be assured, since the boundaries of good and 
 evil are now discovered, as far as they are discoverable by 
 man, that nothing can be desired of philosophy greater or 
 more useful than the discussions which we have held these 
 four days. For besides instilling a contempt of death, and 
 relieving pain so as to enable men to bear it, we have add- 
 ed the appeasing of grief, than which there is no greater 
 evil to man. For though every perturbation of mind is 
 grievous, and differs but little from madness, yet we are 
 used to say of others when they are under any perturba- 
 tion, as of fear, joy, or desire, that they are agitated and 
 disturbed ; but of those who give themselves up to grief, 
 that they are miserable, afflicted, wretched, unhappy. So 
 that it doth not seem to be by accident, but with reason 
 proposed by you, that I should discuss grief, and the other 
 perturbations separately; for there lies the spring and head 
 of all our miseries ; but the cure of grief, and of other dis- 
 orders, is one and the same in that they are all voluntary, 
 and founded on opinion ; we take them on ourselves be- 
 cause it seems right so to do. Philosophy undertakes to 
 eradicate this error, as the root of all our evils : let us there- 
 fore surrender ourselves to be instructed by it, and suffer 
 ourselves to be cured ; for while these evils have posses- 
 sion of us, we not only cannot be happy, but cannot be 
 right in our minds. We must either deny that reason can 
 effect anything, while, on the other hand, nothing can be 
 done right without reason, or else, since philosophy de- 
 pends on the deductions of reason, we must seek from her, 
 if we would be good or happy, every help and assistance 
 for living well and happily. 
 
WHETHER VIRTUE ALONE BE SUEFICIENT. 163 
 
 BOOK V. 
 
 WHETHER VIRTUE ALOi^E BE SUFFICIENT FOR A HAPPY 
 
 LIFE. 
 
 I. This fifth day, Biutns, shall put an end to our Tus- 
 culan Disputatious : on which day we discussed your fa- 
 vorite subject. For I perceive from that book which you 
 wrote for me with the greatest accuracy, as well as from 
 your frequent conversation, that you are clearly of this 
 opinion, that virtue is of itself sufficient for a happy life : 
 and though it may be difficult to prove this, on account 
 of the many various strokes of fortune, yet it is a truth 
 of such a nature that we should en<leavor to facilitate the 
 proof of it. For among all the topics of philosophy, there 
 is not one of more dignity or importance. For as the first 
 philosophers must have had some inducement to neglect 
 everything for the search of the best state of life : surely, 
 the inducement must have been the hope of living happi- 
 ly, which impelled them, to devote so much care and pains 
 to that study. Now, if virtue was discovered and carried 
 to perfection by them, and if virtue is a sufficient securi- 
 ty for a happy life, who can avoid thinking the work of 
 philosophizing excellently recommended by them, and un- 
 dertaken by me ? But if virtue, as being subject to such 
 various and uncertain accidents, were but the slave of fort- 
 une, and w^ere not of sufficient ability to support herself, 
 I am afraid that it would seem desirable rather to offer up 
 prayers, than to rely on our own confidence in virtue as 
 the foundation for our hope of a happy life. And, indeed, 
 when I reflect on those troubles with which I have been 
 so severely exercised by fortune, I begin to distrust this 
 opinion; and sometimes even to dread the weakness and 
 frailty of human nature, for I am afraid lest, when nature 
 had given us infirm bodies, and had joined to them incur- 
 able diseases and intolerable pains, she perhaps also gave 
 us minds participating in these bodily pains, and harassed 
 
164 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 also with troubles and uneasinesses, peculiarly tlieir own. 
 But here I correct myself for forming my judgment of 
 the power of virtue more from the weakness of others, or 
 of myself perhaps, than from virtue itself : for she herself 
 (provided there is such a thing as virtue ; and your uncle 
 Brutus has removed all doubt of it) has everything that 
 can befall mankind in subjection to her; and by disre- 
 garding such things, she is far removed from being at all 
 concerned at human accidents; and, being free from ev- 
 ery imperfection, she thinks that nothing which is exter- 
 nal to herself can concern her. But we, who increase ev- 
 ery approaching evil by our fear, and every present one by 
 our grief, choose rather to condemn the nature of things 
 than our own errors. 
 
 II. But the amendment of this fault, and of all our other 
 vices and offences, is to be sought for in philosophy: and 
 as my own inclination and desire led me, from my earliest 
 youth upward, to seek her protection, so, under my pres- 
 ent misfortunes, I have had recourse to the same port from 
 whence I set out, after having been tossed by a violent 
 tempest. O Philosophy, thou guide of life ! thoa discov- 
 erer of virtue and expeller of vices ! what had not only I 
 myself, but the whole life of man, been without you ? To 
 you it is that we owe the origin of cities ; you it was who 
 called together the dispersed race of men into social life ; 
 you united them together, first, by placing them licar one 
 another, then by marriages, and lastly, by the communica- 
 tion of speech and languages. You have been the inven- 
 tress of laws; you have been our instructress in morals 
 and discipline ; to you we fly for refuge ; from you we im- 
 plore assistance ; and as I formerly submitted to you in a 
 great degree, so now I surrender up myself entirely to you. 
 For one day spent well, and agreeably to your precepts, is 
 preferable to an eternity of error. Whose assistance, then, 
 can be of more service to me than yours, when you have 
 bestowed on us tranquillity of life, and removed the fear 
 of death ? But Philosophy is so far from being praised 
 as much as she has deserved by mankind, that she is whol- 
 ly neglected by most men, and actually evil spoken of by 
 many. Can any person speak ill of the parent of life, and 
 dare to pollute himself thus with parricide, and be so im- 
 
WPIETHER VIRTUE ALONE BE SUFFICIENT. 165 
 
 piously ungrateful as to accuse her whom he ought to rev- 
 erence, even were he less able to appreciate the advantages 
 which he might derive from her? But this error, I imag- 
 ine, and this darkness has spread itself over the minds of 
 ignorant men, from their not being able to look so far back, 
 and from their not imagining that those men by whom hu- 
 man life was first iinproved were philosophers ; for though 
 we see philosophy to have been of long standing, yet the 
 name must be acknowledged to be but modern. 
 
 III. But, indeed, who can dispute the antiquity of j^hi- 
 losophy, either in fact or name? For it acquired this ex- 
 cellent name from the ancients, by the knowledge of the 
 origin and causes of everything, both divine and human. 
 Thus those seven I,u(poi, as they were considered and called 
 by the Greeks, have always been esteemed and called wise 
 men by us ; and thus Lycurgus many ages before, in whose 
 time, before the building of this city. Homer is said to 
 have lived, as well as Ulysses and Nestor in the heroic 
 ages, are all handed down to us by tradition as having re- 
 ally been what they were called, wise men ; nor would it 
 have been said that Atlas supported the heavens, or that 
 Prometheus was bound to Caucasus, nor would Cepheus, 
 with his wife, his son-in-law, and his daughter have been 
 enrolled among the constellations, but that their more than 
 human knowledge of the heavenly bodies had transferred 
 their names into an erroneous fable. From whence all 
 who occupied themselves in the contemplation of nature 
 Avere both considered and called wise men ; and that name 
 of theirs continued to the age of Pythagoras, who is re- 
 ported to have gone to Phlius, as we find it stated by Her- 
 aclides Ponticus, a very learned man, and a pupil of Plato, 
 and to have discoursed very learnedly and copiously on 
 certain subjects with Leon, prince of the Phliasii ; and 
 when Leon, admiring his ingenuity and eloquence, asked 
 him what art he particularly professed, his answer was, 
 that he was acquainted with no art, but that he was a 
 philosopher. Leon, surprised at the novelty of the name, 
 inquired what he meant by the name of philosopher, and 
 in what philosophers differed from other men ; on which 
 Pythagoras replied, "That the life of man seemed to him 
 to resejnble those games which were celebrated with the 
 
166 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 greatest possible variety of sports and the general con- 
 course of all Greece. For as in those games there were 
 some persons whose object Avas glory and the honor of 
 a crown, to be attained by the performance of bodily ex- 
 ercises, so others were led thither by the gain of buying 
 and selling, and mere views of profit; but there was like- 
 wise one class of persons, and they were by far the best, 
 whose aim was neither applause nor profit, but who came 
 merely as spectators through curiosity, to observe what 
 was done, and to see in what manner things were carried 
 on there. And thus, said he, we come from another life 
 and nature unto this one, just as men come out of some 
 other city, to some much frequented mart; some being 
 slaves to glory, others to money ; and there are some few 
 who, taking no account of anything else, earnestly look 
 into the nature of things; and these men call themselves 
 studious of Avisdom, that is, pliilosophers : and as there it 
 is the most reputable occupation of all to be a looker-on 
 without making any acquisition, so in life, the contemplat- 
 ing things, and acquainting one's self with them, greatly 
 exceeds every other pursuit of life." 
 
 IV. Nor w^as Pythagoras the inventor only of the name, 
 but he enlarged also the thing itself, and, when he came 
 into Italy after this conversation at Phlius, he adorned that 
 Greece, which is called Great Greece, both privately and 
 publicly, witli the most excellent institutions and arts; but 
 of his school and system I shall, perha|)s, find another op- 
 portunity to speak. But numbers and motions, and the be- 
 ginning and end of all things, Avere the subjects of the an- 
 cient philosophy doAvn to Socrates, Avho was a pupil of Ar- 
 chelaus, Avho had been the disciple of Anaxagoras. These 
 made diligent inquiry into the magnitude of tlie stars, their 
 distances, courses, and all that relates to the heavens. But 
 Socrates was the first Avho brought down philosophy from 
 the heavens, placed it in cities, introduced it into families, 
 and obliged it to examine into life and morals, and good 
 and evil. And liis different methods of discussing ques- 
 tions, together with the variety of liis to|)ics, and the great- 
 ness of his abilities, being immortalized by the memory and 
 writings of Plato, gave vise to many sects of ])hilosophers 
 of diffei'cnt sentiments, of all which I have ])rincipaliy ad- 
 
WHETHER VIRTUE ALONE BE SUFFICIENT. 167 
 
 hered to that one which, in my opinion, Socrates himself 
 followed ; and argue so as to conceal my own opinion, while 
 I deliver others from their errors, and so discover what has 
 the greatest appearance of probability in every question. 
 And the custom Carneades adopted with great copiousness 
 and acuteness, and I myself have often given in to it on 
 many occasions elsewhere, and in this manner, too, I dis- 
 puted lately, in my Tusculan villa; indeed,! have sent you 
 a book of the four former days' discussions ; but the fifth 
 day, when we had seated ourselves as before, what we were 
 to dispute on was proposed thus : 
 
 V. A. I do not think virtue can possibly be sufficient 
 for a happy life. 
 
 31. But my friend Brutus thinks so, whose judgment, 
 with submission, I greatly prefer to yours. 
 
 A. I make no doubt of it; but your regard for him is 
 not the business now : the question is now, what is the real 
 character of that quality of which I have declared my opin- 
 ion. I wish you to dispute on that. 
 
 31. What ! do you deny that virtue can possibly be suf- 
 ficient for a happy life ? 
 
 A. It is what I entirely deny. 
 
 3f. What ! is not virtue sufficient to enable us to live 
 as we ought, honestly, commend ably, or, in fine, to live 
 well? 
 
 A. Certainly sufficient. 
 
 31. Can you, then, help calling any one miserable who 
 lives ill ? or will you deny that any one who you allow lives 
 well must inevitably live happily ? 
 
 A. Why may I not? for a man may be upright in his 
 life, honest, praiseworthy, even in the midst of torments, 
 and therefore live well. Provided you understand what I 
 mean by well ; for when I say well, I mean with constan- 
 cy, and dignity, and wisdom, and courage ; for a man may 
 display all these qualities on the rack; but yet the rack is 
 inconsistent with a happy life. 
 
 31. What, then? is your happy life left on the outside 
 of the prison, while constancy, dignity, wisdom, and the 
 other virtues, are surrendered up to the executioner, and 
 bear punishment and pain without reluctance? 
 
 A. You must look out for something new if you would 
 
168 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 do any good. These things have very little effect on me, 
 not merely from their being common, but principally be- 
 cause, like certain light wines that will not bear water, 
 these arguments of the Stoics are pleasanter to taste than 
 to swallow. As when that assemblage of virtues is com- 
 mitted to the rack, it raises so reverend a spectacle before 
 our eyes that happiness seems to hasten on towards them, 
 and not to suffer them to be deserted by lier. But when 
 you take your attention off from this picture and these 
 images of the virtues to the truth and the reality, what 
 remains without disguise is, the question whether any one 
 can be happy in torment? Wherefore let us now examine 
 that point, and not be under any apprehensions, lest the 
 virtues should expostulate, and complain that they are for- 
 saken by happiness. For if prudence is connected with 
 every virtue, then prudence itself discovers this, that all 
 good men are not therefore happy ; and she recollects many 
 things of Marcus Atiiius,^ Quintus Csepio,^ Marcus Aquil- 
 ius;^ and prudence herself, if these representations are 
 more agreeable to you than the things themselves, restrains 
 happiness when it is endeavoring to throw itself into tor- 
 ments, and denies that it has any connection with pain and 
 torture. 
 
 VI. M. I can easily bear with your behaving in this 
 manner, though it is not fair in you to prescribe to me 
 how you would have me carry on this discussion. But I 
 ask you if I have effected anything or nothing in the pre- 
 ceding days ? 
 
 A. Yes ; something was done, some little matter indeed. 
 
 M. But if that is the case, this question is settled, and 
 almost put an end to. 
 
 A. How so ? 
 
 M^. Because turbulent motions and violent agitations of 
 
 ^ This was Marcus Atilins Reguhis, the story. of whose treatment by 
 the Carthaginians in the first Punic War is well known to everybody, 
 
 ^ This was Quintus Servilius Caepio, wlio, 105 b.c, M'as destroyed, 
 Avith his army, by the Cimbri, it was believed as a judgment for the cov- 
 etousness wliich he had displayed in the plunder of Tolosa. 
 
 ^ This was Marcus Aquilius, who, in the year 88 n, c, was sent against 
 Mithridates as one of the consular legates ; and, being defeated, was de- 
 livered up to the king by the inhabitants of jMitylcnc. Mithridates put 
 him to death by pouring molten gold down his throat. 
 
WHETHER VIRTUE ALONE BE SUFFICIENT. 169 
 
 the mind, when it is raised and elated by a rash impulse, 
 getting the better of reason, leave no room for a happy 
 life. For who that fears either pain or death, the one of 
 which is always present, the other always impending, can 
 be otherwise than miserable? Now, supposing the same 
 person which is often the case to be afraid of pover- 
 ty, ignominy, infamy, or weakness, or blindness, or, lastly, 
 slavery, which doth not only befall individual men, but 
 often even the most powerful nations; now can any one 
 under the apprehension of these evils be happy? What 
 shall we say of him who not only dreads these evils as 
 impending, but actually feels and bears them at present? 
 Let us unite in the same person banishment, mourning, 
 the loss of children; now, how can any one \\ho is broken 
 down and rendered sick in body and mind by su''!i af- 
 fliction be otherwise than very miserable indeed ? What 
 reason, again, can there be why a man sliould not rightly 
 enough bo called miserable whom we see inflamed and 
 raging with lust, coveting everything with an insatiable 
 desire, and, in proportion as he derives more pleasure from 
 anything, thirsting the more violently after them? And as 
 to a man vainly elated, exulting with an empty joy, and 
 boasting of himself without reason, is not he so much tlio 
 more miserable in proportion as he thinks himself happier? 
 Therefore, as these men are miserable, so, on the other 
 hand, those are happy who are alarmed by no fears, wasted 
 by no griefs, provoked by no lusts, melted by no languid 
 pleasures that arise from vain and exulting joys. We 
 look on the sea as calm when not the least breath of air 
 disturbs its waves ; and, in like manner, the placid and 
 quiet state of the mind is discovered when unmoved by 
 any perturbation. Now, if there be any one who holds 
 the power of fortune, and everything human, everything 
 that can possibly befall any man, as supportable, so as to 
 be out of the reach of fear or anxiety, and irf such a man 
 covets nothing, and is lifted up by no vain joy of mind, 
 what can prevent his being happy? And if these are 
 the effects of virtue, w^hy cannot virtue itself make men 
 happy? 
 
 VII. A. But the other of these two propositions is unde- 
 niable, that they who are under no apprehensions, who are 
 
 8 
 
170 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 noways uneasy, who covet nothing, who are lifted up by 
 no vain joy, are liappy: and therefore I grant you that. 
 But as for the other, that is not now in a fit state for dis- 
 cussion ; for it has been proved by your former arguments 
 that a wise man is free from every perturbation of mind. 
 
 M. Doubtless, then, the dispute is over; for the question 
 appears to have been entirely exhausted. 
 
 A. I think, indeed, that that is almost the case. 
 
 M. But yet that is more usually the case with the mathe- 
 maticians than philosophers. For when the geometricians 
 teach anything, if what tliey have before taught I'elates to 
 their present subject, they take tliat for granted which has 
 been already proved, and ex])lain only what they had not 
 written on before. But the philosophers, whatever subject 
 they have in haufl, get together everything that relates 
 to it, notwithstanding they may have dilated on it some- 
 where else. Were not that the case, why should the 
 Stoics say so much on that question, Whether virtue was 
 abundantly sufficient to a happy life? when it would have 
 been answer enough that they had before taught that 
 nothing was good but what was honorable; for, as this 
 had been proved, the consequence must be that virtue was 
 sufficient to a happy life; and each premise may be made 
 to follow from the admission of the other, so that if it be 
 admitted that virtue is sufficient to secure a happy life, it 
 may also be inferred that nothing is good except what is 
 honorable. They, however, do not proceed in this manner ; 
 for they would separate books about what is honorable, 
 and what is the chief good ; and when they have demon- 
 strated from the one that virtue has power enough to 
 make life happy, yet they treat this point separately ; for 
 everything, and especially a subject of such great conse- 
 quence, should be supported by arguments and exhorta- 
 tions which belong to that alone. For you should have 
 a care how you imagine philosophy to have uttered any- 
 thing more noble, or that she has promised anytliing more 
 fruitful or of greater consequence, for, good Gods ! doth 
 she not engage that she Avill render him who submits to 
 her laws so accomplished as to be always armed against 
 fortune, and to have every assurance within himself of 
 living well and happily that he shall, in short, be forever 
 
WHETHER VIRTUE ALONE BE SUFFICIENT. 171 
 
 happy? But let us see what slie will perform? In the 
 mean while, I look upon it as a great thing that she lias 
 even made such a promise. For Xerxes, who was loaded 
 with all the rewards and gifts of fortune, not satisfied with 
 his armies of horse and foot, nor the multitude of his 
 ships, nor his infinite treasure of gold, offered a reward to 
 any one who could find out a new pleasure ; and yet, when 
 it was discovered, lie was not satisfied with it ; nor can 
 there ever be an end to lust. I wish we could engage 
 any one by a rew^ard to produce something the better to 
 establish us in this belief. 
 
 yill. A. I wish that, indeed, myself ; but I w^ant a lit- 
 tle information. For I allow that in what you have stated 
 the one proposition is the consequence of the other; that 
 as, if what is honorable be the only good, it must follow 
 that a happy life is the effect of virtue: so that if a hap- 
 py life consists in virtue, nothing can be good but virtue. 
 But your friend Brutus, on the authority of Aristo and 
 Antiochus, does not see this ; for he thinks the case would 
 be the same even if there were anything good besides 
 virtue. 
 
 31. What, then? do you imagine that I am going to 
 argue against Brutus ? 
 
 A. You may do what you please ; for it is not for me 
 to prescribe what you shall do. 
 
 M. How these things agree together shall be examined 
 somewhere else ; for I frequently discussed that point 
 with Antiochus, and lately witli Aristo, when, during the 
 period of my command as general, I was lodging with 
 him at Athens. For to me it seemed that no one could 
 possibly be happy under any evil ; but a wise man might 
 be afflicted with evil, if there are any things arising from 
 body or fortune deserving the name of evils. These things 
 w^ere said, which Antiochus has inserted in his books in 
 many places that virtue itself was sufficient to make life 
 happy, but yet not perfectly happy; and that many things 
 derive their names from the predominant portion of them, 
 though they do not include everything, as strength, health, 
 riches, honor, and glory: which qualities are determined 
 by their kind, not their number. Thus a happy life is so 
 called from its being so in a great degree, even thougli it 
 
172 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 should fall short in some point. To clear this up is not 
 absolutely necessary at present, though it seems to be 
 said without any great consistency; for I cannot imagine 
 what is wanting to one that is happy to make him happier, 
 for if anything be wanting to him, he cannot be so much as 
 happy; and as to what they say, that everything is named 
 and estimated from its predominant portion, that may be 
 admitted in some things. But when they allow three 
 kinds of evils when any one is oppressed with every im- 
 aginable evil of two kinds, being afflicted with adverse 
 fortune, and having at the same time his body worn out 
 and harassed with all sorts of pains shall we say that 
 such a one is but little short of a happy life, to say noth- 
 ing about the happiest possible life? 
 
 IX. This is the point which Theophrastus w\as unable 
 to maintain; for after he had once laid down the position 
 that stripes, torments, tortures, the ruin of one's country, 
 banishment, the loss of children, had great influence on 
 men's living miserably and unhappily, he durst not any 
 longer use any high and lofty expressions when he was so 
 low and abject in his opinion. How^ right he w^as is not 
 the question ; he certainly was consistent. Therefore, I 
 am not for objecting to consequences where the premises 
 are admitted. But this most elegant and learned of all 
 the philosophers is not taken to task very severely when 
 he asserts his three kinds of good; but he is attacked by 
 every one for that book which he wrote on a happy life, 
 in which book he has many arguments why one who is 
 tortured and racked cannot be happy. For in that book 
 he is supposed to say that a man who is placed on the 
 wheel (that is a kind of torture in use among the Greeks) 
 cannot attain to a completely happy life. He nowhere, in- 
 deed, says so absolutely ; but what he says amounts to the 
 same thing. Can I, then, find fault with him, after having 
 allowed that pains of the body are evils, that the ruin of a 
 man's fortunes is an evil, if lie should say that every good 
 man is not happy, when all those things which he reckons 
 as evils may befall a good man ? The same Theophrastus is 
 found fault with by all the books and schools of the philos* 
 oi)hers for commending that sentence in his Callisthenes, 
 
 Fortune, not wisdom, rules the life of man. 
 
WHETHER VIRTUE ALONE BE SUFFICIENT. 11 S 
 
 They say never did philosopher assert anything so lan- 
 guid. They are right, indeed, in that; but I do not ap- 
 prehend anything could be more consistent, for if there 
 are so many good things that depend on the body, and 
 so many foreign to it that depend on chance and fortune, 
 is it inconsistent to say that fortune, which governs every- 
 thing, both what is foreign and what belongs to the body, 
 has greater power than counsel. Or would we rather im- 
 itate Epicurus ? who is often excellent in many things 
 which he speaks, but quite indifferent how consistent he 
 may be, or how much to the purpose he is speaking. He 
 commends spare diet, and in that he speaks as a philoso- 
 pher ; but it is for Socrates or Antisthenes to say so, and 
 not for one who confines all good to pleasure. He denies 
 that any one can live pleasantly unless he lives honestly, 
 wisely, and justly. Nothing is more dignified than this 
 assertion, nothing more becoming a philosopher, had he 
 not measured this very expression of living honestly, just- 
 ly, and wisely by pleasure. What could be better than 
 to assert that fortune interferes but little with a wise 
 man ? But does he talk thus, who, after he has said that 
 pain is the greatest evil, or the only evil, might himself 
 be afflicted with the sharpest pains all over his body, even 
 at the time he is vaunting himself the most against fort- 
 une? And this very thing, too, Metrodorus has said, but 
 in better language: "I have anticipated you. Fortune; I 
 have caught you, and cut off every access, so that you 
 cannot possibly reach me." This would be excellent in 
 the mouth of Aristo the Chian, or Zeno the Stoic, who 
 held nothing to be an evil but what was base; but for 
 you, Metrodorus, to anticipate the approaches of fortune, 
 who confine all that is good to your bowels and mar- 
 row for you to say so, w^ho define the chief good by a 
 strong constitution of body, and well-assured hope of its 
 continuance for you to cut off every access of fortune ! 
 Why, you may instantly be deprived of that good. Yet 
 the simple are taken with these propositions, and a vast 
 crowd is led away by such sentences to become their fol- 
 lowers. 
 
 X. But it is the duty of one who would argue accu- 
 rately to consider not what is said, but what is said con- 
 
174 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 sistently. As in that very opinion which we have adopted 
 iu this discussion, namely, that every good man is always 
 happy, it is clear what I mean by good men : I call those 
 both wise and good men who are provided and adorned 
 with every virtue. Let us see, then, who are to be called 
 happy. I imagine, indeed, that those men are to be call- 
 ed so who are possessed of good without any alloy of 
 evil; nor is there any other notion connected with the 
 word that expresses happiness but an absolute enjoyment 
 of good without any evil. Virtue cannot attain this, if 
 there is anything good besides itself. For a crowd of 
 evils would present themselves, if we were to allow pov- 
 erty, obscurity, humility, solitude, the loss of friends, 
 acute pains of the body, the loss of health, weakness, 
 blindness, the ruin of one's country, banishment, slavery, 
 to be evils; for a wise man may be affticted by all these 
 evils, numerous and important as they are, and many 
 others also may be added, for they are brought on by 
 chance, which may attack a wise man; but if these things 
 are evils, who can maintain that a wise man is always 
 happy when all these evils may light on him at the same 
 time? I therefore do not easily agree with my friend 
 Brutus, nor with our common masters, nor those ancient 
 ones, Aristotle, Speusippus, Xenocrates, Polemon, who 
 reckon all that I have mentioned above as evils, and yet 
 they say that a wise man is always happy; nor can I al- 
 low them, because they are charmed with this beautiful 
 and illustrious title, which would very well become Py- 
 thagoras, Socrates, and Plato, to persuade my mind that 
 strength, health, beauty, riches, honors, power, with the 
 beauty of which they are ravished, are contemptible, and 
 that all those things which are the opposites of these are 
 not to be regarded. Then might they declare openly, 
 with a loud voice, that neither the attacks of fortune, nor 
 the opinion of the multitude, nor pain, nor poverty, occa- 
 sions them any apprehensions ; and that they have every- 
 thing within themselves, and that there is nothing what- 
 ever which they consider as good but what is within their 
 own power. Nor can I by any means allow the same per- 
 son who falls into the vulgar opinion of good and evil 
 to make use of these expressions, which can only become 
 
WHETHER VIRTUE ALONE BE SUFFICIENT. 175 
 
 a great and exalted man. Struck with which glory, up 
 starts Epicurus, who, with submission to the Gods, thinks 
 a wise man always happy. He is much charmed with the 
 dignity of this opinion, but he never would have owned 
 that, had he attended to himself; for what is there more 
 inconsistent than for one who could say tliat pain was 
 the greatest or the only evil to think also that a wise man 
 can possibly say in the midst of his torture. How sweet 
 is this ! We are not, therefore, to form our judgment 
 of philosophers from detached sentences, but from their 
 consistency with themselves, and their ordinary manner of 
 talking. 
 
 XI. A. You compel me to be of your opinion ; but have 
 a care that you are not inconsistent yourself. 
 
 31. In what respect? 
 
 A. Because I have lately read your fourth book on 
 Good and Evil: and in that you appeared to me, while 
 disputing against Cato, to be endeavoring to show, which 
 in my opinion means to prove, that Zeno and the Pei'ipa- 
 tetics differ only about some new words ; but if we allow 
 that, what reason can there be, if it follows from the argu- 
 ments of Zeno that virtue contains all that is necessary to 
 a happy life, that the Peripatetics should not be at liberty 
 to say the same ? For, in my opinion, regard should be 
 had to the thing, not to words. 
 
 31. What ! you would convict me from my own words, 
 and bring against me what I had said or written else- 
 where. You may act in that manner with those who dis- 
 pute by established rules. We live from hand to mouth, 
 and say anything that strikes our mind with probability, 
 so that we are tlie only people who are really at liberty. 
 But, since I just now spoke of consistency, I do not think 
 the inquiry in this place is, if tlie opinion of Zeno and his 
 pupil Aristo be true that nothing is good but what is hon- 
 orable; but, admitting that, then, whether the whole of a 
 happy life can be rested on virtue alone. Wherefore, if 
 we certainly grant Brutus this, that a wise man is always 
 happy, how consistent he is, is his own business; for who, 
 indeed, is more worthy than himself of the glory of that 
 opinion ? Still, we may maintain that such a man is more 
 happy than any one else. 
 
IVG THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 XII. Though Zeno the Cittioeaii, n stranger and an incon. 
 siderable coiner of words, appears to have insinuated liini- 
 self into the old philosophy ; still, the prevalence of this 
 opinion is due to the authority of Plato, who often makes 
 use of this expression, " That nothing but virtue can be 
 entitled to the name of good," agreeably to what Socrates 
 says in Plato's Gorgias; for it is there related that when 
 some one asked him if he did not think Archelaus the son 
 of Perdiccas, who was then looked upon as a most fortu- 
 nate person, a very happy man, "I do not know," replied 
 he, "for I never conversed with him." "What! is there 
 no other way you can know it by?" "None at all." 
 " You cannot, then, pronounce of the great king of the 
 Persians whether he is happy or not?" "How cnn I, 
 when I do not know how learned or how good a man he 
 is?" "What! do you imagine that a happy life depends 
 on that?" "My opinion entirely is, that good men are 
 happy, and the wicked miserable." " Is Archelaus, then, 
 miserable?" " Certainly, if unjust." Now, dees it not 
 appear to you that he is here placing the whole of a hap- 
 py life in virtue alone? But what does the same man say 
 in his funeral oration ? " For," saith he, " whoever has 
 everything that relates to a happy life so entirely depend- 
 ent on himself as not to be connected with tlie good or 
 bad fortune of another, and not to be affected by, or made 
 in any degree uncertain by, what befalls another; and 
 whoever is such a one has acquired the best rule of living; 
 he is that moderate, that brave, that wise man, wdio sub- 
 mits to the gain and loss of everything, and especially of 
 his children, and obeys that old precept; for he will never 
 be too joyful or too sad, because he depends entirely upon 
 himself." 
 
 XIII. From Plato, therefore, all my discourse shall be 
 deduced, as if from some sacred and hallowed fountain. 
 Whence can I, then, more properly begin than from Nat- 
 ure, the parent of all? For whatsoever she produces (I 
 am not speaking only of animals, but even of those things 
 which have sprung from the earth in such a manner as to 
 rest on their own roots) she designed it to be perfect in 
 its respective kind. So that among trees and vines, and 
 those lower plants and trees which cannot advance them- 
 
WHETHER VIRTUE ALONE BE SUEEICIENT. 177 
 
 selves high above the earth, some are evergreen, others 
 are stripped of their leaves in winter, and, warmed by the 
 spring season, put them out afresh, and there are none of 
 them but what are so quickened by a certain interior mo- 
 tion, and their own seeds enclosed in every one, so as to 
 yield flowers, fruit, or berries, that all may have every -pev- 
 fection that belongs to it; provided no violence prevents 
 it. But the force of Nature itself may be more easily dis- 
 covered in animals, as she has bestowed sense on them. 
 For some animals she has taught to swim, and designed 
 to be inhabitants of the water ; others she has enabled to 
 fly, and has willed that they should enjoy the boundless 
 air ; some others she has made to creep, others to walk. 
 Again, of these very animals, some are solitary, some gre- 
 garious, some wild, others tame, some hidden and buried 
 beneath the earth, and every one of these maintains the law 
 of nature, confining itself to what w^as bestowed on it, and 
 unable to change its manner of life. And as every ani- 
 mal has from nature something that distinguishes it, which 
 every one maintains and never quits ; so man has some- 
 thing far more excellent, though everything is said to be 
 excellent by comparison. But the human mind, being de- 
 rived from the divine reason, can be compared with noth- 
 ing but with the Deity itself, if I may be allowed the ex- 
 pression. This, then, if it is improved, and when its per- 
 ception is so preserved as not to be blinded by errors, be- 
 comes a perfect understanding, that is to say, absolute rea- 
 son, which is the very same as virtue. And if everything 
 is happy which wants nothing, and is complete and perfect 
 in its kind, and that is tlie peculiar lot of virtue, certainly 
 all who are possessed of virtue are happy. And in this 
 I agree with Brutus, and also with xVristotle, Xenocrates, 
 Speusippus, Polemon. 
 
 XIV. To me such are the only men who appear com- 
 pletely happy ; for what can he want to a complete happy 
 life who relies on his own good qualities, or how can he be 
 happy who does not rely on them ? But he who makes a 
 threefold division of goods must necessarily be difiident, 
 for how can he depend on having a sound body, or that 
 his fortune shall continue? But no one can be happy with- 
 out an immovable, fixed, and permanent good. What, 
 
 8* 
 
178 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 then, is this opinion of theirs ? So that I think that say- 
 ing of the Spartan may be applied to them, who, on some 
 merchant's boasting before him that he had despatched 
 ships to every maritime coast, repUed that a fortune which 
 depended on ropes was not very desirable. Can there be 
 any doubt that whatever may be lost cannot be properly 
 classed in the number of those things which complete a 
 happy life ? for of all that constitutes a happy life, noth- 
 ing will admit of withering, or growing old, or wearing 
 out, or decaying; for whoever is apprehensive of any loss 
 of these things cannot be happy : the happy man should 
 be safe, well fenced, well fortified, out of the reach of all 
 annoyance, not like a man under trifling apprehensions, 
 but free from all such. As he is not called innocent who 
 but sliglitly offends, but he who offends not at all, so it. is 
 he alone who is to be considered without fear who is free 
 from all fear, not he who is but in little fear. For what 
 else is courage but an affection of mind that is ready to 
 undergo perils, and patient in the endurance of pain and 
 labor without any alloy of fear ? Now, this certainly could 
 not be the case if there were anything else good but what 
 depended on honesty alone. But how can any one be in 
 possession of that desirable and much-coveted security (for 
 I now call a freedom from anxiety a security, on which 
 freedom a happy life depends) who has, or may have, a 
 multitude of evils attending him ? How can he be brave 
 and undaunted, and hold everything as trifles which can 
 befall a man? for so a wise man should do, unless he be one 
 who thinks that everything depends on himself. Could 
 the Lacedaemonians without this, when Philip threatened 
 to prevent all their attempts, have asked him if he could 
 prevent their killing themselves? Is it not easier, then, 
 to find one man of such a spirit as we are inquiring after, 
 than to meet with a whole city of such men ? Now, if to 
 this courage I am speaking of we add temperance, that it 
 may govern all our feelings and agitations, what can be 
 wanting to complete his happiness who is secured by his 
 courage from uneasiness and fear, and is prevented from 
 immoderate desires and immoderate insolence of joy by 
 temperance? I could easily show that virtue is able to 
 
WHETHER VIRTUE ALONE BE SUFFICIENT. 179 
 
 produce these effects, but that I have explained on the 
 foregoing days. 
 
 XV. But as the perturbations of the mind make life 
 miserable, and tranquillity renders it happy; and as these 
 perturbations are of two sorts, grief and fear, proceeding 
 from imagined evils, and as immoderate joy and lust arise 
 from a mistake about what is good, and as all these feel- 
 ings are in opposition to reason and counsel; when you 
 see a man at ease, quite free and disengaged from such 
 troublesome commotions, which are so much at variance 
 with one another, can you hesitate to pronounce such a 
 one a happy man? Now, the wise man is always in such 
 a disposition ; therefore the wise man is always happy. 
 Besides, every good is pleasant ; whatever is pleasant may 
 be boasted and talked of ; whatever may be boasted of is 
 glorious; but whatever is glorious is certainly laudable, 
 and whatever is laudable doubtless, also, honorable : what- 
 ever, then, is good is honorable (but the things which 
 they reckon as goods they themselves do not call honor- 
 able) ; therefore what is honorable alone is good. Hence 
 it follows that a happy life is comprised in honesty alone. 
 Such things, then, are not to be called or considered goods, 
 when a man may enjoy an abundance of them, and yet be 
 most miserable. Is there any doubt but that a man who 
 enjoys the best health, and who has strength and beauty, 
 and his senses flourishing in their utmost quickness and 
 perfection suppose him likewise, if you please, nimble and 
 active, nay, give him riches, honors, autliority, power, glo- 
 ry now, I say, should this person, who is in possession of 
 all these, be unjust, intemperate, timid, stupid, or an idiot 
 could you hesitate to call such a one miserable? What, 
 then, are those goods in the possession of which you may 
 be very miserable? Let us see if a happy life is not made 
 up of parts of the same nature, as a heap implies a quan- 
 tity of grain of the same kind. And if this be once ad- 
 mitted, happiness must be compounded of different good 
 things, which alone are honorable; if there is any mixture 
 of things of another sort with these, nothing honorable can 
 proceed from such a composition : now, take away hones- 
 ty, and how can you imagine anything happy? For what- 
 ever is good is desirable on that account; w^hatevev is de- 
 
180 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 sirable must certainly be approved of; whatever you ap 
 prove of must be looked on as acceptable and welcome. 
 You must consequently impute dignity to this; and if so, 
 it must necessarily be laudable: thc'refore, everything that 
 is laudable is good. Hence it follows that what is honor- 
 able is the only good. And should we not look upon it 
 in this light, there will be a great many things which we 
 must call good. 
 
 XVI. I forbear to mention riches, whicli, as any one, let 
 him be ever so unworthy, may have them, I do not reckon 
 among goods ; for what is good is not attainable by all. I 
 pass over notoriety and popular fame, raised by the united 
 voice of knaves and fools. Even things which are abso- 
 lute nothings may be called goods; such as white teeth, 
 handsome eyes, a good complexion, and what was com- 
 mended by Euryclea, when she was washing Ulysses's feet, 
 the softness of his skin and the mildness of his discourse. 
 If you look on these as goods, what greater encomiums can 
 the gravity of a philosopher be entitled to than the wild 
 opinion of the vulgar and the thoughtless crowd?* The 
 Stoics give the name of excellent and choice to what the 
 others call good : they call them so, indeed ; but they do 
 not allow them to complete a happy life. But these oth- 
 ers think that there is no life liappy without them; or, ad- 
 mitting it to be happy, they deny it to be the most happy. 
 But our opinion is, that it is the most happy; and we prove 
 it from that conclusion of Socrates. For thus that author 
 of philosophy argued : that as the disposition of a man's 
 mind is, so is the man; such as the man is, such will be 
 his discourse; his actions will correspond with his dis- 
 course, and his life with his actions. But the disposition 
 of a good man's mind is laudable; the life, therefore, of a 
 good man is laudable; it is honorable, therefore, because 
 laudable ; the unavoidable conclusion from Avhicli is that 
 the life of good men is happy. For, good Gods! did I 
 not make it appear, by my former arguments or was I 
 only amusing myself and killing time in what I then said ? 
 that the mind of a wise man was always free from every 
 hasty motion which I call a perturbation, and that the most 
 undisturbed peace always reigned in his breast? A man, 
 then, who is temperate and consistent, free from fear or 
 
WHETHER VIRTUE ALONE BE SUFFICIENT. 181 
 
 grief, and uninfluenced by any immoderate joy or desire, 
 cannot be otherwise than happy ; but a wise man is always 
 so, therefore he is always happy. Moreover, how can a 
 good man avoid referring all his actions and all his feel- 
 ings to the one standard of whether or not it is laudable ? 
 But he does refer everything to the object of living hap- 
 pily: it follows, then, that a happy life is laudable; but 
 nothing is laudable without virtue: a happy life, then, is 
 the consequence of virtue. And this is the unavoidable 
 conclusion to be drawn from these arguments. 
 
 XVII. A wicked life has nothing which we ought to 
 speak of or glory in ; nor has that life which is neither 
 happy nor miserable. But there is a kind of life that ad- 
 mits of being spoken of, and gloried in, and boasted of, as 
 Eparainondas saith. 
 
 The wings ot Sparta's pride ui y counsels clipp'd. 
 
 And Africanus boasts. 
 
 Who, from beyond Maiotis to the place 
 Where the sua rises, deeds like mine can trace ? 
 
 If, then, there is such a thing as a happy life, it is to be 
 gloried in, spoken of, and commended by the person who 
 enjoys it; for there is nothing excepting that which cnn 
 be spoken of or gloried in ; and when that is once admit- 
 ted, you know what follows. Now, unless an honorable 
 life is a happy life, there must, of course, be something 
 preferable to a happy life ; for that which is honorable all 
 men will certainly grant to be preferable to anything else. 
 And thus there will be something better than a happy life : 
 but what can be more absurd than such an assertion ? 
 What ! when they grant vice to be effectual to the render- 
 ing life miserable, must they not admit that there is a cor- 
 responding power in virtue to make life happy ? For con- 
 traries follow from contraries. And here' I ask what 
 weight they think there is in the balance of Critolaus, who 
 having put the goods of the mind into one scale, and the 
 goods of the body and other external advantages into the 
 other, thought the goods of the mind outweighed the oth- 
 ers so far that they would require the whole earth and sea 
 to equalize the scale. 
 
182 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 XVIII. What hinders Ci-itolaus, then, or that gravest 
 of philosophers, Xenocrates (who raises virtue so high, and 
 who lessens and depreciates everything else), from not 
 only placing a happy life, but the happiest possible life, 
 in virtue? And, indeed, if this were not the case, virtue 
 would be absolutely lost. For whoever is subject to grief 
 must necessarily be subject to fear too, for fear is an un- 
 easy apprehension of future grief ; and whoever is subject 
 to fear is liable to dread, timidity, consternation, coward- 
 ice. Therefore, such a person may, some time or other, be 
 defeated, and not think himself concerned with that pre- 
 cept of Atreus, 
 
 And let men so conduct themselves in life, 
 As to be iilwiijs strangers to defeat. 
 
 But such a man, as I have said, will be defeated; and not 
 only defeated, but made a slave of. But we would liave 
 virtue always free, always invincible; and were it not so, 
 there would be an end of virtue. But if virtue has in her- 
 self all that is necessary for a good life, she is certainly 
 sufficient for happiness : virtue is certainly sufficient, too, 
 for our living with courage ; if with courage, then with a 
 magnanimous spirit, and indeed so as never to be under 
 any fear, and thus to be always invincible. Hence it fol- 
 lows that there can be nothing to be repented of, no wants, 
 no lets or hinderances. Thus all things will be prosper- 
 ous, perfect, and as you would have them, and, consequent- 
 ly, happy ; but virtue is sufficient for living with courage, 
 and therefore virtue is able by herself to make life happy. 
 For as folly, even when possessed of what it desires, never 
 thinks it has acquired enough, so wisdom is always satisfied 
 with the present, and never repents on her own account. 
 
 XIX. Look but on the single consulship of Laslius, and 
 that, too, after having been set aside (though when a wise 
 and good man like him is outvoted, the people are disap- 
 pointed of a good consul, rather than he disappointed by 
 a vain people) ; but the point is, would you prefer, were it 
 in your power, to be once such a consul as Laslius, or be 
 elected four times, like Cinna? I have no doubt in the 
 world what answer you will make, and it is on that account 
 I put the question to you. 
 
WHETHER. VIRTUE ALONE BE SUFFICIENT. 183 
 
 I would not ask every one this question ; for some one 
 perhaps might answer that he would not only prefer four 
 consulates to one, but even one day of Cinna's life to whole 
 ages of many famous men. Laelius would have suffered 
 had he but touched any one with his finger; but Cinna 
 ordered the head of his colleague consul, Cn. Octavius, to 
 be struck off ; and put to death P. Crassus,* and L. Cae- 
 sar,^ those excellent men, so renowned both at home and 
 abroad ; and even M. Antonius,^ the greatest orator whom 
 I ever heard ; and C. Caesar, who seems to me to have been 
 the pattern of humanity, politeness, sweetness of temper, 
 and wit. Could he, then, be happy who occasioned the 
 death of these men ? So far from it, that he seems to be 
 miserable, not only for having performed these actions, but 
 also for acting in such a manner that it was lawful for him 
 to do it, though it is unlawful for any one to do wicked 
 actions; but this proceeds from inaccuracy of speech, for 
 we call whatever a man is allowed to do lawful. Was not 
 Marius happier, I pray you, when he shared the glory of 
 the victory gained over the Cimbrians with his colleague 
 Catulus (who was almost another Lcelius ; for I look upon 
 the two men as very like one another), than when, conquer- 
 or in the civil war, he in a passion answered the friends 
 of Catulus, who were interceding for him, "Let him die?" 
 And this answer he gave, not once only, but often. But 
 in such a case, he was happier who submitted to that bar- 
 barous decree than he who issued it. And it is better to 
 receive an injury than to do one; and so it was better to 
 advance a little to meet that death that was making its 
 approaches, as Catulus did, than, like Marius, to sully the 
 jglory of six consulships, and disgrace his latter days, by 
 the death of such a man. 
 
 XX. Dionysius exercised his tyranny over the Syracu- 
 sans thirty -eight years, being but twenty -five years old 
 
 * This was the elder brother of the triumvir Marcus Crassus, 87 k.c. 
 He was put to death by Fimbria, who was in command of some of ihe 
 troops of Marius. 
 
 ^ Lucius Cffisar and Caius Casar were relations (it is uncertain in 
 what degree) of the great Caasar, and were killed by Fimbria on the same 
 occasion as Octavius. 
 
 ^ M. Antonius was the grandfather of the triumvir ; he was murdered 
 the same year, 87 B.C., by Annius, when INfarius and Cinna took Kome. 
 
184 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 when he seized on the government. How beautiful and 
 how wealthy a city did he oppress with shivery ! And yet 
 we have it from good authority that he was remarkably 
 temperate in his manner of living, that he was very active 
 and energetic in carrying on business, but naturally mis- 
 chievous and unjust; from which description every one 
 who diligently inquires into truth must inevitably see that 
 he was very miserable. Neither did he attain what he so 
 greatly desired, even when he was persuaded that he had 
 unlimited power; for, notwithstanding he was of a good 
 family and reputable parents (though that is contested by 
 some authors), and had a very large acquaintance of inti- 
 mate friends and relations, and also some youths attached 
 to him by ties of love after the fasliion of the Greeks, he 
 could not trust any one of them, but committed the guard 
 of his person to slaves, whom he had selected from rich 
 men's families and made free, and to strangers and barba- 
 rians. And thus, through an unjust desire of governing, 
 he in a manner shut himself up in a prison. Besides, he 
 would not trust his throat to a barber, but had his daugh- 
 ters taught to shave; so that these royal virgins were 
 forced to descend to the base and slavish employment of 
 shaving the head and beard of their father. Nor would 
 he trust even them, when they were grown up, with a razor; 
 but contrived how they might burn off the hair of his head 
 and beard with red-hot nutshells. And as to his two wives, 
 Aristomache, his countrywoman, and Doris of Locris, he 
 never visited them at night before everything had been 
 well searched and examined. And as he had surrounded 
 the place where his bed was with a broad ditch, and made 
 a way over it with a wooden brid<^e, he drew that bridge 
 over after shutting his bedchamber door. And as he did 
 not dare to stand on the ordinary pulpits from which they 
 usually harangued the people, he generally addressed them 
 from a high tower. And it is said that when he was dis- 
 posed to play at ball for he delighted much in it and 
 had pulled oft his clothes, lie used to give his sword into 
 the keeping of a young man whom he was very fond of. 
 On this, one of his intimates said pleasantly, " You certain- 
 ly trust your life with him ;" and as the young man hap- 
 pened to smile at this, he ordered them both to be slain^ 
 
WHETHER VIRTUE ALONE BE SUFFICIENT. 185 
 
 the one for showing how he might be taken off, the other 
 for approving of what had been said by smiling. But he 
 was so concerned at what he had done tliat nothing affect- 
 ed him more during his whole life ; for he had slain one 
 to whom he was extremely partial. Thus do weak men's 
 desires pull them different ways, and while they indulge 
 one, they act counter to another. 
 
 XXI. This tyrant, however, showed himself how happy 
 he really was ; for once, when Damocles, one of his flatter- 
 ers, was dilating in conversation on his forces, his wealth, 
 the greatness of his j)Ower, the plenty he enjoyed, the 
 grandeur of his royal palaces, and maintaining that no 
 one was ever happier, " Have you an inclination," said he, 
 " Damocles, as this kind of life pleases you, to have a taste 
 of it yourself, and to make a trial of the good fortune that 
 attends me?" And when he said that he should like it 
 extremely, Dionysius ordered him to be laid on a bed of 
 gold with the most beautiful covering, embroidered and 
 wrought with the most exquisite w^ork, and he dressed out 
 a great many sideboards with silver and embossed gold. 
 He then ordered some youths, distinguished for their hand- 
 some persons, to wait at his table, and to observe his nod, 
 in order to serve him with what he wanted. There were 
 ointments and garlands; perfumes were burned; tables pro- 
 vided with the most exquisite meats. Damocles thought 
 himself very happy. In the midst of this apparatus, Dio- 
 nysius ordered a bright sword to be let down from the 
 ceiling, suspended by a single horse -hair, so as to hang 
 over tlie head of that happy man. After which he neither 
 cast his eye on those handsome waiters, nor on the well- 
 wrought plate ; nor touched any of the provisions : pres- 
 ently the garlands fell to pieces. At last he entreated the 
 tyrant to give him leave to go, for that now he had no de- 
 sire to be happy.^ Does not Dionysius, then, seem to have 
 declared there can be no happiness for one who is under 
 constant apprehensions? But it was not now in his pow- 
 
 * This story is alluded to by Horace : 
 
 Distiictus ensis cui super impia 
 Cervice penclet non Siculae dapes 
 Dulcem elaborabnnt saporem, 
 Non avium citharieve cautus 
 Somunm reduceut. iii. 1. IT. 
 
186 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 er to return to justice, and restore his citizens their riglits 
 and privileges; for, by the indiscretion of youth, he had 
 engaged in so many wrong steps and committed sucli ex- 
 travagances, that, had he attempted to have returned to 
 a right way of thinking, he must have endangered his 
 life. 
 
 XXII. Yet, how desirous he was of friendship, though 
 at the same time he dreaded the treachery of friends, ap- 
 pears from the story of those two Pythagoreans: one of 
 these had been security for his friend, who was condemned 
 to die; the other, to release his security, presented himself 
 at the time appointed for his dying: "I wish," said Dio- 
 nysius, "you would admit me as the third in your friend- 
 ship." What misery was it for him to be deprived of ac- 
 quaintance, of company at his table, and of the freedom of 
 conversation ! especially for one who was a man of learn- 
 ing, and from his childhood acquainted with liberal arts, 
 very fond of music, and himself a tragic poet how good 
 a one is not to the purpose, for I know not how it is, but 
 in this way, more than any other, every one thinks his own 
 performances excellent. I never as yet knew any poet 
 (and I was very intimate with Aquinius), who did not ap- 
 pear to himself to be very admirable. The case is this: 
 you are pleased with your own works ; I like mine. But 
 to return to Dionysius. He debarred himself from all civ- 
 il and polite conversation, and spent his life among fugi- 
 tives, bondmen, and barbarians ; for he was persuaded that 
 no one could be his friend who was worthy of liberty, or 
 had the least desire of being free. 
 
 XXIII. Shall I not, then, prefer the life of Plato and 
 Archytas, manifestly wise and learned men, to his, than 
 which nothing can possibly be more horrid, or miserable, 
 or detestable ? 
 
 I will present you with an humble and obscure mathe- 
 matician of the same city, called Archimedes, who lived 
 many years after; whose tomb, overgrown with shrubs 
 and briers, I in my qua^storship discovered, when the Syr- 
 acusans knew nothing of it, and even denied that there 
 was any such thing remaining; for I remembered some 
 verses, which I had been informed were engraved on liis 
 monument, and these set forth that on the top of the tomb 
 
WHETHER VIRTUE ALONE BE SUFFICIENT 187 
 
 ere was placed a sphere with a cylinder. When I had 
 irefully examined all the monuments (for there are a 
 creat many tombs at the gate Acliradinie), I observed a 
 ,mall column standing out a little above the briers, with 
 he figure of a sphere and a cylinder upon it;, whereupon 
 I immediately said to the Syracusans for there were 
 some of their principal men with me there that I im- 
 agined that was what I was inquiring for. Several men, 
 being sent in with scythes, cleared the way, and made an 
 opening for us. When we could get at it, and were come 
 near to the front of the pedestal, I found the inscription, 
 though the latter parts of all the verses were effaced al- 
 most half away. Thus one of the noblest cities of Greece, 
 and one which at one time likewise had been very cele- 
 brated for learning, had known nothing of the monument 
 of its greatest genius, if it had not been discovered to them 
 by a native of Arpinum. But to return to the subject 
 from which I have been digressing. Who is there in the 
 least degree acquainted with the Muses, that is, with lib- 
 eral knowledge, or that deals at all in learning, who would 
 not choose to be this mathematician rather than that ty- 
 rant? If we look into their methods of living and their 
 employments, we shall find the mind of the one strength- 
 ened and improved with tracing the deductions of reason, 
 amused with his own ingenuity, which is the one most 
 delicious food of the mind; the thoughts of the other en- 
 gaged in continual murders and injuries, in constant fears 
 by night and by day. Now imagine a Democritus, a Py- 
 thagoras, and an Anaxagoras ; what kingdom, what riches, 
 would you prefer to their studies and amusements ? For 
 you must necessarily look for that excellence which we are 
 seeking for in that which is the most perfect part of man ; 
 but what is there better in man than a sagacious and good 
 mind ? The enjoyment, therefore, of that good which pro- 
 ceeds from that sagacious mind can alone make us happy; 
 but virtue is the good of the mind : it follows, therefore, 
 that a happy life depends on virtue. Hence proceed all 
 things that are beautiful, honorable, and excellent, as I said 
 above (but this point must, I think, be treated of more 
 at large), and they are well stored with joys. For, as it 
 is clear that a happy life consists in perpetual and unex- 
 
188 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 hausted pleasures, it follows, too, that a happy life must 
 arise froui honesty. 
 
 XXIV. But tliat Avhat I propose to demonstrate to you 
 may not rest on mere words only, I must set before you 
 the picture of something, as it were, living and moving in 
 the world, that may dispose us more for the improvement 
 of the understanding and real knowledge. Let us, then, 
 pitch upon some man perfectly acquainted with the most 
 excellent arts ; let us present him for awhile to our own 
 thoughts, and figure him to our own imaginations. In 
 the first place, he must necessarily be of an extraordina- 
 ry capacity; for virtue is not easily connected with dull 
 minds. Secondly, he must have a great desire of discover- 
 ing truth, from whence will arise that threefold production 
 of^ the mind ; one of which depends on knowing things, 
 and explaining nature; the other, in definir/g what we 
 ought to desire and wl^at to avoid; the third, in judg- 
 ing of consequences and impossibilities, in which consists 
 both subtlety in disputing and also clearness of judgment. 
 Now, with what pleasure must the mind of a wise man 
 be affected which continually dwells in the midst of such 
 cares and occupations as these, when he views the revo- 
 lutions and motions of the wdiole world, and sees those 
 innumerable stars in the heavens, which, though fixed in 
 their places, have yet one motion in common with the 
 whole universe, and observes the seven other stars, some 
 higher, some lower, each maintaining their own course, 
 while their motions, though wandering, have certain de- 
 fined and appointed spaces to run through ! the sight of 
 which doubtless urged and encouraged those ancient phi- 
 losophers to exercise their investigating spirit on many 
 other things. Hence arose an inquiry after the beginnings, 
 and, as it were, seeds from which all things were produced 
 and composed ; what Avas the origin of every kind of thing, 
 whether animate or inanimate, articulately speaking or 
 mute; what occasioned their beginning and end, and by 
 what alteration and change one thing was converted into 
 another ; whence the earth originated, and by what weights 
 it was balanced ; by what caverns the seas were sup])lied ; 
 by what gravity all things being carried down tend always 
 to the middle of the woi-ld, which in any round body is 
 the lowest i)lace. 
 
WHETHER VIRTUE ALONE BE SUFFICIENT. 189 
 
 XXV. A mind employed on such subjects, and wliicli 
 night and day contemplates tlieni, contains in itself that 
 precept of the Delphic God, so as to " know itself," and to 
 perceive its connection with the divine reason, from whence 
 it is filled with an insatiable joy. For reflections on the 
 power and nature of the Gods raise in us a desire of im- 
 itating their eternity. Nor does the mind, that sees the 
 necessary dependences and connections that one cause has 
 with another, think it possible that it should be itself con- 
 fined to the shortness of this life. Those causes, though 
 they proceed from eternity to eternity, are governed by 
 reason and understanding. And he who beholds them 
 and examines them, or rather he whose view takes in all 
 the parts and boundaries of things, with what tranquillity 
 of mind does he look on all human affairs, and on all that 
 is nearer him ! Hence proceeds the knowledge of virtue; 
 hence arise the kinds and species of virtues; hence are 
 discovered those things which nature regards as the 
 bounds and extremities of good and evil ; by this it is dis- 
 covered to what all duties ought to be referred, and which 
 is the most eligible manner of life. And when these and 
 similar points have been investigated, the principal conse- 
 quence which is deduced from them, and that which is our 
 main object in this discussion, is the establishment of the 
 point, that virtue is of itself sufficient to a happy life. 
 
 The third qualification of our wise man is the next to 
 be considered, which goes through and spreads itself over 
 every part of w^isdom; it is that whereby we define each 
 particular thing, distinguish the genus from its species, 
 connect consequences, draw just conclusions, and distin- 
 guish truth from falsehood, which is the very art and 
 science of disputing; which is not only of the greatest use 
 in the examination of what passes in the world, but is 
 likewise the most rational entertainment, and that which 
 is most becoming to true wisdom. Such are its effects in 
 retirement. Now, let our wise man be considered as pro- 
 tecting the republic ; what can be more excellent than such 
 a character ? By his prudence he will discover the true in- 
 terests of his fellow-citizens ; by his justice he will be pre- 
 vented from applying what belongs to the public to his 
 own use ; and, in short, he will be ever governed by all the 
 
190 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 virtues, wliicli are many and various. To these let ns add 
 the advantage of his friendships ; in which the learned 
 reckon not only a natural harmony and agreement of sen- 
 timents througliout the conduct of life, but the utmost 
 pleasure and satisfaction in conversing and passing our 
 time constantly witli one another. What can be wanting 
 to sucli a life as this to make it more happy than it is? 
 Fortune herself must yield to a life stored with such joys. 
 Now, if it be a liappiness to rejoice in such goods of the 
 mind, that is to say, in such virtues, and if all wise men 
 enjoy tliorouglily these pleasures, it must necessarily be 
 granted that all such are happy. 
 
 XXVI. A. What, when in torments and on tlic rack? 
 
 31. Do you imagine I am speaking of Idm as laid on 
 roses and violets? Is it allowable even for Epicurus (who 
 only puts on the appearance of being a philosopher, and 
 who himself assumed that name for himself) to say (though, 
 as matters stand, I commend him for his saying) that a 
 wise man might at all times cry out, though he be burned, 
 tortured, cut to pieces, "How little I regard it!" Shall 
 this be said by one who defines all evil as ])ain, and meas- 
 ures every good by pleasure; who could ridicule whatever 
 we call either honoi'able or base, and could declare of us 
 that we were employed about words, and nttering mere 
 empty sounds; and that nothing is to be regarded by us 
 but as it is perceived to be smooth or rough by the body? 
 What! shall such a man as this, as I said, whose under- 
 standing is little superior to the beasts', be at liberty to 
 forget himself; and not only to despise fortune, when the 
 whole of his good and evil is in the power of fortune, but 
 to say that he is happy in the most racking torture, Avhen 
 he had actually declared pain to be not only the greatest 
 evil, but the only one? Nor did he take any trouble to 
 provide himself with those remedies which might have 
 enabled liini to bear pain, sucli as firmness of mind, a 
 shame of doing anything base, exercise, and the habit of 
 patience, ]irecei)ts of courage, and a manly hardiness ; but 
 he says that he supports himself on the single recollection 
 of past pleasures, as if any one, when the weather was so 
 liot as that he was scarcely able to bear it, should comfort 
 himself by recollecting that he was once in my country, 
 
WHETHER VIRTUE ALONE BE SUFFICIENT. 191 
 
 Arpinnm, where he was siirrouncled on every side by cooU 
 iiig streams. For I do not apprehend how past pleasures 
 can allay present evils. But when he says that a wise 
 man is always happy who would have no right to say so 
 if he were consistent with himself, what may they not do 
 who allow nothing to be desirable, nothing to be looked 
 on as good but what is honorable? Let, then, the Peripa- 
 tetics and Old Academics follow my example, and at length 
 leave off muttering to themselves; and openly and with a 
 clear voice let them be bold to say that a happy life may 
 not be inconsistent with the agonies of Phalaris's bull. 
 
 XXVII. But to dismiss the subtleties of the Stoics, 
 which I am sensible I have employed more than was nec- 
 essary, let us admit of three kinds of goods; and let them 
 really be kinds of goods, provided no regard is had to 
 the body and to external circumstances, as entitled to the 
 appellation of good in any other sense than because we 
 are obliged to use them : but let those other divine goods 
 spread themselves far in every direction, and reach the 
 very heavens. Why, then, may I not call him happy, uay, 
 the happiest of men, who has attained them ? Shall a 
 wise man be afraid of pain? which is, indeed, the greatest 
 enemy to our opinion. For I am persuaded that we are 
 prepared and fortified sufficiently, by the disputations of 
 the foregoing days, against our own death or that of our 
 friends, against grief, and the other perturbations of the 
 mind. But pain seems to be the sharpest adversary of 
 virtue; that it is which menaces us with burning torches; 
 that it is which threatens to crush our fortitude, and 
 greatness of mind, and patience. Shall virtue, then, yield 
 to this? Shall the happy life of a wise and consistent 
 man succumb to this ? Good Gods ! how base would this 
 be ! Spartan boys will bear to have their bodies torn by 
 rods without uttering a groan. I myself have seen at 
 Laceda^mon troops of young men, with incredible earnest- 
 ness contending together with their hands and feet, with 
 their teeth and nails, nay, even ready to expire, rather tkan 
 own themselves conquered. Is any country of barbarians 
 more uncivilized or desolate than India? Yet they have 
 among them some that are held for wise men, who never 
 wear any clothes all their life long, and who bear the 
 
192 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 snow of Caucasus, and the piercing cold of winter, with- 
 out any pain ; and who if they come in contact with fire 
 endure being burned without a groan. The women, too, 
 in India, on tlie deatli of their husbands have a regular 
 contest, and apply to the judge to liave it determined which 
 of them was best beloved by him ; for it is customaiy 
 there for one man to have many wives. She in whose 
 favor it is determined exults greatly, and being attended 
 by her relations, is laid on the funeral pile with her Iius- 
 band ; the others, who are postponed, walk away very 
 much dejected. Custom can never be superior to nature, 
 for nature is never to be got the better of. But our minds 
 are infected by sloth and idleness, and luxury, and languor, 
 and indolence : we have enervated them by opinions and 
 bad customs. Who is there who is unacquainted w^ith the 
 customs of the Egyptians? Their minds being tainted 
 by pernicious opinions, they are ready to bear any torture 
 rather than hurt an ibis, a snake, a cat, a dog, or a croco- 
 dile; and should any one inadvertently have hurt any of 
 these animals, he will submit to any punishment. I am 
 speaking of men only. As to the beasts, do they not bear 
 cold and hunger, running about in Avoods, and on moun- 
 tains and deserts? Will they not fight for their young 
 ones till they are wounded ? Are they afraid of any at- 
 tacks or blows? I mention not what the ambitious will 
 suffer for honor's sake, or those who are desirous of praise 
 on account of glory, or lovers to gratify their lust. Life 
 is full of such instances. 
 
 XXVIII. But let us not dwell too much on these ques- 
 tions, but rather let us return to our subject. I say, and 
 say again, that happiness will submit even to be torment- 
 ed; and that in pursuit of justice, and temperance, and 
 still more especially and principally fortitude, and great- 
 ness of soul, and patience, it will not stop short at sight of 
 the executioner ; and when all other virtues proceed calm- 
 ly to the torture, that one will never halt, as I said, on the 
 outi^ide and threshold of the prison ; for what can be baser, 
 what can carry a worse appearance, than to be left alone, 
 separated from those beautiful attendants ? Not, however, 
 that this is by any means possible; for neither can the 
 virtues hold together without ha})pincss, nor happiness 
 
WHETHER VIRTUE ALONE BE SUFFICIENT. 193 
 
 without the virtues ; so that they wilj not suffer her to de- 
 sert them, but will carry her along with them, to whatever 
 torments, to whatever pain they are led. For it is the 
 peculiar quality of a wise man to do nothing that he may 
 repent of, nothing against his Inclination, but always to 
 act nobly, with constancy, gravity, and honesty ; to depend 
 on nothing as certainty; to wonder at nothing, when it 
 falls out, as if it appeared strange and unexpected to him ; 
 to be independent of every one, and abide by his own 
 opinion. For my part, I caimot form an idea of anything 
 happier than this. The conclusion of the Stoics is indeed 
 easy ; for since they are persuaded that the end of good is 
 to live agreeably to nature, and to be consistent with that 
 as a wise man should do so, not only because it is his 
 duty, but because it is in his power it must, of course, 
 follow that whoever has the chief good in his power has 
 his happiness so too. And thus the life of a wise man is 
 always happy. You have here what I think may be con- 
 fidently said of a happy life; and as things now stand, very 
 truly also, unless you can advance something better. 
 
 XXIX. A. Indeed I cannot; but I should be glad to 
 prevail on you, unless it is troublesome (as you are under 
 no confinement from obligations to any particular sect, but 
 gather from all of them whatever strikes you most as hav- 
 ing the appearance of probability), as you just now seem- 
 ed to advise the Peripatetics and the Old Academy boldly 
 to speak out without reserve, " that wise men are always 
 the happiest" I should be glad to hear how you think it 
 consistent for them to say so, when you have said so much 
 against that opinion, and the conclusions of the Stoics. 
 
 31. I will make use, then, of that liberty which no one 
 has the privilege of using in philosophy but those of our 
 school, whose discourses determine nothing, but take in 
 everything, leaving them unsupported by the authority of 
 any particular person, to be judged of by others, accord- 
 ing to their weight. And as you seem desirous of know- 
 ing how it is that, notwithstanding the different opinions 
 of philosophers Avith regard to the ends of goods, virtue 
 has still sufficient security for the effecting of a happy life 
 which security, as we are informed, Carneades used in- 
 deed to dispute against; but he disputed as against the 
 
 9 
 
194 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 Stoics, whose opinions he combated with great zeal and 
 vehemence. I, however, shall handle the question M'ith 
 more temper; for if the Stoics have rightly settled the 
 ends of goods, the affair is at an end ; for a wise man 
 must necessarily be always happy. But let us examine, if 
 we can, the particular opinions of the others, that so this 
 excellent decision, if I may so call it, in favor of a happy 
 life, may be agreeable to the opinions and discipline of all. 
 XXX. These, then, are the opinions, as I think, that are 
 held and defended the first four are simple ones : " that 
 nothing is good but what is honest," according to the Sto- 
 ics ; " nothing good but pleasure," as Epicurus maintains ; 
 "nothing good but a freedom from pain," as Hieronymus' 
 asserts; "nothing good but an enjoyment of the princi- 
 pal, or all, or the greatest goods of nature," as Carneades 
 mainlined against the Stoics these are simple, the oth- 
 ers are mixed propositions. Then there are three kinds 
 of goods : the greatest being those of the mind ; the next 
 best those of the body ; the third are external goods, as 
 the Peripatetics call them, and the Old Academics differ 
 very little from them. Dinomachus'^ and CaiHpho^ have 
 coupled pleasure with honesty; but Diodorus* the Peri- 
 patetic has joined indolence to honesty. These are the 
 opinions that have some footing; for those of Aristo,^ 
 Pyrrho, Herillus,'^ and of some others, are quite out of 
 date. Now let us see what weight these men have in 
 
 ^ Hieronymus was a Rhodian, and a pupil of Aristotle, flourishing 
 about 300 B.C. He is frequently mentioned by Cicero. 
 
 ^ We know very little of Dinomachus. Some MSS. have Clitonia- 
 chus. 
 
 ^ Callipho was in all probability a pupil of Epicurus, but Ave have no 
 certain information about him, 
 
 * Diodorus was a Syrian, and succeeded Critolaus as the head of the 
 Peripatetic School at Athens. 
 
 ' Aristo was a native of Ceos, and a pupil of Lycon, who succeeded 
 Straton as the head of the Peripatetic School, 270 B.C. He afterward 
 himself succeeded Lycon. 
 
 Pynho was a native of Elis, and the originator of the sceptical 
 theories of some of the ancient philosophers. He was a contemporary 
 of Alexander. 
 
 ' Plerillus was a disciple of Zeno of Cittium, and therefore a Stoic. 
 He did not, however, follow all the opinions of his master : he hel<l that 
 knowledge was the chief good. Some of the treatises of Cleanthes were 
 written expressly to confute him. 
 
WHETHER VIRTUE ALONE BE SUFFICIENT. 195 
 
 them, excepting the Stoics, whose opinion I think I have 
 sufficiently defended ; and indeed I have explained what 
 the Peripatetics have to say; excepting that Theophrastns, 
 and those who followed him, dread and abhor pain in too 
 weak a manner. The others may go on to exaggerate 
 the gravity and dignity of virtue, as usual ; and then, after 
 they have extolled it to the skies, with the usual extrava- 
 gance of good orators, it is easy to reduce the other topics 
 to nothing by comparison, and to hold them up to con- 
 tempt. They wiio think that praise deserves to be sought 
 after, even at the expense of pain, are not at liberty to 
 deny those men to be happy who have obtained it. Though 
 they may be under some evils, yet this name of happy has 
 a very wide application. 
 
 XXXI. For even as trading is said to be lucrative, and 
 farming advantageous, not because the one never meets 
 with any loss, nor the other with any damage from the in- 
 clemency of the weather, but because they succeed in gen- 
 eral; so life may be properly called happy, not from its 
 being entirely made up of good things, but because it 
 abounds with these to a great and considerable degree. 
 By this way of reasoning, then, a happy life may attend 
 virtue even to the moment of execution ; nay, may descend 
 with her into Phalaris's bull, according to Aristotle, Xenoc- 
 rates, Speusippus, Polemon ; and will not be gained over 
 by any allurements to forsake her. Of the same opinion 
 will Calliphon and Diodorus be ; for they are both of them 
 such friends to virtue as to think that all things should be 
 discarded and far removed that are incompatible with it. 
 The rest seem to be more hampered with these doctrines, 
 but yet they get clear of them ; such as Epicurus, Hie- 
 ronymus, and whoever else thinks it worth while to defend 
 the deserted Carneades : for there is not one of them who 
 does not think the mind to be judge of those goods, and 
 able sufficiently to instruct him how to despise what has 
 the appearance only of good or evil. For what seems to 
 you to be the case with Epicurus is the case also Avith 
 Hieronymus and Carneades, and, indeed, with all the rest 
 of them ; for who is there who is not sufficiently prepared 
 against death and pain ? I will begin, with your leave, 
 with him whom we call soft and voluptuous. What! 
 
196 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 does he seem to you to be afraid of death or pain when 
 he calls the day of his death happy ; and who, when he is 
 afflicted by the greatest pains, silences them all by recol- 
 lecting arguments of his own discovering? And this is 
 not done in siicli a manner as to give room for imagining 
 that he talks thus wildly from some sudden impulse ; but 
 his opinion of death is, that on the dissolution of the ani- 
 mal all sense is lost ; and what is deprived of sense is, as 
 he thinks, what we have no concern at all with. And as 
 to pain, too, he has certain rules to follow then : if it be 
 great, the comfort is that it must be short; if it be of 
 long continuance, then it must be supportable. What, 
 then ? Do those grandiloquent gentlemen state anything 
 better than Epicurus in opposition to these two things 
 Avhich distress us the most ? And as to other things, do 
 not Epicurus and the rest of the philosophers seem suffi- 
 ciently prepared ? Who is there who does not dread pov- 
 erty? And yet no true philosopher ever can dread it. 
 
 XXXII. But with how little is this man himself satis- 
 fied ! No one has said more on frugality. For when a 
 man is far removed from those things which occasion a 
 desire of money, from love, ambition, or other daily ex- 
 travagance, Avhy should he be fond of money, or concern 
 himself at all about it? Could the Scythian Anacharsis^ 
 disregard money, and shall not our philosophers be able 
 to do so? We are informed of an epistle of his in these 
 words: "Anacharsis to Hanno, greeting. My clothing is 
 the same as that with which the Scythians cover them- 
 selves; the hardness of my feet supplies the want of 
 shoes ; the ground is my bed, hunger my sauce, my food 
 milk, cheese, and flesh. So you may come to me as to a 
 man in want of nothing. But as to those presents you 
 take so much pleasure in, you may dispose of them to your 
 own citizens, or to the immortal Gods." And almost all 
 philosophers, of all schools, excepting those who are warp- 
 
 ^ Anacharsis was (ITerod., iv., 76) son of Gnurus and brother of Sauli- 
 us, King of Thrace. He came to Athens while Solon was occnpied in 
 framing laws for his people; and by the simplicity of his way of living, 
 and his acute observations on the manners of the Greeks, lie excited 
 such general admiration that he was reckoned by some writers among 
 the Seven Wise Men of Greece. 
 
WHETHER VIRTUE ALONE BE SUFFICIENT. 197 
 
 ed from right reason by a vicious disposition, might have 
 been of this same opinion. Socrates, when on one occasion 
 he saw a great quantity of gold and silver carried in a pro- 
 cession, cried out, " How many things are there which I 
 do not want !" Xenocrates, when some ambassadors from 
 Alexander had brought him fifty talents, which was a very 
 large sum of money in those times, especially at Athens, 
 carried the ambassadors to sup in the Academy, and placed 
 just a sufiiciency before them, without any apparatus. 
 When they asked him, the next day, to whom he wished 
 the money which they had for him to be paid : " What !" 
 said he, " did you not perceive by our slight repast of yes- 
 terday that I had no occasion for money ?" But when he 
 perceived that they were somewhat dejected, he accepted 
 of thirty minse, that he might not seem to treat with dis- 
 respect the king's generosity. But Diogenes took a great- 
 er liberty, like a Cynic, when Alexander asked him if he 
 wanted anything : " Just at present," said he, " I wish that 
 you would stand a little out of the line between me and 
 the sun," for Alexander was hindering him from sunning 
 himself. And, indeed, this very man used to maintain how 
 much he surpassed the Persian king in his manner of life 
 and fortune; for that he himself was in want of nothing, 
 while the other never had enough ; and that he had no in- 
 clination for those pleasures of which the other could nev- 
 er get enough to satisfy himself ; and that the other could 
 never obtain his. 
 
 XXXIII. You see, I imagine, how Epicurus has divided 
 his kinds of desires, not very acutely perhaps, but yet use- 
 fully: saying that they are "partly natural and necessary; 
 partly natural, but not necessary ; partly neither. That 
 those which are necessary may be supplied almost for 
 nothing; for that the things which nature requires are 
 easily obtained." As to the second kind of desires, his 
 opinion is that any one may easily either enjoy or go with- 
 out them. And with regard to the third, since they are 
 utterly frivolous, being neither allied to necessity nor nat- 
 ure, he thinks that they should be entirely rooted out. On 
 this topic a great many arguments are adduced by the 
 Epicureans; and those pleasures which they do not de- 
 spise in a body, they disparage one by one, and seem rath- 
 
198 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS 
 
 er for lessening the number of them ; for as to wanton 
 pleasures, on which subject they say a great deal, these, 
 say they, are easy, common, and within any one's reach ; 
 and they think that if nature requires them, they are not 
 to be estimated by birth, condition, or rank, but by shnpe, 
 age, and person : and that it is by no means difficult to re- 
 frain from them, should health, duty, or reputation require 
 it ; but that pleasures of this kind may be desirable, where 
 they are attended with no inconvenience, but can never 
 be of any use. And the assertions which Epicurus makes 
 with respect to the whole of pleasure are such as show his 
 opinion to be that pleasure is always desirable, and to be 
 pursued merely because it is pleasure ; and for the same 
 reason pain is to be avoided, because it is pain. So that 
 a wise man will always adopt such a system of counter- 
 balancing as to do himself the justice to avoid pleasure, 
 should pain ensue from it in too great a proportion ; and 
 will submit to pain, provided the effects of it are to pro- 
 duce a greater pleasure: so that all pleasurable things, 
 though the corporeal senses are the judges of them, are 
 still to be referred to the mind, on which account the body 
 rejoices while it perceives a present pleasure ; but that the 
 mind not only perceives the present as well as the body, 
 but foresees it while it is coming, and even when it is past 
 will not let it quite slip away. So that a wise man enjoys 
 a continual series of pleasures, uniting the expectation of 
 future pleasure to the recollection of what he has already 
 tasted. The like notions are applied by them to high liv- 
 ing ; and the magnificence and expensiveness of entertain- 
 ments are deprecated, because nature is satisfied at a small 
 expense. 
 
 XXXIV. For who does not see this, that an appetite 
 is the best sauce ? When Darius, in his flight from the 
 enemy, had drunk some water which was muddy and 
 tainted with dead bodies, he declared that he had never 
 drunk anything more pleasant ; the fact was, that he had 
 never drunk before when he was thirsty. Nor had Ptol- 
 emy ever eaten when he was hungry ; for as he was trav- 
 elling over Egypt, his company not keeping up Avith him, 
 he had some coarse bread presented him in a cottage, 
 upon which he said, " Nothing ever seemed to him pleas- 
 
WHETHER VIRTUE ALONE BE SUFFICIENT. 199 
 
 anter than that bread." They relate, too, of Socrates, that, 
 once when he was walking very fast till the evening, on 
 his being asked why he did so, his reply was that he 
 was purchasing an appetite by walking, that he might sup 
 the better. And do w^e not see what the Lacedaemonians 
 provide in their Phiditia? where the tyrant Dionysius 
 supped, but told them he did not at all like that black 
 broth, which was their principal dish ; on which he who 
 dressed it said, "It was no wonder, for it wanted season- 
 ing." Dionysius asked what that seasoning was ; to which 
 it was replied, "Fatigue in hunting, sweating, a race on 
 the banks of Eurotas, hunger and thirst," for these are the 
 seasonings to the Lacediemonian banquets. And this may 
 not only be conceived from the custom of men, but from 
 the beasts, who are satisfied with anything that is thrown 
 before thein, provided it is not unnatural, and they seek 
 no farther. Some entire cities, tangiit by custom, delight 
 in parsimony, as I said but just now of the Lacedaemo- 
 nians. Xenophon has given an account of the Persian diet, 
 who never, as he saitli, use anything but cresses with 
 their bread ; not but that, should nature require anything 
 more agreeable, many things might be easily supplied by 
 the ground, and plants in great abundance, and of incom- 
 parable sweetness. Add to this strength and health, as 
 the consequence of this abstemious way of living. Now, 
 compare with this those who sweat and belch, being cram- 
 med with eating, like fatted oxen ; then will you perceive 
 that they who pursue pleasure most attain it least; and 
 that the pleasure of eating lies not in satiety, but appetite. 
 XXXV. They report of Timotheus, a famous man at 
 Athens, and the head of the city, that having supped with 
 Plato, and being extremely delighted with his entertain- 
 ment, on seeing him the next day, he said, " Your suppers 
 are not only agreeable while I partake of them, but the 
 next day also." Besides, the understanding is impaired 
 when we are full with overeating and drinking. There is 
 an excellent epistle of Plato to Dion's relations, in which 
 there occurs as nearly as possible these w^ords : " When I 
 came there, that happy life so much talked of, devoted to 
 Italian and Syracusnn entertainments, was noways agree- 
 able to me; to be crammed twice a day, and never to 
 
200 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 hjive tlie iiiglit to yourself, and tlie other things wliich are 
 the accompaniments of this kind of life, by which a man 
 will never be made the wiser, but will be rendered much 
 less temperate; for it must be an extraordinary disposi- 
 tion that can be temperate in such circumstances." How, 
 then, can a life be pleasant without prudence and temper- 
 ance? Plence you discover the mistake of Sardanapalus, 
 the wealthiest king of the Assyrians, who ordered it to be 
 angraved on his tomb, 
 
 I still have what in food I did exhaust ; 
 But what I left, though excellent, is lost. 
 
 "What less than this," says Aristotle, "could be in- 
 scribed on the tomb, not of a king, but an ox ?" He said 
 that he possessed those things when dead, which, in his 
 lifetime, he could have no longer than while he was enjoy- 
 ing them. Why, then, are riches desired ? And wherein 
 doth poverty prevent us from being happy ? In the want, 
 I imagine, of statues, pictures, and diversions. But if any 
 one is dehghted with these things, have not the poor peo- 
 ple the enjoyment of them more than they who are the 
 owners of them in the greate'st abundance? For we have 
 great numbers of them displayed publicly in our city. 
 And whatever store of them private peojile have, they can- 
 not have a great number, and they but seldom see them, 
 only when they go to their country seats; and some of 
 them must be stung to the heart when they consider how 
 they came by them. The day would fail me, should I be 
 inclined to defend the cause of poverty. The thing is man- 
 ifest; and nature daily informs us how few things there 
 are, and how trifling they are, of which she really stands 
 in need. 
 
 XXXVI. Let us inquire, then, if obscurity, the want of 
 power, or even the being unpopular, can prevent a wise 
 man from being happy. Observe if popular favor, and 
 this glory which they are so fond of, be not attended with 
 more uneasiness than pleasure. Our friend Demosthenes 
 was certainly very weak in declaring himself pleased with 
 the whisper of a woman who was carrying water, as is the 
 custom in Greece, and who whispered to another, "That is 
 he that is Demosthenes." What could be weaker than 
 
WlIErilEK VIRTUE ALONE BE SUFFICIENT. 201 
 
 this ? and yet what an orator he was ! But although ho 
 liad learned to speak to others, he had conversed but lit- 
 tie with himself. We may perceive, therefore, that pop- 
 ular glory is not desirable of itself; nor is obscurity to 
 be dreaded. " I came to Athens," saith Democritus, " and 
 there was no one there that knew me:" this was a mod- 
 erate and grave man who could glory in his obscurity. 
 Shall musicians compose their tunes to their own tastes? 
 and shall a philosopher, master of a much better art, seek 
 to ascertain, not what is most true, but what will please 
 the people? Can anything be more absurd than to de- 
 spise the vulgar as mere unpolished mechanics, taken sin- 
 gly, and to think them of consequence when collected into 
 a body? These wise men would contemn our ambitious 
 pursuits and our vanities, and Avould reject all the honors 
 wliich the people could voluntarily offer to them ; but Ave 
 know not how to despise them till we begin to repent of 
 having accepted them. There is an anecdote related by 
 Ilernclitus, the natural philosopher, of Hermodorus, the 
 chief of the Ephesians, that he said " that all the Ephe- 
 sians ought to be punished with death for saying, "when 
 they had expelled Hermodorus out of their city, that they 
 would have no one among them better than another; but 
 that if there were any such, he might go elsewhere to some 
 other people." Is not this the case W'ith the people every- 
 where? Do they not hate every virtue that distinguishes 
 itself? What! was not Aristides (I had rather instance 
 in the Greeks than ourselves) banished his country for be- 
 ing eminently just? What troubles, then, are they free 
 from who have no connection whatever with the people? 
 What is more agreeable than a learned retirement? I 
 speak of that learning which makes us acquainted with 
 the boundless extent of nature and the universe, and which 
 even while we remain in this world discovers to us both 
 heaven, earth, and sea. 
 
 XXXVII. If, then, honor and riches have no value, what 
 is there else to be afraid of? Banishment,! suppose; which 
 is looked on as the greatest evil. Now, if the evil of ban- 
 ishment proceeds not from ourselves, but from the froward 
 disposition of the people, I have just now declared how 
 contemptible it is. But if to leave one's country be miS' 
 
 9* 
 
202 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 erable, the provinces are full of miserable men, very few 
 of the settlers in which ever return to their country again. 
 But exiles are deprived of their property ! What, then ! 
 has there not been enough said on bearing poverty? But 
 with regard to banishment, if we examine the nature of 
 things, not the ignominy of the name, how little does it 
 differ from constant travelling! in which some of the most 
 famous philosophers have spent their whole life, as Xenoc- 
 rates, Grantor, Arcesilas, Lacydes, Aristotle, Theophrastus, 
 Zeno, Cleanthes, Chrysippus, Antipater, Carneades, PanaB- 
 lius, Clitomachus, Philo, Antiochus, Posidonius, and innu- 
 merable others, who from their first setting- out never re- 
 turned home again. Now, what ignominy can a wise man 
 be affected with (for it is of such a one that I am speak- 
 ing) who can be guilty of nothing which deserves it? for 
 there is no occasion to comfort one who is banished for 
 his deserts. Lastly, they can easily reconcile themselves 
 to every accident who measure all their objects and pur- 
 suits in life by the standard of pleasure ; so that in what- 
 ever place that is supplied, there they may live happily. 
 Thus what Teucer said may be applied to every case : 
 
 "Wherever I am happy is my country." 
 
 Socrates, indeed, when he was asked where he belong- 
 ed to, replied, " The world ;" for he looked upon himself 
 as a citizen and inhabitant of the whole world. How was 
 it with T. Altibutius? Did he not follow his philosoph- 
 ical studies Avith the greatest satisfaction at Athens, al- 
 though he was banished? which, however, would not have 
 happened to him if he had obeyed the laws of Epicurus 
 and lived peaceably in the republic. In what was Epicu- 
 rus happier, living in his own country, than Metrodorus, 
 who lived at Athens? Or did Plato's happiness exceed 
 that of Xenocrates, or Polemo, or Arcesilas? Or is that 
 city to be valued much that banishes all her good and 
 wise men ? Demaratus, the father of our King Tarquin, 
 not being abVe to bear the tyrant Cypselus, fled from 
 Corinth to Tarquinii, settled there, and had children. Was 
 it, then, an unwise act in him to prefer the liberty of ban- 
 ishment to slavery at home? 
 
 XXXVIII. Besides the emotions of the mind, all griefs 
 
WHETHER VIRTUE ALONE BE SUFFICIENT. 203 
 
 and anxieties are assuaged by forgetting them, and turn- 
 ing our thoughts to pleasure. Therefore, it was not with- 
 out reason that Epicurus presumed to say that a wise man 
 abounds with good things, because he may always have 
 his pleasures ; from whence it follows, as he thinks, that 
 that point is gained which is the subject of our present 
 inquiry, that a wise man is always happy. What ! though 
 he should be deprived of the senses of seeing and hear- 
 ing? Yes; for he holds those things very cheap. For, 
 in the first place, what are the pleasures of which we are 
 deprived by that dreadful thing, blindness ? For though 
 they allow other pleasures to be confined to the senses, 
 yet the things which are perceived by the sight do not 
 depend wholly on the pleasure the eyes receive ; as is the 
 case when we taste, smell, touch, or hear ; for, in respect 
 of all these senses, the organs themselves are the seat of 
 pleasure; but it is not so with the eyes. For it is the 
 mind which is entertained by what we see; but the mind 
 may be entertained in many ways, even though we could 
 not see at all. I am speaking of a learned and a wise 
 man, with whom to think is to live. But thinking in the 
 case of a wise man does not altogether require the use of 
 his eyes in his investigations ; for if night does not strip 
 him of his happiness, why should blindness, which re- 
 sembles night, liave that effect? For the reply of Antip- 
 ater the Cyrenaic to some tvoracn who bewailed his be- 
 ing blind, though it is a little too obscene, is not without 
 its significance. "What do you mean?" saith he; "do 
 you think the night can furnish no pleasure?" And we 
 find by his magistracies and his actions that old Appius,^ 
 too, who w\as blind for many years, was not prevented 
 from doing whatever was required of him with respect 
 either to the republic or his own affairs. It is said that 
 C. Drusus's house was crowded with clients. When 
 they whose business it was could not see how to conduct 
 themselves, they ap])lied to a blind guide. 
 
 XXXIX. When I was a boy, Cn. Aufidius, a blind man, 
 
 ' This was Appins Claiulins Caecus, who was censoi* 310 B.C., and 
 who, according to Livy, was afflicted with blindness by the Gods for per- 
 suading the Potitii to instruct the public sen^ants in the way of sacri- 
 ficing to Hercules. He it was who made the Via Appia. 
 
204 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 who had served the office of praetor, not only gave his 
 opinion in the Senate, and was ready to assist his friends, 
 but wrote a Greek history, and had a considerable ac- 
 quaintance with literature. Diodoius the Stoic w^as blind, 
 and lived many years at my house lie, indeed, which 
 is scarcely credible, besides applying himself more than 
 usual to philosophy, and playing on the flute, agreeably 
 to the custom of the Pythagoreans, and having books 
 read to him night and day, in all which he did not want 
 eyes, contrived to teach geometry, which, one would think, 
 could hardly be done without the assistance of eyes, tell- 
 ing his scholars how and where to draw every line. They 
 relate of Asclepiades, a native of Eretria, and no ob- 
 scure philosopher, when some one asked him what incon- 
 venience he suffered from his blindness, that his reply was, 
 "He was at the expense of another servant." So that, 
 as the most extreme poverty may be borne if you please, 
 as is daily the case with some in Greece, so blindness may 
 easily be borne, provided you have the support of good 
 health in other respects. Democritus w^as so blind he 
 could not distinguish white from black; but he knew the 
 difference between good and evil, just and unjust, honora- 
 ble and base, the useful and useless, great and small Thus 
 one may live happily without distinguishing colors; but 
 without acquainting yourself with things, you cannot; and 
 this man was of opinion that the intense application of the 
 mind was taken off by the objects that presented them- 
 selves to the eye; and while others often could not see 
 what was before their feet, he travelled through all infini- 
 ty. It is reported also that Horner^ was blind, but we ob- 
 
 ^ The fact of* Homer's blindness rests on a passage in the Hymn to 
 Apollo, quoted by Thuc3^dides as a genuine work of Homer, and which 
 is thus spoken of by one of the most accomplished scholars that this 
 country or this age has ever produced: "Tliey are indeed beautiful 
 verses; and if none worse had ever been attributed to Homer, the Prince 
 of Poets would have had little reason to complain. 
 
 "He has been describing the Delian festival in honor of Apollo and 
 Diana, and concludes this part of the poem with an address to the 
 women of that island, to whom it is to be supposed that he had become 
 familiarly known by his frequent recitations : 
 
 Xa/p6T 3' vfieTt naffai, k/J-eio &e Kal fxeToniaBe 
 
WHETHER VIRTUE ALONE BE SUFFICIENT. 205 
 
 servo his painting as well as his poetry. What country, 
 Avhat coast, what part of Greece, what military attacks, 
 what dispositions of battle, what army, what ship, what 
 motions of men and animals, can be mentioned which he 
 has not described in such a manner as to enable us to see 
 what he could not see himself? What, then ! can we im- 
 agine that Homer, or any other learned man, has ever been 
 in want of pleasure and entertainment for his mind? 
 Were it not so, would Anaxagoras, or this very Democri- 
 tus, have left their estates and patrimonies, and given them- 
 selves up to the pursuit of acquiring this divine pleasure ? 
 It is thus that the poets who have represented Tiresias the 
 Augur as a wise man and blind never exhibit him as be- 
 wailing his blindness. And Homer, too, after he had de- 
 scribed Polyphemus as a monster and a w^ild man, repre- 
 sents him talking with his ram, and speaking of his good 
 fortune, inasmuch as he could go wherever he pleased and 
 touch what he would. And so far he was right, for that 
 Cyclops was a being of not much more understanding than 
 his ram. 
 
 XL. Now, as to the evil of being deaf. M. Crassus was 
 a little thick of hearing; but it was more uneasiness to 
 him that he heard himself ill spoken of, though, in my 
 opinion, he did not deserve it. Our Epicureans cannot 
 understand Greek, nor the Greeks Latin : now, they are 
 deaf reciprocally as to each other's language, and we are 
 all truly deaf with regard to those innumerable languages 
 which we do not understand. They do not hear the voice 
 of the harper; but, then, they do not hear the grating of a 
 saw when it is setting, or the grunting of a hog when his 
 
 h/0d6^ uveipnrai ^eTvof raXaireiptos k^Ouiv 
 w Kovpat, rli 6' v/jifiiv uvijp ridicrroi uoidwv 
 evOdde nwXeiTai Kal xeoj repnea-Oe fidXicTTa; 
 vfieTs 6' ev /uaXa iraaai vnoKpivaaOe u^' ritiiav, 
 Tf^Xor uvijp, o]Ket de X/a> evl TraiwaXoeacrr], 
 Tov Traaai fMeTontcrOev upiaTevovaiv uoidai. 
 
 Virgins, forewell and oh ! remember me 
 Hereafter, when some stranger from the sea, 
 A hapless wanderer, may your isle explore, 
 And ask you, ' Maids, of all the bards yon boast, 
 Who sings the sweetest, and delights you most?' 
 Oh ! answer all, 'A blind old man, and poor. 
 Sweetest he sings, and dwells on Chios' rocky shore.'-' 
 
 Coleridge's Introduction to the Stxidy of the Greek Classic Poei& 
 
20a THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 
 
 throat is being cut, nor the roaring of the sea when they 
 are desirous of rest. And if they shoukl chance to be fond 
 of singing, they ought, in the first place, to consider that 
 many wise men lived happily before music was discov- 
 ered; besides, they may have more pleasure in reading 
 verses than in hearing them sung. Then, as I before re- 
 ferred the blind to the pleasures of hearing, so I may the 
 deaf to the pleasures of sight : moreover, whoever can con- 
 verse with himself doth not need the conversation of an- 
 other. But suppose all these misfortunes to meet in one 
 person : suppose him blind and deaf let him be afflicted 
 with the sharpest pains of body, which, in the first place, 
 generally of themselves make an end of him ; still, should 
 they continue so long, and the pain be so exquisite, that we 
 should be unable to assign any reason for our being so af- 
 flicted still, why, good Gods! should we be under any 
 difilculty? For there is a retreat at hand: death is that 
 retreat a shelter where we shall forever be insensible. 
 Theodorus said to Lysimachus, who threatened him with 
 death, "It is a great matter, indeed, for you to have ac- 
 quired the power of a Spanish fly !" When Perses en- 
 treated Paulus not to lead him in triumph, " That is a 
 matter which you have in your own power," said Paulus, 
 I said many things about death in our first day's disputa- 
 tion, when death was the subject; and not a little the next 
 day, when I treated of pain ; which things if you recollect, 
 there can be no danger of your looking upon death as un- 
 desirable, or, at least, it will not be dreadful. 
 
 That custom which is common among the Grecians 
 at their banquets should, in my opinion, be observed in 
 life: Drink, say they, or leave the company; and rightly 
 enough ; for a guest should either enjoy the pleasure of 
 drinking with others, or else not stay till he meets with 
 affronts from those that are in liquor. Thus, those in- 
 juries of fortune which you cannot bear you should flee 
 from. 
 
 XLT. This is the very same which is said by Epicu- 
 rus and Hieronymus. Now, if those philosophers, whose 
 opinion it is that virtue has no power of itself, and who 
 say that the conduct which we denominate honorable and 
 laudable is really nothing, and is only an empty circum- 
 
WHETHER VIRTUE ALONE BE SUFFICIENT. 207 
 
 stance set off with an unmeaning sound, can nevertheless 
 maintain that a wise man is always happy, what, think 
 you, may be done by the Socratic and Platonic philoso- 
 phers ? Some of these allow such superiority to the goods 
 of the mind as quite to eclipse what concerns the body 
 and all external circumstances. But others do not admit 
 these to be goods ; they make everything depend on the 
 mind : whose disputes Carneades used, as a sort of hon- 
 orary arbitrator, to determine. For, as what seemed 
 goods to the Peripatetics were allowed to be advantages 
 by the Stoics, and as the Peripatetics allowed no more to 
 riches, good health, and other things of that sort than the 
 Stoics, when these things were considered according to 
 their reality, and not by mere names, his opinion was that 
 there was no ground for disagreeing. Therefore, let the 
 philosophers of other schools see how they can establish 
 this point also. It is very agreeable to me that they make 
 some professions worthy of being uttered by the mouth* 
 of a philosopher with regard to a wise man's having al- 
 ways the means of living happily. 
 
 XLII. But as w^e are to depart in the morning, let us 
 remember these five days' discussions ; thongh, indeed, I 
 think I shall commit them to writing : for how can I bet- 
 ter employ the leisure which I have, of whatever kind it 
 is, and w^hatever it be owing to ? And I will send these 
 five books also to my friend Brutus, by whom I was not 
 only incited to write on philosophy, but, I may say, pro- 
 voked. And by so doing it is not easy to say what service 
 I may be of to others. At all events, in my own various 
 and acute afilictions, which surround me on all sides, I 
 cannot find any better comfort for myself. 
 
THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 
 
 BOOK I. 
 
 I. There are many things in philosophy, my dear Bru 
 tus, which are not as yet fully explained to us, and par- 
 ticularly (as you very well know) that most obscure and 
 difficult question concerning the Nature of the Gods, so 
 extremely necessary both towards a knowledge of the hu- 
 man mind and the practice of true religion : concerning 
 which the opinions of men are so various, and so different 
 from each other, as to lead strongly to the inference that 
 ignorance^ is the cause, or origin, of philoso23hy, and that 
 the Academic philosophers have been prudent in refusing 
 their assent to things uncertain: for what is more unbe- 
 coming to a wise man than to judge rashly? or what rash- 
 ness is so unworthy of the gravity and stabiUty of a phi- 
 losopher as either to maintain false opinions, or, without 
 the least hesitation, to support and defend what he has 
 not thoroughly examined and does not clearly compre- 
 hend ? 
 
 In the question now before us, the greater part of man- 
 kind have united to acknowledge that which is most prob- 
 able, and which we are all by nature led to suppose, name- 
 ly, that there are Gods. Protagoras^ doubted whether 
 there were any. Diagoras the Melian and Theodorus of 
 Cyrene entirely believed there were no such beings. But 
 they who have affirmed that there are Gods, have express- 
 ed such a variety of sentiments on the subject, and the 
 disagreement between them is so great, that it would be 
 
 ' Some read scientiam and some inscientiam ; the latter of which is 
 preferred by some of the best editors and commentators. 
 
 ^ For a short account of these ancient Greek philosophers, see the 
 sketch prefixed to the Academics (Classical Library). 
 
210 THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 
 
 tiresome to enumerate their opinions; for they give ns 
 many statements respecting the forms of the Gods, and 
 their places of abode, and the employment of their lives. 
 And these are matters on which the philosophers differ 
 with the most exceeding earnestness. But the most con- 
 siderable part of the dispute is, whether they are wholly 
 inactive, totally unemployed, and free from all care and 
 administration of affairs; or, on the contrary, whether all 
 things were made and constituted by them from the begin- 
 ning ; and whether they will continue to be actuated and 
 governed by them to eternity. This is one of the greatest 
 points in debate; and unless this is decided, mankind must 
 necessarily remain in the greatest of errors, and ignorant 
 of what is most important to be known. 
 
 II. For there are some philosophers, both ancient and 
 modern, who have conceived that the Gods take not the 
 least cognizance of human affairs. But if their doctrine 
 be true, of what avail is piety, sanctity, or religion ? for 
 these are feelings and marks of devotion which are offered 
 to the Gods by men with uprightness and holiness, on the 
 ground that men are the objects of the attention of the 
 Gods, and that many benefits are conferred by the immor- 
 tal Gods on the human race. But if the Gods have neither 
 the power nor the inclination to help us; if they take no 
 care of us, and pay no regard to our actions ; and if there 
 is no single advantage which can possibly accrue to the 
 life of man; then what reason can we have to pay any 
 adoration, or any honors, or to j^rcfer any prayers to them? 
 Piety, like the other virtues, cannot have any connection 
 with vain show or dissimulation ; and without piety, nei- 
 ther sanctity nor religion can be supported; the total sub- 
 version of which must be attended with great confusion 
 and disturbance in life. 
 
 I do not even know, if we cast off piety towards the 
 Gods, but that faith, and all the associations of human 
 life, and that most excellent of all virtues, justice, may 
 perish with.it. 
 
 There are other philosophers, and those, too, very great 
 and illustrious men, who conceive the whole world to be di- 
 rected and governed by the will and wisdom of the Gods; 
 nor do they stop here, but conceive likewise that the Deities 
 
THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 211 
 
 consult and provide for the preservation of mankind. For 
 they think that the fruits, and the produce of the earth, 
 and the seasons, and the variety of weathei', and the change 
 of climates, by which all the productions of the eartli are 
 brought to maturity, are designed by the immortal Gods 
 for the use of man. They instance many other things, 
 which shall be related in these books; and which would 
 almost induce us to believe that the immortal Gods had 
 made them all expressly and solely for tlie benefit and ad- 
 vantage of men. Against these opinions Carneades has 
 advanced so much that what he has said should excite a 
 desire in men who are not naturally slothful to search 
 after truth ; for there is no subject on which the learned 
 as well as the unlearned differ so strenuously as in this; 
 and since their opinions are so various, and so repugnant 
 one to another, it is possible that none of them may be, 
 and absolutely impossible that more than one should be, 
 rig] it. 
 
 III. Now, in a cause like this, I may be able to pacify 
 well-meaning opposers, and to confute invidious censurers, 
 so as to induce the latter to repent of their unreasonable 
 contradiction, and the former to be glad to learn ; for they 
 who admonish one in a friendly spirit should be instruct- 
 ed, they who attack one like enemies should be repelled. 
 But I observe that the several books which I have lately 
 published^ have occasioned much noise and various dis- 
 course about them ; some people w^ondering what the rea- 
 son has been why I have applied myself so suddenly to 
 the study of philosophy, and others desirous of knowing 
 what my opinion is on such subjects. I likewise per- 
 ceive that many people wonder at my following that phi- 
 losophy* chiefly which seems to take away the light, and 
 to bury and envelop things in a kind of artificial night, and 
 that I should so unexpectedly have taken up the defence 
 of a school that has been long neglected and forsaken. 
 But it is a mistake to suppose that this application to phil- 
 osophical studies has been sudden on my part. I have ap- 
 
 ' Cicero wrote his philosophical works in the last three years of his 
 life. When he wrote this piece, he was in the sixty-third year of his 
 age, in the year of Rome 709. 
 
 ^ The Academic. 
 
212 THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 
 
 plied myself to them from my youth, at no small expense 
 of time and trouble ; and I have been in the habit of phi- 
 losophizing a great deal when I least seemed to think about 
 it ; for the truth of which I appeal to my orations, which 
 are filled with quotations from philosophers, and to my in- 
 timacy with those very learned men who frequented my 
 house and conversed daily with me, particularly Diodorus, 
 Philo, Antiochus, and Posidonius,^ under whom I was bred; 
 and if all the precepts of philosophy are to have reference 
 to the conduct of life, I am inclined to think that I have ad- 
 vanced, both in public and private affairs, only such prin- 
 ciples as may be supported by reason and authority. 
 
 ly. But if any one should ask what has induced me, in 
 the decline of life, to write on these subjects, nothing is 
 more easily answered ; for when I found myself entirely 
 disengaged from business, and the commonwealth reduced 
 to the necessity of being governed by the direction and 
 care of one man,^ I thought it becoming, for the sake of 
 the public, to instruct my countrymen in philosophy, and 
 that it would be of importance, and much to the honor and 
 commendation of our city, to have such great and excel- 
 lent subjects introduced in the Latin tongue. I the less 
 repent of my undertaking, since I plainly see that I have 
 excited in many a desire, not only of learning, but of writ- 
 ing; for we have had several Romans well grounded in 
 the learning of the Greeks who were unable to communi- 
 cate to their countrymen what they had learned, because 
 they looked upon it as impossible to express that in Latin 
 which they had received from the Greeks. In this point 
 I think I have succeeded so well that Avhat I have done is 
 not, even in copiousness of expression, inferior to that lan- 
 cruaoje. 
 
 Another inducement to it was a melancholy disposition 
 of mind, and the great and heavy oppression of fortune 
 that was upon me ; from which, if I could have found any 
 surer remedy, I would not have sought relief in this pur- 
 suit. But I could procure ease by no means better than 
 by not only applying myself to books, but by devoting my- 
 
 * Diodonis and Posidonius were Stoics ; Philo and Antiochus were 
 Academics ; but the latter afterward inclined to the doctrine of the Stoics. 
 ' Julius Cajsar. 
 
TPIE NATURE OF THE GODS. 213 
 
 self to tlie examination of the whole body of philosophy. 
 And every part and branch of this is readily discovered 
 when every question is propounded in writing; for there is 
 such an admirable continuation and series of things that 
 each seems connected with the other, and all appear linked 
 together and united. 
 
 V. Now, those men who desire to know my own private 
 opinion on every particular subject have more curiosity than 
 is necessary. For the force of reason in disputation is to 
 be sought after rather than authority, since the authority 
 of the teacher is often a disadvantage to those who are 
 willing to learn; as they refuse to use their own judgment, 
 and rely implicitly on liim whom they make choice of for 
 a preceptor. Nor could I ever approve this custom of the 
 Pythagoreans, who, when they affirmed anything in dispu- 
 tation, and were asked why it was so, used to give this an- 
 swer : " He himself has said it ;" and this " he himself," it 
 seems, was Pythagoras. Such was the force of prejudice 
 and opinion tiiat his authority was to prevail even without 
 argument or reason. 
 
 They who wonder at my being a follower of this sect in 
 particular may find a satisfactory answer in my four books 
 of Academical Questions. But I deny that I have under- 
 taken the protection of what is neglected and forsaken ; 
 for the opinions of men do not die with them, though they 
 may perhaps want the author's explnnation. This manner 
 of philosophizing, of disputing all things and assuming 
 nothing certainly, was begun by Socrates, revived by Ar- 
 cesilaus, confirmed by Carneades, and has descended, with 
 all its power, even to the present age ; but I am informed 
 that it is now almost exploded even in Greece. How^ever, 
 I do not impute that to any fault in the institution of the 
 Academy, but to the negligence of mankind. If it is difli- 
 cult to know all the doctrines of any one sect, how much 
 more is it to know those of every sect ! which, however, 
 must necessarily be known to those who resolve, for the 
 sake of discovering truth, to dispute for or against all phi- 
 losophers without partiality. 
 
 I do not profess myself to be master of this difl^icult and 
 noble faculty; but I do assert that I* have endeavored to 
 make myself so ; and it is impossible that they who choose 
 
214 THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 
 
 tliis m.innei- of pliilosophizing should not meet at least with 
 something worthy their pursuit. I have spoken more 
 fully on this head in another place. But as some are too 
 slow of apprehension, and some too careless, men stand in 
 perpetual need of caution. For we are not people who be- 
 lieve that there is nothing whatever which is true; but we 
 say that some falsehoods are so blended with all truths, 
 and have so great a resemblance to them, that there is no 
 certain rule for judging of or assenting to propositions; 
 from which this maxim also follows, that many things are 
 piobable, which, though they are not evident to the senses, 
 have still so persuasive and beautiful an aspect that a wise 
 man chooses to direct his conduct by them. 
 
 VI. Now, to free myself from the reproach of partiality, 
 I propose to lay before you the opinions of various phi- 
 losophers concerning the nature of the Gods, by which 
 means all men may judge which of them are consistent 
 with truth ; and if all agree together, or if any one shall 
 be found to have discovered what may be absolutely called 
 truth, I will then give up the Academy as vain and arro- 
 gant. So I may cry out, in the w^ords of Statins, in the 
 Synephebi, 
 
 Ye Gods, I call upon, require, pray, beseech, entreat, and implore the 
 attention of my countrymen all, both young and old ; 
 
 yet not on so trifling an occasion as when the person in the 
 play complains that. 
 
 In this city we have discovered a most flagrant iniquity : here is a pro- 
 fessed courtesan, who refuses money from her lover ; 
 
 but that they may attend, know, and consider what senti- 
 ments they ought to preserve concerning religion, piety, 
 sanctity, ceremonies, faith, oaths, temples, shrines, and sol- 
 emn sacrifices ; what they ought to think of the auspices 
 over which I preside;^ for all these have relation to the 
 present question. The manifest disagreement among the 
 most learned on this subject creates doubts in those who 
 imagine they have some certain knowledge of the sub- 
 ject. 
 
 Which fact I have often taken notice of elsewhere, and 
 * Cicero was one of the College of Augurs. 
 
THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 215 
 
 I did so more especially at the discussion that was held at 
 my friend C. Cotta's concerning the immortal Gods, and 
 which was carried on with the greatest care, accuracy, and 
 precision ; for coming to him at the time of tlie Latin 
 holidays,* according to his own invitation and message 
 from him, I found him sitting in his study,^ and in a dis- 
 course with C. Velleius, the senator, who was then reputed 
 by the Epicureans the ablest of our countrymen. Q. Lu- 
 cilius Balbus was likewise there, a great proficient in the 
 doctrine of the Stoics, and esteemed equal to the most em- 
 inent of the Greeks in that part of knowledge. As soon 
 as Cotta saw me. You are come, says he, very seasonably ; 
 for I am having a dispute with Velleius on an important 
 subject, which, considering the nature of your studies, is 
 not improper for you to join in. 
 
 VII. Indeed, says I, I think I am come very seasonably, 
 as you say; for here are three chiefs of three principal 
 sects met together. If M. Piso^ was present, no sect of 
 philosophy that is in any esteem would want an advocate. 
 If Antiochus's book, replies Cotta, which he lately sent to 
 Balbus, says true, you have no occasion to wish for your 
 friend Piso ; for Autiochus is of the opinion that the Sto- 
 ics do not differ from the Peripatetics in fact, though they 
 do in words ; and I should be glad to know wliat you think 
 of that book, Balbus. I? says he. I wonder that Auti- 
 ochus, a man of the clearest apprehension, should not see 
 what a vast difference there is between the Stoics, who 
 distinguish the honest and the profitable, not only in name, 
 but absolutely in kind, and the Peripatetics, who blend the 
 honest with the profitable in such a manner that they dif- 
 fer only in degrees and proportion, and not in kind. This 
 is not a little difference in words, but a great one in things ; 
 
 ' The LatinjB Ferioe was originally a festival of the Latins, altered by 
 Tarquinius Superbus into a Roman one. It was held in the Alban 
 -l^lount, in honor of Jupiter Latiaris. This holiday lasted six days : it 
 was not held at any fixed time ; but the consul was never allowed to 
 take the field till he had held them. Vide Smith, Diet. Gr. and Rom. 
 Ant., p. 414. 
 
 ^ Exhedra, the word used by Cicero, means a stndy, or place where dis- 
 putes were held. 
 
 M. Piso was a Peripatetic. The four great sects were the Stoics, tha 
 Peripatetics, the Academics, and the Epicureans. 
 
216 THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 
 
 but of this hereafter. Now, if you think fit, let us returii 
 to what we began with. 
 
 Witli all my heart, says Cotta. But that this visitor 
 (looking at me), who is just come in, may not be ignorant 
 of what we are upon, I will inform him that we were dis- 
 coursing on the nature of the Gods; concerning which, as 
 it is a subject that always appeared very obscure to me, I 
 prevailed on Velleius to give us the sentiments of Epicu- 
 rus. Therefore, continues he, if it is not troublesome, Vel- 
 leius, repeat Avhat you have already stated to us. I will, 
 says he, though this new-comer will be no advocate for 
 me, but for you ; for you have both, adds he, with a smile, 
 learned from the same Philo to be certain of nothing.^ 
 What we have learned from him, replied I, Cotta will dis- 
 cover; but I would not have you think I am come as an 
 assistant to him, but as an auditor, with an impartial and 
 unbiassed mind, and not bound by any obligation to de- 
 fend any particular principle, whether I like or dislike it. 
 
 VIII. After this, Velleius, with the confidence peculiar 
 to his sect, dreading nothing so much as to seem to doubt 
 of anything, began as if he had just then descended from 
 the council of the Gods, and Epicurus's intervals of worlds. 
 Do not attend, eays he, to these idle and imaginary tales ; 
 nor to the operator and builder of the World, the God 
 of Plato's Timaeus ; nor to the old prophetic dame, the 
 Upuroia of the Stoics, which the Latins call Providence; 
 nor to that round, that burning, revolving deity, the World, 
 endowed with sense and understanding; the prodigies and 
 wonders, not of inquisitive philosophers, but of dreamers ! 
 
 For with what eyes of the mind was your Plato able to 
 see that workhouse of such stupendous toil, in which he 
 makes the world to be modelled and built by God? What 
 materials, what tools, what bars, what machines, what ser- 
 vants, were employed in so vast a work? How could the 
 air, fire, water, and earth pay obedience and submit to the 
 will of the architect? From -whence arose those five 
 forms,'^ of which the rest were composed, so aptly con- 
 tributing to frame the mind and produce the senses ? It 
 
 ' It was a prevailing tenet of the Academics that tliere is no certain 
 knowledge. 
 
 * The five forms of Plato are these : oi'ola, ravrbv, trepov, oTdoig, dvTjaLq. 
 
THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 217 
 
 is tedious to go tliroiigh all, as they are of such a sort that 
 they look more like things to be desired than to be dis- 
 covered. 
 
 But, Avhat is more remarkable, he gives us a world which 
 has been not only created, but, if I may so say, in a manner 
 formed with hands, and yet he says it is eternal. Do you 
 conceive him to liave the least skill in natural philosophy 
 who is capable of thinking anything to be everlasting that 
 had a beginning? For what can possibly ever have been 
 put together which cannot be dissolved again? Or what 
 is there that had a beginning which will not have an end ? 
 If your Providence, Lucilius, is- the same as Plato's God, I 
 ask you, as before, who were the assistants, what were the 
 engines, what was the plan and preparation of the Avhole 
 work? If it is not the same, then why did she make the 
 world mortal, and not everlasting, like Plato's God ? 
 
 IX. But I would demand of you both, why these world- 
 builders started up so suddenly, and lay dormant for so 
 many ages? For we are not to conclude that, if there 
 was no w^orld, there w^ere therefore no ages. I do not now 
 speak of such ages as are finished by a certain number of 
 days and nights in annual courses ; for I acknowledge 
 that those could not be without the revolution of the 
 world ; but there was a certain eternity from infinite time, 
 not measured by any circumscription of seasons ; but 
 how that was in space we cannot understand, because we 
 cannot possibly have even the slightest idea of time before 
 time was. I desire, therefore, to know, Balbus, why this 
 Providence of yours was idle for such an immense space 
 of time ? Did she avoid labor ? But that could have no 
 effect on the Deity ; nor could there be any labor, since 
 all nature, air, fire, earth, and water would obey the di- 
 vine essence. What was it that incited the Deity to act 
 the part of an sedile, to illuminate and decorate the world ? 
 If it was in order that God might be the better accommo- 
 dated in his habitation, then he must have been dwelling 
 an infinite length of time before in darkness as in a dun- 
 geon. But do we imagine that he was afterward delighted 
 with that variety with which we see the heaven and earth 
 adorned ? What entertainment could that be to the Deity? 
 If it was any, he would not have been without it so long. 
 
 10 
 
218 THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 
 
 Oi" were these things made, as you almost assert, by 
 God for the sake of men ? Was it for the wise ? If so, 
 tlien this great design was adopted for the sake of a very 
 small number. Or for the sake of fools? First of all, 
 there was no reason why God should consult the advan- 
 tage of the wicked; and, further, what could be his object 
 in doing so, since all fools are, without doubt, the most 
 miserable of men, chiefly because they are fools? For 
 what can we pronounce more deplorable than folly ? Be- 
 sides, there are many inconveniences in life which the 
 wise can learn to think lightly of by dwelling rather on 
 the advantages which they receive; but which fools are 
 unable to avoid when they are coming, or to bear when 
 they are come. 
 
 X. They who affirm the world to be an animated and 
 intelligent being have by no means discovered the nature 
 of the mind, nor are able to conceive in what form that 
 essence can exist; but of that I shall speak more hereaf- 
 ter. At present I must express my surprise at the weak- 
 ness of those who endeavor to make it out to be not only 
 animated and immortal, but likewise happy, and round, 
 because Plato says that is the most beautiful form ; where- 
 as I think a cylinder, a square, a cone, or a pyramid more 
 beautiful. But what life do they attribute to that round 
 Deity? Truly it is a being whirled about with a celerity 
 to which nothing can be even conceived by the imagina- 
 tion as equal; nor can I imagine how a settled mind and 
 happy life can consist in such motion, the least degree of 
 which would be troublesome to us. Why, therefore, should 
 it not be considered troublesome also to the Deity ? For 
 the earth itself, as it is part of the world, is part also of the 
 Deity. We see vast tracts of land barren and uninhabi- 
 table; some, because they are scorched by the too near 
 approach of the sun ; others, because they are bound up 
 with frost and snow, through the great distance which the 
 sun is from them. Therefore, if the world is a Deity, as 
 these are parts of the world, some of the Deity's limbs 
 must be said to be scorched, and some frozen. 
 
 These are your doctrines, Lucilius ; but what those of 
 others are I will endeavor to ascertain by tracing them 
 back from the earliest of ancient philosophers. Thales 
 
THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 219 
 
 the Milesian, who first inquired after such subjects, assert- 
 ed water to be the origin of things, and that God was that 
 mind which formed all things from water. If the Gods 
 can exist without corporeal sense, and if there can be a 
 mind without a body, why did he annex a mind to water? 
 
 It was Anaximander's opinion that the Gods were 
 born; that after a great length of time they died; and 
 that they are innumerable worlds. But what conception 
 can we possibly have of a Deity who is not eternal? 
 
 Anaxitnenes, after him, taught that the air is God, and 
 that he was generated, and that he is immense, infinite, 
 and always in motion ; as if air, which has no form, could 
 possibly be God ; for the Deity must necessarily be not 
 only of some form or other, but of the most beautiful 
 form. Besides, is not everything that had a begii.ning 
 subject to mortality ? 
 
 XI. Anaxagoras, who received liis learning from Anax- 
 imenes, was the first w^ho affirmed the system and dispo- 
 sition of all things to be contrived and perfected by the 
 power and reason of an infinite mind ; in which infinity he 
 did not perceive that there could be no conjunction of 
 sense and motion, nor any sense in the least degree, where 
 nature herself could feel no impulse. If he would have 
 this mind to be a sort of animal, then there must be some 
 more internal principle from whence that animal should 
 receive its appellation. But what can be more internal 
 than the mind ? Let it, therefore, be clothed with an ex- 
 ternal body. But this is not agreeable to his doctrine; 
 but we are utterly unable to conceive how a pure simple 
 mind can exist without any substance annexed to it. 
 
 Alcmaeon of Crotona, in attributing a divinity to the 
 sun, the moon, and the rest of the stars, and also to the 
 mind, did not perceive that he was ascribing immortality 
 to mortal beings. 
 
 Pythagoras, who supposed the Deity to be one soul, 
 mixing with and pervading all nature, from which our 
 souls are taken, did not consider that the Deity himself 
 must, in consequence of this doctrine, be maimed and torn 
 with the rending every human soul from it; nor that, 
 when the human mind is afflicted (as is the case in many 
 instances), that part of the Deity must likewise be afflicted, 
 
220 THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 
 
 which cannot be. If the linman mind were a Deity, how 
 could it be ignorant of any thing? Besides, how could 
 that Deity, if it is nothing but soul, be mixed with, or in- 
 fused into, the world ? 
 
 Then Xenophanes, who said that everything in the 
 world which had any existence, with the addition of intel- 
 lect, was God, is as liable to exception as the rest, especial- 
 ly in relation to the infinity of it, in which there can be 
 nothing sentient, nothing composite. 
 
 Parmenides formed a conceit to himself of something 
 circular like a crown. (He names it Stephane.) It is an 
 orb of constant light and heat around the heavens; this 
 he calls God ; in which there is no room to imagine any 
 divine form or sense. And he uttered many other absurd- 
 ities on the same subject; for he ascribed a divinity to 
 war, to discord, to lust, and other passions of the same 
 kind, which are destroyed by disease, or sleep, or oblivion, 
 or age. The same honor he gives to the stars ; but I shall 
 forbear making any objections to his system here, having 
 already done it in another place. 
 
 XII. Empedocles, who erred in many things, is most 
 grossly mistaken in his notion of the Gods. He lays 
 down four natures^ as divine, from which he thinks that 
 all things were made. Yet it is evident that they have a be- 
 ginning, that they decay, and that they are void of all sense. 
 
 Protagoras did not seem to have any idea of the real 
 nature of the Gods; for he acknowledged that he was al- 
 together ignorant whether there are or are not any, or 
 what they are. 
 
 What shall I say of Democritus, who classes our images 
 of objects, and their orbs, in the number of the Gods; as 
 he does that principle through which those images appear 
 and have their influence ? He deifies likewise our knowl- 
 edge and understanding. Is he not involved in a very 
 great error? And because nothing continues always in 
 the same state, he denies that anything is everlasting, does 
 he not thereby entirely destroy the Deity, and make it im- 
 possible to form any opinion of him ? 
 
 ' The four natures here to be understood are the four elements fire, 
 water, air, and earth ; wliich are mentioned as the four princiiiles of 
 Empedocles by Diogenes Laertius. 
 
THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 221 
 
 Diogenes of Apollonia looks upon the air to be a Deity. 
 But what sense can the air have? or what divine form 
 can be attributed to it? 
 
 It would be tedious to show the uncertainty of Plato's 
 opinion ; for, in his Timceus, he denies the propriety of as- 
 serting that there is one great father or creator of the 
 world ; and, in his book of Laws, he thinks we ought not 
 to make too strict an inquiry into the nature of the Deity. 
 And as for his statement when he asserts that God is a 
 being without any body what the Greeks call ao-w^aroe 
 it is certainly quite unintelligible how that theory can pos- 
 sibly be true; for such a God must then necessarily be 
 destitute of sense, prudence, and pleasure ; all which things 
 are comprehended in our notion of the Gods. He like- 
 wise asserts in his Tima^us, and in his Laws, that the world, 
 the heavens, the stars, the mind, and those Gods which are 
 delivered down to us from our ancestors, constitute the 
 Deity. These opinions, taken separately, are apparently 
 false; and, together, are directly inconsistent with each 
 other. 
 
 Xenophon has committed almost the same mistakes, 
 but in fewer words. In those sayings which he has related 
 of Socrates, he introduces him disputing the lawfulness of 
 inquiring into the form of the Deity, and makes him assert 
 the sun and the mind to be Deities : he represents him 
 likewise as affirming the being of one God only, and at an- 
 other time of many ; which are errors of almost the same 
 kind which I before took notice of in Plato. 
 
 XIII. Antisthenes, in his book called the Natural Phi- 
 losopher, says that there are many national and one nat- 
 ural Deity; but by this saying he destroys the power and 
 nature of the Gods. Speusippus is not much less in the 
 wrong ; who, following his uncle Plato, says that a certain 
 incorporeal power governs everything; by which he en- 
 deavors to root out of our minds the knowledge of the 
 Gods. 
 
 Aristotle, in his third book of Philosophy, confounds 
 many things together, as the rest have done ; but he does 
 not differ from his master Plato. At one time he attrib- 
 utes all divinity to the mind, at another he asserts that the 
 world is God. Soon afterward he makes some other es- 
 
222 THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 
 
 seiice preside over the world, and gives it those faculties' 
 by which, with certain revolutions, he may govern and 
 preserve the motion of it. Then he asserts the heat of the 
 firmament to be God ; not perceiving the firmament to be 
 part of the world, which in another place he had described 
 as God. How can that divine sense of the firmament be 
 preserved in so rapid a motion? And where do the mul- 
 titude of Gods dwell, if heaven itself is a Deity? But 
 when this philosopher says that God is without a body, 
 he makes him an irrational and insensible being. Besides, 
 how can the world move itself, if it wants a body ? Or 
 how, if it is in perpetual self-motion, can it be easy and 
 liappy ? 
 
 Xenocrates, his fellow-pupil, does not appear much wiser 
 on this head, for in his books concerning the nnture of the 
 Gods no divine form is described ; but he says the num- 
 ber of them is eight. Five are moving planets ;^ the sixth 
 is contained in all the fixed stars ; which, dispersed, are so 
 many several members, but, considered together, are one 
 single Deity ; the seventh is the sun ; and the eighth the 
 moon. But in what sense they can possibly be happy is 
 not easy to be understood. 
 
 From the same school of Plato, Heraclides of Pontus 
 stuffed his books with puerile tales. Sometimes he thinks 
 the world a Deity, at other times the mind. He attributes 
 divinity likewise to the wandering stars. He deprives the 
 Deity of sense, and makes his form nmtable ; and, in the 
 same book again, he makes earth and heaven Deities. 
 
 The unsteadiness of Theophrastus is equally intolerable. 
 At one time he attributes a divine prerogative to the mind ; 
 at another, to the firmament; at another, to the stars and 
 celestial constellations. 
 
 Nor is his disciple Strato, who is called the naturalist, 
 any more worthy to be regarded ; for he thinks that the 
 divine power is diffused through nature, which is the cause 
 of birth, increase, and diminution, but that it has no sense 
 nor form. 
 
 XIV. Zeno (to come to your sect, Balbus) thinks the 
 law of nature to be the divinity, and that it has the power 
 
 ' These five moving stars are Saturn, Jupiter, Mars, Mercury, and 
 Venus. Tlieir revolutions arc considered in the next bool^. 
 
THE NATUKE OF THE GODS. 223 
 
 to force us to what is right, and to restrain us from what 
 is wrong. How this law can be an animated being I can- 
 not conceive ; but that God is so we would certainly main- 
 tain. The same person says, in another place, that the sky 
 is God ; but can we possibly conceive that God is a being 
 insensible, deaf to our prayers, our wishes, and our vows, 
 and wholly unconnected with us? In other books he 
 thinks there is a certain rational essence pervading all nat- 
 ure, indued with divine efficacy. He attributes the same 
 power to the stars, to the years, to the months, and to the 
 seasons. In his interpretation of Hesiod's Theogony,^ he 
 entirely destroys the established notions of the Gods; for 
 he excludes Jupiter, Juno, and Vesta, and those esteemed 
 divine, from the number of them ; but his doctrine is that 
 these are names which by some kind of allusion are given 
 to mute and inanimate beings. The sentiments of his dis- 
 ciple Aristo are not less erroneous. He thought it impos- 
 sible to conceive the form of the Deity, and asserts that 
 the Gods are destitute of sense; and he is entirely dubi- 
 ous whether the Deity is an animated being or not. 
 
 Cleanthes, who next comes under my notice, a disciple 
 of Zeno at the same time with Aristo, in one place says 
 that the world is God ; in another, he attributes divinity 
 to the mind and spirit of universal nature; then he asserts 
 that the most remote, the higliest, the all-surrounding, the 
 all-enclosing and embracing heat, which is called the sky, 
 is most certainly the Deity. In the books he wrote against 
 pleasure, in which he seems to be raving, he imagines the 
 Gods to have a certain form and shape ; then he ascribes 
 all divinity to the stars ; and, lastly, he thinks nothing more 
 divine than reason. So that this God, whom we know 
 mentally and in the speculations of our minds, from which 
 traces we receive our impression, has at last actually no 
 visible form at all. 
 
 XV. Persa3us, another disciple of Zeno, says that they 
 who have made discoveries advantageous to the life of man 
 should be esteemed as Gods ; and the very things, he says, 
 which are healthful and beneficial have derived their names 
 from those of the Gods ; so that he thinks it not sufficient 
 to call them the discoveries of Gods, but he urges that they 
 ' Or, Generation of the Gods. 
 
224 THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 
 
 themselves should be deemed divine. AYIiat can be more 
 absurd than to ascribe divine honors to sordid and deformed 
 things ; or to place among the Gods men who are dead and 
 mixed with the dust, to whose memory all the respect that 
 could be paid would be but mourning for their loss? 
 
 Chrysippus, who is looked upon as the most subtle in- 
 terpreter of the dreams of the Stoics, has mustered up a 
 numerous band of unknown Gods; and so unknown that 
 we are not able to form any idea about them, though our 
 mind seems capable of framing any image to itself in its 
 thoughts. For he says that the divine power is placed in 
 reason, and in the spirit and mind of universal nature ; that 
 the w^orld, with a universal effusion of its spirit, is God; 
 that the superior part of that spirit, which is the mind and 
 reason, is the great principle of nature, containing and pre- 
 serving the chain of all things; that the divinity is the 
 power of fate, and the necessity of future events. He dei- 
 fies fire also, and what I before called the ethereal spirit, 
 and those elements which naturally proceed from it wa- 
 ter, earth, and air. He attributes divinity to the sun, moon, 
 stars, and universal space, the grand container of all things, 
 and to those men likewise who have obtained immortality. 
 He maintains the sky to be what men call Jupiter; the 
 air, which pervades the sea, to be Neptune ; and the earth, 
 Ceres. In like manner he goes through the names of the 
 other Deities. He says that Jupiter is that immutable and 
 eternal law which guides and directs us in our manners; 
 and this he calls fatal necessity, the everlasting verity of 
 future events. But none of these are of such a nature as 
 to seem to carry any indication of divine virtue in them. 
 These are the doctrines contained in his first book of the 
 Nature of the Gods. In the second, he endeavors to ac- 
 commodate the fables of Orpheus, Musseus, Hesiod, and 
 Homer to what he has advanced in the first, in order 
 that the most ancient poets, who never dreamed of these 
 things, may seem to have been Stoics. Diogenes the Bab- 
 ylonian was a follower of the doctrine of Chrysippus ; and 
 in that book which he wrote, entitled "A Treatise concern- 
 ing Minerva," he separates the account of Jupiter's bring- 
 ing-forth, and the birth of that virgin, from the fabulous, 
 and reduces it to a natural construction. 
 
THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 225 
 
 XVI. Thus far have I been rather exposhig the dreams 
 of dotards than giving the opinions of philosophers. Not 
 much more absurd than these are the fables of the poets, 
 who owe all their power of doing harm to the sweetness 
 of their language; who have represented the Gods as 
 enraged with anger and inflamed with lust; who have 
 brought before our eyes their wars, battles, combats, 
 wounds; tlieir hatreds, dissensions, discords, births, deaths, 
 complaints, and Lamentations ; their indulgences in all 
 kinds of intemperance; their adulteries; their chains; 
 their amours with mortals, and mortals begotten by im- 
 mortals. To these idle and ridiculous flights of the poets 
 we may add tlie prodigious stories invented by the Magi, 
 and by the Egyptians also, which were of the same nature, 
 together with the extravagant notions of the multitude at 
 all times, who, from total ignorance of the truth, are al- 
 ways fluctuating in uncertainty. 
 
 Now, whoever reflects on the rashness and absurdity of 
 these tenets must inevitably entertain the highest respect 
 and veneration for Epicurus, and perhaps even rank him 
 in the number of those beings who are the subject of this 
 dispute; for he alone first founded the idea of the exist- 
 ence of the Gods on the impression which nature herself 
 hath made on the minds of all men. For what nation, 
 what people are there, who have not, without any learning, 
 a natural idea, or prenotion, of a Deity? Epicurus calls 
 this TTpoXrj-^ig ; that is, an antecedent conception of the fact 
 in the mind, without which nothing can be understood, in- 
 quired after, or discoursed on ; the force and advantage of 
 which reasoning we receive from that celestial volume of 
 Epicurus concerning the Rule and Judgment of Things. 
 
 XVII. Here, then, you see the foundation of this ques- 
 tion clearly laid ; for since it is the constant and universal 
 opinion of mankind, independent of education, custom, or 
 law, that there are Gods, it must necessarily follow that 
 this knowledge is implanted in our minds, or, rather, in- 
 nate in us. That opinion respecting which there is a gen- 
 eral agreement in universal nature must infaUibly be true ; 
 therefore it must be allowed that there are Gods ; for in 
 this we have the concurrence, not only of almost all phi- 
 losophers, but likewise of the ignorant and illiterate. It 
 
 10^' 
 
22G THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 
 
 must be also confessed that the point is established that 
 we have naturally this idea, as I said before, or prenotion, 
 of the existence of the Gods. As new things require new 
 names, so that prenotion was called 7rp('\t]\p(g by Epicurus ; 
 an appellation never used before. On ihe same principle 
 of reasonings we think that the Gods are happy and im- 
 mortal; for that nature wliich hath assured us that there 
 are Gods has likewise imprinted in our minds the knowl- 
 edge of their immortality and felicity; and if so, what Ep- 
 icurus hath declared in these words is true: "That which 
 is eternally happy cannot be burdened with any labor it- 
 self, nor can it impose any labor on another ; nor can it be 
 influenced by resentment or favor : because things which 
 are liable to such feelings must be weak and frail." We 
 have said enough to prove that we should worship the 
 Gods with piety, and without superstition, if that were the 
 only question. 
 
 For the superior and excellent nature of the Gods re- 
 quires a pious adoration from men, because it is possessed 
 of immortality and the most exalted felicity ; for whatever 
 excels has a right to veneration, and all fear of the power 
 and anger of the Gods should be banished; for we must 
 understand that anger and affection are inconsistent with 
 the nature of a happy and immortal being. These appre- 
 hensions being removed, no dread of the superior powers 
 remains. To confirm this opinion, our curiosity leads us 
 to inquire into the form and life and action of the intellect 
 and spirit of the Deity. 
 
 XVIII. With regard to his form, we are directed partly 
 by nature and partly by reason. All men are told by nat- 
 ure that none but a human form can be ascribed to the 
 Gods ; for under what other image did it ever appear to 
 any one either sleeping or waking ? and, without having 
 recourse to our first notions,^ reason itself declares the 
 same ; for as it is easy to conceive that the most excellent 
 nature, either because of its happiness or immortality, 
 should be the most beautiful, what composition of limbs, 
 what conformation of lineaments, what form, what aspect, 
 can be more beautiful than the human? Your sect, Lu- 
 cilius (not like my friend Cotta, who sometimes says one 
 * The 7rp6\i]^ig of Epicurus, before mentioned, is what he here means. 
 
TUE NATURE OF THE GODS. 227 
 
 thing and sometimes another), when tliey represent the di- 
 vine art and workmanship in the human body, are used to 
 describe how very completely each member is formed, not 
 only for convenience, but also for beauty. Therefore, if 
 the human form excels that of all other animal beings, as 
 God himself is an animated being, he must surely be of 
 that form which is the most beautiful. Besides, the Gods 
 are granted to be perfectly happy; and nobody can be 
 happy without virtue, nor can virtue exist where reason is 
 not; and reason can reside in none but the human form; 
 the Gods, therefore, must be acknowledged to be of hu- 
 man form ; yet that form is not body, but something like 
 body; nor does it contain any blood, but something like 
 blood. Though these distinctions Avere more acutely de- 
 vised and more artfully expressed by Epicurus than any 
 common capacity can comprehend; yet, depending on 
 your understanding, I shall be more brief on the subject 
 than otherwise I should be. Epicurus, who not only dis- 
 covered and understood the occult and almost hidden se- 
 crets of nature, but explained them with ease, teaches that 
 the power and nature of the Gods is not to be discerned 
 by the senses, but by the mind ; nor are they to be con- 
 sidered as bodies of any solidity, or reducible to number, 
 like those things which, because of their firmness, he calls 
 Srepe/ij/m ;^ but as images, perceived by similitude and 
 transition. As infinite kinds of those images result from 
 innumerable individuals, and centre in the Gods, our minds 
 and understanding are directed towards and fixed with the 
 greatest delight on them, in order to comprehend what 
 that happy and eternal essence is. 
 
 XIX. Surely the mighty power of the Infinite Being is 
 most wortliy our great and earnest contemplation ; tiie 
 nature of which we must necessarily understand to be 
 such that everything in it is made to correspond complete- 
 ly to some other answering part. This is called by Epi- 
 curus Iffovofiia ; that is to say, an equal distribution or even 
 disposition of things. From hence he draws this infer- 
 
 ^ Urtpsfivia is the word Avhich Epicurus used to distinguish between 
 those objects which are perceptible to sense, and those which are imper- 
 ceptible ; as the essence of the Divine Being, and the various operations 
 of the divine power. 
 
228 THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 
 
 ence, that, .is there is such a vast multitude of mortals, 
 tliere cannot be a less number of immortals ; and if those 
 which perish are innumerable, those which are preserved 
 ought also to be countless. Your sect, Balbus, frequently 
 ask us how the Gods live, and how they pass their time ? 
 Their life is the most happy, and the most abounding with 
 all kinds of blessings, which can be conceived. They do 
 nothing. They are embarrassed with no business ; nor do 
 they perform any work. They rejoice in the possession of 
 their own wisdom and virtue. They are satisfied that they 
 siiall ever enjoy the fulness of eternal pleasures. 
 
 XX. Such a Deity may properly be called happy; but 
 yours is a most laborious God. For let us suppose the 
 world a Deity what can be a more uneasy state than, 
 without the least cessation, to be whirled about the axle- 
 tree of heaven with a surprising celerity? But nothing 
 can be happy that is not at ease. Or let us suppose a De- 
 ity residing in the world, who directs and governs it, who 
 preserves the courses of the stars, the changes of the sea- 
 sons, and the vicissitudes and orders of things, surveying 
 the earth and the sea, and accommodating them to the ad- 
 vantage and necessities of man. Truly this Deity is em- 
 barrassed with a very troublesome and laborious office. 
 We make a happy life to consist in a tranquillity of mind, 
 a perfect freedom from care, and an exemption from all 
 employment. The philosopher from whom we received all 
 our knowledge has taught us that the world was made by 
 nature; that there was no occasion for a workliouse to 
 frame it iu ; and that, though you deny the possibility of 
 such a work without divine skill, it is so easy to her, that 
 she has made, does make, and will make innumerable 
 worlds. But, because you do not conceive that nature is 
 able to produce such effects without some rational aid, you 
 are forced, like the tragic poets, when you cannot wind up 
 your argument in any other way, to have recourse to a 
 Deity, whose assistance you would not seek, if you could 
 view that vast and unbounded magnitude of regions in all 
 parts ; where the mind, extending and spreading itself, 
 travels so far and wide that it can find no end, no extremi- 
 ty to stop at. In this immensity of breadth, length, and 
 height, a most boundless company of innumerable atoms 
 
THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 229 
 
 are fluttering about, whicli, notwithstanding the interposi- 
 tion of a void space, meet and cohere, and continue cling- 
 ing to one another ; and by this union these modifications 
 and forms of things arise, which, in your opinions, couUl 
 not possibly be made without the help of bellows and an- 
 vils. Thus you have imposed on us an eternal master, 
 whom we must dread day and night. For who can be 
 free from fear of a Deity who foresees, regards, and takes 
 notice of everything ; one who thinks all things his own ; 
 a curious, ever-busy God ? 
 
 Hence first arose your Elfiapidirrj, as you call it, your fa- 
 tal necessity ; so that, whatever happens, you affirm that it 
 flows from an eternal chain and continuance of causes. Of 
 what value is this philosophy, which, like old women and 
 illiterate men, attributes everything to fate ? Then follows 
 your fiavTii^r), in Latin called divmatio, divination; whicli, 
 if we would listen to you, would plunge us into such su- 
 perstition that we should fall down and worship your in- 
 spectors into sacrifices, your augurs, your soothsayers, your 
 prophets, and your fortune-tellers. 
 
 Epicurus having freed us from these terrors and re- 
 stored us to liberty, we have no dread of those beings 
 whom we have reason to think entirely free from all 
 trouble themselves, and who do not impose any on others. 
 We pay our adoration, indeed, with piety and reverence 
 to that essence which is above all excellence and perfec- 
 tion. But I fear my zeal for this doctrine has made me 
 too prolix. However, I could not easily leave so eminent 
 and important a subject unfinished, though I must confess 
 I should rather endeavor to hear than speak so long. 
 
 XXI. Cotta, with his usual courtesy, then began. Vel- 
 leius, says he, w^ere it not for something which you have 
 advanced, I should have remained silent ; for I have often 
 observed, as I did just now upon hearing you, that I can- 
 not so easily conceive why a proposition is true as why it 
 is false. Should you ask me what I take the nature of tlie 
 Gods to be, I should perhaps make no answer. But if 
 you should ask whether I think it to be of that nature 
 Avhich you have described, I should answer that I was as 
 far as possible from agreeing with you. However, before 
 I enter on the subject of your discourse and what you 
 
230 THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 
 
 have advanced upon it, I will give you my opinion of 
 yourself. Your intimate friend, L. Crassus, has been of- 
 ten heard by me to say that you were beyond all question 
 superior to all our learned Romans; and that few Epicu- 
 reans in Greece were to be compared to you. But as I 
 knew what a wonderful esteem he had for you, I imagined 
 that might make him the more lavish in commendation 
 of you. Now, however, thougli I do not choose to praise 
 any one when present, yet I must confess that I think you 
 have delivered your thoughts clearly on an obscure and 
 very intricate subject; that you are not only copious in 
 your sentiments, but more elegant in your language than 
 your sect generally are. When I was at Athens, I went 
 often to hear Zeno, by the advice of Philo, who used to 
 call him the chief of the Epicureans ; partly, probably, in 
 order to judge more easily how completely those princi- 
 ples could be refuted after I had heard them stated by the 
 most learned of the Epicureans. And, indeed, he did not 
 speak in any ordinary manner; but, like you, Avith clear- 
 ness, gravity, and elegance; yet what frequently gave me 
 great uneasiness when I heard him, as it did while I at- 
 tended to you, was to see so excellent a genius falling into 
 such frivolous (excuse my freedom), not to say foolish, doc- 
 trines. However, I shall not at present offer anything bet- 
 ter; for, as I said before, we can in most subjects, especially 
 in physics, sooner discover what is not true than what is. 
 
 XXII. If you should ask me what God is, or what his 
 character and nature are, I should follow the example of 
 Simonides, who, when Hiero the tyrant proposed the same 
 question to him, desired a day to consider of it. When he 
 required his answer the next day, Simonides begged two 
 days more; and as he kept constantly desiring double the 
 number which he had required before instead of giving 
 his answer, Hiero, with surprise, asked him his meaning 
 in doing so : " Because," says he, " the longer I meditate 
 on it, the more obscure it appears to me." Simonides, who 
 was not only a delightful poet, but reputed a wise and 
 learned man in other branches of knowledge, found, I sup- 
 pose, so many acute and refined arguments occurring to 
 him, that he was doubtful which was the truest, and there- 
 fore despaired of discovering any truth. 
 
THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 231 
 
 But does your Epicurus (for I had rather contend with 
 him than with you) say anything that is worthy the name 
 of philosophy, or even of common-sense ? 
 
 In the question concerning the nature of the Gods, liis 
 first inquiry is, whether there are Gods or not. It would 
 be dangerous, I believe, to take the negative side before a 
 public auditory; but it is very safe in a discourse of this 
 kind, and in this company. I, who am a priest, and who 
 think that religions and ceremonies ought sacredly to be 
 maintained, am certainly desirous to have the existence 
 of the Gods, which is the principal point in debate, not 
 only fixed in opinion, but proved to a demonstration ; for 
 many notions flow into and disturb the mind which some- 
 times seem to convince us that there are none. But see 
 how candidly I will behave to you : as I shall not touch 
 upon those tenets you hold in common with other philoso- 
 phers, consequently I shall not dispute the existence of the 
 Gods, for that doctrine is agreeable to almost all men, and 
 to myself in particular; but I am still at liberty to find 
 fault with the reasons you give for it, which I think are 
 very insufiicient. 
 
 XXIII. You have said that the general assent of men 
 of all nations and all degrees is an argument strong enough 
 to induce us to acknowledge the being of the Gods. This 
 is not only a weak, but a false, argument ; for, first of all, 
 how do you know the opinions of all nations? I really 
 believe there are many people so savage that they have no 
 thoughts of a Deity. What think you of Diagoras, who 
 was called the atheist ; and of Theodorus after him ? Did 
 not they plainly deny the very essence of a Deity ? Pro- 
 tagoras of Abdera, whom you just now mentioned, the 
 greatest sophist of his age, was banished by order of the 
 Athenians from their city and territories, and his books 
 were publicly burned, because these words were in the be- 
 ginning of his treatise concerning the Gods: "I am unable 
 to arrive at any knowledge whether there are, or are not, 
 any Gods." This treatment of him, I imagine, restrain- 
 ed many from professing their disbelief of a Deity, since 
 the doubt of it only could not escape punishment. What 
 shall we say of the sacrilegious, the impious, and the per- 
 jured? If Tubulus Lucius, Lupus, or Carbo the son of 
 
232 THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 
 
 Neptune, as Lucilius says, had believed that there were 
 Gods, would either of them have carried his perjuries and 
 impieties to such excess ? Your reasoning, therefore, to 
 confirm your assertion is not so conclusive as you think it 
 is. But as this is the manner in which other philosophers 
 have argued on the same subject, I will take no further 
 notice of it at present; I rather choose to proceed to what 
 is properly your own. 
 
 I allow that there are Gods. Instruct me, then, con- 
 cerning their origin ; inform me where they are, what sort 
 of body, what mind, they have, and what is their course of 
 life; for these I am desirous of knowing. You attribute 
 the most absolute power and efficacy to atoms. Out of 
 them you pretend that everything is made. But there are 
 no atoms, for there is nothing without body; every place 
 is occupied by body, therefore there can be no such thing 
 as a vacuum or an atom. 
 
 XXIV. I advance these principles of the naturalists 
 without knowing whether they are true or false; yet they 
 are more like truth than those statements of yours; for 
 they are the absurdities in which Democritus, or before 
 him Leucippus, used to indulge, saying that there are cer- 
 tain light corpuscles some smooth, some rough, some 
 round, some square, some crooked and bent as bows 
 which by a fortuitous concourse made heaven and earth, 
 without the influence of any natural power. This opinion, 
 C. Velleius, you have brought down to these our times ; 
 and you would sooner be deprived of the greatest advan- 
 tages of life than of that authority ; for before you were 
 acquainted with those tenets, you thought that you ought 
 to profess yourself an Epicurean ; so that it was necessa- 
 ry that you should either embrace these absurdities or lose 
 the philosophical character which you had taken upon you ; 
 and what could bribe you to renounce the Epicurean opin- 
 ion? Nothing, you say, can prevail on you to forsake the 
 truth and the sure means of a happy life. But is that the 
 truth? for I shall not contest your happy life, which you 
 think the Deity himself does not enjoy unless he languish- 
 es in idleness. But where is truth ? Is it in your innu- 
 merable worlds, some of which are rising, some falling, at 
 every moment of time ? Or is it in your atomical corpus- 
 
THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 233 
 
 cles, wliich form such excellent works without the direc- 
 tion of any natural power or reason? But I was forget- 
 ting my liberality, which I had promised to exert in your 
 case, and exceeding tlio bounds which I at first proposed 
 to myself. Granting, then, everything to be made of atoms, 
 what advantage is that to your argument? For we are 
 searching after the nature of the Gods ; and allowing them 
 to be made of atoms, they cannot be eternal, because what- 
 ever is made of atoms must have had a beginning: if so, 
 there were no Gods till there was this beginning; and if 
 the Gods have had a beginning, they must necessarily have 
 an end, as you have before contended when you were dis- 
 cussing Plato's world. Where, then, is your beatitude and 
 immortality, in which two words you say that God is ex- 
 pressed, the endeavor to prove which reduces you to the 
 greatest perplexities? For you said that God had no 
 body, but something like body ; and no blood, but some- 
 thing like blood. 
 
 XXV. It is a frequent practice among you, when you 
 assert anything that has no resemblance to truth, and wish 
 to avoid reprehension, to advance something else which is 
 absolutely and utterly impossible, in order that it may seem 
 to your adversaries better to grant that point which has 
 been a matter of doubt than to keep on pertinaciously con- 
 tradicting you on every point : like Epicurus, who, when he 
 found that if his atoms were allowed to descend by their 
 own weight, our actions could not be in our own power, be- 
 cause their motions would be certain and necessary, invent- 
 ed an expedient, which escaped Democritus, to avoid neces- 
 sity. He says that when the atoms descend by their own 
 weight and gravity, they move a little obliquely. Surely, 
 to make such an assertion as this is what one ought more 
 to be ashamed of than the acknowledging ourselves unable 
 to defend the proposition. His practice is the same against 
 the logicians, who say that in all propositions in which yes 
 or no is required, one of them must be true ; he was afraid 
 that if this were granted, then, in such a proposition as 
 " Epicurus will be alive or dead to-morrow," either one or 
 the other must necessarily be admitted ; therefore he ab- 
 solutely denied the necessity of yes or no. Can anything 
 
234 THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 
 
 show stupidity in a greater degree ? Zeno/ being pressed 
 by Arcesilas, who pronounced all things to be false whidi 
 are perceived by the senses, said that some things were 
 false, but not all. Epicurus was afraid that if any one 
 thing seen should be false, nothing could be true ; and 
 therefore he asserted all the senses to be infallible dii*ectors 
 of truth. Nothing can be more rash than this ; for by en- 
 deavoring to repel a light stroke, he receives a heavy blow. 
 On the subject of the nature of the Gods, he falls into the 
 same errors. While he would avoid the concretion of in- 
 dividual bodies, lest death and dissolution should be the 
 consequence, he denies that the Gods have body, but says 
 they have something like body; and says they have no 
 blood, but something like blood. 
 
 XXVI. It seems an unaccountable tiling how one sooth- 
 sayer can refrain f i-om laughing when he sees another. It 
 is yet a greater wonder that you can refrain from laughing 
 among yourselves. It is no body, but something like body ! 
 I could understand this if it were applied to statues made 
 of wax or clay ; but in regard to the Deity, I am not able 
 to discover what is meant by a quasi-body or quasi-blood. 
 Nor indeed are you, Velleius, though you will not confess 
 so much. For those precepts are delivered to you as dic- 
 tates which Epicurus carelessly blundered out; for he 
 boasted, as we see in his writings, that he had no instruc- 
 tor, which I could easily believe without his public declara- 
 tion of it, for the same reason that I could believe the mas- 
 ter of a very bad edifice if he were to boast that he had 
 no architect but himself : for there is nothing of the Acade- 
 my, nothing of the Lyceum, in his doctrine; nothing but 
 puerilities. He might have been a pupil of Xenocrates. 
 O ye immortal Gods, what a teacher was he ! And there 
 are those who believe that he actually was his pupil; but 
 he says otherwise, and I shall give more credit to his word 
 than to another's. He confesses that he was a pupil of a 
 certain disciple of Plato, one Pamphilus, at Samos ; for he 
 lived there when lie was young, with his father and his 
 brothers. His father, Neocles, was a farmer in those parts ; 
 
 ' Zeno here mentioned is not the same that Cotta spoke of before. 
 This was the founder of the Stoics. The other was an Epicurean phi- 
 h)soj)lier whom lie had heard at Athens. 
 
THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 235 
 
 but as the farm, I suppose, was not sufficient to maintain 
 him, he turned school-master; yet Epicurus treats this Pla- 
 tonic philosopher with wonderful contempt, so fearful was 
 he that it should be thought he had ever had any instruc- 
 tion. But it is well known he had been a pupil of Nau- 
 siphanes, the follower of Democritus ; and since he could 
 not deny it, he loaded him with insults in abundance. If 
 he never heard a lecture on these Democritean principles, 
 what lectures did he ever hear? What is there in Epi- 
 curus's physics that is not taken from Democritus? For 
 though he altered some things, as what I mentioned before 
 of the oblique motions of the atoms, yet most of his doc- 
 trines are the same ; his atoms his vacuum his imnges 
 infinity of space innumerable worlds, their rise and de- 
 cay and almost every part of natural learning that he 
 treats of. 
 
 Now, do you understand what is meant by quasi-body 
 and quasi-blood? For I not only acknowledge that you 
 are a better judge of it than I am, but I can bear it with- 
 out envy. If any sentiments, indeed, are communicated 
 without obscurity, what is there that Velleins can under- 
 stand and Cotta not? I know what body is, and what 
 blood is; but I cannot possibly find out the meaning of 
 quasi-body and quasi-blood. Not that you intentionally 
 conceal your principles from me, as Pythagoras did his 
 from those who were not his disciples; or that you are in- 
 tentionally obscure, like Heraclitus. But the truth is (which 
 I may venture to say in this company), you do not under- 
 stand them yourself. 
 
 XXVII. This, I perceive, is what you contend for, that 
 the Gods have a certain figure that has nothing concrete, 
 nothing solid, nothing of express substance, nothing prom- 
 inent in it; but that it is pure, smooth, and transparent. 
 Let us suppose the same with the Venus of Cos, which is 
 not a body, but the representation of a body ; nor is the 
 red, which is drawn there and mixed with the white, real 
 blood, but a certain resemblance of blood ; so in Epicu- 
 rus's Deity there is no real substance, but the resemblance 
 of substance. 
 
 Let me take for granted that which is perfectly unin- 
 telligible; then tell me what are the lineaments and fig-^ 
 
236 THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 
 
 ures of these sketclied-out Deities. Here you have plenty 
 of arguments by which you would show the Gods to be 
 in human form. The first is, that our minds are so an- 
 ticipated and prepossessed, that whenever we think of a 
 Deity the human shape occurs to us. The next is, that 
 as the divine nature excels all things, so it ought to be of 
 the most beautiful form, and there is no form more beau- 
 tiful than the human ; and the third is, that reason cannot 
 reside in any other shape. 
 
 First, let us consider each argument separately. You 
 seem to me to assume a principle, despotically I may say, 
 that has no manner of probability in it. Who was ever 
 so blind, in contemplating these subjects, as not to sec 
 that the Gods were represented in human form, either by 
 the particular advice of wise men, who thought by those 
 means the more easily to turn the minds of the ignorant 
 from a depravity of manners to the worship of the Gods; 
 or through superstition, which was the cause of their be- 
 lieving that when they were paying adoration to these 
 images they were approaching the Gods themselves. These 
 conceits were not a little improved by the poets, painters, 
 and artificers ; for it would not have been very easy to 
 represent the Gods planning and executing any work in 
 another form, and perhaps this opinion arose from the 
 idea which mankind have of their own beauty. But do 
 not you, who are so great an adept in physics, see what a 
 soothing flatterer, what a sort of procuress, nature is to 
 herself? Do you think there is any creature on the land 
 or in the sea that is not highly delighted with its own 
 form? If it were not so, why would not a bull become 
 enamored of a mare, or a horse of a cow ? Do you be- 
 lieve an eagle, a lion, or a dolphin prefers any shape to 
 its own? If nature, therefore, has instructed us in the 
 same manner, that nothing is more beautiful than man, 
 what wonder is it that we, for that reason, should imagine 
 the Gods are of the human form? Do you suppose if 
 beasts were endowed with reason that every one would 
 not give the prize of beauty to his own species ? 
 
 XXVIII. Yet, by Hercules (I speak as I think) ! though 
 I am fond enougli of myself, I dare not say that I excel 
 in beauty that bull which carried Europa. For the ques- 
 
THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 237 
 
 tion here is not concerning our genius and elocution, but 
 our species and figure. If we could make and assume to 
 ourselves any form, would you be unwilling to resemble 
 the sea-triton as he is painted supported swimming on 
 sea -monsters whose bodies are partly human? Here I 
 touch on a difficult point; for so great is the force of nat- 
 ure that there is no man who would not choose to be 
 like a man, nor, indeed, any ant that would not be like 
 an ant. But like what man ? For how few can pretend 
 to beauty ! When I was at Athens, the whole flock of 
 youths afforded scarcely one. You laugh, I see; but what 
 I tell you is the truth. Nay, to us who, after the exam- 
 ples of ancient philosophers, delight in boys, defects are 
 often pleasing. Alcseus was charmed with a wart on a 
 boy's knuckle ; but a wart is a blemish on the body ; yet 
 it seemed a beauty to him. Q. Catulus, my friend and 
 colleague's father, was enamored with your fellow-citizen 
 Roscius, on whom he wrote these verses: 
 
 As once I stood to hail the rising day, 
 
 Roscins appearing on the left I spied : 
 Forgive me, Gods, if I presume to say 
 
 The mortal's beauty Avith th' immortal vied. 
 
 Roscius more beautiful than a God ! yet he was then, as 
 he now is, squint-eyed. But what signifies that, if his de- 
 fects were beauties to Catnlus ? 
 
 XXIX. I return to the Gods. Can we suppose any of 
 them to be squint-eyed, or even to have a cast in the eye? 
 Have they any warts ? Are any of them hook-nosed, flap- 
 eared, beetle-browed, or jolt -headed, as some of us are ? 
 Or are they free from imperfections ? Let us grant you 
 that. Are they all alike in the face? For if they are 
 many, then one must necessarily be more beautiful than 
 another, and then there must be some Deity not absolute- 
 ly most beautiful. Or if their faces are all alike, there 
 would be an Academy^ in heaven; for if one God does 
 not differ from another, there is no possibility of knowing 
 or distinguishing them. 
 
 What if your assertion, Yelleius, proves absolutely false, 
 that no form occurs to us, in our contemplations on the 
 
 ' That is, there would be the same uncertainty in heaven as is among 
 the Academics. 
 
238 THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 
 
 Deity, but the human? Will you, notwithstanding that, 
 persist in the defence of such an absurdity? Supi:)osing 
 that form occurs to us, as you say it does, and we know 
 Jupiter, Juno, Minerva, Neptune, Vulcan, Apollo, and the 
 other Deities, by tlie countenance which painters and statu- 
 aries have given them, and not only by their countenances, 
 but by their decorations, their age, and attire; yet the 
 Egyptians, the Syrians, and almost all barbarous nations,^ 
 are witliout such distinctions. You may see a greater re- 
 gard paid by them to certain beasts than by us to the most 
 sacred temples and images of the Gods ; for many shrines 
 have been rilled, and images of the Deities have been car- 
 ried from their most sacred places by us; but we never 
 heard that an Egyptian offered any violence to a croco- 
 dile, an ibis, or a cat. What do you think, then? Do 
 not the Egyptians esteem their sacred bull, their Apis, as 
 a Deity ? Yes, by Hercules ! as certainly as you do our 
 protectress Juno, whom you never behold, even in your 
 dreams, without a goat-skin, a spear, a shield, and broad 
 sandals. But the Grecian Juno of Argos and the Roman 
 Juno are not represented in this manner ; so that the Gre- 
 cians, the Lanuvinians, and we, ascribe different forms to 
 Juno; and our Capitoline Jupiter is not the same with 
 the Jupiter Aramon of the Africans. 
 
 XXX. Therefore, ought not a natural philosopher that 
 is, an inquirer into the secrets of natui-e to be ashamed 
 of seeking a testimony to truth from minds prepossessed 
 by custom ? According to the rule you have laid down, it 
 may be said that Jupiter is always bearded, Apollo always 
 beardless ; that Minerva has gray and Neptune azure eyes ; 
 and, indeed, w^e must then honor that Vulcan at Athens, 
 made by Alcamenes, whose lameness through his thin robes 
 appears to be no deformity. Shall we, therefore, receive a 
 lame Deity because we have such an account of him? 
 
 Consider, likewise, that the Gods go by what names we 
 give them. Now, in the first place, they have as many 
 names as men have languages; for Vulcan is not called 
 Vulcan in Italy, Africa, or Spain, as you are called Velle- 
 ius in all countries. Besides, the Gods are innumerable, 
 though the list of their names is of no great length even 
 ^ Those nations Avliich were neither Greek nor Roman, 
 
THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 239 
 
 ill the records of our priests. Have they no names ? You 
 must necessarily confess, indeed, they have none ; for what 
 occasion is there for different names if their persons are 
 alike? 
 
 How much more laudable would it be, Yelleius, to ac- 
 knowledge that you do not know what you do not know 
 than to follow a man whom you must despise ! Do you 
 think the Deity is like either me or you? You do not 
 really think he is like either of us. What is to be done, 
 then? Shall I call the sun, the moon, or the sky a Deity? 
 If so, they are consequently happy. But what pleasures 
 can they enjoy? And they are wise too. But how can 
 wisdom reside in such shapes ? These are your own prin- 
 ciples- Therefore, if they are not of human form, as I have 
 proved, and if you cannot persuade yourself that they are 
 of any other, why are you cautious of denying absolutely 
 the being of any Gods ? You dare not deny it which is 
 very prudent in you, though here you are not afraid of the 
 people, but of the Gods themselves. I have known Epicu- 
 reans who reverence^ even the least images of the Gods, 
 though I perceive it to be the opinion of some that Epicu- 
 rus, through fear of offending against the Athenian laws, 
 has allowed a Deity in words and destroyed him in fact; 
 so in those his select and short sentences, which are called 
 by you Kvplai 36^at,^ this, I think, is the first: " That being 
 which is happy and immortal is not burdened with any la- 
 bor, and does not impose any on any one else." 
 
 XXXI. In his statement of this sentence, some think 
 that he avoided speaking clearly on purpose, though it was 
 manifestly Avithout design. But they judge ill of a man 
 who had not the least art. It is doubtful whether he means 
 that there is any being happy and immortal, or that if 
 there is any being happy, he must likewise be immortal. 
 They do not consider that he speaks here, indeed, ambigu- 
 ously ; but in many other places both he and Metrodorus 
 explain themselves as clearly as you have done. But he 
 believed there are Gods; nor have I ever seen any one 
 
 ^ Sigilla numerantes is the common reading ; but P. Manucius pro- 
 poses venerantes, whicli I choose as tlie better of the two, and in which 
 sense I have translated it. 
 
 ^ Fnndamcntal doctrines. 
 
240 THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 
 
 who was more exceedingly afraid of what he declared 
 ought to be no objects of fear, namely, death and the Gods, 
 with the apprehensions of which the common rank of peo- 
 ple are very little affected; but he says that the minds of 
 all mortals are terrified by them. Many thousands of men 
 commit robberies in the face of death ; others rifle all the 
 temples tliey can get into : such as these, no doubt, must 
 be greatly terrified, the one by the fears of death, and the 
 others by the fear of the Gods. 
 
 But since you dare not (for I am now addressing my 
 discourse to Epicurus himself) absolutely deny the exist- 
 ence of the Gods, what hinders you from ascribing a di- 
 vine nature to the sun, the world, or some eternal mind? 
 I never, says he, saw wisdom and a rational soul in any 
 but a liuman form. What ! did you ever observe anything 
 like the sun, the moon, or the five moving planets ? The 
 sun, terminating his course in two extreme parts of one 
 circle,^ finishes his annual revolutions. The moon, receiving 
 her light from the sun, completes the same course in the 
 sj^ace of a month.^ The five planets in the same circle, 
 some nearer, others more remote from the earth, begin the 
 i^ume courses together, and finish them in different spaces 
 of time. Did you ever observe anything like this, Epicu- 
 rus ? So that, according to you, there can be neither sun, 
 moon, nor stars, because nothing can exist but what we 
 have touched or seen.^ What ! have you ever seen the 
 Deity himself? Why else do you believe there is any? 
 If this doctrine prevails, we must reject all that history 
 relates or reason discovers; and the people who inhabit 
 inland countries must not believe there is such a thing as 
 the sea. This is so narrow a way of thinking that if you 
 had been born in Seriphus, and never had been from out 
 of that island, where you had frequently been in the habit 
 of seeing little hares and foxes, you would not, therefore, 
 believe that there are such beasts as lions and panthers; 
 
 * That is, the zodiac. 
 
 ^ The moon, as well as tlie sun, is indeed in the zodiac, but she does 
 not measure the same course in a month. She moves in another line of 
 the zodiac nearer the earth. 
 
 ^ According to the doctrines of Epicurus, none of these bodies thcm- 
 Belves are clearly seen, but simulacra ex corporibus effluej\tia. 
 
THE NATUEE OF THE GODS. 241 
 
 and if any one should describe an elephant to you, you 
 would think that he designed to laugh at you. 
 
 XXXII. You indeed, Velleius, have concluded your ar- 
 gument, not after the manner of your own sect, but of tlie 
 logicians, to which your people are utter strangers. You 
 have taken it for granted that the Gods are happy. I al- 
 low it. You say that without virtue no one can be hapjiy. 
 I willingly concur with you in this also. You likewise 
 say that virtue cannot reside where reason is not. That I 
 raust necessarily allow. You add, moreover, that reason 
 cannot exist but in a human form. Who, do you think, 
 will admit that? If it were true, what occasion was there 
 to come so gradually to it? And to what purpose? You 
 might have answered it on your owmi authority. I per- 
 ceive your gradations from happiness to virtue, and from 
 virtue to reason; but how do you come from reason to 
 human form ? There, indeed, you do not descend by de- 
 grees, but precipitately. 
 
 Nor can I conceive why Epicurus should rather say the 
 Gods ffi-e like men than that men are like the Gods. You 
 ask what is the difference; for, say you, if this is like that, 
 that is like this. I grant it; but this I assert, that the 
 Gods could not take their form from men; for the Gods 
 always existed, and never had a beginning, if they are to 
 exist eternally; but men had a beginning: therefore that 
 form, of which the immortal Gods are, inust have had ex- 
 istence before mankind; consequently, the Gods should 
 not be said to be of human form, but our form should be 
 called divine. However, let this be as you will. I now 
 inquire how this extraordinary good fortune came about; 
 for you deny that reason had any share in the formation 
 of things. But still, Avhat was this extraordinary fortune? 
 Whence proceeded that happy concourse of atoms which 
 gave so sudden a rise to men in the form of Gods? Are 
 we to suppose the divine seed fell from heaven upon earth, 
 and that men sprung up in the likeness of their celestial 
 sires? I wish you would assert it; for I should not be 
 unwilling to acknowledge my relation to the Gods. But 
 you say nothing like it ; no, our resemblance to the Gods, 
 it seems, was by chance. Must I now seek for argu- 
 ments to refute this doctrine seriously? I wish I could 
 
 11 
 
242 THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 
 
 as easily discover what is true as I can overthrow what 
 is' false. 
 
 XXXIII. You have enumerated with so ready a memory, 
 and so copiously, the opinions of philosophers, from Thales 
 the Milesian, concerning the nature of the Gods, that I am 
 surprised to see so much learning in a Roman. But do 
 you think they were all madmen who thought that a Dei- 
 ty could by some possibility exist without hands and feet ? 
 Does not even this consideration have weight with you 
 when you consider what is the use and advantage of limbs 
 in men, and lead you to admit that the Gods have no need 
 of them ? What necessity can there be of feet, without 
 walking; or of hands, if there is nothing to be grasped? 
 The same may be asked of the other parts of the body, in 
 which nothing is vain, nothing useless, nothing superflu- 
 ous ; therefore we may infer that no art can imitate the skill 
 of nature. Shall the Deity, then, have a tongue, and not 
 speak teeth, palate, and jaws, though he will have no use 
 for them ? Shall the members which nature has given to 
 the body for the sake of generation be useless to the Deity ? 
 Nor w^ould the internal parts be less superfluous than the 
 external. What comeliness is there in the heart, the lungs, 
 the liver, and the rest of them, abstracted from their use? 
 I mention these because you place them in the Deity on 
 account of the beauty of the human form. 
 
 Depending on these dreams, not only Epicurus, Metro- 
 dorus, and Hermachus declaimed against Pythagoras, Pla- 
 to, and Empedocles, but that little harlot Leontium pre- 
 sumed to write against Theophrastus : indeed, she had a 
 neat Attic style ; but yet, to think of her arguing against 
 Theophrastus ! So much did the garden of Epicurus^ 
 abound with these liberties, and, indeed, you are always 
 complaining against them. Zeno wrangled. Why need 
 I mention Albutius? Nothing could be more elegant or 
 humane than Phgedrus; yet a sharp expression would dis- 
 gust the old man. Epicurus treated Aristotle with great 
 contumely. He foully slandered Phaedo, the disciple of 
 Socrates. He pelted Timocrates, the brother of his com- 
 panion Metrodorus, with whole volumes, because he disa- 
 greed with him in some trifling point of i)hilosophy. He 
 ' Epicurus taught his disciples in a. garden. 
 
THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 243 
 
 was ungrateful even to Democritus, whose follower he was ; 
 and his master Nausiphanes, from whom he learned noth- 
 ing, had no better treatment from him. 
 
 XXXIV. Zeno gave abusive language not only to those 
 who were then living, as Apollodorus, Syllus, and the rest, 
 but he called Socrates, who was tlie father of philosophy, 
 the Attic buffoon, using the Latin word Scurra. He nev- 
 er called Chrysippus by any name but Chesippus. And 
 you yourself a little before, when you were numbering up 
 a senate, as we may call them, of philosophers, scrupled 
 not to say that the most eminent men talked like foolish, 
 visionary dotards. Certainly, therefore, if they have all 
 erred in regard to the nature of the Gods, it is to be feared 
 there are no such beings. What you deliver on that head 
 are all whimsical notions, and not worthy the considera- 
 tion even of old women. For you do not seem to be in 
 the least aware what a task you draw on yourselves, if you 
 should prevail on us to grant that the same form is com- 
 mon to Gods and men. The Deity would then require 
 the same trouble in dressing, and the same care of the 
 body, that mankind does. He must walk, run, lie down, 
 lean, sit, hold, speak, and discourse. You need not be told 
 the consequence of making the Gods male and female. 
 
 Therefore I cannot sufficiently wonder how tliis chief of 
 yours came to entertain these strange opinions. But you 
 constantly insist on the certainty of this tenet, that the 
 Deity is both happy and immortal. Supposing he is so. 
 would his happiness be less perfect if he had not two feet ? 
 Or cannot that blessedness or beatitude call it which you 
 will (they are both harsh terms, but we must mollify tliem 
 by use) can it not, I say, exist in that sun, or in this 
 world, or in some eternal mind that has not human shape 
 or limbs? All you say against it is, that you never saw 
 any happiness in the sun or the world. What, then? 
 Did you ever see any world but this ? No, you will say. 
 Why, therefore, do you presume to assert that there are 
 not only six hundred thousand worlds, but that they are 
 innumerable ? Reason tells you so. Will not reason tell 
 you likewise that as, in our inquiries into the most excel- 
 lent nature, we find none but the divine nature can be hap- 
 py and eternal, so the same divine nature surpasses us in 
 
244 THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 
 
 excellence of mind ; and as in mind, so in body ? Why, 
 therefore, as we are inferior in all other respects, should 
 we be equal in form? For human virtue approaches 
 nearer to the divinity than human form. 
 
 XXXV. To return to the subject I was upon. What 
 can be more childish than to assert that there are no such 
 creatures as are generated in the Red Sea or in India? 
 The most curious inquirer cannot arrive at the knowledge 
 of all those creatures which inhabit the earth, sea, fens, and 
 rivers; and shall we deny the existence of them because 
 we never saw them? That similitude which you are so 
 very fond of is nothing to the purpose. Is not a dog like 
 a wolf ? And, as Ennius says, 
 
 The monkey, fililiiest beast, how like to man! 
 
 Yet they differ in nature. No beast has more sagacity 
 than an elephant ; yet where can you find any of a larger 
 size? I am speaking here of beasts. But among men, do 
 we not see a disparity of manners in persons very much 
 alike, and a siniilitude of manners in persons unlike? If 
 this sort of argument were once to prevail, Velleius, ob- 
 serve what it would lead to. You have laid it down as 
 certain that reason cannot possibly reside in any but the 
 human form. Another may affirm that it can exist in none 
 but a terrestrial being; in none but a being that is born, 
 that grows up, and receives instruction, and that consists 
 of a soul, and an infirm and pei'ishable body ; in short, in 
 none but a mortal man. But if you decline those opinions, 
 why should a single form disturb you? You perceive 
 that man is possessed of reason and understanding, with 
 all the infirmities which I have mentioned interwoven 
 with his being; abstracted from Avhich, you nevertheless 
 know God, you say, if the lineaments do but remain. 
 This is not talking considerately, but at a venture; for 
 surely you did not think what an encumbrance anything 
 superfluous or useless is, not only in a man, but a tree. 
 How troublesome it is to have a finger too much ! And 
 why so? Because neither use nor ornament requires 
 more than five ; but your Deity has not only a finger more 
 than he wants, but a head, a neck, shoulders, sides, a 
 paunch, back, hams, hands, feet, thighs, and legs. Are 
 
THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 245 
 
 these parts necessary to immortality? Are they condu- 
 cive to the existence of the Deity? Is the face itself of 
 use? One would rather say so of the brain, the heart, 
 the lights, and the liver; for these are the seats of life. 
 Tlie features of the face contribute nothing to the preser- 
 vation of it. 
 
 XXXVI. You censured those wlio, beholding those ex- 
 cellent and stupendous works, the world, and its respect- 
 ive parts the heaven, the earth, the seas and the splen- 
 dor with which they are adorned ; who, contemplating the 
 sun, moon, and stars ; and who, observing the maturity 
 and changes of the seasons, and vicissitudes of times, in- 
 ferred from thence that there must be some excellent and 
 eminent essence that oi^ginally made, and still moves, di- 
 rects, and governs them. Suppose they should mistake in 
 their conjecture, yet I see what they aim at. But what is 
 that great and noble work which appears to you to be the 
 effect of a divine mind, and from which you conclude that 
 there are Gods? "I have," say you, "a certain informa- 
 tion of a Deity imprinted in my mind." Of a bearded 
 Jupiter, I suppose, and a helmeted Minerva. 
 
 But do you really imagine them to be such? How 
 much better are the notions of the ignorant vulgar, who 
 not only believe the Deities have members like ours, but 
 that they make use of them ; and therefore they assign 
 them a bow and arrows, a spear, a shield, a trident, and 
 lightning; and though they do not behold the actions of 
 the Gods, yet they cannot entertain a thought of a Deity 
 doing nothing. The Egyptians (so much ridiculed) held 
 no beasts to be sacred, except on account of some advan- 
 tage which they had received from them. The ibis, a very 
 large bird, witli strong legs and a horny long beak, de- 
 stroys a great number of serpents. Tiiese birds keep 
 Egypt from pestilential diseases by killing and devouring 
 the flying serpents brought from the deserts of Lybia by 
 the south-west wind, which prevents the mischief that 
 may attend their biting while alive, or any infection when 
 dead. I could speak of the advantage of the ichneumon, 
 the crocodile, and the cat; but I am unwilling to be te- 
 dious ; yet I will conclude with observing that the barba- 
 rians paid divine honors to beasts because of the benefits 
 
24 G THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 
 
 they received from them; whereas your Gods not only 
 confer no benefit, but are idle, and do no single act of any 
 description whatever. 
 
 XXXVII. "They have nothing to do," your teacher 
 says. Epicurus truly, like indolent boys, thinks nothing 
 preferable to idleness ; yet those very boys, when they 
 have a holiday, entertain themselves in some sportive ex- 
 ercise. But we are to suppose the Deity in such an in- 
 active state that if he should move we may justly fear 
 he would be no longer liappy. This doctrine divests the 
 Gods of motion and operation; besides, it encourages 
 men to be lazy, as they are by this taught to believe that 
 the least labor is incompatible even with divine felicity. 
 
 But let it be as you would have it, that the Deity is 
 in the form and image of a man. Where is his abode? 
 Where is his habitation? Where is the place where he is 
 to be found? What is his course of life? And what is 
 it that constitutes the happiness which you assert that he 
 enjoys? For it seems necessary that a being who is to 
 be happy must use and enjoy what belongs to him. And 
 with regard to place, even those natures which are inani- 
 mate have each their proper stations assigned to them : so 
 that the earth is the lowest; then water is next above the 
 earth ; the air is above the water ; and fire has the highest 
 situation of all allotted to it. Some creatures inhabit the 
 earth, some the water, and some, of an amphibious nature, 
 live in both. There are some, also, which are thought to 
 be born in fire, and which often appear fluttering in burn- 
 ing furnaces. 
 
 In the first place, therefore, I ask you. Where is the hab- 
 itation of your Deity ? Secondly, What motive is it that 
 stirs him from his place, supposing he ever moves ? And, 
 lastly, since it is peculiar to animated beings to have an 
 inclination to something that is agreeable to their several 
 natures, what is it that the Deity affects, and to what pur- 
 pose does he exert the motion of his mind and reason ? In 
 short, how is he happy ? how eternal ? Whichever of these 
 points you touch upon, I am afraid you will come lamely 
 off. For there is never a proper end to reasoning which 
 proceeds on a false foundation ; for you asserted likewise 
 that the form of the Deity is perceptible by the mind, but 
 
THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 247 
 
 not by sense ; that it is neither solid, nor invariable in num- 
 ber; that it is to be discerned by similitude and transi- 
 tion, and that a constant supply of images is perpetually 
 flowing on from innumerable atoms, on which our minds 
 are intent; so that we from that conclude that divine nat- 
 ure to be happy and everlasting. 
 
 XXXVIII. What, in the name of those Deities concern- 
 ing whom we are now disputing, is the meaning of all this ? 
 For if they exist only in thought, and have no solidity nor 
 substance, what difference can there be between thinking 
 of a Hippocentaur and thinking of a Deity? Other phi- 
 losophers call every such conformation of the mind a vain 
 motion ; but you term it " the approach and entrance of 
 images into the mind." Thus, when I imagine that I be- 
 hold T. Gracchus haranguing the people in the Capitol, 
 and collecting their suffrages concerning M. Octavius, I 
 call that a vain motion of the mind : but you afiirm that 
 the images of Gracchus and Octavius are present, which 
 are only conveyed to my mind when they have arrived at 
 the Capitol. The case is the same, you say, in regard to 
 the Deity, with the frequent representation of which the 
 mind is so affected that from thence it may be clearly un- 
 derstood that the Gods^ are happy and eternal. 
 
 Let it be granted that there are images by which the 
 mind is affected, yet it is only a certain form that occurs; 
 and why must that form be pronounced happy? why eter- 
 nal? But what are those images you talk of, or whence 
 do they proceed ? This loose manner of arguing is taken 
 from Democritus ; but he is reproved by many people for 
 it ; nor can you derive any conclusions from it : the whole 
 system is weak and imperfect. For what can be more im- 
 probable than that the images of Homer, Archilochus, Rom- 
 ulus, Numa, Pythagoras, and Plato should come into my 
 mind, and yet not in the form in which they existed ? How, 
 therefore, can they be those persons ? And whose images 
 are they? Aristotle tells us that there never was such a 
 person as Orpheus the poet;'^ and it is said that the verse 
 
 ^ By the word Deus, as often used by our autlior, we are to understand 
 all the Gods in that theology then treated of, and not a single personal 
 Deity. 
 
 ' The best commentators on this passage agree that Cicero does not 
 
248 THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 
 
 called Orphic verse was the invention of Cercops, a Pythag- 
 orean ; yet Orpheus, that is to say, the image of him, as 
 you will have it, often runs in my head. What is the rea- 
 son that I entertain one idea of the figure of the same per- 
 son, and you another? Why do w^e image to ourselves 
 such things as never had any existence, and winch never 
 can have, such as Scyllas and Chimaeras? Why do we 
 frame ideas of men, countries, and cities which we never 
 saw? How is it that the very first moment that I choose 
 I can form representations of them in my mind? How is 
 it that they come to me, even in my sleep, without being 
 called or sought after ? 
 
 XXXIX. The whole affair, Yelleius, is ridiculous. You 
 do not impose images on our eyes only, but on our minds. 
 Such is the privilege which you have assumed of talking 
 nonsense with impunity. But there is, you say, a transi- 
 tion of images flowing on in great crowds in such a way 
 that out of many some one at least must be perceived ! I 
 should be ashamed of my incapacity to understand this 
 if you, who assert it, could comprehend it yourselves ; for 
 how do you prove that these images are continued in 
 uninterrupted motion? Or, if uninterrupted, still how do 
 you prove them to be eternal? There is a constant sup- 
 ply, you say, of innumerable atoms. But must they, for 
 that reason, be all eternal ? To elude this, you have re- 
 course to equilibration (for so, with your leave, I will call 
 your 'Iffovofiia),^ and say that as there is a sort of nature 
 mortal, so there must also be a sort which is immortal. 
 By the same rule, as there are men mortal, there are men 
 immortal ; and as some arise from the earth, some must 
 arise from the water also ; and as there are causes which 
 destroy, there must likewise be causes which preserve. Be 
 it as you say ; but let those causes preserve which have ex- 
 istence themselves. I cannot conceive these your Gods to 
 have any. But how does all this face of things arise from 
 atomic corpuscles ? Were there any such atoms (as there 
 
 mean that Aristotle affirmed that there was no such person as Orplieus, 
 but that there was no such poet, and that the verse called Orj)hic was 
 said to he the invention of another. The passage of Aristotle to wiiich 
 Cicero here alludes has, as Dr. Davis observes, been long lost. 
 * A just proportion between the dillerent sorts of beings. 
 
THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 249 
 
 are not), they might perhaps impel one another, and be 
 jumbled together in their motion ; but they could never 
 be able to impart form, or figure, or color, or animation, 
 so that you by no means demonstrate the immortality of 
 your Deity. 
 
 XL. Let us now inquire into his happiness. It is cer- 
 tain that without virtue there can be no happiness; but 
 virtue consists in action: now your Deity does nothing; 
 therefore lie is void of virtue, and consequently cannot be 
 happy. What sort of life does lie lead? He has a con- 
 stant supply, you say, of good things, without any inter- 
 mixture of bad. What are those good things? Sensual 
 pleasures, no doubt; for you know no delight of the mind 
 but what arises from the body, and returns to it. I do not 
 suppose, Velleius, that you are like some of the Epicure- 
 ans, who are ashamed of those expressions of Epicurus,^ 
 in which he openly avows that he has no idea of any good 
 separate from wanton and obscene pleasures, which, with- 
 out a blush, he names distinctly. What food, therefore, 
 what drink, what variety of music or flowers, what kind of 
 pleasures of touch, what odors, will you offer to the Gods 
 to fill them with pleasures? The poets indeed provide 
 them with banquets of nectar and ambrosia, and a Hebe 
 or a Ganymede to serve up the cup. But what is it, 
 Epicurus, that you do for them? For I do not see from 
 whence your Deity should have those things, nor how he 
 could use them. Therefore the nature of man is better 
 constituted for a happy life than the nature of the Gods, 
 because men enjoy various kinds of pleasures; but you 
 look on all those pleasures as superficial which delight the 
 senses only by a titillation, as Epicurus calls it. Where is 
 to be the end of this trifling? Even Philo, who followed 
 the Academy, could not bear to hear the soft and luscious 
 delights of the Epicureans despised ; for with his admira- 
 ble memory he perfectly remembered and used to repeat 
 many sentences of Epicurus in the very words in w^hich 
 they were written. He likewise used to quote many, 
 
 ^ Some give qiios non pudeat earum Epicuri vocum ; but the best cop- 
 ies have not non; nor would it be consistent with Cotta to say quos non 
 pudeat, for he throughout represents Velleius as a perfect Epicurean ia 
 every article. 
 
 11* 
 
'250 THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 
 
 which were more gross, from Metrodorus, the sage col- 
 league of Epicurus, who blamed his brother Timocrates 
 because he would not allow that everything which had 
 any reference to a happy life was to he measured by the 
 belly ; nor has he said this once only, but often. You grant 
 what I say, I perceive; for you know it to be true. I can 
 produce the books, if you should deny it; but I am not 
 now reproving you for referring all things to the standard 
 of pleasure : that is another question. What I am now 
 showing is, that your Gods are destitute of pleasure; and 
 therefore, according to your own manner of reasoning, 
 they are not happy. 
 
 XLT. But they are free from pain. Is that sufficient 
 for beings who are supposed to enjoy all good things and 
 the most supreme felicity? The T)e\iy, they say, is con- 
 stantly meditating on his owm happiness, for he has no 
 other idea which can possibly occupy his mind. Consid- 
 er a little ; reflect what a figure the Deity would make if 
 he were to be idly thinking of nothing through all eterni- 
 ty but " It is very well with me, and I am happy ;" nor do 
 I see why this happy Deity should not fear being destroy- 
 ed, since, without any intermission, he is driven and agi- 
 tated by an everlasting incursion of atoms, and since im- 
 ages are constantly floating off from him. Your Deity, 
 therefore, is neither happy nor eternal. 
 
 Epicurus, it seems, has written books concerning sanc- 
 tity and piety towards the Gods. But how does he speak 
 on these subjects ? You would say that you were listen- 
 ing to Coruncanius or Scsevola, the high-priests, and not 
 to a man who tore up all religion by the roots, and who 
 overthrew the temples and altars of the immortal Gods; 
 not, indeed, with hands, like Xerxes, but w^ith arguments ; 
 for what reason is there for your saying that men ought 
 to worship the Gods, when the Gods not only do not re- 
 gard men, but are entirely careless of everything, and ab- 
 solutely do nothing at all ? 
 
 But they are, you say, of so glorious and excellent a 
 nature that a wise man is induced by their excellence to 
 adore them. Can there be any glory or excellence in that 
 nature which only contemplates its own happiness, and 
 neither will do, nor does, nor ever did anything? Besides, 
 
THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 251 
 
 what piety is due to a being from whom you receive noth- 
 ing? Or how can you, or any one else, be indebted to 
 him who bestows no benefits? For piety is only justice 
 towards the Gods ; but what right have they to it, when 
 there is no communication whatever between the Gods 
 and men? And sanctity is the knowledge of how we 
 ought to worship them ; but I do not understand why 
 they are to be worshipped, if we are neither to receive 
 nor expect any good from them. 
 
 XLII. And why should we worship them from an ad- 
 miration only of that nature in w^hich we can behold noth- 
 ing excellent? and as for that freedom from superstition, 
 which you are in the habit of boasting of so much, it is 
 easy to be free from that feeling when you have re- 
 nounced all belief in the power of the Gods ; unless, in- 
 deed, you imagine that Diagoras or Theodorus, who ab- 
 solutely denied the being of the Gods, could possibly be 
 superstitious. I do not suppose that even Protagoras 
 could, who doubted whether there were Gods or not. 
 The opinions of these philosophers are not only destructive 
 of superstition, which arises from a vain fear of the Gods, 
 but of religion also, which consists in a pious adoration 
 of them. 
 
 What think you of those who have asserted that the 
 whole doctrine concerning the immortal Gods was the in- 
 vention of politicians, whose view was to govern that part 
 of the community by religion which reason could not in- 
 fluence? Are not their opinions subversive of all relig- 
 ion? Or what religion did Prodicus the Chian leave to 
 men, who held that everything beneficial to human life 
 should be numbered among the Gods? Were not they 
 likewise void of religion who taught that the Deities, at 
 present the object of our prayers and adoration, were val- 
 iant, illustrious, and mighty men who arose to divinity 
 after death ? Euhemerus, whom our Ennius translated, 
 and followed more than other authors, has particularly 
 advanced this doctrine, and treated of the deaths and 
 burials of the Gods; can he, then, be said to have con- 
 firmed religion, or, rather, to have totally subverted it? 
 I shall say nothing of that sacred and august Eleusina, 
 into whose mysteries the most distant nations were initi- 
 
252 THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 
 
 ated, nor of the solemnities in Samotbrace, or in Lemnos, 
 secretly resorted to by night, and surrounded by thick 
 and shady groves ; which, if they were properly explain- 
 ed, and reduced to reasonable principles, would rather ex- 
 plain the nature of things than discover the knowledge of 
 the Gods.' 
 
 XLIII. Even that great man Democritus, from whose 
 fountains Epicurus Avatered his little garden, seems to me 
 to be very inferior to his usual acuteness when speaking 
 about the nature of the Gods. For at one time he thinks 
 tliat there are images endowed with divinity, inherent in 
 the universality of things; at another, that the principles 
 and minds contained in the universe are Gods ; then he 
 attributes divinity to animated images, employing them- 
 selves in doing us good or harm ; and, lastly, he speaks of 
 certain images of such vast extent that they encompass 
 the whole outside of the universe; all which opinions are 
 more worthy of the country^ of Democritus than of De- 
 mocritus himself ; for who canfi-ame in his mind any ideas 
 of such images? who can admire them? who can think 
 they merit a religious adoration? 
 
 But Epicurus, when he divests the Gods of the power 
 of doing good, extirpates all religion from the minds of 
 men ; for though he says the divine nature is the best and 
 the most excellent of all natures, he will not allow it to 
 be susceptible of any benevolence, by which he destroys 
 the chief and peculiar attribute of the most perfect being. 
 For what is better and more excellent than goodness and 
 beneficence? To refuse your Gods that quality is to say 
 that no man is any object of their favor, and no Gods 
 either; that they neither love nor esteem any one; in 
 short, that they not only give themselves no trouble about 
 us, but even look on each other with the greatest indif- 
 ference. 
 
 XLIV. How much more reasonable is the doctrine of 
 the Stoics, whom you censure ? It is one of their maxims 
 that the wise are friends to the wise, though unknown to 
 each other; for as nothing is more amiable than virtue, he 
 who possesses it is worthy our love, to whatever country 
 
 ^ His country was Abdera, the natives of which were remarkable for 
 their stupidity. 
 
THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 253 
 
 lie belongs. But what evils do your principles bring, when 
 you make good actions and benevolence the marks of im- 
 becility ! For, not to mention the power and nature of 
 the Gods, you hold that even men, if they had no need of 
 mutual assistance, would be neither courteous nor benefi- 
 cent. Is there no natural charity in the dispositions of 
 good men ? The very name of love, from which friend- 
 ship is derived, is dear to men ;^ and if friendship is to 
 centre in our own advantage only, without regard to him 
 whom we esteem a friend, it cannot be called friendship, 
 but a sort of traffic for our own profit. Pastures, lands, 
 and herds of cattle are valued in the same manner on 
 account of the profit we gather from them ; but charity 
 and friendship expect no return. How much more reason 
 have we to think that the Gods, who want nothing, should 
 love each other, and employ themselves about us! If it 
 were not so, why should we pray to or adore them ? Why 
 do the priests preside over the altars, and the augurs over 
 the auspices ? What have we to ask of the Gods, and why 
 do we prefer our vows to them ? 
 
 But Epicurus, you say, has written a book concerning 
 sanctity. A trifling performance by a man whose wit is 
 not so remarkable in it, as the unrestrained license of writ- 
 ing which he has permitted himself; for what sanctity can 
 there be if the Gods take no care of human affairs? Or 
 how can that nature be called animated which neither re- 
 gards nor performs anything? Therefore our friend Pos- 
 idonius has well observed, in his fifth book of the Nature 
 of the Gods, that Epicurus believed there were no Gods, 
 and that what he had said about the immortal Gods was 
 only said from a desire to avoid unpopularity. He could 
 not be so weak as to imagine that the Deity has only the 
 outward features of a simple mortal, without any real so- 
 lidity ; that he has all the members of a man, without the 
 least power to use them a certain unsubstantial pellucid 
 being, neither favorable nor beneficial to any one, neither 
 regarding nor doing anything. There can be no such be- 
 ing in nature; and as Epicurus said this plainly, he allows 
 
 ^ This passage will not admit of a translation answerable to the sense 
 of the original. Cicero says tiie word amuitia (friendship) is derived 
 from amor (love or aifection). 
 
254 THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 
 
 the Gods, in words, and destroys them in fact ; and if the 
 Deity is truly such a being that he shows no favor, no be- 
 nevolence to mankind, away with him ! For why should 
 I entreat liim to be propitious? He can be propitious to 
 none, since, as you sny, all his favor and benevolence are 
 the effects of imbecility. 
 
 BOOK II. 
 
 I. When Cotta had thus concluded, Vellcius replied : I 
 certainly was inconsiderate to engage in argument with an 
 Academician who is likewise a rhetorician. I should not 
 have feared an Academician without eloquence, nor a 
 rhetorician without that philosophy, however eloquent he 
 might be; for I am never puzzled by an empty flow of 
 words, nor by the most subtle reasonings delivered with- 
 out any grace of oratory. But you, Cotta, have excelled 
 in both. You only wanted the assembly and the judges. 
 However, enough of this at present. Now, let us hear 
 what Lucilius has to say, if it is agreeable to him. 
 
 I had much rather, says Balbus, hear Cotta resume his 
 discourse, and demonstrate the true Gods with the same 
 eloquence which he made use of to explode the false ; for, 
 on such a subject, the loose, unsettled doctrine of the 
 Academy does not become a philosopher, a priest, a Cot- 
 ta, whose opinions should be, like those we hold, firm 
 and certain. Epicurus has been more than sufficiently 
 refuted ; but I would willingly hear your own sentiments, 
 Cotta. 
 
 Do you forget, replies Cotta, what I at first said that it 
 is easier for me, especially on this point, to explain what 
 opinions those are Avhich I do not hold, rather than what 
 those are which I do ? Nay, even if I did feel some cer- 
 tainty on any particular point, yet, after having been so 
 diffuse myself already, I would prefer now hearing you 
 speak in your turn. I submit, says Balbus, and will be as 
 brief as I possibly can; for as you have confuted the. er- 
 rors of Epicurus, my part in the dispute will be the short- 
 
THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 255 
 
 er. Our sect divide the whole question concerning the 
 immortal Gods into four parts. First, they prove that 
 there are Gods ; secondly, of what character and nature 
 they are ; thirdly, that the universe is governed by them ; 
 and, lastly, that they exercise a superintendence over hu- 
 man affairs. But in this present discussion let us confine 
 ourselves to the first two articles, and defer the third and 
 fourth till another opportunity, as they require more time 
 to discuss. By no means, says Cotta, for we have time 
 enough on our hands ; besides that, we are now discuss- 
 ing a subject which should be preferred even to serious 
 business. 
 
 II. The first point, then, says Lucilius, I think needs no 
 discourse to prove it ; for what can be so plain and evi- 
 dent, when we behold the heavens and contemplate tiie 
 celestial bodies, as the existence of some supreme, divine 
 intelligence, by which all these things are governed? 
 Were it otherwise, Ennius would not, with a miiversal ap- 
 probation, have said. 
 
 Look up to the refulgent heaven above, 
 Which all men call, unanimously, Jove. 
 
 This is Jupiter, the governor of the world, wlio rules all 
 things with his nod, and is, as the same Ennius adds, 
 
 of Gods and men the sire,' 
 
 an omnipresent and omnipotent God. And if any one 
 doubts this, I really do not understand why the same man 
 may not also doubt whether there is a sun or not. For 
 what can possibly be more evident than this? And if it 
 were not a truth universally impressed on the minds of 
 men, the belief in it would never have been so firm ; nor 
 would it have been, as it is, increased by length of years, 
 nor would it have gathered strength and stability through 
 every age. And, in truth, we see that other opinions, being 
 false and groundless, have already fallen into oblivion by 
 lapse of time. Who now believes in Hippocentaurs and 
 
 ^ This manner of speaking of Jupiter frequently occurs in Homer, 
 
 naTt]p uvdpwv re Oewv re, 
 
 and has been used by Virgil and other poets since Ennius. 
 
256 THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 
 
 Chimseras? Or what old woman is now to be found so 
 weak and ignorant as to stand in fear of those infernal 
 monsters which once so terrified mankind ? For time de- 
 stroys the fictions of error and opinion, while it confirms 
 the determinations of nature and of truth. And therefore 
 it is that, both among us and among other nations, sacred 
 institutions and the divine worship of the Gods have been 
 strengthened and improved from time to time. And this 
 is not to be imputed to chance or folly, but to the frequent 
 appearance of the Gods themselves. In the war with the 
 Latins, when A. Posthumius, the dictator, attacked Octa- 
 vius Mamilius, the Tusculan, at Regillus, Castor and Pol- 
 lux were seen fighting in our army on horseback; and 
 since that the same offspring of Tyndarus gave notice of 
 the defeat of Perses ; for as P. Vatienus, the grandfather 
 of the present young man of that name, was coming in the 
 night to Rome from his government of Reate, two young 
 men on white horses appeared to him, and told him that 
 King' Perses was that day taken prisoner. This news he 
 carried to the senate, who immediately threw him into 
 prison for speaking inconsiderately on a state affair; but 
 when it was confirmed by letters from Panllus, he w\as 
 recompensed by the senate w^ith land and immunities.^ 
 Nor do Ave forget when the Locrians defeated the people 
 of Crotone, in a great battle on the banks of the river 
 Sagra, that it was known the same day at the Olym- 
 pic Games. The voices of the Fauns have been often 
 heard, and Deities have appeared in forms so visible 
 that they have conipelled every one who is not sense- 
 less, or hardened in impiety, to confess the presence of the 
 Gods. 
 
 III. What do predictions and foreknowledge of future 
 events indicate, but that such future events are shown, 
 pointed out, portended, and foretold to men? From 
 whence they are called omens, signs, portents, prodigies. 
 But though we should esteem fabulous what is said of 
 
 ^ Perses, or Perseus, the last king of Macedonia, was taken by 
 Ciia3(js Octavius, the praetor, and brought as prisoner to Paullus iEmil- 
 ius, 107IJ.C. 
 
 ^ An exemption from serving in the wars, and from paying public 
 taxes. 
 
THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 257 
 
 Mopsus,^ Tiresias,^ Amphiar.aiis,^ Calclias/ and Ilelenns' 
 (who would not have been delivered down to us as augurs 
 even in fable if their art had been despised), may we not 
 be sufficiently apprised of the power of the Gods by do- 
 mestic examples? Will not the temerity of P.Claudius, 
 in the first Punic war, affect us? who, Avhcn the poultry 
 were let out of the coop and would not feed, ordered them 
 to be thrown into the water, and, joking even upon the 
 Gods, said, with a sneer, "Let them drink, since they Avill 
 not eat;" which piece of ridicule, being followed by a vic- 
 tory over his fleet, cost him many tears, and brought great 
 calamity on the Roman people. Did not his colleague 
 Junius, in the same war, lose his fleet in a tempest by 
 disregarding the auspices? Claudius, therefore, was con- 
 demned by the people, and Junius killed himself. Coelius 
 says that P. Flaminius, from his neglect of religion, fell at 
 Thrasimenus; a loss which the public severely felt. By 
 tliese instances of calamity we may be assured that Rome 
 owes her grandeur and success to the conduct of those 
 who were tenacious of their religious duties; and if we 
 compare ourselves to our neighbors, we shall find that we 
 are infinitely distinguished above foreign nations by our 
 zeal for religious ceremonies, though in other things we 
 may be only equal to them, and in other respects even in- 
 ferior to them. 
 
 Ought we to contemn Attius Navius's staff, with which 
 
 ^ Mopsus. There were two soothsayers of tliis name : the first Avas 
 one of the Lapithae, son of Ampycus and Cliloris, called also the son of 
 Apollo and Hienantis; the other a son of Apollo and Manto, who is 
 said to have founded Mallus, in Asia Minor, where his oracle existed as 
 late as the time of Strabo. 
 
 ^ Tiresias was tlie great Theban prophet at tlie time of the war of the 
 Seven against Thebes. 
 
 * Amphiaraiis was King of Argos (he had been one of the Argonauts 
 also). He was killed after the war of the Seven against Thebes, which 
 he was compelled to join in by the treachery of his wife Eriphyle, by 
 the eartli opening and swallowing him up as he was fleeing from Peri- 
 clymenus. 
 
 * Calchas was the propliet of the Grecian army at the siege of Troy. 
 
 * Helenus was a son of Priam and Hecuba. He is represented as a 
 prophet in the Philoctetes of Sophocles. And in the ^neid he is also 
 represented as king of part of Epirus, and as predicting to ^Eneas the 
 dangers and fortunes which awaited him. 
 
258 THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 
 
 he clivided the regions of the vine to find his sow ?^ I 
 should despise it, if I were not aware that King Ilostilius 
 had carried on most important wars in deference to his 
 auguries ; but by the negligence of our nobility the disci- 
 pline of the augury is now omitted, the truth of the au- 
 spices despised, and only a mere form observed ; so that 
 the most important affairs of the commonwealth, even the 
 wars, on which the public safety depends, are conducted 
 without any auspices; the Peremnia'^ are discussed; no 
 part of the Acumina^ performed ; no select men are called 
 to witness to the military testaments;'' our generals now 
 begin their wars as soon as they have arranged the Au- 
 spicia. The force of religion was so great among our an- 
 cestors that some of their commanders have, with their 
 faces veiled, and with the solemn, formal expressions 
 of rehgion, sacrificed themselves to the immortal Gods 
 to save their country.^ I could mention many of the 
 Sibylline prophecies, and many answers of the harus- 
 pices, to confirm those things, which ought not to be 
 doubted. 
 
 IV. For example : our augurs and the Etrurian harus- 
 pices saw the truth of their art established when P. Scipio 
 and C. Figulus were consuls ; for as Tiberius Gracchus, 
 who was a second time consul, wished to proceed to a 
 
 * This short passage -would be very obscure to the reader withont an 
 explanation from another of Cicero's treatises, Tiie expression here, ad 
 investigandum suem regiones vinece terminavit, which is a metaphor too 
 bold, if it was not a sort of augural language, seems to me to have been 
 the effect of carelessness in our great author ; for Navius did not divide 
 the regions, as he calls them, of the vine to find, his sow, but to find a 
 grape. 
 
 ^ The Peremnia were a sort of auspices performed just before the 
 passing a river. 
 
 ^ The Acumina were a military auspices, and were partly performed 
 on the point of a spear, from which they were called Acumina. 
 
 * Those were called testamenta in procinctu, which were made by sol- 
 diers just before an engagement, in the presence of men called as wit- 
 nesses. 
 
 " This especially refers to the Decii, one of whom devoted himself for 
 his country in the war with the Latins, 340 B.C., and his son imitated 
 the action in the war with the Samnites, 295 b.c. Cicero (Tusc. i. 37) 
 says that his son did the same thing in the war with Pyrrhus at the 
 battle of Asculum, though in other places (De Off. iii. 4) he speaks of 
 only two Decii as having signalized themselves in this manner. 
 
THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 259 
 
 fresh election, the first Rogator/ as he was collecting the 
 suffrages, fell down dead on the spot. Gracchus never- 
 theless went on with the assembly, but perceiving that this 
 accident had a religious influence on the people, he brought 
 the affair before the senate. The senate thought fit to 
 refer it to those who usually took cognizance of such 
 things. The haruspices were called, and declared that the 
 man who had acted as Rogator of the assembly had no 
 right to do so ; to which, as I have heard my father say, 
 he replied with great warmth. Have I no right, who am 
 consul, and augur, and favored by the Auspicia ? And 
 shall you, who are Tuscans and Barbarians, pretend that 
 you have authority over the Roman Auspicia, and a right 
 to give judgment in matters respecting the formality of 
 our assemblies? Therefore, he then commanded them to 
 withdraw; but not long afterward he wrote from his prov- 
 ince'^ to the college of augurs, acknowledging that in read- 
 ing the books^ he remembered that he had illegally chosen 
 a place for his tent in the gardens of Scipio, and had 
 afterward entered the Pomoerium, in order to hold a sen- 
 ate, but that in repassing the same Pomoerium he had 
 forgotten to take the auspices; and that, therefore, the 
 consuls had been created informally. The augurs laid 
 the case before the senate. The senate decreed that they 
 should resign their charge, and so they accordingly abdi- 
 cated. What greater example need we seek for? The 
 wisest, perhaps the most excellent of men, chose to confess 
 his fault, which he might have concealed, rather than leave 
 the public the least atom of religious guilt; and the con- 
 suls chose to quit the highest office in the State, rather 
 than fill it for a moment in defiance of religion. How 
 great is the reputation of the augurs ! 
 
 And is not the art of the soothsayers divine? And 
 must not every one who sees what innumerable instances 
 of the same kind there are confess the existence of the 
 
 ' The Rogator, who collected the votes, and pronounced who was the 
 person chosen. There were two sorts of Rogators ; one was the officer 
 here mentioned, and the other was the Rogator, or speaker of the whole 
 assembly, 
 
 ^ Which was Sardinia, as appears from one of Cicero's Qpistles to his 
 brother Quintus. 
 
 ' Their sacred books of ceremonies. 
 
260 THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 
 
 Gods? For they who have interpreters must certainly 
 exist themselves; now, there are interpreters of the Gods; 
 therefore we must allow there are Gods. But it may be 
 said, perhaps, that all predictions are not accomplished. 
 We may as well conclude there is no art of physic, because 
 all sick persons do not recover. The Gods show us signs 
 of future events ; if we are occasionally deceived in the 
 results, it is not to be imputed to the nature of the Gods, 
 but to the conjectures of men. All nations agree that 
 there are Gods ; the opinion is innate, and, as it were, en- 
 graved in the minds of all men. The only point in dispute 
 among us is, what they are. 
 
 Y. Tlieir existence no one denies. Cleanthes, one of our 
 sect, imputes the way in which the idea of the Gods is im- 
 planted in the minds of men to four causes. The first is 
 that which I just now mentioned the foreknowledge of 
 future things. The second is the great advantages which 
 we enjoy from the temperature of the air, the fertility of 
 the earth, and the abundance of various benefits of other 
 kinds. The third cause is deduced from the terror with 
 which the mind is affected by thunder, tempests, storms, 
 snow, hail, devastation, pestilence, earthquakes often at- 
 tended with hideous noises, showers of stones, and rain 
 like drops of blood ; by rocks and sudden openings of the 
 earth ; by monstrous births of men and beasts ; by meteors 
 in the air, and blazing stars, by the Greeks called cometce, 
 by us crinitce, the appearance of which, in the late Octavian 
 war,^ were foreboders of great calamities ; by two suns, 
 which, as I have heard my father say, happened in the 
 consulate of Tuditanus and Aquillius, and in which year 
 also another sun (P. Africanus) was extinguished. These 
 things terrified mankind, and raised in them a firm belief 
 of the existence of some celestial and divine power. 
 
 His fourth cause, and that the strongest, is drawn from 
 the regularity of the motion and revolution of the heavens, 
 the distinctness, variety, beauty, and order of the sun, moon, 
 and all the stars, the appearance only of which is suflicient 
 to convince us they are not the effects of chance ; as when 
 we enter into a house, or school, or court, and observe the 
 exact order, discipline, and method of it, we cannot sup- 
 ^ The war between Octavius and Cinna, the consuls. 
 
THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 261 
 
 pose that it is so regulated without a cause, but must con- 
 clude that there is some one who commands, and to whom 
 obedience is paid. It is quite impossible for us to avoid 
 tlihiking that the wonderful motions, revolutions, and or- 
 der of those many and great bodies, no part of which is 
 impaired by the countless and infinite succession of ages, 
 must be governed and directed by some supreme intelli- 
 gent being. 
 
 VI. Chrysippus, indeed, liad a very penetrating genius; 
 yet such is the doctrine which he delivers, that he seems 
 rather to have been instructed by nature than to owe it to 
 any discovery of his own. "If," says he, "there is any- 
 thing in the universe which no human reason, ability, or 
 power can make, the being who produced it must certainly 
 be preferable to man. Now, celestial bodies, and all those 
 things which proceed in any eternal order, cannot be 
 made by man ; the being who made them is therefore pref- 
 erable to man. What, then, is that being but a God? 
 If there be no such thing as a Deity, what is there better 
 than man, since he only is possessed of reason, the most 
 excellent of all things ? But it is a foolish piece of vanity 
 in man to think there is nothing preferable to him. There 
 is, therefore, something preferable ; consequently, there is 
 certainly a God." 
 
 When you behold a large and beautiful house, surely 
 no one can persuade you it was built for mice and wea- 
 sels, though you do not see the master ; and would it not, 
 therefore, be most manifest folly to imagine that a world 
 so magnificently adorned, with such an immense variety 
 of celestial bodies of such exquisite beauty, and that the 
 vast sizes and magnitude of the sea and land were intend- 
 ed as the abode of man, and not as the mansion of the 
 immortal Gods ? Do we not also plainly see this, that 
 all the most elevated regions are the best, and that the 
 earth is the lowest region, and is surrounded with the 
 grossest air ? so that as we perceive that in some cities 
 and countries the capacities of men are naturally duller, 
 from the thickness of the climate, so mankind in general 
 are affected by the heaviness of the air which surrounds 
 the earth, the grossest region of the world. 
 
 Yet even from this inferior intelligence of man we may 
 
262 THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 
 
 discover the existence of some intelligent agent that is 
 divine, and wiser than ourselves ; for, as Socrates says in 
 Xenophon, from whence had man his portion of under- 
 standing? And, indeed, if any one were to push his in- 
 quiries about the moisture and heat which is diffused 
 through the human body, and the earthy kind of solidity 
 existing in our entrails, and that soul by Avhich we breathe, 
 and to ask whence we derived them, it would be plain 
 that we have received one thing from the earth, another 
 from liquid, another from fire, and another from that air 
 which w^e inhale every time that we breathe. 
 
 yil. But where did we find that which excels all these 
 things I mean reason, or (if you please, in other terms) 
 the mind, understanding, thought, prudence ; and from 
 whence did we receive it? Shall the world be possessed 
 of every other perfection, and be destitute of this one, 
 which is the most important and valuable of all? But 
 certainly there is nothing better, or more excellent, or 
 more beautiful than the world ; and not only there is noth- 
 ing better, but we cannot even conceive anything superior 
 to it; and if reason and wisdom are the greatest of all 
 perfections, they must necessarily be a j^art of what we 
 all allow to be the most excellent. 
 
 Who is not compelled to admit the truth of what I as- 
 sert by that agreeable, uniform, and continued agreement 
 of things in the universe? Could the earth at one sea- 
 son be adorned with flowers, at another be covered with 
 snow? Or, if such a number of things regulated their 
 own changes, could the approach and retreat of the sun 
 in the summer and winter solstices be so regularly known 
 and calculated? Could the flux and reflux of the sea and 
 the height of the tides be affected by the increase or wane 
 of the moon ? Could the different courses of the stars be 
 preserved by the uniform movement of the whole heav- 
 en? Could these tilings subsist, I say, in such a harmony 
 of all the parts of the universe without the continued in- 
 fluence of a divine spirit? 
 
 If these points are handled in a free and copious man- 
 ner, as I purpose to do, they will be less liable to the 
 cavils of the Academics ; but the narrow, confined way in 
 wliicli Zeno reasoned upon them laid them more open to 
 
THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 263 
 
 objection; for as running streams are seldom or never 
 tainted, while standing waters easily grow corrupt, so a 
 fluency of expression washes away the censures of the cav- 
 iller, while the narrow limits of a discourse which is too 
 concise is almost defenceless; for the arguments whicli 
 I am enlarging upon are thus briefly laid down by Zeno : 
 
 YIII. "That which reasons is superior to that which 
 does not ; nothing is superior to the world ; the world, 
 therefore, reasons." By the same rule the world may be 
 i:)roved to be wise, happy, and eternal ; for the possession 
 of all these qualities is superior to the want of them ; and 
 nothing is superior to the Avorld ; the inevitable conse- 
 quence of which argument is, that the world, therefore, 
 is a Deity. He goes on: "No part of anything void of 
 sense is capable of perception; some parts of the world 
 have perception; the world, therefore, has sense." He 
 jjroceeds, and pursues the argument closely. " Nothing," 
 says he," that is destitute itself of life and reason can gen- 
 erate a being possessed of life and reason ; but the world 
 does generate beings possessed of life and reason; the 
 world, therefore, is not itself destitute of life and reason." 
 
 He concludes his argument in his usual manner with a 
 simile : " If well-tuned pipes should spring out of the olive, 
 would you have the slightest doubt that there was in the 
 olive-tree itself some kind of skill and knowledge? Or if 
 the plane-tree could produce harmonious lutes, surely you 
 would infer, on the same principle, that music was con- 
 tained in the plane-tree. Why, then, should we not believe 
 the world is a living and wise being, since it produces liv- 
 ing and wise beings out of itself?" 
 
 IX. But as I have been insensibly led into a length of 
 discourse beyond my first design (for I said that, as the 
 existence of the Gods was evident to all, there was no need 
 of any long oration to prove it), I will demonstrate it by 
 reasons deduced from the nature of things. For it is a 
 fact that all beings which take nourishment and increase 
 contain in themselves a power of natural heat, without 
 wl'-ich they could neither be nourished nor increase. For 
 everything which is of a warm and fiery character is agi- 
 tated and stirred up by its own motion. But that which 
 is nourished and grows is influenced by a certain regular 
 
264 THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 
 
 and equable motion. And as long as this motion remains 
 in us, so long does sense and life remain ; but the moment 
 that it abates and is extinguished, we ourselves decay and 
 perish. 
 
 By arguments like these, Cleanthes shows how great is 
 the power of heat in all bodies. He observes that there 
 is no food so gross as not to be digested in a night and 
 a day ; and that even in the excrementitious parts, which 
 nature rejects, there remains a heat. The veins and ar- 
 teries seem, by their continual quivering, to resemble the 
 agitation of fire; and it has often been observed when the 
 heart of an animal is just plucked from the body that it 
 palpitates with such visible motion as to resemble the ra- 
 pidity of fire. Everything, therefore, tliat has life, wheth- 
 er it be animal or vegetable, owes that life to the heat in- 
 herent in it; it is this nature of heat which contains in it- 
 self the vital power which extends throughout the Avhole 
 world. This will appear more clearly on a more close ex- 
 planation of this fiery quaUty, which pervades all things. 
 
 Every division, tlion, of the world (and I shall touch 
 upon the most considei'able) is sustained by heat; and 
 lirst it may be observed in earthly substances that fire is 
 produced from stones by striking or rubbing one against 
 another ; that " the warm earth smokes "^ when just turned 
 up, and that water is drawn warm from Avell-springs ; and 
 this is most especially the case in the winter season, be- 
 cause there is a great quantity of heat contained in the 
 caverns of the earth ; and this becomes more dense in the 
 winter, and on that account confines more closely the in- 
 nate heat which is discoverable in the earth. 
 
 X. It Avould require a long dissertation, and many rea- 
 sons would require to be adduced, to show that all the 
 seeds which the earth conceives, and all those which it 
 contains having been generated from itself, and fixed in 
 roots and trunks, derive all their origin and increase from 
 the temperature and regulation of heat. And that even 
 every liquor has a mixture of heat in it is plainly demon- 
 strated by the effusion of water ; for it would not congeal 
 by cold, nor become solid, as ice or snow, and return agaio 
 
 * This, in the original, is a frngment of an old Latin verse, 
 Terram funiarc calcntem. 
 
THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 2G5 
 
 to its natural state, if it were not that, when heat is applied 
 to it, it again becomes liquefied and dissolved, and so dif- 
 fuses itself. Therefore, by northern and other cold winds 
 it is frozen and hardened, and in turn it dissolves and melts 
 again by heat. The seas likewise, we find, when agitated 
 by winds, grow warm, so that from this fact we may un- 
 derstand that there is heat included in that vast body of 
 water ; for we cannot imagine it to be external and adven- 
 titious heat, but such as is stirred up by agitation from the 
 deep recesses of the seas ; and the same thing takes place 
 with respect to our bodies, which grow warm with motion 
 and exercise. 
 
 And the very air itself, which indeed is the coldest ele- 
 ment, is by no means void of heat ; for there is a great 
 quantity, arising from the exhalations of water, whicli ap- 
 pears to be a sort of steam occasioned by its internal heat, 
 like that of boiling liquors. The fourth part of the uni- 
 verse is entirely fire, and is the source of the salutary and 
 vital heat which is found in the rest. From hence we may 
 conclude that, as all parts of the world are sustained by 
 heat, the world itself also has such a great length of time 
 subsisted from the same cause ; and so much the more, be- 
 cause we ought to understand that that hot and fiery prin- 
 ciple is so diffused over universal nature that there is con- 
 tained in it a power and cause of generation and procreation, 
 from which all animate beings, and all those creatures of the 
 vegetable world, the roots of which are contained in the 
 earth, must inevitably derive their origin and their increase. 
 
 XI. It is nature, consequently, that continues and pre- 
 serves the world, and that, too, a nature which is not des- 
 titute of sense and reason ; for in every essence that is not 
 simple, but composed of several parts, there must be some 
 predominant quality as, for instance, the mind in man, 
 and in beasts something resembling it, from which arise all 
 the appetites and desires for anything. As for trees, and 
 all the vegetable produce of the earth, it is thought to be 
 in their roots. I call that the predominant quality,* which 
 
 ' The Latin word is principatus, which exactly corresponds with the 
 Greek word here used by Cicero ; by which is to be understood the su- 
 perior, the most prcvaiUng excellence in every kind and species of things 
 through the universe. 
 
 12 
 
266 THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 
 
 the Greeks call i)yeiioviK6y ; which must and ought to be 
 the most excellent quality, wherever it is found. That, 
 therefore, in which the prevailing quality of all nature re- 
 sides must be the most excellent of all things, and most 
 worthy of the power and pre-eminence over all things. 
 
 Now, we see that there is nothing in being that is not 
 a part of the universe ; and as there are sense and reason 
 in the parts of it, there must therefore be these qualities, 
 and these, too, in a more energetic and powerful degree, in 
 that part in which the predominant quality of the world is 
 found. The world, therefore, must necessarily be possessed 
 of wisdom ; and that element, which embraces all things, 
 must excel in perfection of reason. The world, therefore, 
 is a God, and the wliole power of the world is contained in 
 that divine element. 
 
 The heat also of the world is more pure, clear, and live- 
 ly, an J, consequently, better adapted to move the senses 
 than the heat allotted to us ; and it vivifies and preserves 
 all things within the compass of our knowledge. 
 
 It is absurd, therefore, to say that the world, which is 
 endued with a perfect, free, pure, sj^irituous, and active 
 heat, is not sensitive, since by this heat men and beasts are 
 preserved, and move, and think; more especially since this 
 heat of the world is itself the sole principle of agitation, 
 and has no external impulse, but is moved spontaneous- 
 ly; for what can be more powerful than the world, whicli 
 moves and raises that heat by which it subsists? 
 
 XII. For let us listen to Plato, who is regarded as a God 
 among philosophers. He says that there are two sorts of 
 motion, one innate and the other external; and that that 
 which is moved spontaneously is more divine than that 
 which is moved by another power. This self-motion he 
 places in the mind alone, and concludes that the first prin- 
 ci^ile of motion is derived from the mind. Therefore, 
 since all motion arises from the heat of the world, and 
 that heat is not moved by the effect of any external im- 
 pulse, but of its own accord, it must necessarily be a mind ; 
 from whence it follows that the world is animated. 
 
 On such reasoning is founded this opinion, that the 
 world is possessed of understanding, because it certainly 
 has more perfections in itself than any other nature; for 
 
THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 267 
 
 as there is no part of our bodies so considerable as the 
 whole of us, so it is clear that there is no particular por- 
 tion of the universe equal in magnitude to the whole of it ; 
 from whence it follows that wisdom must be an attribute 
 of the world ; otherwise man, who is a part of it, and ])0s- 
 sessed of reason, would be superior to the entire world. 
 
 And tlius, if we proceed from the first rude, unfinished 
 natures to the most superior and perfect ones, we shall in- 
 evitably come at last to the nature of the Gods. For, in 
 the first place, we observe that those vegetables Avhich are 
 produced out of the earth are supported by nature, and 
 she gives them no further supply than is sufficient to pre- 
 serve them by nourishing them and making them grow. 
 To beasts she has given sense and motion, and a faculty 
 which directs them to what is wholesome, and prompts 
 them to shun what is noxious to them. On man she has 
 conferred a greater portion of her favor; inasmuch as she 
 has added reason, by which he is enabled to command his 
 passions, to moderate some, and to subdue others. 
 
 XIII. In the fourth and highest degree are those beings 
 which are naturally wdse and good, who from the first mo- 
 ment of their existence are possessed of right and consist- 
 ent reason, which we must consider superior to man and 
 deserving to be attributed to a God ; that is to say, to the 
 world, in which it is inevitable that that perfect and com- 
 plete reason should be inherent. Nor is it possible that it 
 should be said with justice that there is any arrangement 
 of things in which there cannot be something entire and 
 perfect. For as in a vine or in beasts we see that nature, 
 if not prevented by some superior violence, proceeds by 
 her own appropriate path to her destined end ; and as in 
 painting, architecture, and the other arts there is a point 
 of perfection which is attainable, and occasionally attained, 
 so it is even much more necessary that in universal nature 
 there must be some complete and perfect result arrived at. 
 Many external accidents may happen to all other natures 
 which may impede their progress to perfection, but noth- 
 ing can hinder universal nature, because she is herself the 
 ruler and governor of all other natures. That, therefore, 
 must be the fourth and most elevated degree to which no 
 other power can approach. 
 
268 THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 
 
 But this degree is that on which the nature of all things 
 is placed ; and since she is possessed of this, and she pre- 
 sides over all things, and is subject to no possible impedi- 
 ment, the world must necessarily be an intelligent and 
 even a wise being. But how marvellously great is the ig- 
 norance of those men who dispute the perfection of that 
 nature which encircles all things ; or wlio, allowing it to 
 be infinitely perfect, yet deny it to be, in the first place, 
 animated, then reasonable, and, lastly, prudent and wise ! 
 For how without these qualities could it be infinitely per- 
 fect? If it were like vegetables, or even like beasts, there 
 would be no more reason for thinking it extremely good 
 than extremely bad ; and if it were possessed of reason, 
 and had not wisdom from the beginning, the world would 
 bo in a worse condition than man ; for man may grow 
 wise, but the world, if it were destitute of wisdom through 
 an infinite space of time past, could never acquire it. Thus 
 it would be worse than man. Bnt as that is absurd to im- 
 agine, the world must be esteemed wise from all eternity, 
 and consequently a Deity : since there is nothing exist- 
 ing that is not defective, except the universe, which is well 
 provided, and fully complete and perfect in all its num- 
 bers and parts. 
 
 XIV. For Chrysippus says, very acutely, that as the case 
 is made for the buckler, and the scabbard for the sword, 
 so all things, except the universe, were made for the sake of 
 something else. As, for instance, all those crops and fruits 
 which the earth produces were made for the sake of ani- 
 mals, and animals for man; as, the horse for carrying, the 
 ox for the plough, the dog for hunting and for a guard. 
 But man himself was born to contemplate and imitate the 
 world, being in no wise perfect, but, if I may so express 
 myself, a particle of perfection ; but the world, as it com- 
 prehends all, and as notliing exists that is not contained in 
 it, is entirely perfect. In what, therefore, can it be defec- 
 tive, since it is perfect ? It cannot want understanding and 
 reason, for they are the most desirable of all qualities. The 
 same Clirysippus observes also, by the use of similitudes, 
 thnt everything in its kind, when arrived at maturity and 
 perfection, is superior to that which is not as, a horse to 
 a colt, a dog to a puppy, and a man to a boy so whatever 
 
THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 269 
 
 is best in the whole universe must exist in some complete 
 and perfect being. But nothing is more perfect than the 
 world, and nothing better than virtue. Virtue, therefore, 
 is an attribute of the world. But human nature is not 
 perfect, and nevertheless virtue is produced in it: with 
 how much greater reason, then, do we conceive it to be in- 
 herent in the world ! Therefoi-e the world has virtue, and 
 it is also wise, and consequently a Deity. 
 
 XV. The divinity of the world being now clearly per- 
 ceived, we must acknowledge the same divinity to be like- 
 wise in the stars, which are formed from the lightest and 
 purest part of the ether, without a mixture of any other 
 matter ; and, being altogether hot and transparent, we may 
 justly say they have life, sense, and understanding. And 
 Cleanthes thinks that it may be established by the evi- 
 dence of two of our senses feeling and seeing that they 
 are entirely fiery bodies ; for the iieat and brightness of 
 the sun far exceed any other fire, inasmuch as it enlightens 
 the whole universe, covering such a vast extent of space, 
 and its power is such that we perceive that it not only 
 warms, but often even burns : neither of which it could do 
 if it were not of a fiery quality. Since, then, says he, the 
 sun is a fiery body, and is nourished by the vapors of the 
 ocean (for no fire can continue without some sustenance), 
 it must be either like that fire which we use to warm us 
 and dress our food, or like that which is contained in the 
 bodies of animals. 
 
 And this fire, which the convenience of life requires, is 
 the devourer and consumer of everything, and throws into 
 confusion and destroys whatever it reaches. On the con- 
 trary, the corporeal heat is full of life, and salutary ; and 
 vivifies, preserves, cherishes, increases, and sustains all 
 things, and is productive of sense ; therefore, says he, there 
 can be no doubt which of these fires the sun is like, since 
 it causes all things in their respective kinds to flourish and 
 arrive to maturity ; and as the fire of the sun is like that 
 which is contained in the bodies of animated beings, the 
 sun itself must likewise be animated, and so must the oth- 
 er stars also, which arise out of the celestial ardor that we 
 call the sky, or firmament. 
 
 As, then, some animals are generated in the earth, some 
 
270 THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 
 
 in the water, and some in the air, Aristotle^ thinks it ridic- 
 ulous to imagine that no animal is formed in that part of 
 the universe which is the most capable to produce them. 
 But the stars are situated in the ethereal space ; and as 
 this is an element the most subtle, whose motion is contin- 
 ual, and whose force does not decay, it follows, of necessity, 
 that every animated being which is produced in it must be 
 endowed with the quickest sense and the swiftest motion. 
 The stars, therefore, being there generated, it is a natu- 
 ral inference to suppose them endued with such a degree 
 of sense and understanding as places them in the rank of 
 Gods. 
 
 XVI. For it may be observed that they who inhabit 
 countries of a pure, clear air have a quicker apprehension 
 and a readier genius than those who live in a thick, foggy 
 climate. It is thought likewise that the nature of a man's 
 diet has an effect on the mind; therefore it is probable 
 that the stars are possessed of an excellent understanding, 
 inasmuch as they are situated in the ethereal part of the 
 universe, and are nourished by the vapors of the earth and 
 sea, which are purified by their long passage to the heav- 
 ens. But the invariable order and regular motion of the 
 stars plainly manifest their sense and understanding; for 
 all motion which seems to be conducted with reason and 
 harmony supposes an intelligent principle, that does not 
 act blindly, or inconsistently, or at random. And this reg- 
 ularity and consistent course of the stars from all eterni- 
 ty indicates not any natural order, for it is pregnant with 
 sound reason, not fortune (for fortune, being a friend to 
 change, despises consistency). It follows, therefore, that 
 they move spontaneously by their own sense and divinity. 
 
 Aristotle also deserves high commendation for his ob- 
 servation that everything that moves is either put in mo- 
 tion by natural impulse, or by some external force, or of 
 its own accord ; and that the sun, and moon, and all the 
 stars move ; but that those things which are moved by 
 natural impulse are either borne downward by their 
 weight, or upward by their lightness; neither of which 
 things could be the case with the stars, because they move 
 in a regular circle and orbit. Nor can it be said that 
 ' The passage of Aristotle to which Cicero here refers is lost. 
 
THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 271 
 
 there is some superior force which causes the stars to be 
 moved in a manner contrary to nature. For what supe- 
 rior force can there be ? It follows, therefore, that their 
 motion must be voluntary. And whoever is convinced of 
 this must discover not only great ignorance, but great im- 
 piety likewise, if he denies the existence of the Gods ; nor 
 is the difference great whether a man denies their exist- 
 ence, or deprives them of all design and action ; for what- 
 ever is wholly inactive seems to me not to exist at all. 
 Their existence, therefore, appears so plain that I can 
 scarcely think that man in his senses who denies it. 
 
 XVII. It now remains that we consider what is the 
 character of the Gods. Nothing is more difficult than to 
 divert our thoughts and judgment from the information 
 of our corporeal sight, and the view of objects which our 
 eyes are accustomed to ; and it is this difficulty which has 
 had such an influence on the unlearned, and on philoso- 
 phers^ also who resembled the unlearned multitude, that 
 they have been unable to form any idea of the immortal 
 Gods except under the clothing of the human figure ; the 
 weakness of which opinion Cotta has so well confuted that 
 I need not add my thoughts upon it. But as the previous 
 idea which w^e have of the Deity comprehends two things 
 first of all, that he is an animated being ; secondly, that 
 there is nothing in all nature superior to him I do not 
 see what can be more consistent with this idea and pre- 
 conception than to attribute a mind and divinity to the 
 world,^ the most excellent of all beings. 
 
 Epicurus may be as merry with this notion as he pleases ; 
 a man not the best qualified for a joker, as not having the 
 wit and sense of his country.^ Let him say that a voluble 
 round Deity is to him incomprehensible; yet he shall nev- 
 er dissuade me from a principle which he himself approves, 
 for he is of opinion there are Gods when he allows that 
 there must be a nature excellently perfect. But it is cer- 
 
 ^ He means the Epicureans. 
 
 ^ Here the Stoic speaks too plain to be misunderstood. His world, 
 his mundus, is the universe, and that universe is his great Deity, in quo 
 sit totius natures, principatus, in which the superior excellence of univer- 
 sal nature consists. 
 
 ^ Athens, the seat of learning and politeness, of which Balbus will not 
 allow Epicurus to be worthy. 
 
2 '7 2 THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 
 
 tain that the world is most excellently perfect : n^r is it to 
 be doubted that whatever has life, sense, reason, and under- 
 standing must excel that which is destitute of these things. 
 It follows, then, that the world has life, sense, reason, and 
 understanding, and is consequently a Deity. But this 
 shall soon be made more manifest by the operation of these 
 very things which the world causes. 
 
 XYIII. In the mean while, Yelleius, let me entreat you 
 not to be always saying that we are utterly destitute of 
 every sort of learning. The cone, you say, the cylinder, 
 and the pyramid, are more beautiful to you than the 
 sphere. This is to liave different eyes from otlier men. 
 But suppose they are more beautiful to the sight only, which 
 does not appear to me, for I can see nothing more beau- 
 tiful than that figure which contains all others, and which 
 has nothing rough in it, nothing offensive, nothing cut into 
 angles, nothing broken, nothing swelling, and nothing hol- 
 low ; yet as there are two forms most esteemed,* the globe 
 in solids (for so the Greek word o-0a7|oa, I think, should 
 be construed), and the circle, or orb, in planes (in Greek, 
 kvkXoq) ; and as they only have an exact similitude of 
 parts in which every extreme is equally distant from the 
 centre, what can we imagine in nature to be more just and 
 proper? But if you have never raked into this learned 
 dust'^ to find out these things, surely, at all events, you 
 natural philosophers must know that equality of motion 
 and invariable order could not be preserved in any other 
 figure. Nothing, therefore, can be more illiterate than to 
 assert, as you are in the habit of doing, that it is doubtful 
 whether the world is round or not, because it may possi- 
 bly be of another shape, and that there are innumerable 
 worlds of different forms ; which Epicurus, if he ever had 
 learned that two and two are equal to four, would not 
 have said. But while he judges of what is best by his 
 palate, he does not look up to the " palace of heaven," as 
 Ennius calls it. 
 
 XIX. For as there are two sorts of stars,^ one kind of 
 
 ^ This is Pythagoras's doctrine, as appears in Diogenes Laertiiis. 
 ' He here alludes to mathematical and geometrical instruments. 
 ' Balbus here speaks of the fixed stars, and of the motions of the 
 orbs of the planets. He here alludes, says M. Bouhier, to the differ* 
 
THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 273 
 
 which measure their journey from east to west by immu- 
 table stages, never in the least varying from their usual 
 course, while the other completes a double revolution with 
 an equally constant regularity; from each of these facts 
 Ave demonstrate the volubility of the world (which could 
 not possibly take place in any but a globular form) and 
 the circular orbits of the stars. And first of all the sun, 
 which has the chief rank among all the stars, is moved in 
 such a manner that it fills the whole earth with its light, 
 and illuminates alternately one part of the earth, while it 
 leaves the other in darkness. The shadow of the earth 
 interposing causes night; and the intervals of night are 
 equal to those of day. And it is the regular approaches 
 and retreats of the sun from which arise the regulated 
 degrees of cold and heat. His annual circuit is in three 
 hundred and sixty-five days, and nearly six hours more.^ 
 At one time he bends his course to the north, at another 
 to the south, and thus produces summer and winter, with 
 the other two seasons, one of which succeeds the decline 
 of winter, and the other that of summer. And so to these 
 four changes of the seasons we attribute the origin and 
 cause of all the productions both of sea and land. 
 
 The moon completes the same course every month 
 which the sun does in a year. The nearer she approaches 
 to the sun, the dimmer light does she yield, and when 
 most remote from it she shines with the fullest brilliancy; 
 nor are her figure and form only changed in her wane, but 
 her situation likewise, which is sometimes in the north 
 and sometimes in the south. By this course she has a 
 sort of sunnner and winter solstices ; and by her influence 
 she contributes to the nourishment and increase of ani- 
 ent and dinrnal motions of these stars ; one sort from east to -west, the 
 other from one tropic to the other : and this is the construction which 
 our learned and great geometrician and astronomer, Dr. Halley, made 
 of this passage. 
 
 ^ This mensuration of the year into three hundred and sixty-five days 
 and near six hours (by the odd hours and minutes of which, in every 
 fifili year, the dies intercalaris, or leap-year, is made) could not but be 
 known. Dr. Halley states, by Hipparchus, as appears from the remains 
 of that great astronomer of the ancients. We are inclined to think that 
 Julius Cffisar had divided the year, according to what we call the Julian 
 year, before Cicero wrote this book ; for we see, in the beginning of it, 
 how pathetically he speaks of Ciesar's usurpation. 
 
 12* 
 
274 THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 
 
 mated beings, and to the ripeness and maturity of all veg- 
 etables. 
 
 XX. But most worthy our admiration is the motion of 
 those five stars which are falsely called wandering stars ; 
 for they cannot be said to wander which keep from all 
 eternity their approaches and retreats, and have all the 
 rest of their motions, in one regular constant and estab- 
 lished order. What is yet more wonderful in these stars 
 which we are speaking of is that sometimes they appear, 
 and sometimes they disappear; sometimes they advance 
 towards the sun, and sometimes tliey retreat; sometimes 
 they precede him, and sometimes follow him; sometimes 
 they move faster, sometimes slower, and sometimes they 
 do not stir in the least, but for a while stand still. From 
 these unequal motions of the planets, mathematicians have 
 called that the "great year"^ in which the sun, moon, and 
 five wandering stars, having finished their revolutions, are 
 found in their original situation. In how long a time this 
 is effected is much disputed, but it must be a certain and 
 definite period. For the planet Saturn (called by the 
 Greeks <taivor), which is farthest from the earth, finishes 
 his course in about thirty years ; and in his course there 
 is something very singular, for sometimes he moves be- 
 fore the sun, sometimes he keeps behind it; at one time 
 lying hidden in the night, at another again appearing in 
 the morning ; and ever performing the same motions in the 
 same space of time without any alteration, so as to be for 
 infinite ages regular in these courses. Beneath this plan- 
 et, and nearer the earth, is Jupiter, called ^aedivy, which 
 passes the same orbit of the twelve signs^ in twelve years, 
 and goes through exactly the same variety in its course 
 that the star of Saturn does. Next to Jupiter is the 
 planet Mars (in Greek, Uvpoeig), which finishes its revolu- 
 tion through the same orbit as the two j^reviously men- 
 tioned,^ in twenty -four months, wanting six days, as I 
 
 ^ The words of Censorinus, on this occasion, are to the same effect. 
 The opinions of philosophers concerning tliis great year are very difter- 
 ent ; but the institution of it is ascribed to Democritus. 
 
 ^ The zodiac. 
 
 ^ Though Mars is said to hold his orbit in the zodiac with the vest, 
 and to finish his revolution through the same orbit (tliat is, the zodiac) 
 with the other two, yet Balbus means in a different line of the zodiac. 
 
THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 275 
 
 imagine. Below this is Mercury (called by the Greeks 
 2r/X/3wv), which performs the same course in little less 
 than a year, and is never farther distant from the sun 
 than the space of one sign, whether it precedes or follows 
 it. The lowest of the five planets, and nearest the earth, 
 is that of Venus (called in Greek <^u)cr(f}6poQ). Before the 
 rising of the sun, it is called the morning-star, and after 
 the setting, the evening-star. It has the same revolution 
 through the zodiac, both as to latitude and longitude, with 
 the other planets, in a year, and never is more than two' 
 signs from the sun, whether it precedes or follows it. 
 
 XXI. I cannot, therefore, conceive that this constant 
 course of the planets, this just agreement in such various 
 motions through all eternity, can be preserved without a 
 mind, reason, and consideration ; and since we may per- 
 ceive these qualities in the stars, we cannot but place them 
 in the rank of Gods. Those which are called the fixed 
 stars have the same indications of reason and prudence. 
 Their motion is daily, regular, and constant. They do not 
 move with the sky, nor have they an adhesion to the fir- 
 mament, as they who are ignorant of natural philosophy 
 afiirm. For the sky, which is thin, transparent, and suf- 
 fused wdth an equal heat, does not seem by its nature to 
 have power to whirl about the stars, or to be proper to 
 contain them. The fixed stars, therefore, have their own 
 sphere, separate and free from any conjunction with the 
 sky. Their perpetual courses, with that admirable and 
 incredible regularity of theirs, so plainly declare a divine 
 power and mind to be in them, that he who cannot per- 
 ceive that they are also endowed with divine power must 
 be incapable of all perception whatever. 
 
 In the heavens, therefore, there is nothing fortuitous, 
 unadvised, inconstant, or variable : all there is order, 
 truth, reason, and constancy ; and all the things which are 
 destitute of these qualities are counterfeit, deceitful, and 
 erroneous, and have their residence about the earth" be- 
 neath the moon, the lowest of all the planets. He, there- 
 
 ' According to late observations, it never goes but a sign and a half 
 from the sun. 
 
 ^ These, Dr. Davis says, are "aerial fires;" concerning which he re- 
 fers to the second book of Pliny. 
 
276 THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 
 
 fore, who believes that this admirable order and almost 
 incredible regularity of the heavenly bodies, by which tlie 
 preservation and entire safety of all things is secured, is 
 destitute of intelligence, must be considered to be himself 
 wholly destitute of all intellect whatever. 
 
 I think, then, I shall not deceive myself in maintaining 
 this dispute upon the principle of Zeno, who went the 
 farthest in his search after truth. 
 
 XXII. Zeno, then, defines nature to be " an artificial 
 fire, proceeding in a regular way to generation ;" for he 
 thinks that to create and beget are especial properties of 
 art, and that whatever may be wrought by the hands of 
 our artificers is much more skilfully performed by nature, 
 that is, by this artificial fire, which is the master of all 
 other arts. 
 
 According to this manner of reasoning, every particu- 
 lar nature is artificial, as it operates agreeably to a certain 
 method peculiar to itself; but that universal nature which 
 embraces all things is said by Zeno to be not only artifi- 
 cial, but absolutely the artificer, ever thinking and provid- 
 ing all things useful and proper; and as every particular 
 nature owes its rise and increase to its own proper seed, 
 so universal nature has all her motions voluntary, has af- 
 fections and desires (by the Greeks called opfxac) produc- 
 tive of actions agreeable to them, like us, who have sense 
 and understanding to direct us. Such, then, is the intel- 
 ligence of the universe ; for which reason it may be prop- 
 erly termed prudence or providence (in Greek, 7rp6yoia)y 
 since her chiefest care and employment is to provide all 
 things fit for its duration, that it may want nothing, and, 
 above all, that it may be adorned with all perfection of 
 beauty and ornament. 
 
 XXIII. Thus far have I spoken concerning the universe, 
 and also of the stars ; from whence it is apparent that 
 there is almost an infinite number of Gods, always in ac- 
 tion, but without labor or fatigue; for they are not com- 
 posed of veins, nerves, and bones ; their food and drink 
 are not such as cause humors too gross or too subtle ; nor 
 are their bodies such as to be subject to the fear of falls 
 or blows, or in danger of diseases from a weariness of 
 limbs. Epicurus, to secure his Gods from such accidents, 
 
THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 211 
 
 has made them only outlines of Deities, void of action ; 
 but our Gods being of the most beautiful form, and situ- 
 ated in the purest region of the heavens, dispose and rule 
 their course in such a manner that they seem to contribute 
 to the support and preservation of all things. 
 
 Besides these, there are many other natures which have 
 with reason been deified by the wisest Grecians, and by 
 our ancestors, in consideration of the benefits derived from 
 them; for they were persuaded that whatever was of 
 great utility to human kind must proceed from divine 
 goodness, and the name of the Deity was applied to that 
 which the Deity produced, as when we call corn Ceres, 
 and wine Bacchus ; whence that saying of Terence,^ 
 
 Without Ceres and Bacchus, Venus starves. 
 
 And any quality, also, in which there Avas any singular vir- 
 tue was nominated a Deity, such as Faith and Wisdom, 
 which are placed among the divinities in the Capitol ; the 
 last by JEmilius Scaurus, but Faith was consecrated before 
 by Atilius Calatinus. You see the temple of Virtue and 
 that of Honor repaired by M. Marcellus, erected former- 
 ly, in the Ligurian war, by Q. Maximus. Need I mention 
 those dedicated to Help, Safety, Concord, Liberty, and 
 Victory, which have been called Deities, because their ef- 
 ficacy has been so great that it could not have proceeded 
 from any but from some divine power? In like manner 
 are the names of Cupid, Voluptas, and of Lubentine Venus 
 consecrated, though they were things vicious and not nat- 
 ural, whatever Velleius may think to the contrary, for 
 they frequently stimulate nature in too violent a manner. 
 Everything, then, from which any great utility proceeded 
 was deified ; and, indeed, the names I have just now 
 mentioned are declaratory of the particular virtue of each 
 Deity. 
 
 XXIV. It has been a general custom likewise, that men 
 who have done important service to the public should be 
 exalted to heaven by fame and universal consent. Thus 
 Hercules, Castor and Pollux, ^sculapius, and Liber be- 
 came Gods (I mean Liber^ the son of Semele, and not 
 him^ whom our ancestors consecrated in such state and 
 
 ' In the Eunuch of Terence. "^ Bacchus. ^ Tlie son of Ceres. 
 
278 THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 
 
 solemnity with Ceres and Libera ; the difference in which 
 may be seen in our Mysteries/ But because the offsprings 
 of our bodies are called "Liberi" (children), therefore the 
 offsprings of Ceres are called Liber and Libera (Libera^ 
 is the feminine, and Liber the masculine) ; thus likewise 
 Romulus, or Quirinus for they are thought to be the 
 same became a God. 
 
 They are justly esteemed as Deities, since their souls 
 subsist and enjoy eternity, from whence they are perfect 
 and immortal beings. 
 
 There is another reason, too, and that founded on natu- 
 ral philosophy, which has greatly contributed to the num- 
 ber of Deities ; namely, the custom of representing in hu- 
 man form a crowd of Gods who have supplied the poets 
 with fables, and filled mankind with all sorts of supersti- 
 tion. Zeno has treated of this subject, but it has been dis- 
 cussed more at length by Cleanthes and Chrysippus. All 
 Greece was of opinion that Coelum was castrated by his 
 son Saturn,^ and that Saturn was chained by his son Jupi- 
 ter. In these impious fables, a physical and not inelegant 
 moaning is contained ; for they would denote that the ce- 
 lestial, most exalted, and ethereal nature that is, the fiery 
 nature, which produces all things by itself is destitute of 
 that part of the body which is necessary for the act of 
 generation by conjunction with another. 
 
 XXY. By Saturn they mean that which comprehends 
 the course and revolution of times and seasons ; the Greek 
 name for which Deity implies as much, for he is called 
 
 ' The books of Ceremonies. 
 
 ^ This Libera is taken for Proserpine, who, \\\\\i her brother Liber, 
 was consecrated by the Romans ; all which are parts of nature in pro- 
 sopopoeias. Cicero, therefore, makes Balbns distinguish between the 
 person Liber, or Bacchus, and the Liber which is a part of nature in 
 prosopopoeia. 
 
 ^ These allegorical fables are largely related by Hesiod in his The- 
 ogony. 
 
 Horace says exactly the same thing : 
 
 Hac arte Polhix et vagus Hercules 
 Euisus arces attigit igneas : 
 Qnos inter Augustus recumbens 
 Pnrpureo bibit ore nectar. 
 HAc te nierentem, Bacche pater, tuse 
 Vexere tigres iudocili jugnm 
 Collo ferentes : hue Quirinus 
 Martis equis Acherouta fugit. Hor. iii. 3. 9. 
 
THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 279 
 
 KpopoQ, which is the same with Xpovoc, that is, a " space of 
 time." But he is called Saturn, because he is filled (sa- 
 turatur) with years ; and he is usually feigned to have de- 
 voured his children, because time, ever insatiable, consumes 
 the rolling years; but to restrain him from immoderate 
 haste, Jupiter has confined him to the course of the stars, 
 which are as chains to him. Jupiter (that is, juvaiis pater) 
 signifies a " helping father," whom, by changing the cases, 
 we call Jo\Q,^ ajuva?ido. The poets call him "father of 
 Gods and men;"^ and our ancestors "the most good, the 
 most great;" and as there is something more glorious in 
 itself, and more agreeable to others, to be good (that is, 
 beneficent) than to be great, the title of " most good " pre- 
 cedes that of " most great." This, then, is he whom En- 
 nius means in the following passage, before quoted 
 
 Look up to the refulgent heaven above, 
 Which all men call, unanimously, Jove : 
 
 which is more plainly expressed than in this other pas- 
 sage^ of the same poet 
 
 On whose account I'll curse that flood of light, 
 Whate'er it is above that shines so bright. 
 
 Our augurs also mean the same, when, for the " thunder- 
 ing and Hghtning heaven," they say the" thundering and 
 lightning Jove." Euripides, among many excellent things, 
 has this : 
 
 The vast, expanded, boundless sky behold. 
 See it with soft embrace the earth enfold ; 
 This own the chief of Deities above. 
 And this acknowledge by the name of Jove. 
 
 XXVI. The air, according to the Stoics, which is be- 
 tween the sea and the heaven, is consecrated by the name 
 of Juno, and is called the sister and w4fe of Jove, because 
 
 ^ Cicero means by conversis casihus, varying the cases from the com- 
 mon rule of declension ; that is, by departing from the true grammatical 
 rules of speech ; for if we would keep to it, we should decline the word 
 Jupiter, Jupiteris in the second case, etc. 
 
 ^ Pater divumque hominuinque. 
 
 ^ The common reading is, planiusque alio loco idem ; which, as Dr. 
 Davis obseiTCS, is absurd ; therefore, in his note, he prefers planius quam 
 alio loco idem, from two copies, in which sense I have translated it. 
 
280 THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 
 
 it resembles the sky, and is in close conjunction with it. 
 They have made it feminine, because there is nothing 
 softer. But I believe it is called Juno, a juvando (from 
 helping). 
 
 To make three separate kingdoms, by fable, there re- 
 mained yet the water and the earth. The dominion of the 
 sea is given, therefore, to Neptune, a brother, as he is called, 
 of Jove ; whose name, Neptunus as Portunus, a portu, 
 from a port is derived a nanclo (from swimming), the first 
 letters being a little changed. The sovereignty and power 
 over the earth is the portion of a God, to whom we, as well 
 as the Greeks, have given a name that denotes riches (in 
 Latin, Dis', in Greek, nXowrwj^), because all things arise from 
 the earth and return to it. He forced away Proserpine (in 
 Greek called nepaf^ovr/), by which the poets mean the " seed 
 of corn," from wlience comes their fiction of Ceres, the 
 mother of Proserpine, seeking for her daughter, who was 
 hidden from her. She is called Ceres, which is the same 
 as Geres a gerencUs frugihus^ " from bearing fruit," the 
 first letter of the word being altered after the manner of 
 the Greeks, for by them she is called Arjfifjrrjp, the same as 
 Ti]fi}]-r)p.^ Again, he (qui magna vortei^et) " who brings 
 about mighty changes " is called Mavors ; and Minerva is 
 so called because {mimieret, or 7nina7^etur) she diminishes 
 or menaces. 
 
 XXVII. And as the beginnings and endings of all things 
 are of the greatest importance, therefore they Avould have 
 their sacrifices to begin with Janus.^ His name is derived 
 ah eu7ido, from passing ; from whence thorough passages 
 are called Jaw^, and the outward doors of common houses 
 are called Jam^ce. The name of Vesta is, from the Greeks, 
 the same with their 'Eor/a. Her province is over altars 
 and hearths ; and in the name of this Goddess, who is the 
 keeper of all things within, prayers and sacrifices are con- 
 cluded. The Dii Penates, "household Gods," have some 
 affinity with this power, and are so called either from 2^^- 
 
 * From the verb gero, to bear. 
 
 ^ That is, "mother earth." 
 
 ^ Janus is said to be tlie first wlio erected temples in Italy, and insti- 
 tuted religious rites, and from whom the first month in the Iloman cal' 
 cndar is derived. 
 
THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 281 
 
 nus, " all kind of human provisions," or because penitus 
 insident (they reside within), from which, by the poets, 
 thoy are called penetrales also. Apollo, a Greek name, is 
 called Sol, the sun ; and Diana, Lima, the moon. The sun 
 {sol) is so named either because he is solus (alone), so emi- 
 nent above all the stars; or because he obscures all the 
 stars, and appears alone as soon as he rises. Luna, the 
 moon, is so called a lucendo (from shining) ; she bears the 
 name also of Lucina : and as in Greece the women in labor 
 invoke Diana Lucifera, so here they invoke Juno Lucina. 
 She is likewise called Diana omnivaga, not a venando 
 (from hunting), but because she is reckoned one of the 
 seven stars that seem to wander.^ She is called Diana 
 because she makes a kind of day of the night;'* and pre- 
 sides over births, because the delivery is effected some- 
 times in seven, or at most in nine, courses of the moon ; 
 which, because they make rnensa spatia (measured spaces), 
 are called menses (months). This occasioned a pleasant 
 observation of Timaeus (as he has many). Having said in 
 his history that " the same night in which Alexander was 
 born, the temple of Diana at Ephesus was burned down," 
 he adds, "It is not in the least to be wondered at, because 
 Diana, being willing to assist at the labor of Olympias,^ 
 was absent from home." But to this Goddess, because ad 
 7'es o?nnes vetiiret "she has an influence upon all things" 
 we have given the appellation of Venus,* from whom the 
 word veniistas (beauty) is rather derived than Venus from 
 venustas. 
 
 XXVIII. Do you not see, therefore, how, from the pro- 
 ductions of nature and the useful inventions of men, have 
 arisen fictitious and imaginary Deities, which have been 
 the foundation of false opinions, pernicious errors, and 
 Avretched superstitions ? For we know how the different 
 forms of the Gods their ages, apparel, ornaments ; their 
 
 * Stellce vagantes. 
 
 ^ Noctu quasi diem efficeret. Ben Jonson says the same thing : 
 
 Thou that mak'st a day of uight, 
 
 Goddess excellently bright. Ode to the Moon. 
 
 ' Olympias was the motlier of Alexander. 
 
 * Venus is here said to be one of the names of Diana, because ad res 
 omnes veniret ; but she is not supposed to be the same as the mother of 
 Cupid. 
 
282 THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 
 
 pedigrees, marriages, relations, and everything belonging 
 to them are adapted to human weakness and represented 
 with our passions ; with lust, sorrow, and anger, according 
 to fabulous history: they have had wars and combats, not 
 only, as Homer relates, when they have interested them- 
 selves in two different armies, but when they have fought 
 battles in their own defence against the Titans and giants. 
 These stories, of the greatest weakness and levity, are re- 
 lated and believed w^ith the most implicit folly. 
 
 But, rejecting these fables with contempt, a Deity is 
 diffused in every part of nature ; in earth under the name 
 of Ceres, in the sea under the name of Neptune, in oth- 
 er parts under other names. Yet whatever they are, and 
 whatever characters and dispositions they have, and what- 
 ever name custom has given them, we are bound to wor- 
 ship and adore them. The best, the chastest, the most sa- 
 cred and pious worship of the Gods is to reverence them 
 always with a pure, perfect, and unpolluted mind and 
 voice ; for our ancestors, as well as the philosophers, have 
 separated superstition from religion. They who prayed 
 whole days and sacrificed, that their children might sur- 
 vive them {lit superstites essejit), were called superstitious, 
 which word became afterward more general ; but they 
 who diligently perused, and, as we may say, read or prac- 
 tised over again, all the duties relating to the worship of 
 the Gods, were called religiosi religious, from relegendo 
 "reading over again, or practising;" as e/^^aw^es, elegant, 
 ex eligendo, " from choosing, making a good choice ;" dili- 
 gentes, diligent, ex diligendo, " from attending on what we 
 love;" intelligentes, intelligent, from understanding for 
 the signification is derived in the same manner. Thus are 
 the words superstitious and religious understood ; the one 
 being a term of reproach, the other of commendation. I 
 think I have now sufficiently demonstrated that there are 
 Gods, and what they are. 
 
 XXIX. I am now to show that the world is governed by 
 the providence of the Gods. This is an important point, 
 which you Academics endeavor to confound ; and, indeed, 
 the whole contest is with you, Cotta; for your sect,Vel- 
 leius, know very little of what is said on different subjects 
 by other schools. You read and have a taste only for 
 
THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 283 
 
 your own books, and condemn all others without exami- 
 nation. For instance, when you mentioned yesterday^ that 
 prophetic old dame Upuvoia, Providence, invented by the 
 Stoics, you were led into that error by imagining that 
 Providence was made by them to be a particular Deity 
 that governs the whole universe, whereas it is only spoken 
 in a short manner; as when it is said "The commonwealth 
 of Athens is governed by the council," it is meant " of the 
 Areopagus;"" so when we say "Tlie world is governed by 
 providence," we mean "by the providence of the Gods." 
 To express ourselves, therefore, more fully and clearly, 
 we say, "The world is governed by the providence of the 
 Gods." Be not, therefore, lavish of your railleries, of 
 which your sect has little to spare : if I may advise you, 
 do not attempt it. It does not become you, it is not your 
 talent, nor is it in your power. This is not applied to you 
 in particular who have the education and politeness of a 
 Roman, but to all your sect in general, and especially to 
 your leader^ a man unpolished, illiterate, insulting, with- 
 out wit, without reputation, without elegance. 
 
 XXX. I assert, then, that the universe, with all its parts, 
 was originally constituted, and has, without any cessation, 
 been ever governed by the providence of the Gods. This 
 argument w^e Stoics commonly divide into three parts; the 
 first of which is, that the existence of the Gods being once 
 known, it must follow that the world is governed by their 
 wisdom ; the second, that as everything is under the di- 
 rection of an intelligent nature, which has produced that 
 beautiful order in the world, it is evident that it is formed 
 from animating principles ; the third is deduced from those 
 glorious works which we behold in the heavens and the 
 earth. 
 
 First, then, we must either deny the existence of the 
 Gods (as Democritus and Epicurus by their doctrine of 
 images in some sort do), or, if w^e acknowledge that there 
 
 ' Here is a mistake, as Fulvius Ursinus observes ; for the discourse 
 seems to be continued in one day, as appears from the beginning of this 
 book. This may be an inadvertency of Cicero. 
 
 '^ The senate of Athens was so called from the words 'Apeiog Udyog, 
 the Village, some say the Hill, of Mars. 
 
 ^ Epicurus. 
 
284 THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 
 
 are Gods, we must believe they are employed, and that, 
 too, ill something excellent. Now, nothing is so excellent 
 as the administration of the universe. The universe, there- 
 fore, is governed by the wisdom of the Gods. Otherwise, 
 we must imagine that there is some cause suj^erior to the 
 Deity, whether it be a nature inanimate, or a necessity 
 agitated by a mighty force, that produces those beautiful 
 works which we behold. The nature of the Gods would 
 then be neither supreme nor excellent, if you subject it to 
 that necessity or to that nature, by which you would make 
 the heaven, the earth, and the seas to be governed. But 
 there is nothing superior to the Deity; the world, there- 
 fore, must be governed by him : consequently, the Deity is 
 under no obedience or subjection to nature, but does him- 
 self rule over all nature. In effect, if w^e allow the Gods 
 have understanding, we allow also their providence, which 
 regards the most important things ; for, can they be ig- 
 norant of those important things, and how they are to be 
 conducted and preserved, or do they want power to sus- 
 tain and direct them? Ignorance is inconsistent -with the 
 nature of the Gods, and imbecility is repugnant to their 
 majesty. From whence it follows, as we assert, that the 
 world is governed by the providence of the Gods. 
 
 XXXI. But supposing, which is incontestable, that there 
 are Gods, they must be animated, and not only animated, 
 but endowed with reason united, as we may say, in a civil 
 agreement and society, and governing together one uni- 
 verse, as a republic or city. Thus the same reason, the 
 same verity, the same law, which ordains good and pro- 
 hibits evil, exists in the Gods as it does in men. From 
 them, consequently, we have prudence and understand- 
 ing, for which reason our ancestors erected temples to the 
 Mind, Faith, Virtue, and Concord. Shall we not then al- 
 low the Gods to have these perfections, since we worship 
 the sacred and auGjust imaojes of them? But if under- 
 standing, faith, virtue, and concord reside in human kind, 
 how could they come on earth, unless from heaven? And 
 if we are possessed of wisdom, reason, and prudence, the 
 Gods must have the same qualities in a greater degree ; 
 and not only have them, but employ tliem in the best and 
 greatest works. The universe is the best and greatest 
 
THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 285 
 
 work ; therefore it must be governed by the wisdom and 
 l^rovidence of the Gods. 
 
 Lastly, as we have sufficiently shown that those glorious 
 and luminous bodies which we behold are Deities I mean 
 the sun, the moon, the fixed and wandering stars, the fir- 
 mament, and the world itself, and those other things also 
 which have any singular virtue, and are of any great util- 
 ity to human kind it follows that all things are governed 
 by providence and a divine mind. But enough has been 
 said on the first part. 
 
 XXXII. It is now incumbent on me to prove that all 
 things are subjected to nature, and most beautifully di- 
 rected by her. But, first of all, it is proper to explain 
 precisely what that nature is, in order to come to the 
 more easy understanding of what I w^ould demonstrate. 
 Some think that nature is a certain irrational power excit- 
 ing in bodies the necessary motions. Others, that it is an 
 intelligent power, acting by order and method, designing 
 some end in every cause, and always aiming at that end, 
 whose works express such skill as no art, no hand, can imi- 
 tate; for, they say, such is the virtue of its seed, that, 
 however small it is, if it falls into a place proper for its 
 reception, and meets with matter conducive to its nour- 
 ishment and increase, it forms and produces everything 
 in its respective kind ; either vegetables, which receive 
 their nourishment from their roots ; or animals, endowed 
 with motion, sense, appetite, and abilities to beget their 
 likeness. 
 
 Some apply the word nature to everything; as Epicurus 
 does, Avho acknowledges no cause, but atoms, a vacuum, 
 and their accidents. But when we^ say that nature forms 
 and governs the world, we do not apply it to a clod of 
 earth, or piece of stone, or anything of that sort, whose 
 parts have not the necessary cohesion,'* but to a tree, in 
 
 ' The Stoics. 
 
 ^ By nulla coharendi natura if it is the right, as it is the common 
 reading Cicero must mean the same as by nulla crescendi natura, or 
 coalescendi, either of which Lambinus proposes ; for, as the same learn- 
 ed critic well observes, is there not a cohesion of parts in a clod, or in a 
 piece of stone ? Our learned Walker proposes sola cohcerendi natura^ 
 which mends the sense very much ; and I wish he had the authority of 
 any copy for it. 
 
286 THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 
 
 which there is not the appearance of chance, but of order 
 and a resembhmce of art. 
 
 XXXIII. But if the art of nature gives life and increase 
 to vegetables, without doubt it supports the earth itself; 
 for, being impregnated with seeds, she produces every 
 kind of vegetable, and embracing their roots, she nourishes 
 and increases them ; while, in her turn, she receives her 
 nourishment from the other elements, and by her exhala- 
 tions gives proper sustenance to the air, the sky, and all 
 the superior bodies. If nature gives vigor and support to 
 the earth, by the same reason she has an influence over 
 the rest of the world ; for as the earth gives nourishment 
 to vegetables, so the air is the preservation of animals. 
 The air sees with us, hears with us, and utters sounds 
 Avith ns; without it, there Avould be no seeing, hearing, or 
 sounding. It even moves with us; for whei'cver we go, 
 whatever motion we make, it seems to retire and give 
 place to us. 
 
 That which inclines to the centre, that Avhich rises from 
 it to the surface, and that which rolls about the centre, 
 constitute the universal world, and make one entire nat- 
 ure; and as there are four sorts of bodies, the continuance 
 of nature is caused by their reciprocal changes ; for the 
 water arises from the earth, the air from the water, and 
 the fire from the air; and, reversing this order, the air 
 arises from fire, the water from the air, and from the wa- 
 ter the earth, the lowest of the four elements, of which all 
 beings are formed. Thus by their continual motions back- 
 ward and forward, upward and downward, the conjunc- 
 tion of the several parts of the universe is preserved; a 
 union which, in the beauty we noAV behold it, must be 
 eternal, or at least of a very long duration, and almost for 
 an infinite space of time; and, whichever it is, the uni- 
 verse must of consequence be governed by nature. For 
 what art of navigating fleets, or of marshalling an array, 
 and to instance the produce of nature what vine, what 
 tree, what animated form and conformation of their mem- 
 bers, give us so great an indication of skill as appears in 
 the universe? Therefore we must either deny that there 
 is the least trace of an intelligent nature, or acknowledge 
 that the world is governed by it. But since the universe 
 
THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 287 
 
 contains all particular beings, as well as their seeds, can 
 we say that it is not itself governed by nature? That 
 would be the same as saying that the teeth and the beard 
 of man are the work of nature, but that the man himself 
 is not. Thus the effect would be understood to be great- 
 er than the cause. 
 
 XXXIV. Now, the universe sows, as I may say, plants, 
 produces, raises, nourishes, and preserves what nature ad- 
 ministers, as members and parts of itself. If nature, there- 
 fore, governs them, she must also govern the universe. 
 And, lastly, in nature's administration there is nothing 
 faulty. She produced the best possible effect out of those 
 elements which existed. Let any one show how it could 
 have been better. But tliat can never be ; and whoever 
 attempts to mend it will either make it worse, or aim at 
 impossibilities. 
 
 But if all tlie parts of the universe are so constituted 
 that nothing could be better for use or beauty, let us con- 
 sider whether this is the effect of chance, or whetlier, in 
 such a state they could possibly cohere, but by the direc- 
 tion of wisdom and divine providence. Nature, therefore, 
 cannot be void of reason, if art can bring nothing to per- 
 fection without it, and if the works of nature exceed those 
 of art. How is it consistent with common-sense that when 
 you view an image or a picture, you imagine it is wrought 
 by art; when you behold afar off a ship \mder sail, you 
 judge it is steered by reason and art; when you see a dial 
 or water-clock,^ you believe the hours are shown by art, 
 and not by chance ; and yet that you should imagine that 
 the universe, which contains all arts and the artificers, can 
 be void of reason and understanding? 
 
 But if that sphere which was lately made by our friend 
 Posidonius, the regular revolutions of which show the 
 course of the sun, moon, and five wandering stars, as it is 
 every day and night performed, were carried into Scythia 
 or Britain, who, in those barbarous countries, would doubt 
 that that sphere had been made so perfect by the exertion 
 of reason ? 
 
 XXXY. Yet these people^ doubt whether the universe, 
 
 ^ Nasica Scipio, the censor, is said to have been the first who made a 
 water-clock in Rome. ^ The Epicureans. 
 
288 THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 
 
 from whence all things arise and are made, is not the ef- 
 fect of chance, or some necessity, rather than the work of 
 reason and a divine mind. According to them, Archime- 
 des shows more knowledge in representing the motions of 
 the celestial globe than nature does in causing them, 
 though the cojjy is so infinitely beneath the original. The 
 shepherd in Attius,^ who had never seen a ship, when he 
 perceived from a mountain afar off the divine vessel of the 
 Argonauts, surprised and frighted at this new object, ex- 
 pressed himself in this manner : 
 
 What liovrid bulk is that before my eyes, 
 Which o'er the deep witii noise and vigor flies ? 
 It turns the wliirlpools up, its force so strong, 
 And drives the billows as it rolls along. 
 The ocean's violence it fiercely braves ; 
 Huns furious on, and throws about the waves. 
 Swiftly impetuous in its course, and loud, 
 Like the dire bursting of a show'ry cloud ; 
 Or, like a rock, forced by the winds and rain, 
 Now whirl'd aloft, then plunged into the main. 
 But hold ! perhaps the P^arth and Neptune jar, 
 And fiercely wage an elemental war ; 
 Or Triton with his trident has o'erthrown 
 His den, and loosen'd from the roots the stone ; 
 The rocky fragment, from the bottom torn, 
 Is lifted up, and on the surface borne. 
 
 At first he is in suspense at the sight of this unknown ob- 
 ject ; but on seeing the young mariners, and hearing their 
 singing, he says, 
 
 Like sportive dolphins, with their snouts they roar;'' 
 
 and afterward goes on, 
 
 Loud in my ears methinks their voices ring. 
 As if I heard the God Sylvanus sing. 
 
 As at first view the shepherd thinks he sees something 
 inanimate and insensible, but afterward, judging by more 
 
 ^ An old Latin poet, commended by Quintilian for the gravity of his 
 sense and his loftiness of style. 
 
 ^ The shepherd is here supposed to take the stem or beak of the ship 
 for the mouth, from which the roaring voices of the sailors came. Ros- 
 trum is here a lucky word to put in the mouth of one who never saw a 
 ship before, as it is used for the beak of a bird, lh6 snout of a beast or 
 fish, and for the stem of a ship. 
 
THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 289 
 
 trustworthy indications, he begins to figure to himself 
 what it is ; so philosophers, if they are surprised at first 
 at the sight of the universe, ought, when they have con- 
 sidered the regular, uniform, and immutable motions of it, 
 to conceive that there is some Being that is not only an 
 inhabitant of this celestial and divine mansion, but a ruler 
 and a governor, as architect of this mighty fabric. 
 
 XXXVI. Now, in my opinion, they^ do not seem to have 
 even the least suspicion that the heavens and earth afford 
 anything marvellous. For, in the first place, the earth is 
 situated in the middle part of the universe, and is sur- 
 rounded on all sides by the air, which we breathe, and 
 which is called " aer,"^ which, indeed, is a Greek word ; but 
 by constant use it is well understood by our countrymen, 
 for, indeed, it is employed as a Latin word. The .dr is 
 encompassed by the boundless ether (sky), which consists 
 of the fires above. This word we borrow also, for we use 
 CBther in Latin as well as aer; though Pacuvius thus ex- 
 presses it, 
 
 This, of which I speak, 
 
 In Latin 's coelum, cether call'd in Greek. 
 
 As though he were not a Greek into whose mouth he puts 
 this sentence ; but he is speaking in Latin, though we lis- 
 ten as if he were speaking Greek ; for, as he says elsewhere, 
 
 His speech discovers him a Grecian born. 
 
 But to return to more important matters. In the sky 
 innumerable fiery stars exist, of which the sun is the chief, 
 enlightening all with his refulgent splendor, and being by 
 many degrees larger than the whole earth ; and this mul- 
 titude of vast fires are so far from hurting the earth, and 
 things terrestrial, that they are of benefit to them ; whereas, 
 if they were moved from their stations, we should inevita- 
 bly be burned through the want of a proper moderation 
 and temperature of heat. 
 
 XXXVIL Is it possible for any man to behold these 
 things, and yet imagine that certain solid and individual 
 bodies move by their natural force and gravitation, and 
 that a world so beautifully adorned was made by their 
 fortuitous concourse? He who believes this may as well 
 
 * The Epicureans. ^ Greek, afjp ; Latin, aer. 
 
 13 
 
290 THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 
 
 believe that if a great quantity of the one-and-twenty let- 
 ters, composed either of gold or any other matter, were 
 thrown upon the ground, they would fall into such order 
 as legibly to form the Annals of Ennius. I doubt whether 
 fortune could make a single verse of them. Plow, there- 
 fore, can these people assert that the world was made by 
 the fortuitous concourse of atoms, which have no color, no 
 quality which the Greeks call ttoiuttjc^ no sense? or that 
 there are innumerable worlds, some rising and some per- 
 ishing, in every moment of time? But if a concourse of 
 atoms can make a world, why not a porch, a temple, a 
 house, a city, Avhich are works of less labor and difficulty ? 
 
 Certainly those men talk so idly and inconsiderately 
 concerning this lower world that they appear to me never 
 to have contemplated the wonderful magnificence of the 
 heavens; which is the next topic for our consideration. 
 
 Well, then, did Aristotle^ observe: "If there were men 
 whose habitations had been always underground, in great 
 and commodious houses, adorned with statues and pict- 
 ures, furnished with everything which they who are re- 
 puted happy abound with ; and if, without stirring from 
 thence, they should be informed of a certain divine power 
 and majesty, and, after some time, the earth should open, 
 and they should quit their dark abode to come to us, 
 wdiere they should immediately behold the earth, the seas, 
 the heavens; should consider the vast extent of the clouds 
 and force of the w^inds; should see the sun, and observe 
 his grandeur and beauty, and also his generative power, 
 inasmuch as day is occasioned by the diffusion of his 
 light through the sky ; and when night has obscured the 
 earth, they should contemplate the heavens besi)angled 
 and adorned with stars, the surprising variety of the moon 
 in her increase and wane, the rising and setting of all the 
 stars, and the inviolable regularity of their courses ; when," 
 says he, " they should see these things, they would un- 
 doubtedly conclude that there are Gods, and that these 
 are their mighty works." 
 
 XXXVIII. Thus far Aristotle. Let us imagine, also, as 
 great darkness as was formerly occasioned by the irruption 
 of the fires of Mount -^tna, which arc said to have ob- 
 ' The treatise of Aristotle, from whence this is taken, is lost. 
 
THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 291 
 
 scured the adjacent conntvies for two days to such a de- 
 gree tliat no man could recognize his fellow; but on the 
 third, when the sun appeared, they seemed to be risen from 
 the dead. Now, if we should be suddenly brought from 
 a state of eternal darkness to see the light, how beautiful 
 would the heavens seem ! But our minds have become 
 used to it from the daily practice and habituation of our 
 eyes, nor do we take the trouble to search into the princi- 
 ples of what is always in view ; as if the novelty, rather 
 than the importance, of things ought to excite us to inves- 
 tigate their causes. 
 
 Is he worthy to be called a man who attributes to 
 chance, not to an intelligent cause, the constant motion of 
 the heavens, the regular courses of the stars, the agreeable 
 proportion and connection of all things, conducted with so 
 much reason that our intellect itself is unable to estimate 
 it rightly ? When we see machines move artificially, as 
 a sphere, a clock, or the like, do we doubt whether they 
 are the productions of reason ? And when we behold the 
 heavens moving with a prodigious celerity, and causing 
 an annual succession of the different seasons of the year, 
 which vivify and preserve all things, can we doubt that 
 this world is directed, I will not say only by reason, but 
 by reason most excellent and divine? For without troub- 
 ling ourselves with too refined a subtlety of discussion, we 
 may nse our eyes to contemplate the beauty of those things 
 whicli we assert have been arranged by divine providence. 
 
 XXXIX. First, let us examine the earth, whose situa- 
 tion is in the middle of the universe,^ solid, round, and 
 conglobular by its natural tendency; clothed with flowers, 
 herbs, trees, and fruits ; the whole in multitudes incredible, 
 and with a variety suitable to every taste : let us consider 
 the ever-cool and running springs, the clear waters of the 
 rivers, the verdure of their banks, the hollow depths of 
 caves, the cragginess of rocks, the heights of impending 
 mountains, and the boundless extent of plains, the hidden 
 veins of gold and silver, and the infinite quarries of marble. 
 
 ' To the universe the Stoics certainly annexed the idea of a limited 
 space, otherwise they could not have talked of a middle ; for there can 
 he no middle but of a limited space: infinite space can have no middle, 
 there being infinite extension from every part. 
 
292 THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 
 
 What and how various are the kinds of animals, tame 
 or wild? The flights and notes of birds? How do the 
 beasts live in the fields and in the forests ? What shall I 
 say of men, who, being appointed, as we may say, to culti- 
 vate the earth, do not suffer its fertility to be choked with 
 weeds, nor the ferocity of beasts to make it desolate ; wlio, 
 by tlie houses and cities which they build, adorn the fields, 
 the isles, and the shores? If we could view these objects 
 with the naked eye, as w^e can by the contemplation of the 
 mind, nobody, at such a sight, would doubt there was a 
 divine intelligence. 
 
 But how beautiful is the sea ! How pleasant to see the 
 extent of it! What a multitude and variety of islands'! 
 How delightful are the coasts ! What numbers and what 
 diversity of inhabitants does it contain; some within the 
 bosom of it, some floating on the surface, and others by 
 their shells cleaving to the rocks ! While the sea itself, 
 approaching to the land, sports so closely to its shores 
 that those two elements appear to be but one. 
 
 Next above the sea is the air, diversified by day and 
 night: when rarefied, it possesses the higher region; when 
 condensed, it turns into clouds, and with the waters which 
 it gathers enriches the earth by the rain. Its agitation 
 produces the winds. It causes heat and cold according to 
 the different seasons. It sustains birds in their flight; 
 and, being inhaled, nourishes and preserves all animated 
 beings. 
 
 XL. Add to these, which alone remaineth to be men- 
 tioned, the firmament of heaven, a region the farthest from 
 our abodes, which surrounds and contains all things. It 
 is likewise called ether, or sky, the extreme bounds and 
 limits of the universe, in which the stars perform their 
 appointed courses in a most wonderful manner ; among 
 which, the sun, whose magnitude far surpasses the earth, 
 makes his revolution round it, and by his rising and set- 
 ting causes day and night ; sometimes coming near tow- 
 ards the earth, and sometimes going from it, lie every 
 year makes two contrary reversions* from the extreme 
 
 ' These two contrary reversions are from tlie tropics of Cancer and 
 Capricorn. They are the extreme bountls of the snn's comse. 'J'he 
 reader must observe tliat the astronomical parts of this book are intro- 
 
THE NATUKE OF THE GODS. 293 
 
 point of its course. In his retreat the earth seems locked 
 up in sadness; in his return it appears exhilarated with 
 the heavens. The moon, which, as mathematicians demon- 
 strate, is bigger tlian half the earth, makes her revolutions 
 through the same spaces^ as the sun ; but at one time ap- 
 proaching, and at another receding from, the sun, she dif- 
 fuses the light which she has borrowed from him over the 
 Avhole earth, and has herself also many various changes in 
 her appearance. When she is found under the sun, and op- 
 posite to it, the brightness of her rays is lost ; but when 
 the earth directly interposes between the moon and sun, the 
 moon is totally eclipsed. The other wandering stars have 
 their courses round the earth in the same spaces,^ and rise 
 and set in the same manner ; their motions are sometimes 
 quick, sometimes slow, and often they stand still. There is 
 nothing more wonderful, nothing more beautiful. There is a 
 vast number of fixed stars, distinguished by the names of cer- 
 tain figures, to which we find they have some resemblance. 
 XLI. I will here, says Balbus, looking at me, make use 
 of the verses which, when you were young, you translated 
 from Aratus,^ and which, because they are in Latin, gave 
 me so much delight that I have many of them still in my 
 memory. As then, wo daily see, without any change or 
 variation, 
 
 the rest* 
 
 Swiftly pursue the course to which they're bound ; 
 
 And with the heavens the days and nights go round ; 
 
 the contemplation of which, to a mind desirous of observ- 
 ing the constancy of nature, is inexhaustible. 
 
 The extreme top of either point is call'd 
 The pole. ^ 
 
 duced by the Stoic as proofs of design and reason in the universe ; and, 
 notwithstanding the errors in his planetary system, his intent is well an- 
 swered, because all he means is that the regular motions of the heaven- 
 ly bodies, and their dependencies, are demonstrations of a divine mind. 
 The inference proposed to be drawn from his astronomical observations 
 is as just as if his system was in every part unexceptionably right : the 
 same may be said of his anatomical observations. 
 
 ^ In the zodiac. '^ Ibid. 
 
 ^ These verses of Cicero are a translation from a Greek poem of Ara- 
 tus, called the Phenomena. 
 
 * The fixed stars. ^ The arctic and antarctic poles. 
 
294 THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 
 
 About this the two "ApKvoL are turned, which never set ; 
 
 Of these, the Greeks one Cynosura call, 
 The other Helice/ 
 
 The brightest stars/ indeed, of Helice are discernible all 
 night, 
 
 Which are by us Septentriones call'd. 
 
 Cynosura moves about the same i)ole, with a like number 
 of stars, and ranged in the same order : 
 
 This^ the Phoenicians choose to make their guide 
 When on the ocean in the night they ride. 
 Adorned with stars of more refulgent light, 
 The other* shines, and first appears at night. 
 Tiiough this is small, sailors its use have found ; 
 More inward is its course, and short its round. 
 
 XLII. The aspect of those stars is the more admirablej 
 because, 
 
 The Dragon grim between them bends his way, 
 As through the winding banks the currents stray, 
 And up and down in sinuous bending rolls. ^ 
 
 His whole foi'm is excellent; but the shape of his head 
 and the ardor of his eyes are most remarkable. 
 
 Various the stars which deck his glittering head ; 
 His temples are with double glory spread ; 
 From his fierce eyes two fervid lights afar 
 Flash, and his chin shines with one radiant star ; 
 Bow'd is his head ; and his round neck he bends. 
 And to the tail of Helice extends. 
 
 The rest of the Dragon's body we see^ at every hour in 
 the night. 
 
 ^ Tlie two Arctoi are northern constellations. Cynosura is what we 
 call the Lesser Bear ; Helice, the Greater Bear ; in Latin, Ursa Minor 
 and Ursa Major. 
 
 ^ These stars in the Greater Bear are vulgarly called the "Seven 
 Stars," or the "Northern Wain ;" by the Latins, "Septentriones." 
 
 ^ The Lesser Bear. * Tiie Greater Bear. 
 
 ^ Exactly agreeable to this and the following description of the Drag- 
 on is the same northern constellation described in the map by Flam- 
 steed in his Atlas Coelestis ; and all the figures here described by Ara- 
 tns nearly agree with the maps of the same constellations in the Atlas 
 Coelestis, though they are not all placed precisely alike. 
 
 The tail of the Greater Bear. 
 
 ' That is, in Macedon, where Aratiis lived. 
 
THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 295 
 
 Here* suddenly the head a little hides 
 Itself, where all its parts, which are in sight, 
 And those unseen in the same place unite. 
 
 Near to this head 
 
 Is placed the figure of a man that moves 
 Weary and sad, 
 
 which the Greeks 
 
 Engonasis do call, because he's borne^ 
 About with bended knee. Near him is placed 
 The crown with a refulgent lustre graced. 
 
 This indeed is at his back ; but Anguitenens (the Snake- 
 holder) is near his head :^ 
 
 The Greeks him Ophiuchus call, renown'd 
 The name. He strongly grasps the serpent round 
 With both his hands ; himself the sei-pent folds 
 Beneath his breast, and round his middle holds ; 
 Yet gravely he, bright shining in the skies, 
 Moves on, and treads on Nepa's* breast and eyes. 
 
 The Septentriones^ are followed by 
 
 Arctophylax, that's said to be the same 
 Which we Bootes call, who has the name. 
 Because he drives the Greater Bear along 
 Yoked to a wain. 
 
 Besides, in Bootes, 
 
 A star of glittering rays about his waist, 
 
 A returns called, a name renown'd, is placed.''' 
 
 ' The true interpretation of this passage is as follows : Here in IMac- 
 edon, says Aratus, the head of the Dragon does not entirely immerge 
 itself in the ocean, but only touches the superficies of it. By ortus and 
 obitus I doubt not but Cicero meant, agreeable to Aratus, those parts 
 which arise to view, and those which are removed from sight. 
 
 ' These are two northern constellations. Engonasis, in some cata- 
 logues called Hercules, because he is figured kneeling h ydvaaiv (on his 
 knees). 'EvyovaGcv KaAtova', as Aratus says, they call Engonasis. 
 
 ^ The crown is placed under the feet of Hercules in the Atlas Coeles- 
 tis; but Ophiuchus ('O^^ovjof), the Snake-holder, is placed in the jnap 
 by Flamsteed as described here by Aratus ; and their heads almost meet. 
 
 * The Scorpion. Ophiuchus, though a northern constellation, is not 
 far from that part of the zodiac where the Scorpion is, which is one of 
 tlie six southern signs. * The Wain of seven stars. 
 
 ^ The Wain -driver. This northern constellation is, in our present 
 maps, figured with a club in his right hand behind the Greater Bear. 
 
 '' In some modern maps Arcturus, a star of the first magnitude, is placed 
 in the belt that is round the waist of Bootes. Cicero says subter prcecordia, 
 which is about the waist; and Aratus says vn-d Co),vy, nnder the belt. 
 
296 THE NATUllE OF THE GODS. 
 
 Beneath which is 
 
 The Virgin of illustrious form, whose hand 
 Holds a bright spike. 
 
 XLIII. And truly these signs are so regularly disposed 
 that a divine wisdom evidently appears in them : 
 
 Beneath the Bear's' head have the Twins thoir seat, 
 Under his chest the Crab, beneath his feet 
 The mighty Lion darts a trembling flame.'* 
 
 The Charioteer 
 
 On the left side of Gemini we see,^ 
 
 And at his head behold fierce Helice ; 
 
 On his left shoulder the bright Goat appears. 
 
 But to proceed 
 
 This is indeed a great and glorious star, 
 On th' other side the Kids, inferior far. 
 Yield but a slender light to mortal eyes. 
 
 Under his feet 
 
 The horned bull,* with sturdy limbs, is placed: 
 
 his head is spangled with a number of stars; 
 These by the Greeks are called the Hyades, 
 
 from raining; for vety is to rain: therefore they are in- 
 judiciously called Suculoe by our people, as if they had 
 their name from vq, a sow, and not from vw. 
 
 Behind the Lesser Bear, Cepheus^ follows with extended 
 hands. 
 
 For close behind the Lesser Bear he comes. 
 
 1 Sub caput Arcti, under the head of the Greater Bear. 
 
 ^ The Crab is, by the ancients and moderns, placed in the zodiac, as 
 here, between the Twins and the Lion ; and they are all three northern 
 signs. 
 
 ^ The Twins are placed in tlie zodiac with the side of one to the 
 northern hemisphere, and the side of the other to tlie southern hemi- 
 sphere, Auriga, tlie Charioteer, is placed in the northern hemisphere 
 near the zodiac, by the Twins ; and at the head of the Charioteer is Hel- 
 ice, the Greater Bear, placed ; and the Goat is a bright star of the first 
 magnitude placed on the left shoulder of this northern constellation, and 
 called Capra, the Goat. Ilcedi, the Kids, are two more stars of the same 
 constellation, 
 
 * A constellation ; one of the northern signs in the zodiac, in which 
 ihe Hyades are placed. 
 
 ^ One of the feet of Cepheus, a northern constellation, is under the tail 
 of the Lesser Bear. 
 
THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 297 
 
 Before him goes 
 
 Cassiopea' with a faintish light; 
 
 But near her moves (fair and illustrious sight!) 
 
 Andromeda,'^ who, with an eager pace, 
 
 Seems to avoid her parent's mournful face.^ 
 
 With glittering mane the Horse* now seems to tread, 
 
 So near he comes, on her refulgent head ; 
 
 With a fair star, that close to him appears, 
 
 A double form^ and but one light he wears ; 
 
 By which he seems ambitious in the sky 
 
 An everlasting knot of stars to tie. 
 
 Near him the Ham, with wreathed horns, is placed; 
 
 by whom 
 
 The Fishes" are ; of which one seems to haste 
 Somew4iat before the other, to the blast 
 Of the north wind exposed. 
 
 XLIY. Perseus is described as placed at the feet of An- 
 dromeda : 
 
 And him the sharp blasts of the north wind beat. 
 Near his left knee, but dim their light, their seat 
 The small Pleiades'' maintain. We find. 
 Not far from them, the Lyre** but slightly join'd. 
 Next is the winged Bird," that seems to fly 
 Beneath the spacious covering of the sky. 
 
 ' Grotius, and after him Dr. Davis, and other learned men, read Cas- 
 siepea, after the Greek ^aaaieTceia, and reject the common reading, Cas- 
 siopea. 
 
 ^ Tliese northern constellations here mentioned have been always 
 placed together as one family with Cepheus and Perseus, as they are in 
 our modern mnps. 
 
 ^ This alludes to the fable of Perseus and Andromeda. 
 
 * Pegasus, who is one of Perseus and Andromeda's family. 
 
 ^ That is, M'ith wings. 
 
 " Aries, the Kam, is the first northern sign in the zodiac ; Pisces, the 
 Fislies, tlie last southern sign ; therefore they must be near one another, 
 as they are in a circle or belt. In Flamsteed's Atlas Coelestis one of the 
 Fishes is near the head of the Ram, and the other near the Urn of Aqua- 
 rius. 
 
 ' These are called Virgiliae by Cicero; by Aratus, the Pleiades, 
 R?,rj'ld6Ec ; and they are placed at the neck of the Bull ; and one of 
 Perseus's feet touches the Bull in the Atlas Coelestis. 
 
 ** This northern constellation is called Fides by Cicero; but it must be 
 the same with Lyra ; because Lyra is placed in our maps as Fides is here. 
 
 " This is called Ales Avis by Cicero ; and I doubt not but the northern 
 constellation Cygnus is here to be understood, for the description and 
 place of the Swan in the Atlas Coelestis are the same which Ales Avis 
 has here. 
 
298 THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 
 
 IsTear the head of the Horse^ lies the right hand of Aqua^ 
 rius, then all Aquarius himself.^ 
 
 Then Capricorn, with half the form of beast, 
 
 Breathes chill and piercing colds from his strong breast, 
 
 And in a spacious circle takes his round ; 
 
 When him, while in the Avinter solstice bound. 
 
 The sun has visited with constant light, 
 
 He turns his course, and shorter makes the night. ^ 
 
 Kot far from hence is seen 
 
 The Scorpion* rising lofty from below ; 
 By him the Archer,^ with his bended bow; 
 Near him the Bird, with gaudy feathers spread ; 
 And the fierce Eagle" hovers o'er his head. 
 
 Next comes the Dolphin ;' 
 
 Then bright Orion, ** who obliquely moves; 
 he is followed by 
 
 The fervent Dog,^ bright with refulgent stars: 
 next the Hare follows'" 
 
 Unwearied in his course. At the Dog's tail 
 Argo" moves on, and moving seems to sail; 
 O'er her the Ram and Fishes have their place ;" 
 The illustrious vessel touches, in her pace, 
 The river's banks ;^^ 
 
 which you may see winding and extending itself to a great 
 length. 
 
 ^ Pegasus. 
 
 ^ The Water-bearer, one of the six southern signs in the zodiac : he is 
 described in our maps pouring water out of an nrn, and leaniug with one 
 hand on the tail of Capricorn, another southern sign. 
 
 ^ When the sun is in Capricorn, the days are at the shortest ; and 
 when in Cancer, at the longest. 
 
 * One of the six southern signs. 
 
 * Sagittarius, another southern sign. ^ A northern constellation. 
 '' A northern constellation. ^ A southern constellation. 
 
 ^ This is Canis Major, a southern constellation. Orion and the Dog 
 are named together by Hesiod, who flourished many hundred years be- 
 fore Cicero or Aratus. 
 
 ^ A southern constellation, placed as here in the Atlas Coelestis. 
 
 " A southern constellation, so called from the ship Argo, in which Ja- 
 son and the rest of the Argonauts sailed on their expedition to Colchos. 
 
 " The Ram is the first of the northern signs in the zodiac ; and the 
 last southern sign is the Fishes ; which two signs, meeting in the zodiac, 
 cover the constellation called Argo. 
 
 " The river Eridanus, a southern constellation. 
 
THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 299 
 
 The Fetters^ at the Fishes' tails are hung. 
 By NepaV liead behold the Altar stand,* 
 Which by the breath of southern winds is fann'd ; 
 
 near which the Centaiu-* 
 
 Hastens his mingled parts to join beneath 
 The Serpent/ there extending his right hand, 
 To where you see the monstrous Scorpion stand. 
 Which he at the bright Altar fiercely slays. 
 Here on her lower parts see Hydra^ raise 
 Herself; 
 
 whose bulk is very far extcndecl. 
 
 Amid the winding of her body 's placed 
 The shining Goblet ;^ and the glossy Crow* 
 Plunges his beak into her parts below. 
 Antecanis beneath the Twins is seen, 
 Call'd Frocyon by the Greeks.^ 
 
 Can any one in his senses imagine that this disposition 
 of the stars, and this heaven so beautifully adorned, co^ild 
 ever have been formed by a fortuitous concourse of atoms ? 
 Or what other nature, being destitute of intellect and rea- 
 son, could possibly have produced these effects, which not 
 only required reason to bring them about, but the very 
 character of which could not be understood and appreci- 
 ated without the most strenuous exertions of well-directed 
 reason ? 
 
 XLY. But our admiration is not hmited to the objects 
 here described. What is most wonderful is that the world 
 is so durable, and so perfectly made for lasting that it is 
 not to be impaired by time ; for all its parts tend equally 
 to the centre, and are bound together by a sort of chain, 
 which surrounds the elements. This chain is nature, which 
 
 ^ A southern constellation. 
 
 ^ This is called the Scorpion in the original of Aratus. 
 
 * A southern constellation. * A southern constellation. 
 
 * The Serpent is not mentioned in Cicero's translation ; but it is in the 
 original of Aratus. 
 
 " A southern constellation. 
 
 ^ The Goblet, or Cup, a southern constellation. 
 
 A southern constellation. 
 
 Antecanis, a southern constellation, is the Little Dog, and called 
 Antecanis in Latin, and UpoKvuv in Greek, because he rises before the 
 other Dog. 
 
300 THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 
 
 being diffused through the universe, and performing all 
 things with judgment and reason, attracts the extremities 
 to the centre. 
 
 If, then, the world is round, and if on that account all 
 its parts, being of equal dimensions and relative propor- 
 tions, mutually support and are supported by one another, 
 it must follow that as all the parts incline to the centre 
 (for that is the lowest place of a globe) there is nothing 
 whatever whicli can put a stop to that propensity in the 
 case of such great weights. For the same reason, though 
 the sea is higher than the earth, yet because it has the like 
 tendency, it is collected everywhere, equally concentres, and 
 never overflows, and is never wasted. 
 
 The air, which is contiguous, ascends by its lightness, 
 but diffuses itself through the whole; therefore it is by 
 nature joined and united to the sea, and at the same time 
 borne by the same power towards the heaven, by the thin- 
 nqes and heat of which it is so tempered as to be made 
 proper to supply life and wholesome air for tlie support 
 of animated beings. This is encompassed by the highest 
 region of the heavens, w^hich is called the sky, which is 
 joined to the extremity of the air, but retains its own heat 
 pure and unmixed. 
 
 XL VI. The stars have their revolutions in the sky, and 
 are continued by the tendency of all parts towards the cen- 
 tre. Their duration is perpetuated by their form and fig- 
 ure, for they are round ; which form, as I think has been 
 before observed, is the least liable to injury; and as they 
 are composed of fire, they are fed by the vapors which are 
 exhaled by the sun from the earth, the sea, and other wa- 
 ters ; but when these vapors have nourished and refreshed 
 the stars, and the whole sk}', they are sent back to be ex- 
 haled again ; so that very little is lost or consumed by the 
 fire of the stars and the flame of the sky. Hence we Sto- 
 ics conclude which Panaitius^ is said to have doubted of 
 that the whole world at last would be consumed by a 
 general conflagration, when, all moisture being exhausted, 
 neither the earth could have any nourishment, nor the air 
 return again, since water, of which it is formed, would then 
 be all consumed; so that only fire would subsist; and 
 ^ Pnnoetius, a Stoic philosopher. 
 
THE NATUBE OF THE GODS. 301 
 
 from this fire, Avhicli is an animating power and a Deity, a 
 new world would arise and be re-established in the same 
 beauty. 
 
 I should be sorry to apjDear to you to dwell too long 
 upon this subject of the stars, and more especially upon 
 that of the planets, whose motions, though different, make 
 a very just agreement. Saturn, the highest, chills ; Mars, 
 placed in the middle, burns ; while Jupiter, interposing, 
 moderates their excess, both of light and heat. The two 
 planets beneath Mars^ obey the sun. The sun himself fills 
 the whole universe with his own genial light; and the 
 moon, illuminated by him, influences conception, birth, and 
 maturity. And who is there Avho is not moved by this 
 union of things, and by this concurrence of nature agree- 
 ing together, as it were, for the safety of the world ? And 
 yet I feel sure that none of these reflections have ever been 
 made by these men. 
 
 XLVII. Let us proceed from celestial to terrestrial 
 things. What is there in them which does not prove the 
 principle of an intelligent nature ? First, as to vegetables ; 
 they have roots to sustain their stems, and to draw from 
 the earth a nourishing moisture to support the vital prin- 
 ciple which those roots contain. They are clothed with a 
 rind or bark, to secure them more thoroughly from heat 
 and cold. Tlie vines we see take hold on props with their 
 tendrils, as if with hands, and raise themselves as if they 
 Avere animated ; it is even said that they shun cabbages 
 and coleworts, as noxious and pestilential to them, and, if 
 planted by them, Avill not touch any part. 
 
 But what a vast variety is there of animals ! and how 
 wonderfully is every kind adapted to preserve itself ! Some 
 are covered with hides, some clothed with fleeces, and 
 some guarded with bristles ; some are sheltered with feath- 
 ers, some with scales ; some are armed with horns, and 
 some are furnished with wings to escape from danger. 
 Nature hath also liberally and plentifully provided for all 
 animals their proper food. I could expatiate on the ju- 
 dicious and curious formation and disposition of their 
 bodies for the reception and digestion of it, for all their 
 interior parts are so framed and disposed that there is 
 ^ Meiciiry and Venus. 
 
302 THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 
 
 nothing superfluous, nothing that is not necessary for the 
 preservation of life. Besides, nature has also given these 
 beasts appetite and sense; in order that by the one they 
 may be excited to procure sufficient sustenance, and by tlie 
 other they may distinguish what is noxious from what is 
 salutary. Some animals seek their food walking, some 
 creeping, some flying, and some swimming; some take it 
 with their mouth and teeth ; some seize it with their claws, 
 and some with their beaks; some suck, some graze, some 
 bolt it whole, and some chew it. Some are so low that 
 they can with ease take such food as is to be found on the 
 ground ; but the taller, as geese, swans, cranes, and camels, 
 are assisted by a length of neck. To the elephant is given 
 a hand,^ without which, from his unwieldiness of body, he 
 would scarce have any means of attaining food. 
 
 XL VIII. But to those beasts which live by preying on 
 otliers, nature has given either strength or swiftness. On 
 some animals she has even bestowed artifice and cunning; 
 as on spiders, some of which weave a sort of net to entrap 
 and destroy whatever falls into it, others sit on the watch 
 unobserved to fall on their prey and devour it. The naker 
 by the Greeks called Pinna has a kind of confedera- 
 cy with the prawn for procuring food. It has two large 
 shells open, into which Avhen the little fishes swim, the 
 naker, having notice given by the bite of the prawn, closes 
 them immediately. Thus, these little animals, though of 
 different kinds, seek their food in common ; in which it 
 is matter of wonder whether they associate by any agree- 
 ment, or are naturally joined together from their begin- 
 ning. 
 
 There is some cause to admire also the provision of nat- 
 ure in the case of those aquatic animals which are gener- 
 ated on land, such as crocodiles, river-tortoises, and a cer- 
 tain kind of serpents, which seek the water as soon as they 
 are able to drag themselves along. We frequently put 
 duck-eggs under hens, by which, as by their true mothers, 
 the ducklings are at first hatched and nourished ; but when 
 they see the water, they forsake them and run to it, as to 
 
 ' The proboscis of the elephant is frequently called a hand, because it 
 is as useful to him as one. "Tliey breathe, drink, and smell, with what 
 may not be improperly called a hand," says Tliny, bk. viii. c. 10. Davis. 
 
THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 303 
 
 their natural abode: so strong is the impression of nature 
 in animals for their own preservation. 
 
 XLIX. I have read that there is a bird called Platalea 
 (the shoveller), that lives by watching those fowls which 
 dive into the sea for their prey, and when they return with 
 it, he squeezes their heads with his beak till they drop it, 
 and then seizes on it himself. It is said likewise that he is 
 in the habit of filling his stomach with shell-fish, and when 
 they are digested by the heat which exists in the stomach, 
 they cast them up, and then pick out what is proper nour- 
 ishment. The sea-frogs, they say, are wont to cover them- 
 selves with sand, and moving near the water, the fishes 
 strike at them, as at a bait, and are themselves taken and 
 devoured by the frogs. Between the kite and the crow 
 there is a kind of natural war, and wherever the one finds 
 the eggs of the other, he breaks them. 
 
 But who is there who can avoid being struck with won- 
 der at that which has been noticed by Aristotle, who has 
 enriched us with so many valuable remarks? When the 
 cranes^ pass the sea in search of warmer climes, they fly 
 in the form of a triangle. By the first angle they repel 
 the resisting air ; on each side, their wings serve as oars 
 to facilitate their flight; and the basis of their triangle is 
 assisted by the wind in their stern. Those which are be- 
 hind rest their necks and heads on those which precede; 
 and as the leader has not the same relief, because he has 
 none to lean upon, he at length flies behind that he may 
 also rest, while one of those which have been eased suc- 
 ceeds him, and through the whole flight each regularly 
 takes his turn. 
 
 I could produce many instances of this kind; but these 
 may sufiice. Let us now proceed to things more famil- 
 iar to us. The care of beasts for their own preservation, 
 their circumspection while feeding, and their manner of 
 taking rest in their lairs, are generally known, but still 
 they are greatly to be admired. 
 
 L. Dogs cure tliemselves by a vomit, the Egyptian ibis 
 by a purge; from whence physicians have lately I mean 
 but few ages since greatly improved their art. It is re- 
 
 ^ The passage of Aristotle's works to wliich Cicero here alludes is 
 entirely lost ; but Plutarch gives a similar account. 
 
304 THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 
 
 ported that pantliers, which in barbarous countries are 
 taken with poisoned flesh, have a certain remedy^ that 
 preserves them from dying ; and that in Crete, the wild 
 goats, wlien they are wounded with poisoned arrows, seek 
 for an herb called dittany, which, when they have tasted, 
 the arrows (they say) drop from their bodies. It is said 
 also that deer, before they fawn, purge themselves with a 
 little herb called harts wort.'^ Beasts, when they receive 
 any hurt, or fear it, have recourse to their natural arms : 
 the bull to his horns, the boar to his tusks, and the lion to 
 his teeth. Some take to flight, others hide themselves; 
 the cuttle-fish vomits^ blood; the cramp-fish benmnbs; 
 and there are many animals that, by their intolerable 
 stink, oblige their pursuers to retire. 
 
 LI. But that the beauty of the world might be eternal, 
 great care has been taken by the providence of the Gods 
 to perpetuate the different kinds of animals, and vegeta- 
 bles, and trees, and all those things which sink deep into 
 the earth, and are contained in it by their roots and 
 trunks; in order to which every individual has within it- 
 self such fertile seed that many are generated from one ; 
 and in vegetables this seed is enclosed in the heart of their 
 fruit, but in such abundance that men may plentifully feed 
 on it, and the earth be always replanted. 
 
 With regard to animals, do we not see how aptly they 
 are formed for the propagation of their species ? Nature 
 for this end created some males and some females. Their 
 parts are perfectly framed for generation, and they have 
 a wonderful propensity to copulation. When the seed 
 has fallen on the matrix, it draws almost all the nour- 
 ishment to itself, by which the foetus is formed ; but as 
 soon as it is discharged from thence, if it is an animal that 
 is nourished by milk, almost all the food of the mother 
 turns into milk, and the animal, without any direction but 
 by the pure instinct of nature, immediately hunts for the 
 
 ' Balbus does not tell us the remedy which the panther makes use 
 of; but Pliny is not quite so delicate : he says, excrernentis hominis sibi 
 medetur. 
 
 ^ Aristotle says they purge themselves with this herb after they fawn. 
 Pliny says both before and after. 
 
 ^ The cuttle-fish has a bag at its neck, the black blood of which the 
 llomans used for ink. It was called atramentuni. 
 
THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 305 
 
 teat, and is there, fed with plenty. What makes it evi- 
 dently appear that there is nothing in tliis fortuitous, but 
 tlie work of a wise and foreseeing nature, is, that those 
 females which bring forth many young, as sows and 
 bitches, have many teats, and those which bear a small 
 number have but few. What tenderness do beasts show 
 in preserving and raising up their young till they are 
 able to defend themselves ! They say, indeed, that fish, 
 when they have spawned, leave their eggs; but the wa- 
 ter easily supports them, and produces the young fry in 
 abundance. 
 
 LIT. It is said, likewise, that tortoises and crocodiles, 
 Avhen they have laid their eggs on the land, only cover 
 them with earth, and then leave them, so that their young 
 are hatched and brought up without assistance ; but fowls 
 and other birds seek for quiet places to lay in, where they 
 build their nests in the softest manner, for the surest pres- 
 ervation of their eggs; which, when they have hatched, 
 they defend from the cold by the warmth of their wings, 
 or screen them from the sultry heat of the sun. When 
 their young begin to be able to use their wings, they at- 
 tend and instruct them ; and then their cares are at an 
 end. 
 
 Human art and industry are indeed necessary towards 
 the preservation and improvement of certain animals and 
 vegetables ; for there are several of both kinds which 
 would perish witliout that assistance. There are likewise 
 innumerable facilities (being different in different places) 
 supplied to man to aid him in his civilization, and in pro- 
 curing abundantly what he requires. The Nile waters 
 Egypt, and after having overflowed and covered it the 
 whole summer, it retires, and leaves the fields softened 
 and manured for the reception of seed. The Euphrates 
 fertilizes Mesopotamia, into which, as we may say, it car- 
 ries yearly new fields.^ The Indus, which is the largest of 
 all rivers,"'' not only improves and cultivates the ground, 
 
 * The Euphrates is said to carry into Mesopotamia a large quantity 
 of citrons, with which it corers the fields. 
 
 " Q. Curtius, and some other authors, say the Ganges is the largest 
 river in India ; but Amniianus Marcellinus concurs with Cicero in call' 
 ing the river Indus the largest of all rivers. 
 
306 THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 
 
 but sows it also; for it is said to cany with it a great 
 quantity of grain. I could mention many other countries 
 remarkable for something singular, and many fields, which 
 are, in their own natures, exceedingly fertile. 
 
 LIII. But how bountiful is nature that has provided for 
 us such an abundance of various and delicious food ; and 
 this varying with the different seasons, so that we may be 
 constantly pleased with change, and satisfied with abun- 
 dance ! How seasonable and useful to man, to beasts, and 
 even to vegetables, are the Etesian winds^ she has bestow- 
 ed, which moderate intemperate heat, and render naviga- 
 tion more sure and speedy ! Many things must be omitted 
 on a subject so copious and still a great deal must be 
 said for it is impossible to relate the great utility of riv- 
 ers, the flux and reflux of the sea, the mountains clothed 
 with grass and trees, the salt-pits remote from the sea- 
 coasts, the earth replete with salutary medicines, or, in 
 short, the innumerable designs of nature necessary for 
 sustenance and the enjoyment of life. We must not for- 
 get the vicissitudes of day and night, ordained for the 
 health of animated beings, giving them a time to labor 
 and a time to rest. Thus, if we every way examine the 
 universe, it is apparent, from the greatest reason, that the 
 whole is admirably governed by a divine providence for 
 the safety and preservation of all beings. 
 
 If it should be asked for whose sake this mighty fabric 
 was raised, shall we say for trees and other vegetables, 
 which, though destitute of sense, are supported by nature? 
 That would be absurd. Is it for beasts? Nothing can 
 be less probable than that the Gods should have taken 
 such pains for beings void of speech and understanding. 
 For whom, then, will any one presume to say that the 
 world was made? Undoubtedly for reasonable beings; 
 these are the Gods and men, who are certainly the most 
 perfect of all beings, as nothing is equal to reason. It is 
 therefore credible that the universe, and all things in it, 
 were made for the Gods and for men. 
 
 But we may yet more easily comprehend that the Gods 
 have taken great care of the interests and welfare of men, 
 
 * These Etesian winds return periodically once a year, and blow at 
 certain seasons, and for a certain time. 
 
THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 307 
 
 it we examine thoroughly into the structure of the body, 
 and the form and perfection of human nature. There are 
 three things absohitely necessary for the support of life 
 to eat, to drink, and to breathe. For these operations the 
 mouth is most aptly framed, which, by tlie assistance of 
 the nostrils, draws in the more air. 
 
 LIV. The teeth are tliere placed to divide and grind the 
 food.* The fore -teeth, being sharp and opposite to each 
 other, cut it asunder, and the hind-teeth (called the grind- 
 ers) chew it, in which office the tongue seems to assist. 
 At the root of the tongue is the gullet, which receives 
 whatever is swallowed : it touches the tonsils on each 
 side, and terminates at the interior extremity of the palate. 
 When, by the motions of the tongue, the food is forced 
 into this passage, it descends, and those parts of the gullet 
 which are below it are dilated, and those above are con- 
 tracted. There is another passage, called by physicians 
 the rough artery,'^ which reaches to the lungs, for the en- 
 trance and return of the air we breathe ; and as its orifice 
 is joined to the roots of the tongue a little above the part 
 to which the gullet is annexed, it is furnished with a sort 
 of coverlid,^ lest, by the accidental falling of any food into 
 it, the respiration should be stopj^ed. 
 
 As the stomach, which is beneath the gullet, receives the 
 meat and drink, so the lungs and the heart draw in the 
 air from without. The stomach is wonderfully composed, 
 consisting almost wholly of nerves ; it abounds with mem- 
 branes and fibres, and detains what it receives, whether 
 solid or liquid, till it is altered and digested. It some- 
 times contracts, sometimes dilates. It blends and mixes 
 the food together, so that it is easily concocted and di- 
 gested by its force of heat, and by the animal spirits is 
 distributed into the other parts of the body. 
 
 LV. As to the lungs, they are of a soft and spongy sub- 
 stance, which renders them the most commodious for res- 
 
 * Some rend moUitur, and some molitur; the latter of which P. Ma- 
 nucius justly prefers, from the verb vwlo, molis; from whence, sajs he, 
 molares denies, the grinders. 
 
 ^ The weasand, or windpipe. 
 
 ^ The epiglottis, which is a cartilaginous flap in the shape of a tongue, 
 and therefore called so. 
 
308 THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 
 
 piration ; they alternately dilate and contract to receive 
 and return the air, that what is the chief animal suste- 
 nance may be always fresh. The juice/ by which we are 
 nourished, being separated from the rest of the food, passes 
 the stomach and intestines to the liver, through open and 
 direct passages, which lead from the mesentery to the 
 gates of the liver (for so they call those vessels at the en- 
 trance of it). There are other passages from thence, 
 through which the food has its course when it has passed 
 the liver. When the bile, and those humors which pro- 
 ceed from the kidneys, are separated from the food, the re- 
 maining part turns to blood, and flows to those vessels at 
 the entrance of the liver to which all the passages adjoin. 
 The chyle, being conveyed from this place through them 
 into the vessel called the hollow vein, is mixed together, 
 and, being already digested and distilled, passes into the 
 heart; and from the he:irt it is communicated through a 
 great number of veins to every part of the body. 
 
 It is not difficult to describe how the gross remains are 
 detruded by the motion of the intestines, which contract 
 and dilate; but that must be declined, as too indelicate 
 for discourse. Let us rather explain that other wonder of 
 nature, the air, which is drawn into the lungs, receives 
 heat both by that already in and by the coagitation of the 
 lungs ; one part is turned back by respiration, and the oth- 
 er is received into a place called the ventricle of the heart.'' 
 There is another ventricle like it annexed to the heart, into 
 which the blood flows from the liver through the hollow 
 vein. Thus by one ventricle the blood is diffused to the 
 extremities through the veins, and by the other the breath 
 is communicated through the arteries ; and there are such 
 numbers of both dispersed through the whole body that 
 they manifest a divine art. 
 
 Why need I speak of the bones, those supports of the 
 body, whose joints are so wonderfully contrived for sta- 
 bility, and to render the limbs complete with regard to mo- 
 tion and to every action of the body? Or need I mention 
 
 ^ Cicero is here giving the opinion of tlie ancients concerning the pas- 
 sage of tlie chyle till it is converted to blood. 
 
 ' What Cicero here calls the ventricles ofihe heart are likewise called 
 auricles, of whicli there is t'le right and left. 
 
THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 309 
 
 the nerves, by wliicli the limbs are governed their many 
 interweaviiigs, and their proceeding from the heart/ from 
 whence, like the veins and arteries, they have their origin, 
 and are distributed tlirough the whole corporeal frame? 
 
 LVI. To this skill of nature, and this care of providence, 
 so diligent and so ingenious, many reflections may be add- 
 ed, which show what valuable things the Deity has be- 
 stowed on man. He has made us of a stature tall and up- 
 right, in order that we miglit behold the heavens, and so 
 arrive at the knowledge of the Gods ; for men are not 
 simply to dwell here as inhabitants of the earth, but to be, 
 as it were, spectators of the heavens and tlie stars, which 
 is a privilege not granted to any other kind of animated 
 beings. The senses, which are the interpreters and mes- 
 sengers of things, are placed in the head, as in a tower, 
 and wonderfully situated for their proper uses ; for the 
 eyes, being in the highest part, have the office of sentinels, 
 in discovering to us objects; and the ears are convenient- 
 ly placed in a high part of tlie person, being appointed to 
 receive sound, which naturally ascends. The nostrils have 
 the like situation, because all scent likewise ascends ; and 
 they have, with great reason, a near vicinity to the mouth, 
 because they assist us in judging of meat and drink. The 
 taste, which is to distinguish the quality of what we take, 
 is in that part of the mouth where nature has laid open 
 a passage for what we eat and drink. But the touch is 
 equally diffused through the whole body, that we may not 
 receive any blows, or the too rigid attacks of cold and 
 heat, without feeling them. And as in building the archi- 
 tect averts from the eyes and nose of the master those 
 things which must necessarily be offensive, so has nature 
 removed far from our senses what is of the same kind in 
 the human body. 
 
 LVII. What artificer but nature, whose direction is in- 
 comparable, could have exhibited so much ingenuity in the 
 formation of the senses? In the first place, she has cov- 
 ered and invested the eyes with the ,^nest membranes, 
 which she Iiath made transparent, that we may see througli 
 
 * The Stoics and Peripatetics said that the nerves, veins, and arteries 
 come directly from the heart. According to the anatomy of the mod- 
 erns, they come from the brain. 
 
310 THE NATUKE OF THE GODS. 
 
 thein,and firm in their texture, to preserve the eyes. She 
 has made tliem slippery and movable, that they might 
 avoid what would offend them, and easily direct the sight 
 wherever they will. The actual organ of sight, wdiich is 
 called the pupil, is so small that it can easily shun what- 
 ever might be hurtful to it. The eyelids, which are their 
 coverings, are soft and smooth, that they may not injure 
 the eyes; and are made to shut at the apprehension of any 
 accident, or to open at pleasure ; and these movements 
 nature has ordained to be made in an instant: they are 
 fortified with a sort of palisade of hairs, to keep off what 
 may be noxious to them when open, and to be a fence to 
 their repose when sleep closes them, and allows them to 
 rest as if they were wrapped up in a case. Besides, they 
 are commodiously hidden and defended by eminences on 
 every side ; for on the upper part the eyebrows turn aside 
 the perspiration w^hich falls from the head and forehead ; 
 the cheeks beneath rise a little, so as to protect them on 
 the lower side ; and the nose is placed between them as a 
 wall of separation. 
 
 The hearing is always open, for that is a sense of which 
 we are in need even while we are sleeping; and the mo- 
 ment that any sound is admitted by it we are awakened 
 even from sleep. It has a winding jDassage, lest anything 
 should slip into it, as it might if it were straight and sim- 
 ple. Nature also hath taken the same precaution in mak- 
 ing there a viscous humor, that if any little creatures should 
 endeavor to creep in, they might stick in it as in bird- 
 lime. The ears (by which w^e mean the outward part) 
 are made prominent, to cover and preserve the hearing, 
 lest the sound should be dissipated and escape before the 
 sense is affected. Their entrances are -hard and horny, 
 and their form winding, because bodies of this kind better 
 return and increase the sound. This appears in the harp, 
 lute, or horn ;^ and from all tortuous and enclosed places 
 sounds are returned stronger. 
 
 The nostrils, in dike manner, are ever open, because we 
 have a continual use for them ; and their entrances also 
 are rather narrow, lest anything noxious should enter 
 
 * Tlic antlior means all musical instruments, ^Yhethel' string or wind 
 instruments, which are hollow and tortuous. 
 
THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 311 
 
 them; and they have always a humidity necessary for 
 the repelling dust and many other extraneous bodies. 
 Tlie taste, having the mouth for an enclosure, is admira- 
 bly situated, both in regard to the use we make of it and 
 to its security. 
 
 LVIII. Besides, every human sense is much more ex- 
 quisite than those of brutes; for our eyes, in those arts 
 which come under their judgment, distinguish with great 
 nicety; as in painting, sculpture, engraving, and in the 
 gesture and motion of bodies. They understand the beau- 
 ty, proportion, and, as I may so term it, the becomingness 
 of colors and figures; they distinguish things of greater 
 importance, even virtues and vices ; they know wdiether a 
 man is angry or calm, cheerful or sad, courageous or cow- 
 ardly, bold or timorous. 
 
 The judgment of the ears is not less admirably and 
 scientifically contrived with regard to vocal and instru- 
 mental music. They distinguish the variety of sounds, 
 the measure, the stops, the different sorts of voices, the 
 treble and tlie base, the soft and the harsh, the sharp and 
 the flat, of which human ears only are capable to judge. 
 There is likewise great judgment in the smell, the taste, 
 and the touch ; to indulge and gratify which senses more 
 arts have been invented than I could wish: it is apparent 
 to what excess we have arrived in the composition of our 
 perfumes, the preparation of our food, and the enjoyment 
 of corporeal pleasures. 
 
 LIX. Again, he who does not perceive the soul and 
 mind of man, his reason, prudence, and discernment, to 
 be the work of a divine providence, seems himself to be 
 destitute of those faculties. While I am on this subject, 
 Cotta, I wish I had your eloquence : how would you illus- 
 trate so fine a subject ! You would show the great ex- 
 tent of the understanding ; how we collect our ideas, and 
 join those which follow to those which precede ; establish 
 principles, draw consequences, define things separately, 
 and comprehend them with accuracy; from whence you 
 demonstrate how great is the power of intelligence and 
 knowledge, which is such that even God himself has no 
 qualities more admirnjble. How valuable (though you 
 Academics despise and even deny that we have it) is our 
 
312 THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 
 
 knowleclge of exterior objects, from the perception of the 
 senses joined to the application of the mind; by which 
 we see in what relation one thing stands to another, and 
 by the aid of which we have invented those arts which 
 are necessary for the snpport and pleasure of life. How 
 charming is eloquence ! How divine that mistress of the 
 universe, as you call it ! It teaches us what we were ig- 
 norant of, and makes us capable of teaching what we have 
 learned. By this we exhort others ; by this we persuade 
 them ; by this we comfort the afflicted ; by this we de- 
 liver the affrighted from their fear; by this we moderate 
 excessive joy; by this we assuage the passions of lust and 
 anger. This it is which bound men by the chains of 
 right and law, formed the bonds of civil society, and made 
 us quit a wild and savage life. 
 
 And it will appear incredible, unless you carefully ob- 
 serve the facts, how complete the work of nature is in 
 giving us the use of speech ; for, first of all, there is an 
 artery from the lungs to the bottom of the mouth, through 
 which the voice, having its original principle in the mind, 
 is transmitted. Then the tongue is placed in the mouth, 
 bounded by the teeth. It softens and modulates the voice, 
 which would otherwise be confusedly uttered ; and, by 
 pushing it to the teeth and other parts of the mouth, 
 makes the sound distinct and articulate. We Stoics, there- 
 fore, compare the tongue to the bow of an instrument, the 
 teeth to the strings, and the nostrils to the sounding-board. 
 
 LX. But how commodious are the hands which nature 
 has given to man, and how beautifully do they minister to 
 many arts ! For, such is the flexibility of the joints, that 
 our fingers are closed and opened without any difficulty. 
 With their help, the hand is formed for painting, carving, 
 and engraving ; for playing on stringed instruments, and 
 on the pipe. These are matters of pleasure. There are 
 also works of necessity, such as tilling the ground, build- 
 ing houses, making cloth and habits, and working in brass 
 and iron. It is the business of the mind to invent, the 
 senses to perceive, and the hands to execute; so that if we 
 have buildings, if we are clothed, if we live in safety, if 
 we have cities, walls, habitations, and temples, it is to the 
 hands we owe them. 
 
THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 313 
 
 By our labor, that is, by our liancls, variety and plenty 
 of food are provided ; for, without culture, many fruits, 
 wiiicli serve either for present or future consumption, 
 would not be produced; besides, we feed on flesh, fish, 
 and fowl, catching some, and bringing up others. We 
 subdue four-footed beasts for our carriage, whose speed 
 and strength supply our slowness and inability. On some 
 we put burdens, on others yokes. We convert the sagac- 
 ity of the elephant and the quick scent of the dog to our 
 own advantage. Out of the caverns of the earth we dig 
 iron, a thing entirely necessary for the cultivation of the 
 ground. We discover the hidden veins of copper, silver, 
 and gold, advantageous for our use and beautiful as orna- 
 ments. We cut down trees, and use every kind of wild 
 and cultivated timber, not only to make fire to warm ns 
 and dress our meat, but also for building, that we may 
 have houses to defend us from the heat and cold. With 
 timber likewise we build ships, which bring us from all 
 parts every commodity of life. We are the only animals 
 who, from our knowledge of navigation, can manage what 
 nature has made the most violent the sea and the winds. 
 Thus we obtain from the ocean great numbers of prof- 
 itable things. We are the absolute masters of what the 
 earth produces. We enjoy the mountains and the plains. 
 The rivers and the lakes are ours. We sow the seed, 
 and plant the trees. We fertilize the earth by overflow- 
 ing it. We stop, direct, and turn the rivers : in short, by 
 our hands we endeavor, by our various operations in this 
 world, to make, as it were, another nature. 
 
 LXI. But what shall I say of human reason ? Has it 
 not even entered the heavens? Man alone of all animals 
 has observed the courses of the stars, their risings and 
 settings. By man the day, the month, the year, is detei'- 
 mined. He foresees the eclipses of the sun and moon, and 
 foretells them to futurity, marking their greatness, dura- 
 tion, and precise time. From the contemplation of these 
 thinojs the mind extracts the knowledcje of the Gods a 
 knowledge which produces piety, with which is connected 
 justice, and all the other virtues; from which arises a life 
 of felicity, inferior to that of the Gods in no single partic- 
 ular, except in immortalitv, which is not absolutely neces- 
 
 14 
 
314 THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 
 
 sary to happy living. In explaining these things, I think 
 that I have sufficiently demonstrated the superiority of 
 man to other animated beings; from whence we should 
 infer that neither the form and position of his limbs nor 
 that strength of mind and understanding could possibly 
 be the effect of chance. 
 
 LXII. I am now to prove, by way of conclusion, that 
 every thing in this world of use to us was made designed- 
 ly for us. 
 
 First of all, the universe was made for the Gods and 
 men, and all things therein were prepai-ed and provided 
 for our service. For the world is the common habitation 
 or city of the Gods and men ; for they are the only rea- 
 sonable beings: they alone live by justice and law. As, 
 therefore, it must be presumed the cities of Athens and 
 Lnceda3mon w^ere built for the Athenians and Lacedaemo- 
 nians, and as everything there is said to belong to those 
 people, so everything in the imiverse may with propriety 
 be said to belong to the Gods and men, and to them alone. 
 
 In the next place, though the revolutions of the sun, 
 moon, and all the stars are necessary for the cohesion of 
 the universe, yet may they be considered also as objects 
 designed for the view and contemplation of man. There 
 is no sight less apt to satiate the eye, none more beautiful, 
 or more worthy to employ our reason and penetration. 
 By measuring their courses we find the different seasons, 
 their durations and vicissitudes, which, if they are known 
 to men alone, we must believe were made only for their 
 sake. 
 
 Does the earth bring forth fruit and grain in such 
 excessive abundance and variety for men or for brutes ? 
 The plentiful and exhilarating fruit of the vine and the 
 olive-tree are entirely useless to beasts. They know not 
 tlie time for sowing, tilling, or for reaping in season and 
 gathering in the fruits of the earth, or for laying up nnd 
 preserving their stores. Man alone has the care and ad- 
 vantage of these things. 
 
 LXIII. Thus, as the lute and the pipe were made for 
 those, and those only, who are capable of playing on them, 
 so it must be allowed that the i)roduce of the earth was 
 designed for those only who make use of them; and 
 
THE NATUKE OF THE GODS. 315 
 
 though some beasts may rob us of a small part, it does 
 not follow that the earth produced it also for them. Men 
 do not store up corn for mice and ants, but for their 
 wives, their children, and their families. Beasts, there- 
 fore, as I said before, possess it by stealth, but their mas- 
 ters openly and freely. It is for us, therefore, that nature 
 hath provided this abundance. Can there be any doubt 
 that this plenty and variety of fruit, which delight not 
 only the taste, but the smell and sight, was by nature in- 
 tended for men only? Beasts are 'so far from being par- 
 takers of this design, that we see that even they them- 
 selves were made for man; for of what utility would 
 sheep be, unless for tlieir wool, which, when dressed and 
 woven, serves us for clotliing? For they are not capa- 
 ble of anything, not even of procuring their own food, 
 without the care and assistance of man. The fidelity of 
 the dog, his affectionate fawning on his master, his aver- 
 sion to strangers, his sagacity in finding game, and his 
 vivacity in pursuit of it, what do these qualities denote 
 but that he was created for our use? Why need I men- 
 tion oxen ? We perceive that their backs Avere not form- 
 ed for carrying burdens, but their necks were naturally 
 made for the yoke, and their strong broad shoulders to 
 draw the plough. In the Golden Age, which poets speak 
 of, they were so greatly beneficial to the husbandman in 
 tilling the fallow ground that no violence was ever offered 
 them, and it was even thought a crime to eat them : 
 
 The Iron Age began the fatal trade 
 Of blood, and haminer'd the destructive blade ; 
 Then men began to make the ox to bleed, 
 And on the tamed and docile beast to feed.' 
 
 LXIV. It would take a long time to relate the advan- 
 tages which we receive from mules and asses, which un- 
 doubtedly were designed for our use. What is the swine 
 good for but to eat? whose life, Chrysippus says, was 
 given it but as salt^ to keep it from putrefying ; and as it 
 
 ' The Latin version of Cicero is a translation from the Greek of 
 Aratus. 
 
 " Chrysippus's meaning is, that the swine is so inactive and slothful a 
 beast that life seems to be of no use to it but to keep it from putrefac- 
 tion, as salt keeps dead flesh. 
 
316 THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 
 
 is proper food for man, nature hath made no animal more 
 fruitful. What a multitude of birds and lishes are taken 
 by the art and contrivance of man only, and which are sc 
 delicious to our taste that one would be tempted some- 
 times to believe that this Providence which watches ovti- 
 lis was an Epicurean ! Though we think there are some 
 birds the alites and oscines,^ as our augurs call them 
 which were made merely to foretell events. 
 
 The large savage beasts we take by hunting, partly for 
 food, partly to exercise* ourselves in imitation of martial 
 discipline, and to use those we can tame and instruct, as 
 elepliants, or to extract remedies for our diseases and 
 wounds, as we do from certain roots and liei'bs, the virtues 
 of which are known by long use and experience. Repre- 
 sent to yourself the whole earth and seas as if before your 
 eyes. You will see the vast and fertile plains, the thick, 
 sliady mountains, the immense pasturage for cattle, and 
 ships sailing over the deep with incredible celerity; nor 
 are our discoveries only on the face of tlie earth, but in 
 its secret recesses there are many useful things, which be- 
 ing made for man, by man alone are discovered. 
 
 LXV. Another, and in my opinion the strongest, proof 
 that the providence of the Gods takes care of us is divina- 
 tion, which both of you, perhaps, will attack; you, Cotta, 
 because Carneades took pleasure in inveighing against tlie 
 Stoics ; and you, Velleius, because there is nothing Epi- 
 curus ridicules so much as the prediction of events. Yet 
 the truth of divination appears in many places, on many 
 occasions, often in private, but particularly in public con- 
 cerns. We receive many intimations from the foresight 
 and presages of augurs and auspices; from oracles, proph- 
 ecies, dreams, and prodigies; and it often happens that 
 by these means events liave proved happy to men, and 
 imminent dangers have been avoided. This knowledge, 
 therefore call it either a kind of transport, or an art, or 
 a natural faculty is certainly found only in men, and is a 
 gift from the immortal Gods. If tliese proofs, when taken 
 
 ' Ales, in tlie general signification, is any large bird ; and oscinis is 
 any singing bird. But they here mean those birds which are nsed in 
 niigury : alites are the birds whose flight was observed by the augurs, 
 and oscines the birds from whose voices they augured. 
 
.THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 317 
 
 separately, should make no impression upon your mind, 
 yet, when collected together, they must certainly affect 
 you. 
 
 Besides, the Gods not only provide for mankind univer- 
 sally, but for particular men. You may bring this univer- 
 sality to gradually a smaller number, and again you may 
 reduce that smaller number to individuals. 
 
 LXVI. For if the reasons which I have given prove to 
 all of us that the Gods take care of all men, in every coun- 
 try, in every part of the world separate from our conti- 
 nent, they take care of those who dwell on the same land 
 with us, from east to west; and if they regard those who 
 inhabit this kind of great island, which we call the globe 
 of the earth, they have the like regard for those who pos- 
 sess the parts of this island Europe, Asia, and Africa; 
 and therefore they favor the parts of these parts, as Rome, 
 Athens, Sparta, and Rhodes ; and particular men of these 
 cities, separate from the whole ; as Curius, Fabricius, Cor- 
 uncanius, in the war with Pyrrhus; in the first Punic war, 
 Calatinus, Duillius, Metellus, Lutatius; in the second, 
 Maximus, Marcellus, Africanus ; after these, PauUus, Grac- 
 chus, Cato; and in our fathers' times, Scipio, La^lius. 
 Rome also and Greece have produced many illustrious 
 men, who we cannot believe were so without the assistance 
 of the Deity ; which is the reason that the poets, Homer 
 in particular, joined their chief heroes Ulysses, Agamem- 
 non, Diomedes, Achilles to certain Deities, as companions 
 in their adventures and dangers. Besides, the frequent 
 appearances of the Gods, as I have before mentioned, de- 
 monstrate their regard for cities and particular men. This 
 is also apparent indeed from the foreknowledge of events, 
 which we receive either sleeping or waking. We are like- 
 wise forewarned of many things by the entrails of victims, 
 by presages, and many other means, which have been long 
 observed with such exactness as to produce an art of divi- 
 nation. 
 
 There never, therefore, was a great man without divine 
 inspiration. If a storm should damage the corn or vino- 
 yard of a person, or any accident should deprive him of 
 some conveniences of life, we should not judge from thence 
 that the Deity hates or neglects him. The Gods take care 
 
318 THE NATURE OF THE GODS.. 
 
 of great things, and disregard the small. But to truly 
 great men all things ever happen prosperously; as has 
 been sufficiently asserted and proved by us Stoics, as well 
 as by Socrates, the prince of philosophers, in his discourses 
 on the infinite advantages arising from virtue. 
 
 LXVII. This is almost the whole that hath occurred to 
 my mind on the nature of the Gods, and what I thought 
 proper to advance. Do you, Cotta, if I may advise, defend 
 the same cause. Remember that in Rome you keep the 
 first rank ; remember that you are Pontifex ; and as your 
 school is at liberty to argue on which side you please,^ do 
 you rather take mine, and reason on it with that eloquence 
 which you acquired by your rhetorical exercises, and which 
 the Academy improved ; for it is a pernicious and impi- 
 ous custom to argue against the Gods, whether it be done 
 seriously, or only in pretence and out of sport. 
 
 BOOK III. 
 
 I. When Balbus had ended this discourse, then Cotta, 
 with a smile, rejoined, You dii-ect me too late which side 
 to defend; for during the course of your argument I was 
 revolving in my mind what objections to make to MJiat 
 you were saying, not so much for the sake of opposition, 
 as of obliging you to explain what I did not perfectly com- 
 prehend ; and as every one may use his own judgment, it 
 is scarcely possible for me to think in every instance ex- 
 actly what you wish. 
 
 You have no idea, O Cotta, said Yelleius, how impatient 
 I am to hear what you have to say. For since our friend 
 Balbus was highly delighted with your discourse against 
 Epicurus, I ought in my turn to be solicitous to hear what 
 you can say against the Stoics ; and I therefore Avill give 
 you my best attention, for I believe you are, as usual, well 
 prepared for the engagement. 
 
 I wish, by Hercules ! I were, replies Cotta ; for it is more 
 difficult to dispute witli Lucilius than it was with you. 
 
 ' As the Academics doubted everything, it was indifferent to them 
 which side of a question they took. 
 
THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 319 
 
 Why so ? says Velleius. Because, replies Cotta, your Ep- 
 icurus, in my opinion, does not contend strongly for the 
 Gods: he only, for the sake of avoiding any unpopularity 
 or punishment, is afraid to deny their existence; for when 
 he asserts that the Gods are wholly inactive and regard- 
 less of everything, and that they have limbs like ours, but 
 make no use of them, he seems to jest with us, and to 
 think it sufficient if he allows that there are beings of any 
 kind happy and eternal. But with regard to Balbus, I 
 suppose you observed how many things were said by him, 
 which, however false they may be, yet have a perfect co- 
 herence and connection ; therefore, my design, as I said, in 
 opposing him, is not so much to confute his principles as 
 to induce him to explain what I do not clearly understand : 
 for which reason, Balbus, I will give you the choice, either 
 to answer me every particular as I go on, or permit me 
 to proceed without interruption. If you want any expla- 
 nation, replies Balbus, I would rather you would propose 
 your doubts singly ; but if your intention is rather to con- 
 fute me than to seek instruction for yourself, it shall be as 
 you please; I will either answer you immediately on every 
 point, or stay till you have finished your discourse. 
 
 II. Very well, says Cotta; then let us proceed as our 
 conversation shall direct. But before I enter on the sub- 
 ject, I have a word to say concerning myself; for I am 
 greatly influenced by your authority, and your exhortation 
 at the conclusion of your discourse, when you desired me 
 to remember that I was Cotta and Pontifex; by which I 
 presume you intimated that I should defend the sacred 
 rites and religion and ceremonies which we received from 
 our ancestors. Most undoubtedly I always have, and al- 
 ways shall defend them, nor shall the arguments either of 
 the learned or unlearned ever remove the opinions which I 
 have imbibed from them concerning the worship of the im- 
 mortal Gods. In matters of religion I submit to the rules 
 of the high-priests, T. Coruncanius, P. Scipio, and P. Scae- 
 vola ; not to the sentiments of Zeno, Cleanthes, or Chrysip- 
 pus ; and I pay a greater regard to what C. La^lius, one of 
 our augurs and wise men, has written concerning religion, 
 in that noble oration of his, than to the most eminent of 
 the Stoics : and as the whole relisrion of the Romans at 
 
320 THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 
 
 first consisted in sacrifices and divination by birds, to 
 which have since been added predictions, if the interpret- 
 ers^ of the Sibylline oracle or the aruspices have foretold 
 any event from portents and prodigies, I have ever thought 
 that there was no point of all these holy things which de- 
 served to be despised. I have been even persuaded that 
 Romulus, by instituting divination, and Numa, by estab- 
 lishing sacrifices, laid the foundation of Rome, which un- 
 doubtedly would never have risen to such a height of 
 grandeur if the Gods had not been made propitious by 
 this worship. These, Balbus, are my sentiments both as 
 a priest and as Cotta. But you must bring me to your 
 opinion by the force of your reason : for I have a right to 
 demand from you, as a philosopher, a reason for the re- 
 ligion which you would have me embrace. But I must 
 believe the religion of our ancestors without any proof. 
 
 III. What proof, says Balbus, do you require of me? 
 You have proposed, says Cotta, four articles. First of all, 
 you undertook to prove that there " are Gods ;" secondly, 
 " of what kind and character they are ;" thirdly, that " the 
 universe is governed by them;" lastly, that "they provide 
 for the welfare of mankind in particular." Thus, if I re- 
 member rightly, you divided your discourse. Exactly so, 
 replies Balbus ; but let us see what you require. 
 
 Let us examine, says Cotta, every proposition. The first 
 one that there are Gods is never contested but by the 
 most impious of men ; nay, though it can never be rooted 
 out of my mind, yet I believe it on the authority of our 
 ancestors, and not on the proofs which you have brought. 
 Why do you expect a proof from me, says Balbus, if you 
 thoroughly believe it? Because, says Cotta, I come to this 
 discussion as if I had never thought of the Gods, or heard 
 anything concerning them. Take me as a disciple wholly 
 ignorant and unbiassed, and prove to me all the points 
 which I ask. 
 
 Begin, then, replies Balbus. I would first know, says 
 Cotta, why you have been so long in j^roving the existence 
 of the Gods, which you said was a point so very evident 
 to all, that there was no need of any proof? In that, an- 
 
 ^ The keepers and interpreters of the Sibylline oracles were the Qiiin- 
 decimviri. 
 
THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 321 
 
 swers Balbus, I have followed your example, whom I have 
 often observed, when pleading in the Forum, to load the 
 judge with all the arguments which the nature of your 
 cause would permit. This also is the practice of philoso- 
 phers, and I have a right to follow it. Besides, you may 
 as well ask me why I look upon you with two eyes, since I 
 can see you with one. 
 
 IV. You shall judge, then, yourself, says Cotta, if this is 
 a very just comparison; for, when I plead, I do not dwell 
 upon any point agreed to be self-evident, because long rea- 
 soning only serves to confound the clearest matters; be- 
 sides, though I might take this method in pleading, yet I 
 should not make use of it in such a discourse as this, which 
 requires the nicest distinction. And with regard to your 
 making use of one eye only when you look on me, there is 
 no reason for it, since together they have the same view; 
 and since nature, to which you attribute wisdom, has been 
 pleased to give us two passages by which we receive light. 
 But the truth is, that it was because you did not think 
 that the existence of the Gods was so evident as you could 
 wish that you therefore brought so many proofs. It was 
 sufficient for me to believe it on the tradition of our an- 
 cestors ; and since you disregard authorities, and appeal 
 to reason, permit my reason to defend them against yours. 
 The proofs on which you found the existence of the Gods 
 tend only to render a proposition doubtful that, in my 
 opinion, is not so ; I have not only retained in my memory 
 the whole of these proofs, but even the order in which you 
 proposed them. Tlie first was, that when we lift up our 
 eyes towards the heavens, we immediately conceive that 
 there is some divinity that governs those celestial bodies; 
 on which you quoted this passage 
 
 Look up to the refulgent heaven above, 
 Which all men call, unanimously, Jove ; 
 
 intimating that we should invoke that as Jupiter, rather 
 than our Capitoline Jove,* or that it is evident to the whole 
 world that those bodies are Gods which Velleius and many 
 others do not place even in the rank of animated beings. 
 
 * The popular name of Jupiter in Eome, being looked upon as defend- 
 er of the Capitol (in which he was placed), and stayer of the State. 
 
 14* 
 
322 THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 
 
 Another strong proof, in your opinion, was that the 
 belief of the existence of the Gods was nniversal, and 
 that mankind was daily more and more convinced of it. 
 What! should an affair of such inipoitance be left to the 
 decision of fools, who, by your sect especially, are called 
 madmen ? 
 
 V. But the Gods have appeared to us, as to Postliumins 
 at the Lake Kegilhis, and to Vatienus in the Salarian Way: 
 something you mentioned, too, I know not what, of a battle 
 of the Locrians at Sagra. Do you believe that the Tyn- 
 daridae, as you called them ; that is, men sprung from men, 
 and who were buried in Lacedaemon, as we learn from lio- 
 jner, who lived in the next age do you believe, I say, that 
 they appeared to Vatienus on the road mounted on white 
 liorses, without any servant to attend them, to tell the vic- 
 tory of the Romans to a country fellow rather than to M. 
 Cato, who was at that time the chief person of the senate? 
 Do you take that print of a horse's hoof which is now to 
 be seen on a stone at Regillus to be made by Castor's 
 horse ? Should you not believe, what is probable, that the 
 souls of eminent men, such as the Tyndaridae, are divine 
 and immortal, rather than that those bodies W'hich had 
 been reduced to ashes should mouiA on horses, and fight 
 in an army ? If you say that was possible, you ought to 
 show how it is so, and not amuse us with fabulous old 
 women's stories. 
 
 Do you take these for fabulous stories? says Balbus. 
 Is not the temple, built by Posthumius in honor of Castor 
 and Pollux, to be seen in the Forum ? Is not the decree 
 of the senate concerning Vatienus still subsisting ? As to 
 the affair of Sagra, it is a common proverb among the 
 Greeks ; when they would affirm anything strongly, they 
 say " It is as certain as what passed at Sagra." Ought not 
 such authorities to move you? You oppose me, replies 
 Cotta, with stories, but I ask reasons of you.^ * * * 
 
 VI. We are now to speak of predictions. No one can 
 avoid what is to come, and, indeed, it is commonly useless 
 to know it ; for it is a miserable case to be afflicted to no 
 purpose, and not to have even the last, the common com- 
 
 ' Some passages of tlie original are here wanting. Cotta continues 
 speaking against the doctrine of the Stoics. 
 
THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 323 
 
 fort, hope, which, according to your principles, none can 
 have; for you say that fate governs all things, and call 
 that fate which has been true from all eternity. What 
 advantage, then, is the knowledge of futurity to us, or how 
 does it assist us to guard against impending evils, since it 
 will come inevitably? 
 
 But whence comes that divination? To whom is owing 
 that knowledge from the entrails of beasts? Who first 
 made observations from the voice of the crow? Who 
 invented the Lots ?^ Not that I give no credit to these 
 things, or that I despise Attius Navius's staff, which you 
 mentioned ; but I ought to be informed how these things 
 are understood by philosophers, especially as the diviners 
 are often wrong in their conjectures. But physicians, you 
 say, are likewise often mistaken. What comparison can 
 there be between divination, of the origin of which we are 
 ignorant, and physic, which proceeds on principles intel- 
 ligible to every one? You believe that the Decii,^ in de- 
 voting themselves to death, appeased the Gods. How 
 great, then, was the iniquity of the Gods that they could 
 not be appeased but at the price of such noble blood ! 
 That was the stratagem of generals such as the Greeks 
 call (TTparriyrji^a, and it was a stratagem worthy such illus- 
 trious leaders, who consulted the public good even at the 
 expense of their lives : they conceived rightly, what indeed 
 happened, that if the general rode furiously upon the ene- 
 my, the whole army would follow his example. As to the 
 voice of the Fauns, I never heard it. If you assure me 
 that you have, I shall believe you, though I really know 
 not what a Faun is. 
 
 VII. I do not, then, O Balbus, from anything that you 
 have said, perceive as yet that it is proved that there are 
 Gods. I believe it, indeed, but not from any arguments of 
 the Stoics. Cleanthes, you have said, attributes the idea 
 that men have of the Gods to four causes. In the first 
 place (as I have already sufficiently mentioned), to a fore- 
 
 ' The Mord sortes is often used for the answers of the oracles, or, 
 rather, for the rolls in which the answers were written. 
 
 ' Three of this eminent family sacrificed themselves for their country ; 
 the father in the Latin war, the son in the Tuscan war, and the grandson 
 in the war witli Pyrrhns. 
 
324 THE NATUKE OF THE GODS. 
 
 knowledge of future events; secondly, to tempests, and 
 other shocks of nature ; thirdly, to the utility and plenty 
 of things we enjoy ; fourthly, to the invariable order of the 
 stars and the heavens. The arguments drawn from fore- 
 knowledge I have already answered. With regard to tem- 
 pests in the air, the sea, and the earth, I own that many 
 people are affrighted by them, and imagine that the im- 
 mortal Gods are the authors of them. 
 
 But the question is, not whether there are people who 
 believe that there are Gods, but whether there are Gods 
 or not. As to the two other causes of Clean thes, one of 
 which is derived from the great abundance of desirable 
 things which we enjoy, the other from the invariable or- 
 der of the seasons and the heavens, I shall treat on them 
 when I answer your discourse concerning the providence 
 of the Gods a point, Balbus, upon which you have spoken 
 at great length. I shall likewise defer till then examining 
 the argument which you attribute to Chrysippus, that "if 
 there is in nature anything which surpasses the power of 
 man to produce, there must consequently be some being 
 better than man." I shall also postpone, till we come to 
 that part of my argument, your comparison of the world 
 to a fine house, your observations on the proportion and 
 harmony of the universe, and those smart, short reasons of 
 Zeno which you quote; and I shall examine at the same 
 time your reasons drawn from natural philosophy, con- 
 cerning that fiery force and that vital heat which you re- 
 gard as the principle of all things ; and I will investigate, 
 in its proper place, all that you advanced the other day 
 on the existence of the Gods, and on the sense and under- 
 standing which you attributed to the sun, the moon, and 
 all the stars ; and I shall ask you this question over and 
 over again, By what proofs are you convinced yourself 
 there are Gods? 
 
 VIII. I thought, says Balbus, that I had brought ample 
 proofs to establish this point. But such is your manner 
 of opposing, tliat, when you seem on the point of interro- 
 gating me, and when I am preparing to answer, you sud- 
 denly divert the discourse, and give me no opportunity to 
 reply to you; and thus those most important points con- 
 cerninG: divination and fate are neurlectcd which we Stoics 
 
THE NATUIIE OF THE GODS. 325 
 
 have thoroughly examined, but which yonr school has only 
 slightly touched upon. But they are not thought essen- 
 tial to tlie question in hand; therefore, if you think prop- 
 er, do not confuse them together, that we in this discus- 
 sion may come to a clear explanation of the subject of our 
 present inquiry. 
 
 Very well, says Cotta. Since, then, you have divided 
 the whole question into four parts, and I have said all that 
 I had to say on the first, I will take the second into consid- 
 eration ; in which, when you attempted to show what the 
 character of the Gods was, you seemed to me rather to 
 prove that there are none; for you said that it was the 
 greatest difficulty to draw our minds from the preposses- 
 'sions of the eyes; but that as nothing is more excellent 
 than the Deity, you did not doubt that the world was God, 
 because there is nothing better in nature than the world, 
 and so we may reasonably think it animated, or, rather, 
 perceive it in our minds as clearly as if it were obvious to 
 our eyes. 
 
 Now, in what sense do you say there is nothing better 
 than the world ? If you mean that tliere is nothing more 
 beautiful, I agree with you; that there is nothing more 
 adapted to our wants, I likewise agree with you : but if 
 you mean that nothing is wiser than the world, I am by 
 no means of your opinion. Not that I find it difficult to 
 conceive anything in my mind independent of my eyes ; 
 on the contrary, the more I separate my mind from my 
 eyes, the less I am able to comprehend your opinion. 
 
 IX. Nothing is better than the world, you say. Nor 
 is there, indeed, anything on earth better than the city of 
 Rome; do you think, therefore, that our city has a mind; 
 that it thinks and reasons ; or that this most beautiful city, 
 being void of sense, is not preferable to an ant, because an 
 ant has sense, understanding, reason, and memory ? You 
 should consider, Balbus, what ought to be allowed you, and 
 not advance things because they please you. 
 
 For that old, concise, and, as it seemed to you, acute syl- 
 logism of Zeno has been all which you have so much en- 
 larged upon in handling this topic: "That which reasons 
 is superior to that which does not ; nothing is superior to 
 the world ; therefore the world Reasons." If you would 
 
326 THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 
 
 prove also that tlie world can very well read a book, fol- 
 low the example of Zeno, and say, " That which can read 
 is better than that which cannot; nothing is better than 
 the world ; the world therefore cnn read." After the same 
 manner you may prove the world to be an orator, a mathe- 
 matician, a musician that it possesses all sciences, and, 
 in short, is a philosopher. You have often said that God 
 made all things, and that no cause can produce an effect 
 unlike itself. From hence it will follow, not only that the 
 world is animated, and is wise, but also plays upon the fid- 
 dle and the flute, because it produces men who play on 
 those instruments. Zeno, therefore, tlie chief of your sect, 
 advances no argument sufiicient to induce us to think that 
 the world reasons, or, indeed, that it is animated at all, and 
 consequently none to think it a Deity; though it may be 
 said that there is nothing superior to it, as there is noth- 
 ing more beautiful, nothing more useful to us, nothing 
 more adorned, and nothing more regular in its motions. 
 But if the world, considered as one great whole, is not God, 
 you should not surely deify, as you have done, that infinite 
 multitude of stars which only form a part of it, and which 
 so delight you with the regularity of their eternal courses; 
 not but that there is something truly wonderful and in- 
 credible in their regularity; but this regularity of mo- 
 tion, Balbus, may as well be ascribed to a natural as to a 
 divine cause. 
 
 X. What can be more regular than the flux and reflux 
 of the Euripus at Chalcis, the Sicilian sea, and the violence 
 of the ocean in those parts^ 
 
 wliere the rapid tide 
 Does Europe from the Libyan coast divide ? 
 
 The same appears on the Spanish and British^ coasts. 
 Must we conclude that some Deity appoints and directs 
 these ebbings and flowings to certain fixed times? Con- 
 sider, I pray, if everything which is regular in its motion 
 is deemed divine, whether it will not follow that tertian 
 and quartan agues must likewise be so, as their returns 
 have the greatest regularity. These effects are to be ex- 
 l)lained by reason ; but, because you are unable to assign 
 any, you have recourse to a Deity as your last refuge. 
 ' The Straits of Gibraltar. 
 
THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 327 
 
 The arguments of Chrysippus appeared to you of great' 
 weight; a man undoubtedly of great quickness and sub- 
 tlety (I call those quick who have a sprightly turn of 
 thought, and those subtle whose minds are seasoned by use 
 as their hands are by labor) : " If," says he, " there is any- 
 thing which is beyond the power of man to produce, the 
 being who produces it is better than man. Man is unable 
 to make Avhat is in the world ; the being, therefore, that 
 could do it is superior to man. What being is there but 
 a God superior to man? Therefore there is a God." 
 
 These arguments are founded on the same erroneous 
 principles as Zeno's, for he does not define what is meant 
 by being better or more excellent, or distinguish between 
 an intelligent cause and a natural cause. Chrysippus adds, 
 "If there are no Gods, there is nothing better than man; 
 but we cannot, without the highest arrogance, have this 
 idea of ourselves." Let us grant that it is arrogance in 
 man to think himself better than the world ; but to com- 
 prehend that he has understanding and reason, and that in 
 Orion and Canicula there is neither, is no arrogance, but 
 an indication of good sense. " Since we suppose," contin- 
 ues he, " when we see a beautiful house, that it was built 
 for the master, and not for mice, we should likewise judge 
 that the world is the mansion of the Gods." Yes, if I be- 
 lieved that the Gods built the world ; but not if, as I be- 
 lieve, and intend to prove, it is the work of nature. 
 
 XI. Socrates, in Xenophon, asks, " Whence had man his 
 understanding, if there was none in the world?" And I 
 ask. Whence had we speech, harmony, singing; unless we 
 think it is the sun conversing with the moon when she ap- 
 proaches near it, or that the world forms an harmonious 
 concert, as Pythagoras imagines? This, Balbus, is the ef- 
 fect of nature;, not of that nature which proceeds artifi- 
 cially, as Zcno says, and the character of which I shall 
 presently examine into, but a nature which, by its own 
 proper motions and mutations, modifies everything. 
 
 For I readily agree to what you said about the harmony 
 and general agreement of nature, which you pronounced 
 to be firmly bound and united together, as it were, by ties 
 of blood; but I do not approve of what you added, that 
 " it could not possibly be so, unless it were so united by 
 
328 THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 
 
 one divine spirit." On tlio contrary, the whole subsists 
 by the power of nature, independently of the Gods, and 
 there is a kind of sympathy (as the Greeks call it) which 
 joins together all the parts of the universe ; and the greater 
 that is in its own power, the less is it necessary to have 
 recourse to a divine intelligence. 
 
 XII. But how will you get rid of the objections which 
 Carneades made ? " If," says he, " there is no body immor- 
 tal, there is none eternal ; but there is no body immortal, 
 nor even indivisible, or that cannot be separated and dis- 
 united ; and as every animal is in its nature passive, so there 
 is not one which is not subject to the impressions of ex- 
 traneous bodies; none, that is to say, which can avoid the 
 necessity of enduring and suffering: and if every animal 
 is mortal, there is none immortal; so, likewise, if every an- 
 imal may be cut up and divided, there is none indivisible, 
 none eternal, but all are liable to be affected by, and com- 
 pelled to submit to, external power. Every animal, there- 
 fore, is necessarily mortal, dissoluble, and divisible." 
 
 For as there is no wax, no silver, no brass which cannot 
 be converted into something else, whatever is composed 
 of wax, or silver, or brass may cease to be what it is. By 
 the same reason, if all the elements are mutable, every body 
 is mutable. 
 
 Now, according to your doctrine, all the elements are 
 mutable; all bodies, therefore, are mutable. But if there 
 were any body immortal, then all bodies would not be 
 mutable. Every body, then, is mortal; for every body is 
 either water, air, fire, or earth, or composed of the four 
 elements together, or of some of them. Now, there is not 
 one of all these elements that does not perish ; for earthly 
 bodies are fragile : water is so soft that the least shock 
 will separate its parts, and fire and air yield to the least 
 impulse, and are subject to dissolution ; besides, any of 
 these elements perish when converted into another nature, 
 as when water is formed from earth, the air from water, 
 and the sky from air, and when they change in the same 
 manner back again. Therefore, if there is nothing but 
 what is perishable in the composition of all animals, there 
 is no animal eternal. 
 
 XIII. But, not to insist on these arguments, there is no 
 
THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 329 
 
 animal to be found tliat had not a beginning, and will not 
 have an end ; for every animal being sensitive, they are 
 consequently all sensible of cold and heat, sweet and bit- 
 ter; nor can they have pleasing sensations without being 
 subject to the contrary. As, therefore, they receive pleas- 
 ure, they likewise receive pain; and whatever being is 
 subject to pain must necessarily be subject to death. It 
 must be allowed, therefore, that every animal is mortal. 
 
 Besides, a being that is not sensible of pleasure or pain 
 cannot have the essence of nn animal ; if, then, on the one 
 hand, every animal must be sensible of pleasure and pain, 
 and if, on the other, every being that has these sensations 
 cannot be immortal, we may conclude that as there is no 
 animal insensible, there is none immortal. Besides, there 
 is no animal without inclination and aversion an inclina- 
 tion to that which is agreeable to nature, and an aversion 
 to the contrary : there are in the case of every animal 
 some things which they covet, and others they reject. 
 What they reject are repugnant to their nature, and con- 
 sequently would destroy them. Every animal, therefore, 
 is inevitably subject to be destroyed. There are innu- 
 merable arguments to prove that whatever is sensitive is 
 perishable ; for cold, heat, pleasure, pain, and all that af- 
 fects the sense, when they become excessive, cause de- 
 struction. Since, then, there is no animal that is not sen- 
 sitive, there is none immortal. 
 
 XIV. The substance of an animal is either simple or 
 compound ; simple, if it is composed only of earth, of fire, 
 of air, or of water (and of such a sort of being we can 
 form no idea) ; compound, if it is formed of different ele- 
 ments, which have each their proper situation, and have a 
 natural tendency to it this element tending towards the 
 highest parts, that towards the lowest, and another tow- 
 ards the middle. This conjunction may for some time 
 subsist, but not forever ; ior every element must return to 
 its first situation. No animal, therefore, is eternal. 
 
 But your school, Balbus, allows fire only to be the sole 
 active principle ; an opinion which I believe you derive 
 from Heraclitus, whom some men understand in one sense, 
 some in another : but since he seems unwilling to be un- 
 derstood, we will pass him by. You Stoics, then, say that 
 
330 THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 
 
 fire is the universal principle of all things; that all living 
 bodies cease to live on the extinction of that heat; and 
 that throughout all nature whatever is sensible of that 
 lieat lives and flonrishes. Now, I cannot conceive that 
 bodies should perish for want of heat, rather than for 
 want of moisture or air, especially as they even die 
 tiirongh excess of heat; so that the life of animals does 
 not depend more on fire than on the other elements. 
 
 However, air and water have this quality in common 
 with fire and heat. But let us see to w^hat this tends. If 
 I am not mistaken, you believe that in all nature there is 
 notliing but fire, which is self-animated. Why fire rather 
 tlian air, of which the life of animals consists, and which is 
 called from thence anima,^ the soul? But how is it that 
 you take it for granted that life is nothing but fire ? It 
 seems more probable that it is a compound of fire and 
 air. But if fire is self-animated, unmixed with any other 
 element, it must be sensitive, because it renders our bodies 
 sensitive; and the same objection which I just now made 
 will arise, that whatever is sensitive must necessarily be 
 susceptible of pleasure and pain, and whatever is sensible 
 of pain is likewise subject to the approach of death ; 
 tliorefore you cannot prove fire to be eternal. 
 
 You Stoics hold that all fire has need of nourishment, 
 without which it cannot possibly subsist; that the sun, 
 moon, and all the stars are fed cither with fresii or salt 
 waters ; and the reason that Cleanthes gives why the sun 
 is retrograde, and does not go beyond the tropics in the 
 summer or winter, is that he may not be too far from his 
 sustenance. This I shall fully examine hereafter; but at 
 present we may conclude that whatever may cease to be 
 cannot of its own nature be eternal; that if fire wants sus- 
 tenance, it will cease to be, and that, therefore, fire is not 
 of its own nature eternal. 
 
 XV. After all, what kind of a Deity must that be who 
 
 ' The common reading is, ex quo anima dicitur ; but Dr. Davis and 
 M, Bouhier prefer animal, though they keep anima m tlie text, be- 
 cause our author says elsewhere, animum ex anima dictum, Tusc. 1. 1. 
 Cicero is not here to be accused of contradictions, for we are to consider 
 tliat he speaks in tlie characters of other ])ersons ; but there appears to 
 be notliing in these two passages irrcconcihible, and probably anima is 
 the right word here. 
 
THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 331 
 
 is not graced with one single virtue, if we should succeed 
 in forniing this idea of such a one? Must Ave not attrib- 
 ute prudence to a Deity? a virtue which consists in the 
 knowledge of things good, bad, and indifferent. Yet 
 what need has a being for the discernment of good and 
 ill who neither has nor can have any ill? Of what use is 
 reason to him? of what use is understanding? We men, 
 indeed, find them useful to aid us in finding out things 
 which are obscure by those which are clear to us; but 
 nothing can be obscure to a Deity. As to justice, which 
 gives to every one his own, it is not the concern of the 
 Gods ; since that virtue, according to your doctrine, re- 
 ceived its birth from men and from civil society. Tem- 
 perance consists in abstinence from corporeal pleasures, 
 and if such abstinence hath a place in heaven, so also 
 must the pleasures abstained from. Lastly, if fortitude is 
 ascribed to the Deity, how does it appear ? In afflictions, 
 in labor, in danger? None of these things can affect a 
 God. How", then, can we conceive this to be a Deity that 
 makes no use of reason, and is not endowed with any virtue? 
 
 However, when I consider what is advanced by the 
 Stoics, my contempt for the ignorant multitude vanishes. 
 For these are their divinities. The Syrians worshipped a 
 fish. The Egyptians consecrated beasts of almost every 
 kind. The Greeks deified many men ; as Alabandus^ at 
 Alabanda?, Tenes at Tenedos ; and all Greece pay divine 
 honors to Lcucothea (who was before called Ino), to her 
 son Palaemon, to Hercules, to JEsculapius, and to the Tyn- 
 darid93 ; our own people to Romulus, and to many oth- 
 ers, who, as citizens newly admitted into the ancient body, 
 they imagine have been received into heaven. 
 
 These are the Gods of the illiterate. 
 
 XVI. What are the notions of you philosophers ? In 
 what respect are they superior to these ideas? I shall 
 pass them over; for they are certainly very admirable. 
 Let the world, then, be a Deity, for that, I conceive, is 
 what you mean by 
 
 The refulgent lieaven above, 
 Which all men call, unanimously, Jove. 
 
 ^ He is snid to have led a colony from Greece into Caria, in Asia, and 
 to have built a town, and called it after his own name, for which his 
 countrymen paid him divine honors after his death. 
 
332 THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 
 
 But Avby are we to add many more Gods? What a 
 multitude of them there is ! At least, it seems so to me; 
 for every constellation, according to you, is a Deity : to 
 some you give the name of beasts, as the goat, the scor- 
 pion, the bull, the lion ; to others the names of inanimate 
 things, as the ship, the altar, the crown. 
 
 But supposing these were to be allowed, how can the 
 rest be granted, or even so much as understood ? When 
 we call corn Ceres, and wine Bacchus, we make use of the 
 common manner of speaking; but do you think any one 
 so mad as to believe that his food is a Deity? With re- 
 gard to those who, you say, from having been men became 
 Gods, I should be very willing to learn of you, either how 
 it was possible formerly, or, if it had ever been, why is it 
 not so now? I do not conceive, as things are at present, 
 liow Hercules, 
 
 Burn'd with fiery torches on Mount CEta, 
 as Accius says, should rise, with the flames. 
 To the eternal mansions of his father. 
 
 Besides, Homer also says that Ulysses^ met him in the 
 shades below, among the other dead. 
 
 But yet I should be glad to know which Hercules we 
 should chiefly worship ; for they who have searched into 
 those histories, which are but little known, tell us of sev- 
 eral. The most ancient is he who fought with Apollo 
 about the Tripos of Delphi, and is son of Jupiter and 
 Lisyto ; and of the most ancient Jupiters too, for we find 
 many Jupiters also in the Grecian clironicles. The second 
 is the Egyptian Hercules, and is believed to be the son of 
 Nilus, and to be the author of the Phrygian characters. 
 The third, to whom they offered sacrifices, is one of the 
 
 ^ Onr great author is under a mistake here. Homer does not say he 
 met Hercules himself, but his Ei6cj?iov, his "visionary likeness;" and 
 adds that he himself 
 
 ^ict' uOavdroicTi OeoXai 
 T^pircTai ev flaAiryr, Ka't fc'xc KaWi(r(pvpov"li/3t}v, 
 irai6a A169 /jLeyc'iAoto Ka'i "llpnv xP^'^oneSiXov' 
 
 which Pope translates 
 
 A shadowy form, for high in heaven's abodes 
 Himself resides, a God amonj? the Gods; 
 There, in the bright assemblies of the skies, 
 He nectar quafiTs, and Ilebe crowns his joys. 
 
THE NATUKE OF THE GODS. 333 
 
 Idaei Dactyli/ The fourth is the son of Jupiter and Aste- 
 ria, the sister of Latona, chiefly honored by the Tyrians, 
 who pretend that Carthago'^ is his daugliter. The fifth, 
 called Beluo, is worshipped in India. The sixth is the 
 son of Alcmena by Jupiter; but by the third Jupiter, for 
 there are many Jupiters, as you shall soon see. 
 
 XVII. Since this examination has led me so far, I will 
 convince you that in matters of religion I have learned 
 more from the pontifical rites, the customs of our ances- 
 tors, and the vessels of Numa,^ which La3lius mentions in 
 his little Golden Oration, than from all the learning of the 
 Stoics; for tell me, if I were a disciple of your school, 
 what answer could I make to these questions? If there 
 are Gods, are nymphs also Goddesses? If they are God- 
 desses, are Pans and Satyrs in the same rank ? But they 
 are not; consequently, nymphs are not Goddesses. Yet 
 they have temples publicly dedicated to them. What do 
 you conclude from thence? Others who have temples 
 arc not therefore G'ods. But let us go on. You call 
 Jupiter and Neptune Gods; their brother Pluto, then, is 
 one; and if so, those rivers also are Deities which they 
 say flow in the infernal regions Acheron, Cocytus, Pyri- 
 phlegethon ; Charon also, and Cerberus, are Gods ; but 
 that cannot be allowed ; nor can Pluto be placed among 
 the Deities. What, then, will you say of his brothers? 
 
 Thus reasons Carneades ; not with any design to de- 
 stroy the existence of the Gods (for what would less be- 
 come a philosopher?), but to convince us that on that 
 matter the Stoics have said nothing plausible. If, then, 
 Jupiter and Neptune are Gods, adds he, can that divinity 
 be denied to their father Saturn, w4io is principally wor- 
 shipped throughout the West? If Saturn is a God, then 
 must his father, Coelus, be one too, and so must the par- 
 ents of Coelus, which are the Sky and Day, as also their 
 brothers and sisters, which by ancient genealogists are 
 
 ^ They arc said to have been the first workers in iron. They were 
 called Idaji, because they inhabited about Mount Ida in Crete, and 
 Dactyli, from 6dKTi'?Mi (the fingers), tlieir number being five. 
 
 ^ From whom, some sny, the city of that name was called. 
 
 ' Capedunculre seem to have been bowls or cups, with handles on each 
 side, set apart for the use of the altar.. Davis. 
 
334 THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 
 
 thus named: Love, Deceit, Fear, Labor, Envy, Fate, Old 
 Age, Death, Darkness, Misery, Lamentation, Favor, Fraud, 
 Obstinacy, tlie Destinies, the Ilesperides, and Dreams ; all 
 which are the offspring of Erebus and Night. These 
 monstrous Deities, therefore, must be received, or else 
 those from whom they sprung must be disallowed. 
 
 XVIIL If you say that Apollo, Vulcan, Mercury, and 
 the rest of that sort are Gods, can you doubt the divinity 
 of Hercules and ^sculapius, Bacchus, Castor and Pollux ? 
 These are worshipped as much as those, and even more 
 in some places. Therefore they must be numbered among 
 the Gods, tliough on the mother's side they are only of 
 mortal race. Aristseus, who is said to have been the son 
 of Apollo, and to have found out the art of making oil 
 from the olive; Theseus, the son of Neptune; and the 
 rest whose fathers were Deities, shall they not be placed 
 in the number of the Gods? But Avhat think you of 
 those whose mothers were Goddesses? They surely have 
 a better title to divinity ; for, in thcT civil law, as he is a 
 freeman who is born of a freewoman, so, in the law of 
 nature, he whose mother is a Goddess must be a God. 
 The isle Astypalaja religiously honor Achilles ; and if ho 
 is a Deity, Orpheus and Rhesus are so, who were born of 
 one of the Muses; unless, perhaps, there may be a privi- 
 lege belonging to sea marriages which land marriages 
 have not. Orpheus and Rhesus are nowhere worshipped; 
 and if they are therefore not Gods, because they are no- 
 where worshipped as such, how can the others be Deities? 
 You, Balbus, seemed to agree with me that the honors 
 which they received were not from their being regarded 
 as immortals, but as men richly endued with virtue. 
 
 But if you think Latona a Goddess, how can you avoid 
 admitting llecate to be one also, who was the daughter of 
 Asteria, Latona's sister ? Certainly she is one, if we may 
 judge by the altai-s erected to her in Greece. And if Hec- 
 ate is a Goddess, liow can you refuse that rank to the 
 Eumenides? for they also have a temple at Athens, and, 
 if I understand right, the Romans have consecrated a grove 
 to them. The Furies, too, whom we look upon as the in- 
 spectors into and scourges of impiety, I sui)pose, must have 
 their divinity too. As you hold that there is some divinity 
 
THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 335 
 
 presides over every human affair, there is one who presides 
 over the travail of matrons, whos3 name, iV^io, is derived 
 a 7iascentibiis, from nativities, and to whom we used to 
 sacrifice in our processions in the fields of Ardiea; but if 
 she is a Deity, we must likewise acknowledge all those you 
 mentioned, Honor, Faith, Intellect, Concord ; by the same 
 rule also, Hope, Juno, Moneta,' and every idle phantoiii, 
 every child of our imagination, are Deities. But as this 
 consequence is quite inadmissible, do not you either de- 
 fend the cause from which it flows. 
 
 XIX. AVhat say you to this? If these are Deities, 
 which we worship and regard as such, why are not Sera- 
 pis and Isis^ placed in the same rank? And if they are 
 admitted, what reason have we to reject the Gods of the 
 barbarians? Thus we should deify oxen, horses, the ibis, 
 hawks, asps, crocodiles, fishes, dogs, wolves, cats, and many 
 other beasts. If we go back to the source of this super- 
 stition, Ave must equally condemn all the Deities from 
 which they proceed. Shall Ino, whom the Greeks call 
 Leucothea, and we Matuta, be reputed a Goddess, because 
 slie was the daughter of Cadmus, and shall that title be re- 
 fused to Circe and Pasiphae,^ who had the sun for their fa- 
 ther, and Perseis, daughter of the Ocean, for their mother? 
 It is true, Circe has divine honors paid her by our colony 
 of Circoeum ; therefore you call her a Goddess ; but what 
 will you say of Medea, the granddaughter of tlie Sun and 
 the Ocean, and daughter of ^etes and Idyia? \Yhat will 
 you say of her brother Absyrtus, whom Pacuvius calls 
 iEgialeus, though the other name is more frequent in the 
 writings of the ancients? If you did not deify one as well 
 as the other, what will become of Ino ? for all these Deities 
 liave the same origin. 
 
 Shall Amphiaraus and Tryphonius be called Gods ? Our 
 publicans, when some lands in Boeotia were exempted from 
 the tax, as belonging to the immortal Gods, denied that 
 
 ^ See Cicero de Divinatione, and Ovid. Fast. 
 
 ^ In tlie consulship of Piso and Gabinius sacrifices to Serapis and Isis 
 were prohibited in Rome ; but the Roman people afterward placed them 
 again in the number of tlieir gods. See TertuUian's Apol. and his first 
 book Ad Nationes, and Arnobius, lib. 2. Davis. 
 
 ^ In some copies Circe, Pasiphae, and JEa are mentioned together; 
 but JEix is rejected by the most judicious editors. 
 
336 THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 
 
 any were immortal who liad been men. But if you deify 
 tliese, Erechtlieus surely is a God, whose temple and priest 
 we have seen at Athens. And can you, then, refuse to ac- 
 knowledge also Codrus, and many others who shed their 
 blood for the preservation of their country? And if it is 
 not allowable to consider all these men as Gods, then, cer- 
 tainly, probabilities are not in favor of our acknowledg- 
 ing the Divinity of those previously mentioned beings from 
 whom these have proceeded. 
 
 It is easy to observe, likewise, that if in many countries 
 people have paid divine honors to the memory of those 
 who have signalized their courage, it was done in order 
 to animate otliers to practise virtue, and to expose them- 
 selves the more willingly to dangers in their country's 
 cause. From this motive the Athenians have deified Erech- 
 theus and his daughters, and have erected also a temple, 
 called Leocorion, to the daughters of Leus.^ Alabandus 
 is more honored in the city which he founded than any of 
 the more illustrious Deities ; from thence Stratonicus had 
 a pleasant turn as he had many when he was troubled 
 with an impertinent fellow who insisted that Alabandus 
 was a God, but that Hercules was not; "Very well," says 
 he, " then let the anger of Alabandus fall upon me, and 
 that of Hercules upon you." 
 
 XX. Do you not consider, Balbus, to what lengths your 
 arguments for the divinity of the heaven and the stars 
 will carry you ? You deify the sun and the moon, which 
 the Greeks take to be Apollo and Diana. If the moon is 
 a Deity, the morning- star, the other planets, and all the 
 fixed stars are also Deities; and Avhy shall not the rain- 
 bow be placed in that number? for it is so wonderfully 
 beautiful that it is justly said to be the daughter of Thau- 
 mas.^ But if you deify the rainbow, what regard will you 
 pay to the clouds ? for the colors which appear in the bow 
 are only formed of the clouds, one of which is said to have 
 brought forth the Centaurs; and if you deify the clouds, 
 you cannot pay less regard to the seasons, which the Ro- 
 man people have really consecrated. Tempests, show'ers, 
 
 ' They were three, and are said to liave averted a plague by offering 
 themselves a sacrifice. 
 - !So called from the Greek word Oav/ud^u, to wonder. 
 
THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 337 
 
 storms, and \?hirlwmds must then be Deities. It is cer- 
 tain, at least, that our captains used to sacrifice a victim 
 to the waves before they embarked on any voyas^e. 
 
 As you deify the earth under the name of Ceres,' be- 
 cause, as you said, she bears fruits {a gerendo), and the 
 ocean under that of Neptune, rivers and fountains have 
 the same riglit. Thus we see that Maso, the conqueror of 
 Corsica, dedicated a temple to a fountain, and the names 
 of the Tiber, Spino, Almo, Nodinus, and other neighbor- 
 ing rivers are in the prayers'* of the augurs. Therefore, 
 either the number of such Deities will be infinite, or we 
 must admit none of them, and wholly disapprove of such 
 an endless series of superstition. 
 
 XXI. None of all these assertions, then, are to be ad- 
 mitted. I must proceed now, Balbus, to answer those who 
 say that, with regard to those deified mortals, so religious- 
 ly and devoutly reverenced, the public opinion should have 
 the force of reality. To begin, then : they who are called 
 theologists say that there are three Jupiters; the first and 
 second of whom were born in Arcadia; one of whom was 
 the son of ^ther, and father of Proserpine and Bacchus; 
 the other the son of Coelus, and father of Minerva, who is 
 called the Goddess and inventress of war; the third one 
 born of Saturn in the isle of Crete,^ where his sepulchre 
 is shown. The sons of Jupiter {^LoaKovpoi) also, among 
 the Greeks, have many names; first, the three who at 
 Athens have the title of Anactes,* Tritopatreus, Eubulcus, 
 and Dionysus, sons of the most ancient king Jupiter and 
 Proserpine ; the next are Castor and Pollux, sons of the 
 third Jupiter and Leda; and, lastly, three others, by some 
 called Alco,^ Melampus, and Tmolus, sons of Atreus, the 
 son of Pelops. 
 
 ^ She was first called Geres, from gero, to bear. 
 
 ^ The word is precadone, which means the books or forms of prayers 
 used by the augurs, 
 
 ^ Cotta's intent here, as well as in other places, is to show how un- 
 philosophical their civil theology was, and with what confusions it was 
 embarrassed ; which design of the Academic the reader should carefully 
 keep in view, or he will lose the chain of argument. 
 
 * Anactes, 'AvaKrec, was a general name for all kings, as we find in 
 the oldest Greek writers, and particularly in Homer. 
 
 * 'J'he common reading is Aleo ; but we follow Lambinus and Davis, 
 who had the authority of the best manuscript copies. 
 
 15 
 
338 THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 
 
 As to the Muses, there were at first four Thelxiope, 
 Aoede, Arche, and Melete daughters of tlie second Ju])i- 
 ter; afterward there were nine, daughters of the third Ju- 
 piter and Mnemosyne ; there were also nine others, having 
 the same appellations, born of Pierus aud Antiopa, by the 
 poets usually called Pierides and Pierige. Though Sol 
 (the sun) is so called, you say, because he is solus (single) ; 
 yet how many suns do theologists mention? There is 
 one, the son of Jupiter and grandson of ^ther; another, 
 the son of Hyperion ; a third, Avho, the Egyptians say, was 
 of the city Heliopolis, sprung from Vulcan, the son of 
 Nilus; a fourth is said to have been born at Rhodes of 
 Acantho, in the times of the heroes, and was the grandfa- 
 ther of Jalysus, Camirus, and Lindus ; a fifth, of whom, it 
 is pretended. Aretes nnd Circe were born at Colchis. 
 
 XXII. There are likewise several Vulcans. The first 
 (who had of Minerva that Apollo whom the ancient his- 
 torians call the tutelary God of Athens) was the son of 
 Coelus ; the second, whom the Egyptians call Opas,- and 
 whom they looked upon as the protector of Egypt, is the 
 son of Nilus ; the third, who is said to have been the mas- 
 ter of the forges at Lemnos, was the son of the third Ju- 
 piter and of Juno ; the fourth, who possessed the islands 
 near Sicily called VulcaniaB," was the son of Menalius. 
 One Mercury had Coelus for his father and Dies for his 
 mother; another, who is said to dwell in a cavern, and is 
 the same as Trophonius, is the son of Valens and Phoronis. 
 A third, of whom, and of Penelope, Pan was the offspring, 
 is the son of the third Jupiter and Maia. A fourth, whom 
 the Egyptians think it a crime to name, is the son of Nilus. 
 A fifth, whom we call, in their language, Thoth, as with 
 them the first month of the year is called, is he whom the 
 people of Pheneum^ worship, and who is said to have kill- 
 ed Argus, to have fled for it into Egypt, and to have given 
 laws and learning to the Egyptians. The first of the 
 ^sculapii, the God of Arcadia, who is said to have in- 
 vented the probe and to have been the first person who 
 taught men to use bandages for wounds, is the son of 
 
 ' Some prefer Phthas to Opas (sec Dr, Davis's edition) ; but Opns is 
 the generally received reading. 
 
 " The Lipari Isles. ' A town in Arcadia. 
 
THE NATUKE OF THE GODS. 339 
 
 Apollo. The second, who was killed with thunder, and is 
 said to be buried in Cynosura,' is the brother of the sec- 
 ond Mercury. The third, who is said to have found out 
 the art of purging the stomach, and of drawing teeth, is 
 the son of Arsippus and Arsinoe ; and in Arcadia there is 
 shown his tomb, and the wood which is consecrated to 
 him, near the river Lusium. 
 
 XXIII. I have already spoken of the most ancient of the 
 ApoUos, who is the son of Vulcan, and tutelar God of Ath- 
 ens. There is another, son of Corybas, and native of Crete, 
 for which island he is said to have contended with Jupiter 
 himself. A third, who came from the regions of the Hy- 
 perborei^ to Delphi, is the son of the third Jupiter and of 
 Latona. A fourth was of Arcadia, whom the Arcadians 
 called Nomio,^ because they regarded him as their legis- 
 lator. There are likewise many Dianas. The first, who 
 is thought to be the mother of the winged Cupid, is the 
 daughter of Jupiter and Proserpine. The second, who is 
 more known, is daughter of the third Jupiter and of La- 
 tona. The third, whom the Greeks often call by her fa- 
 ther's name, is the daughter of Upis* and Glauce. There 
 are many also of the Dionysi. The first was the son of 
 Jupiter and Proserpine. The second, who is said to have 
 killed Nysa, was the son of Nilus. The third, who reign- 
 ed in Asia, and for whom the Sabazia^ were instituted, was 
 the son of Caprius. The fourth, for whom they celebrate 
 the Orphic festivals, sprung from Jupiter and Luna. The 
 fifth, Avho is supposed to have instituted the Trieteridcs, 
 was the son of Nysus and Thyone. 
 
 The first Venus, who has a temple at Elis, was the daugh- 
 ter of Coehis and Dies. The second arose out of the froth 
 of the sea, and became, by Mercury, the mother of the sec- 
 ond Cupid. The third, the daughter of Jupiter and Di- 
 ana, was married to Vulcan, but is said to have had An- 
 teros by Mars. The fourth was a Syrian, born of Tyro, 
 who is called Astarte, and is said to have been married to 
 
 ' In Arcadia. ^ A northern people. 
 
 ^ So called from the Greek word v6/iog, lex, a law. 
 
 * He is called '^Trig in some old Greek fragments, and OvTrig by Cal- 
 limachns in his hymn on Diana. 
 
 * 2a/3uC<oc, Sabazius, is one of the names used for Bacchus. 
 
340 THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 
 
 Adonis. I have already mentioned one Minerva, mother 
 of Apollo. Another, who is worshipped at Sais, a city in 
 Egypt, sprung from Nilus. The third, whom I have also 
 mentioned, was daughter of Jupiter. The fourth, sprung 
 from Jupiter and Coryphe, the daughter of the Ocean ; 
 the Arcadians call her Coria, and make her the inventress 
 of chariots. A fifth, whom they paint wdth wings at her 
 heels, was daughter of Pallas, and is said to have killed her 
 father for endeavoring to violate her chastity. The first 
 Cupid is said to be the son of Mercury and the first Diana ; 
 the second, of Mercury and the second Venus ; the third, 
 who is the same as Anteros, of Mars and the third Venus. 
 
 All these opinions arise from old stories that were 
 spread in Greece ; the belief in which, Balbus, you well 
 know, ought to be stopped, lest religion should suffer. 
 But you Stoics, so far from refuting them, even give them 
 authority by the mysterious sense which you pretend to 
 find in them. Can you, then, think, after this plain refuta- 
 tion, that there is need to employ more subtle reasonings ? 
 But to return from this digression. 
 
 XXIV. We see that the mind, faith, hope, virtue, honor, 
 victory, health, concord, and things of such kind, are purely 
 natural, and have nothing of divinity in them ; for either 
 they are inherent in us, as the mind, faith, hope, virtue, 
 and concord are; or else they are to be desired, as honor, 
 health, and victory. I know indeed that they are useful 
 to us, and see that statues have been religiously erected 
 for them; but as to their divinity, I shall begin to believe 
 it when you have proved it for certain. Of this kind I 
 may particularly mention Fortune, which is allowed to be 
 ever inseparable from inconstancy and temerity, which are 
 certainly qualities unworthy of a divine being. 
 
 But what delight do you take in the explication of fa- 
 bles, and in the etymology of names? that Ccclus was 
 castrated by his son, and that Saturn was bound in chains 
 by his son ! By your defence of these and such like fic- 
 tions you would make the authors of them appear not only 
 not to be madmen, but to have been even very wise. But 
 the pains which you take with your etymologies deserve 
 our pity. That Saturn is so called because se saturat an- 
 jiiSj he is full of years; Mavors, Mars, because magna 
 
THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 341 
 
 vortity he brings about mighty changes ; Minerva, because 
 minuit, she diminishes, or because miiiatur, she threatens ; 
 Venus, because venit ad omnia, she comes to all ; Ceres, 
 a gerenclo, from bearing. How dangerous is this method ! 
 for there are many names would puzzle you. From what 
 would you derive Yejupiter and Vulcan? Though, in- 
 deed, if you can derive Neptune a riando, from swimming, 
 in which you seem to rae to flounder about yourself more 
 than Neptune, you may easily find the origin of all names, 
 since it is founded only upon the conformity of some one 
 letter. Zeno first, and after him Cleanthes and Chrysip- 
 pus, are put to the unnecessary trouble of explaining mere 
 fables, and giving reasons for the several appellations of 
 every Deity ; which is really owning that those whom we 
 call Gods are not the representations of deities, but natu- 
 ral things, and that to judge otherwise is an error. 
 
 XXV. Yet this error has so much prevailed that even 
 pernicious things have not only the title of divinity ascribed 
 to them, but have also sacrifices offered to them; for Fe- 
 ver has a temple on the Palatine hill, and Orbona anoth- 
 er near that of the Lares, and we see on the Esquiline hill 
 an altar consecrated to Ill-fortune. Let all such errors bo 
 banished from philosophy, if we would advance, in our dis- 
 pute concerning the immortal Gods, nothing unworthy of 
 immortal beings. I know myself what I ought to believe ; 
 which is far different from what you have said. You take 
 Neptune for an intelligence pervading the sea. You have 
 the same opinion of Ceres with regard to the earth. I 
 cannot, I own, find out, or in the least conjecture, what that 
 intelligence of the sea or the earth is. To learn, therefore, 
 the existence of the Gods, and of what description and char- 
 acter they are, I must apply elsewhere, not to the Stoics. 
 
 Let us proceed to the two other parts of our dispute: 
 first, "whether there is a divine providence which governs 
 the world ;" and lastly, " whether that providence particu- 
 larly regards mankind ;" for these are the remaining prop- 
 ositions of your discourse; and I think that, if you approve 
 of it, we should examine these more accurately. With all 
 my heart, says Velleius, for I readily agree to what you 
 have hitherto said, and expect still greater things from you. 
 
 T am unwilling to interrupt you, says Balbus to Cotta, 
 
342 THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 
 
 but we shall take another opportunity, and I shall efEectu 
 ally convince you. But' * * * 
 
 XXVI. Shall I adore, and bend the suppliant knee, 
 
 Who scorn their power and doubt tlieir deity ? 
 
 Does not Niobe here seem to reason, and by that rea- 
 soning to bring all her misfortunes upon herself? But 
 what a subtle expression is the following ! 
 
 On strength of will alone depends success ; 
 
 a maxim capable of leading us into all that is bad. 
 
 Though I'm confined, his malice yet is vain, 
 His tortured heart shall answer pain for pain ; 
 His ruin soothe my soul with soft content, 
 Lighten my chains, and welcome banishment ! 
 
 This, now, is reason ; that reason which you say the di- 
 vine goodness has denied to the brute creation, kindly to 
 bestow it on men alone. How great, how immense the 
 favor ! Observe the same Medea flying from her father 
 and her country: 
 
 The guilty wretch from her pursuer flies. 
 By her own hands the young Absyrtus slain, 
 His mangled limbs she scatters o'er the plain. 
 That tlie fond sire might sink beneath his woe. 
 And she to parricide her safety owe. 
 
 Reflection, as well as wickedness, must have been neces- 
 sary to the preparation of such a fact; and did he too, who 
 prepared that fatql repast for his brother, do it without 
 reflection ? 
 
 Revenge as great as Atreus' injury 
 
 Shall sink his soul and crown his misery. 
 
 XXYII. Did not Thyestes himself, not content with hav- 
 ing defiled his brother's bed (of which Atreus with great 
 justice thus complains, 
 
 "When faithless comforts, in the lewd embrace, 
 With vile adultery stain a royal race, 
 The blood thus mix'd in fouler currents flows. 
 Taints the rich soil, and breeds unnumber'd woes) 
 
 * Here is a wide chasm in the original. What is lost probably may 
 have contained great part of Cotta's arguments against the providence 
 of the Stoics. 
 
THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 343 
 
 did he not, I say, by that adultery, aim at the possession 
 of the crown ? Atreus thus continues : 
 
 A lamb, fair gift of heaven, with golden fleece, 
 Promised in vain to fix my crown in peace ; 
 But base Thyestcs, eager for the prey, 
 Crept to my bed, and stole the gem away. 
 
 Do you not perceive that Thyestes must have had a 
 share of reason proportionable to the greatness of his 
 crimes such crimes as are not only represented to us on 
 the stage, but such as we see committed, nay, often exceed- 
 ed, in the common course of life ? The private houses of 
 individual citizens, the public courts, the senate, the camp, 
 our allies, our provinces, all agree that reason is the author 
 of all the ill, as well as of all the good, which is done; that 
 it makes few act well, and that but seldom, but many act 
 ill, and that frequently; and that, in short, the Gods would 
 have shown greater benevolence in denying us any reason 
 at all than in sending us that which is accompanied with 
 so much mischief; for as wine is seldom wholesome, but 
 often hurtful in diseases, we think it more prudent to deny 
 it to the patient than to run the risk of so uncertain a 
 remedy ; so I do not know whether it would not be better 
 for mankind to be deprived of wit, thought, and penetra- 
 tion, or what we call reason, since it is a thing pernicious 
 to many and very useful to few, than to have it bestowed 
 upon tliem with so much liberality and in such abundance. 
 But if the divine will has really consulted the good of man 
 in this gift of reason, the good of those men only was con- 
 sulted on whom a well-regulated one is bestowed: how 
 few those are, if any, is very apparent. We cannot admit, 
 therefore, that the Gods consulted the good of a few only; 
 the conclusion must be that they consulted the good of 
 none. 
 
 .XXVIII. You answer that the ill use which a great 
 part of mankind make of reason no more takes away the 
 goodness of the Gods, who bestow it as a present of the 
 greatest benefit to them, than the ill use which children 
 make of their patrimony diminishes the obligation which 
 they have to their parents for it. We grant you this; 
 but where is the similitude? It was far from Deianira's 
 design to injure Hercules when she made him a present 
 
344 THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 
 
 of the shirt clipped in the blood of the Centnurs. No! 
 was it a regard to the welfare of Jason of PhersB that in- 
 fluenced the man who with his sword opened his iNipost- 
 luune, which the physicians had in vain attempted to 
 cure. For it has often happened that people have served 
 a man whom they intended to injure, and have injured 
 one whom they designed to serve; so that the effect of 
 the gift is by no means always a proof of the intention of 
 the giver ; neither does the benefit which may accrue from 
 it prove that it came from the hands of a benefactor. 
 For, in short, what debauchery, what avarice, what crime 
 among men is there which does not owe its birth to 
 thought and reflection, that is, to reason ? For all opinion 
 is reason : right reason, if men's thoughts are conforma- 
 ble to truth ; wrong reason, if they are not. The Gods 
 only give us the mere faculty of reason, if we have any ; 
 the use or abuse of it depends entirely upon ourselves; so 
 that the comparison is not just betv/een the present of 
 reason given us by the Gods, and a patrimony left to a son 
 by his father; for, after all, if the injury of mankind had 
 been the end proposed by the Gods, what could they have 
 given them more pernicious than reason? for what seed 
 could there be of injustice, intemperance, and cowardice, if 
 reason were not laid as the foundation of these vices ? 
 
 XXIX. I mentioned just now Medea and Atreus, per- 
 sons celebrated in heroic poems, who had used this rea- 
 son only for the contrivance and practice of the most fla- 
 gitious crimes ; but even the trifling characters which ap- 
 pear in comedies supply us with the like instances of this 
 reasoning faculty ; for example, does not he, in the Eu- 
 nuch, reason with some subtlety ? 
 
 What, then, must I resoh-e upon ? 
 
 She tnrn'd me out-of-doors ; she sends for me back again ; 
 
 Shall I go ? no, not if she were to beg it of me. 
 
 Another, in the Twins, making no scruple of opposing a 
 received maxim, after the manner of the Academics, as- 
 serts that when a man is in love and in want, it is pleas- 
 ant 
 
 To have a father covetous, crabbed, and passionate, 
 Who has no love or affection for his children. 
 
THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 345 
 
 This unaccountable opinion he strengthens thus : 
 
 You may defrand him of his profits, or forge letters in his name, 
 Or fright him by your servant into compliance ; 
 And what you take from such an old hunks, 
 How much more pleasantly do you spend it! 
 
 On the contrary, he says that an easy, generous father 
 is an inconvenience to a son in love ; for, says he, 
 
 I can't tell how to abuse so good, so prudent a parent. 
 Who always foreruns my desires, and meets me purse in hand, 
 To support me in my pleasures : this easy goodness and generosity 
 Quite defeat all my frauds, tricks, and stratagems. ^ 
 
 What are these frauds, tricks, and stratagems but the 
 effects of reason? O excellent gift of the Gods! With- 
 out this Phormio could not have said. 
 
 Find me out the old man: I have something hatching for him in my 
 head. 
 
 XXX. But let us pass from the stage to the bar. The 
 praetor^ takes his seat. To judge whom? The man who 
 set fire to our archives. How secretly was that villany 
 conducted! Q. Sosius, an illustrious Roman knight, of 
 the Picene field,^ confessed the fact. Who else is to be 
 tried ? He who forged the public registers Alenus, an 
 artful fellow, who counterfeited the handwriting of the 
 six officers? Let us call to mind other trials: that on 
 the subject of the gold of Tolosa, or the conspiracy of Ju- 
 gurtha. Let us trace back the informations laid against 
 Tubulus for bribery in his judicial office; and, since that, 
 the proceedings of the tribune Peduceus concerning the 
 
 ^ Here is one expression in the quotation from Ca;cilius that is not 
 commonly met with, which is prcestigias prcestrinxit ; Lambinus gives 
 prcestinxit, for the sake, I suppose, of playing on words, because it might 
 then be translated, "He has deluded my delusions, or stratagems;" but 
 prcestrinxit is certainly the right reading. 
 
 ^ The ancient Romans had a judicial as Avell as a military pra;tor ; 
 and he sat, with inferior judges attending him, like one of our chief- 
 justices. Sessum it praetor, which I doubt not is the right reading, Lam- 
 binus restored from an old copy. The common reading was sessum ite 
 precor. 
 
 ^ Picenuin was a region of Italy. 
 
 * The sex prinii were general receivers of all taxes and tributes ; and 
 they were obliged to make good, out of their own fortunes, whatever 
 deficiencies were in the public treasury, 
 
 15* 
 
346 THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 
 
 incest of the vestals. Let iis reflect upon the trials which 
 daily happen for assassinations, poisonings, embezzlement 
 of public money, frauds in wills, against which we have 
 a new law ; then that action against the advisers or as- 
 sisters of any theft; the many laws concerning frauds in 
 guardianship, breaches of trust in partnerships and com- 
 missions in trade, and other violations of faith in buy- 
 ing, selling, borrowing, or lending; the public decree on 
 a private affair by the Lsetorian Law;^ and, lastly, that 
 scourge of all dishonesty, the law against fraud, proposed 
 by our friend Aquillius ; that sort of fraud, he says, by 
 which one thing is pretended and another done. Can we, 
 then, think that this plentiful fountain of evil sprung from 
 the immortal Gods? If they have given reason to man, 
 they have likewise given him subtlety, for subtlety is only 
 a deceitful manner of applying reason to do mischief. To 
 them likewise we must owe deceit, and every other crime, 
 which, without the help of reason, would neither have 
 been thought of nor committed. As the old woman 
 wished 
 
 That to the fir which on Monnt Pelion grew 
 
 The axe had ne'er been laid,^ 
 
 so we should wish that the Gods had never bestowed this 
 ability on man, the abuse of which is so general that the 
 small number of those who make a good use of it are 
 often oppressed by those who make a bad use of it ; so 
 that it seems to be given rather to help vice than to pro- 
 mote virtue among us. 
 
 XXXI. This, you insist on it, is the fault of man, and 
 not of the Gods. But should we not laugh at a physician 
 or pilot, though they are weak mortals, if they were to lay 
 the blame of their ill success on the violence of the disease 
 or the fury of the tempest? Had there not been danger, 
 
 * The Lastorian Law was a security for those under age against ex- 
 tortioners, etc. By tiiis law all debts contracted under twenty-iive years 
 of age were void. 
 
 '^ This is from Eunius 
 
 Utinam ne in uemore Pelio securibus 
 Caesa cecidisset altiegua ad terram trabes. 
 
 Translated from the beginning of the Medea of Euripides 
 
 M;6' ev vunai(n Tlr}\iov ncaeTv ttotc 
 Tfxr\0ci<Ta irevKr). 
 
THE NATURE OF THE GODS. Sil 
 
 we should say, who would have applied to you ? This 
 reasoning has still greater force against the Deity. The 
 fault, you say, is in man, if he commits crimes. But why 
 was not man endued with a reason incapable of producing 
 any crimes ? How could the Gods err ? When we leave 
 our effects to our children, it is in hopes that they may 
 be well bestowed ; in which we may be deceived, but how 
 can the Deity be deceived ? As Phoebus when he trusted 
 his chariot to his son Phaethon, or as Neptune when he in- 
 dulged his son Theseus in granting him three wishes, the 
 consequence of which was the destruction of Hippolitus? 
 These are poetical fictions ; but truth, and not fables, 
 ought to proceed from philosophers. Yet if those poet- 
 ical Deities had foreseen that their indulgence would have 
 proved fatal to their sons, they must have been thought 
 blamable for it. 
 
 Aristo of Chios used often to say that the philosophers 
 do hurt to such of their disciples as take their good doc- 
 trine in a wrong sense; thus the lectures of Aristippus 
 might produce debauchees, and those of Zeno pedants. 
 If this be true, it were better that philosophers should be 
 silent than that their disciples should be corrupted by a 
 misapprehension of their master's meaning; so if reason, 
 which was bestowed on mankind by the Gods with a good 
 design, tends only to make men more subtle and fraudu- 
 lent, it had been better for them never to have received it. 
 There could be no excuse for a physician who prescribes 
 wine to a patient, knowing that he will drink it and im- 
 mediately expire. Your Providence is no less blamable in 
 giving reason to man, who, it foresaw, would make a bad 
 use of it. Will you say that it did not foresee it ? Noth- 
 ing could please me more than such an acknowledgment. 
 But you dare not. I know what a sublime idea you enter- 
 tain of her. 
 
 XXXII. But to conclude. If folly, by the unanimous 
 consent of philosophers, is allowed to be the greatest of all 
 evils, and if no one ever attained to true wisdom, we, whom 
 they say the immortal Gods take care of, are consequently 
 in a state of the utmost misery. For that nobody is well, 
 or that nobody can be well, is in effect the same thing ; 
 and, in my opinion, that no man is truly wise, or that no 
 
348 THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 
 
 man can be truly wise, is likewise the same thing. But 1 
 will insist no further on so self-evident a point. Telamon 
 in one verse decides the question. If, says he, there is a 
 Divine Providence, 
 
 Good men would be happ}-, bad men miserable. 
 
 But it is not so. If the Gods had regarded mankind, they 
 should have made them all virtuous; but if they did not 
 regard the welfare of all mankind, at least they ought to 
 have provided for the happiness of tlie virtuous. Why, 
 therefore, was the Carthaginian in Spain suffered to de- 
 stroy those best and bravest men, the two Scipios ? Why 
 did Maximus^ lose his son, the consul ? Why did Hanni- 
 bal kill Marcellus ? Wliy did Cannae deprive us of Pau- 
 lus ? Why was the body of Regulus delivered up to the 
 cruelty of the Carthaginians? Why was not Africanus 
 protected from violence in his own house? To these, and 
 many more ancient instances, let us add some of later date. 
 Why is Rutilins, my uncle, a man of the greatest virtue 
 and learning, now in banishment? Why w\as my own 
 friend and companion Drusus assassinated in his own 
 house? Why was Scsevola, the high-priest, that pattern 
 of moderation and prudence, massacred before the statue 
 of Vesta ? Why, before that, were so many illustrious cit- 
 izens put to death by Cinna? Why had Marius, the most 
 perfidious of men, the power to cause the death of Catulus, 
 a man of the greatest dignity ? But there would be no end 
 of enumerating examples of good men made miserable and 
 wicked men prosperous. Why did that Marius live to an 
 old age, and die so happily at his own house in his seventh 
 consulsliip ? Why was that inhuman wretch Cinna per- 
 mitted to enjoy so long a reign ? 
 
 XXXIII. He, indeed, met with deserved punishment at 
 last. But would it not have been better that these inhu- 
 manities had been prevented than that the author of them 
 should be punished afterward ? Varius, a most impious 
 wretch, was tortured and put to death. If this was his 
 punishment for the murdering Drusus by the sword, and 
 Metellus by poison, would it not have been better to have 
 preserved their lives than to have their deaths avenged on 
 ' Q. Fubius Maximus, surnamed Cunctator. 
 
THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 349 
 
 Varius? Dionysius was thirty-eight years a tyrant over 
 the most opulent and flourishing city ; and, before him, 
 how many years did Pisistratus tyrannize in the very flow- 
 er of Greece ! Phalaris and Apollodorus met with the 
 fate they deserved, but not till after they had tortured and 
 put to death multitudes. Many robbers have been exe- 
 cuted; but the number of those who have suffered for 
 their crimes is short of those whom they have robbed and 
 murdered. Anaxarchus,^ a scholar of Democritus, was cut 
 to pieces by command of the tyrant of Cyprus ; and Zeno 
 of Elca'' ended his life in tortures. What shall I say of 
 Socrates,^ whose death, as often as I read of it in Plato, 
 draws fresh tears from my eyes ? If, therefore, the Gods 
 really see everything that happens to men, you must ac- 
 knowledge they make no distinction between the good and 
 the bad. 
 
 XXXIV. Diogenes the Cynic used to say of Harpalus, 
 one of the most fortunate villains of his time, that the 
 constant prosperity of such a man was a kind of witness 
 against the Gods. Dionysius, of whom we have before 
 spoken, after he had pillaged the temple of Proserpine at 
 Locris, set sail for Syracuse, and, having a fair wind dur- 
 ing his voyage, said, with a smile, " See, my friends, what 
 favorable winds the immortal Gods bestow upon church- 
 robbers." Encouraged by this prosperous event, he pro- 
 ceeded in his impiety. When he landed at Peloponnesus, 
 he went into the temple of Jupiter Olympius, and disrobed 
 his statue of a golden mantle of great weight, an ornament 
 wliich the tyrant Gelo* had given out of the spoils of the 
 Carthaginians, and at the same time, in a jesting manner, 
 he said "that a golden mantle was too heavy in summer 
 and too cold in winter;" and then, throwing a woollen 
 cloak over the statue, added, " This will serve for all sea- 
 sons." At another time, he ordered the golden beard of 
 -^sculapius of Epidaurus to be taken away, saying that " it 
 
 ' Diogenes Laertius says he was pounded to death in a stone mortar 
 by command of Nicocreon, tyrant of Cyprus. 
 
 ^ Elea, a city of Lucania, in Italy. The manner in which Zeno was 
 put to death is, according to Diogenes Laertius, uncertain. 
 
 ^ This great and good man was accused of destroying tlie divinity of 
 the Gods of his country. He was condemned, and died by drinking a 
 glass of poison. * Tyrant of Sicily. 
 
850 THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 
 
 was absurd for the son to have a beard, when his father 
 had none." He likewise robbed the temples of the silver 
 tables, which, according to the ancient custom of Greece, 
 bore this inscription, " To the good Gods," saying " he was 
 willing to make use of their goodness;" and, without the 
 least scruple, took away the little golden emblems of vic- 
 tory, the cups and coronets, which wei-e in the stretched- 
 out hands of the statues, saying " he did not take, but re- 
 ceive them ; for it would be folly not to accept good things 
 from the Gods, to whom we are constantly praying for 
 favors, when they stretch out their hands towards us." 
 And, last of all, all the things which he had thus pillaged 
 from the temples were, by his order, brought to the mar- 
 ket-place and sold by the common crier; and, after he had 
 received the money for them, he commanded every pur- 
 chaser to restore what he had bought, within a limited 
 time, to the temples from whence they came. Thus to his 
 impiety towards the Gods he added injustice to man. 
 
 XXXV. Yet neither did Olympian Jove strike him with 
 his thunder, nor did ^Esculapius cause him to die by tedi- 
 ous diseases and a lingering death. He died in his bed, 
 had funeral honors^ paid to him, and left his power, which 
 he had wickedly obtained, as a just and lawful inheritance 
 to his son. 
 
 It is not without concern that I maintain a doctrine 
 which seems to authorize evil, and which might probably 
 give a sanction to it, if conscience, without any divine as- 
 sistance, did not point out, in the clearest manner, the dif- 
 ference between virtue and vice. Without conscience 
 man is contemptible. For as no family or state can be 
 supposed to be formed with any reason or discipline if 
 there are no rewards for good actions nor punishment for 
 crimes, so we cannot believe that a Divine Providence 
 regulates the world if there is no distinction between the 
 honest and the wicked. 
 
 ^ The common reading is, in tympanidis rogum inlatus est. This 
 passage lias been the occasion of as many different opinions concerning 
 l)oth the reading and the sense as any passage in the whole treatise. 
 Ti/mpanum is used for a timbrel or drum, tympanidia a diminutive 
 of it, Lambinus says tympana "were sticks with which the tyrant 
 used to beat the condemned." P. Victorias substitutes tyrannidis for 
 tympanidis. 
 
THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 351 
 
 But tlie Gods, you say, neglect trifling things : the little 
 fields or vineyards of particular men are not worthy their 
 attention ; and if blasts or hail destroy their product, Ju- 
 piter does not regard it, nor do kings extend their care 
 to the lower offices of government. This argument might 
 have some weight if, in bringing Rutilius as an instance, 
 I had only complained of the loss of his farm at Formiae ; 
 but I spoke of a personal misfortune, his banishment.^ 
 
 XXXVI. All men agree that external benefits, such as 
 vineyards, corn, olives, plenty of fruit and grain, and, in 
 short, every convenience and property of life, are derived 
 from the Gods ; and, indeed, with reason, since by our 
 virtue we claim applause, and in virtue we justly glory, 
 which we could have no right to do if it was the gift of 
 the Gods, and not a personal merit. When we are hon- 
 ored with new dignities, or blessed with increase of riches ; 
 when we are favored by fortune beyond our expectation, 
 or luckily delivered from any approaching evil, we return 
 thanks for it to the Gods, and assume no praise to our- 
 selves. But who ever thanked the Gods that he was a 
 good man ? We thank them, indeed, for riches, health, and 
 honor. For these we invoke the all-good and all-power- 
 ful Jupiter; but not for wisdom, temperance, and justice. 
 No one ever offered a tenth of his estate to Hercules to be 
 made wise. It is reported, indeed, of Pythagoras that he 
 sacrificed an ox to the Muses upon having made some new 
 discovery in geometry;^ but, for my part, I cannot believe 
 it, because he refused to sacrifice even to Apollo at Delos, 
 lest he should defile the altar with blood. But to return. 
 It is universally agreed that good fortune we must ask 
 of the Gods, but wisdom must arise from ourselves ; and 
 though temples have been consecrated to the Mind, to 
 Virtue, and to Faith, yet that does not contradict their be- 
 
 * The original is de amissa salute; which means the sentence of ban- 
 ishment among the Romans, in which was contained the loss of goods 
 and estate, and the privileges of a Roman ; and in this sense L' Abbe 
 d'Olivet translates it. 
 
 ^ The forty-seventh proposition of the first book of Euclid is unani- 
 mously ascribed to him by the ancients. Dr. Wotton, iu his Reflections 
 upon Ancient and Modern Learning, snys, "It is indeed a very noble 
 proposition, the foundation of trigonometry, of universal and various use 
 in those cuiions speculations about incommensurable numbers." 
 
352 THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 
 
 ing inherent in us. In regard to hope, safety, assistance, 
 and victory, we must rely upon the Gods for them ; from 
 whence it follows, as Diogenes said, that the prosperity of 
 tlie wicked destroys the idea of a Divine Providence. 
 
 XXXVII. But good men have sometimes success. They 
 have so; but we cannot, with any show of reason, attrib- 
 ute that success to the Gods. Diagoras, who is called the 
 atheist, being at Samothrace, one of his friends showed 
 him several pictures^ of people who had endured very dan- 
 gerous storms ; " See," says he, " you who deny a provi- 
 dence, how many have been saved by their prayers to the 
 Gods." "Ay," says Diagoras, " I see those who were saved, 
 but where are those painted who were shipwrecked ?" At 
 another time, he himself was in a storm, when the sailors, 
 being greatly alarmed, told him they justly deserved that 
 misfortune for admitting him into their ship ; when he, 
 pointing to others under the like distress, asked them "if 
 they believed Diagoras was also aboard those ships ?" In 
 short, witli regard to good or bad fortune, it matters not 
 what you are, or how you have lived. The Gods, like 
 kings, regard not everything. What similitude is there 
 between them ? If kings neglect anything, want of knowl- 
 edge may be pleaded in their defence ; but ignorance can- 
 not be brought as an excuse for the Gods. 
 
 XXXVIII. Your manner of justifying them is some- 
 what extraordinary, when you say that if a wicked man 
 dies without suffering for his crimes, the Gods inflict a 
 punishment on his children, his children's children, and all 
 his posterity. O wonderful equity of the Gods ! What 
 city would endure the maker of a law which should con- 
 demn a son or a grandson for a crime committed by the 
 father or the grandfather? 
 
 Shall Tantalus' unhappy offspring know 
 No end, no close, of this long scene of woe ? 
 When will the dire reward of guilt be o'er, 
 And Myrtilus demand revenge no more?' 
 
 Whether the poets have corrupted the Stoics, or the 
 Stoics given authority to the poets, I cannot easily deter- 
 mine. Both alike are to be condemned. If those persons 
 
 * These votive tables, or pictures, were hung up in the temples. 
 " This passage is a fragment from a tragedy of Attius. 
 
THE NATUKE OF THE GODS. 353 
 
 whose names have been branded in the satires of Hipponax 
 or Archilochus^ were driven to despair, it did not proceed 
 from the Gods, but had its origin in their own minds. 
 When we see JEgistus and Paris lost in the heat of an im- 
 pure passion, why are we to attribute it to a Deity, when 
 the crime, as it were, speaks for itself? I believe that 
 those who recover from illness are more indebted to the 
 care of Hippocrates than to the power of JEsculapius; 
 that Sparta received her laws from Lycurgus^ rather than 
 from Apollo ; that those eyes of the maritime coast, Cor- 
 inth and Carthage, were plucked out, the one by Critolaus, 
 the other by Hasdrubal, without the assistance of any di- 
 vine anger, since you yourselves confess that a Deity can- 
 not possibly be angry on any provocation. 
 
 XXXIX. But could not the Deity have assisted and 
 ])reserved those eminent cities ? Undoubtedly he could ; 
 for, according to your doctrine, his power is infinite, and 
 without the least labor ; and as nothing but the will is 
 necessary to the motion of our bodies, so the divine will 
 of the Gods, with the like ease, can create, move, and 
 change all things. This you hold, not from a mere phan- 
 tom of superstition, but on natural and settled principles 
 of reason ; for matter, you say, of which all things are 
 composed and consist, is susceptible of all forms and 
 changes, and there is nothing which cannot be, or cease to 
 be, in an instant ; and that Divine Providence has the com- 
 mand and disposal of this universal matter, and conse- 
 quently can, in any part of the universe, do whatever she 
 pleases : from whence I conclude that this Providence ei- 
 ther knows not the extent of her power, or neglects human 
 aifairs, or cannot judge what is best for us. Providence, 
 you say, does not extend her care to particular men ; there 
 
 ^ Hipponax was a poet at Ephesus, and so deformed that Bupalus 
 drew a picture of him to provoke laughter ; for which Hipponax is said 
 to have written such keen iambics on the painter that he hanged himself. 
 
 Lycambes had promised Archilochus the poet to marry his daughter 
 to him, but afterward retracted his promise, and refused her; upon which 
 Archilochus is said to have published a satire in iambic verse that pro- 
 voked him to hang himself. 
 
 ^ Cicero refers here to an oracle approving of his laws, and promising 
 Sparta prosperity as long as they were obeyed, which Lycurgus procured 
 from Delphi. 
 
354 THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 
 
 is no wonder in that, since she does not extend it to cities, 
 or even to nations, or people. If, therefore, she neglects 
 whole nations, is it not very probable that she neglects 
 all mankind ? But how can you assert that the Gods do 
 not enter into all the little circumstances of life, and yet 
 liold that they distribute dreams among men ? Since you 
 believe in dreams, it is your part to solve this difficulty. 
 Besides, you say we ought to call upon the Gods. Those 
 who call upon the Gods are individuals. Divine Provi- 
 dence, therefore, regards individuals, which consequently 
 proves that they are more at leisure than you imagine. 
 Let us suppose the Divine Providence to be greatly busied ; 
 that it causes the revolutions of the heavens, supports the 
 earth, and rules the seas : why does it suffer so many Gods 
 to be unemployed? Why is not the superintendence of 
 human affairs given to some of those idle Deities which 
 you say are innumerable? 
 
 This is the purport of what I had to say concerning 
 " the Nature of the Gods ;" not with a design to destroy 
 their existence, but merely to show what an obscure point 
 it is, and with what difficulties an explanation of it is at- 
 tended. 
 
 XL. Balbus, observing that Cotta had finished his dis- 
 course You have been very severe, says he, against a Di- 
 vine Providence, a doctrine established by the Stoics with 
 piety and wisdom ; but, as it grows too late, I shall defer 
 my answer to another day. Our argument is of the great- 
 est importance; it concerns our altars,^ our hearths, our 
 temples, nay, even the walls of our city, which you priests 
 liold sacred ; you, who by religion defend Rome better 
 than she is defended by her ramparts. This is a cause 
 which, while I have life, I think I cannot abandon without 
 impiety. 
 
 There is nothing, replied Cotta, which I desire more 
 than to be confuted. I have not pretended to decide this 
 point, but to give you my private sentiments upon it ; and 
 am very sensible of your great superiority in argument. 
 
 ' Pro arts et focis is a proverbial expression. The Romans, when 
 they would say their all was at stake, could not express it stronger than 
 by saying they contended pro aris et focis, for religion and their fire- 
 sides, or, as we express it, for religion and property. 
 
THE NATURE OF THE GODS. 355 
 
 No doubt of it, says Velleius ; wo have much to fear from 
 one who believes that our dreams are sent from Jupiter, 
 which, though they are of little weight, are yet of more 
 importance than the discourse of the Stoics concerning 
 tlie nature of the Gods. The conversation ended liere, 
 and we parted. Velleius judged that the arguments of 
 Cotta were truest; but those of Balbus seemed to me to 
 liave the greater probability/ 
 
 ^ Cicero, who was an Academic, gives his opinion according to the 
 manner of tlie Academics, wlio looked upon probability, and a resem- 
 blance of truth, as the utmost they could arrive at. 
 
ON THE COMMONWEALTH. 
 
 PREFACE BY THE EDITOR. 
 
 This work was one of Cicero's earlier treatises, thougb 
 one of those which was most admired by his contempora- 
 ries, and one of which he himself was most proud. It was 
 composed 54 b.c. It was originally in two books : then it 
 was altered and enlarged into nine, and finally reduced to 
 six. With the exception of the dream of Scipio, in the 
 last book, the whole treatise was lost till the year 1822, 
 when the librarian of the Vatican discovered a portion of 
 them among the palimpsests in that library. What he dis- 
 covered is translated here; but it is in a most imperfect 
 and mutilated state. 
 
 The form selected was that of a dialogue, in imitation 
 of those of Plato ; and the several conferences were sup- 
 posed to have taken place during the Latin holidays, 129 
 B.C., in the consulship of Caius Sempronius, Tuditanus, 
 and Marcus Aquilius. The speakers are Scipio Africanus 
 the younger, in whose garden the scene is laid ; Caius 
 Lselius ; Lucius Furius Philus ; Marcus Manilius ; Spurius 
 Mummius, the brother of the taker of Corinth, a Stoic; 
 Quintus -^lius Tubero, a nephew of Africanus; Publius 
 Rutilius Rufus ; Quintus Mucins Scaevola, the tutor of Cic- 
 ero ; and Caius Fannius, who was absent, however, on the 
 second day of the conference. 
 
 In the first book, the first thirty-three pages are want- 
 ing, and there are chasms amounting to thirty-eight pages 
 more. In this book Scipio asserts the superiority of an i 
 active over a speculative career ; and after analyzing and I 
 comparing the monarchical, aristocratic, and democratic 
 forms of government, gives a preference to the first; al~ 
 
358 ON THE COMMONWEALTH. 
 
 though liis idea of a perfect constitution would be one 
 compounded of three kinds in due proportion. 
 
 There are a few chasms in the earlier part of the second 
 book, and the latter part of it is wholly lost. In it Scipio 
 was led on to give an account of the rise and progress of 
 the Roman Constitution, from which he passed on to the 
 examination of the great moral obligations which are the 
 foundations of all political union. 
 
 Of the remaining books we have only a few disjointed 
 fragments, with the exception, as has been before men- 
 tioned, of the dream of Scipio in the sixth. 
 
ON THE COMMONWEALTH. 869 
 
 INTRODUCTION TO THE FIRST BOOK, 
 
 BY THE ORIGINAL TRANSLATOR. 
 
 Cicero introduces his subject by showing that men were not born for the 
 mere abstract study of philosophy, but that the study of philosophic 
 truth should always be made as practical as possible, and applicable to 
 the great interests of philanthropy and patriotism. Cicero endeavors 
 to show the benefit of mingling the contemplative or philosophic with 
 the political and active life, according to that maxim of Plato " Hap- 
 py is the nation whose philosophers are kings, and whose kings are 
 philosophers." 
 
 This kind of introduction was the mere necessary because many of the 
 ancient philosophers, too warmly attached to transcendental meta- 
 physics and sequestered speculations, had affirmed that true philoso- 
 phers ought not to interest themselves in tlie management of public 
 affairs. Thus, as M. Villemain observes, it was a maxim of the Epi- 
 cureans, "Sapiens ne accedat ad rempublicnm " (Let no wise man 
 meddle in pohtics). The Pythagoreans had enforced the same princi- 
 ple with more gravity, Aristotle examines the question on both sides, 
 and concludes in favor of active life. Among Aristotle's disciples, a 
 writer, singularly elegant and pure, had maintained the pre-eminence 
 of the contemplative life over the political or active one, in a work 
 which Cicero cites with admiration, and to which he seems to have 
 applied for relief whenever he felt harassed and discouraged in public 
 business. But here this great man was interested by the subject he 
 discusses, and by the whole course of his experience and conduct, to 
 refute the dogmas of that pusillanimous sophistry and selfish indul- 
 gence by bringing forward the most glorious examples and achieve- 
 ments of patriotism. In this strain he had doubtless commenced his 
 exordium, and in this strain we find him continuiug it at the point in 
 which the palimpsest becomes legible. He then proceeds to introduce 
 his illustrious interlocutors, and leads them at first to discourse on the 
 astronomical laws that regulate the revolutions of our planet. From 
 this, by a very graceful and beautiful transition, he passes on to the 
 consideration of the best forms of political constitutions that had pre- 
 vailed in different nations, and those modes of government which had 
 produced the greatest benefits in the commonwealths of antiquity. 
 
 This first book is, in fact, a splendid epitome of the political science of 
 the age of Cicero, and probably the most eloquent plea in favor of 
 mixed monarchy to be found in all literature. 
 
360 ON THE COMMONWEALTH. 
 
 BOOK I. 
 
 T. [Without the virtue of patriotism], neither Caiiia 
 Duilius, nor Aulus Atilius/ nor Lucius Metelhis, could 
 have delivered Rome by their courage from tlie terror of 
 Carthage; nor could the two Scipios, when the fire of the 
 second Punic "War was kindled, have quenched it in their 
 blood ; nor, when it revived in greater force, could either 
 Quintus Maximus'* have enervated it, or Marcus Marcellus 
 liave crushed it; nor, wdien it was repulsed from the gates 
 of our own city, would Scipio have confined it within the 
 walls of our enemies. 
 
 But Cato, at first a new and unknown man, whom all 
 we who aspire to the same honors consider as a pattern 
 to lead us on to industry and virtue, was undoubtedly at 
 liberty to enjoy his repose at Tusculum, a most salubri- 
 ous and convenient retreat. But he, mad as some people 
 think him, though no necessity compelled him, preferred 
 being tossed about amidst the tempestuous waves of pol- 
 itics, even till extreme old age, to living with all imagina-, 
 ble luxury in that tranquillity and relaxation. I omit in- 
 numerable men who have separately devoted themselves 
 to the protection of our Commonwealth; and those whose 
 lives are within the memory of the present generation I 
 will not mention, lest any one should complain that I had 
 invidiously forgotten himself or some one of his family. 
 This only I insist on that so great is the necessity of this 
 virtue which nature has implanted in man, and so great 
 is the desire to defend the conmion safety of our country, 
 that its energy has continually overcome all the blandish- 
 ments of pleasure and repose. 
 
 II. Nor is it sufficient to possess this virtue as if it 
 
 were some kind of art, unless we put it in practice. An 
 
 art, indeed, though not exercised, may still be retained in 
 
 knowledge; but virtue consists wholly in its proper use 
 
 ' /. e., Kegulus. ' /. e., Fabius. 
 
ON THE COMMONWEALTH. 361 
 
 and action. Now, the noblest use of virtue is the govern- 
 ment of the Commonwealth, and the carrying-out in real 
 action, not in words only, of all those identical theories 
 which those philosophers discuss at every corner. For 
 nothing is spoken by philosophers, so far as they speak 
 correctly and honorably, which has not been discovered 
 and confirmed by those persons who have been the found- 
 ers of the laws of states. For whence comes piety, or 
 from whom has religion been derived? Whence comes 
 law, either that of nations, or that which is called the civ- 
 il law? Whence comes justice, faith, equity ? Whence 
 modesty, continence, the horror of baseness, the desire 
 of praise and renown ? Whence fortitude in labors and 
 perils ? Doubtless, from those who have instilled some 
 of these moral principles into men by education, and con- 
 firmed others by custom, and sanctioned others by laws. 
 
 Moreover, it is reported of Xenocrates, one of the sub- 
 limest philosophers, that when some one asked him what 
 his disciples learned, he replied, " To do that of their own 
 accord which they might be compelled to do by law." 
 That citizen, therefore, who obliges all men to those virtu- 
 ous actions, by the authority of laws and penalties, to 
 which the philosophers can scarcely persuade a few by 
 the force. of their eloquence, is certainly to be preferred to 
 the sagest of the doctors who spend their lives in such 
 discussions. For which of their exquisite orations is so 
 admirable as to be entitled to be preferred to a well-con- 
 stituted government, public justice, and good customs? 
 Certainly, just as I think that magnificent and imperious 
 cities (as Ennius says) are superior to castles and villages, 
 so I imagine that those who regulate such cities by their 
 counsel and authority are far preferable, with respect to 
 real wisdom, to men who are unacquainted with any kind 
 of political knowledge. And since we are strongly 
 prompted to augment the prosperity of the human race, 
 and since we do endeavor by our counsels and exertions 
 to i-ender the life of man safer and wealthier, and since we 
 are incited to this blessing by the spur of nature herself, 
 let us hold on that course which has always been pursued 
 by all the best men, and not listen for a moment to the 
 signals of those who sound a retreat so loudly that they 
 
 16 
 
362 ON THE COMMONWEALTH. 
 
 sometimes call back even those who have made considera 
 blc progress. 
 
 III. These reasons, so certain and so evident, are op- 
 posed by those who, on the other side, argue that the la- 
 bors which* must necessarily be sustained in maintaining 
 the Commonwealth form but a slight impediment to the 
 vigilant and industrious, and are only a contemptible ob- 
 stacle in such important affairs, and even in common stud- 
 ies, offices, and employments. They add the peril of life, 
 that base fear of death, which has ever been opposed by 
 brave men, to whom it appears far more miserable to die 
 by the decay of nature and old age than to be allowed 
 an opportunity of gallantly sacrificing that life for their 
 country which must otherwise be yielded up to nature. 
 
 On this point, however, our antngonists esteem them- 
 selves copious and eloquent when they collect all the ca- 
 lamities of heroic men, and the injuries inflicted on them 
 by their ungrateful countrymen. For on this subject they 
 bring forward those notable examples among the Greeks; 
 and tell us that Miltiades, the vanquisher and conqueror 
 of the Persians, before even those wounds were healed 
 which he had received in that most glorious victory, 
 wasted away in the chains of his fellow-citizens that life 
 w^hich had been preserved from the weapons of the ene- 
 my. They cite Themistocles, expelled and proscribed by 
 the country which he had rescued, and forced to flee, not 
 to the Grecian ports which he had preserved, but to the 
 bosom of the barbarous powder w^hich he had defeated. 
 There is, indeed, no deficiency of examples to illusti-ate 
 the levity and cruelty of the Athenians to their noblest 
 citizens examples which, originating and multiplying 
 among them, are said at different times to have abounded 
 in our own most august empire. For we are told of the 
 exile of Camillus, the disgrace of Ahala, the unpopularity 
 of Nasica, the expulsion of La^nas,^ the condemnation of 
 
 ' It is unnecessary to give an account of the other names here men- 
 tioned ; but that of Lajnas is probably less known. He was Publiiis 
 ropillius Loenas, consul 132 B.C., the year after the death of Tiberius 
 Gracchus, and it became his duty to prosecute the accomplices of Grac- 
 clius, for which he was afterward attacked by Cains Gracchus with such 
 animosity that he withdrew into voluntary exile. Cicero pays a tribute 
 to the energy of Opimius in the first Oration against Catiline, c. iii. 
 
ON THE COMMONWEALTH. 303 
 
 Opiiuius, the flight of Metellus, the cruel destruction of 
 Caius Marius, the massacre of our chieftains, and the 
 many atrocious crimes which followed. My own history 
 is by no means free from such calamities; and I imagine 
 that when they recollect that by my counsel and perils 
 they were preserved in life and liberty, they are led by 
 that consideration to bewail my misfortunes more deeply 
 and affectionately. But I cannot tell why those who sail 
 over the seas for the sake of knowledge and experience 
 [should wonder at seeing still greater hazards braved in 
 the service of the Commonwealth]. 
 
 ly. [Since], on my quitting the consulship, I swore in 
 the assembly of the Roman people, wlio re-echoed my 
 words, that I had saved the Commonwealth, I console my- 
 self with this remembrance for all my cares, troubles, and 
 injuries. Although my misfortune had more of honor 
 than misfortune, and more of glory than disaster; and I 
 derive greater pleasure from the regrets of good men than 
 sorrow from the exultation of the ^yorthless. But even if 
 it had happened otherwise, how could I have complained, 
 as nothing befell me which was either unforeseen, or more 
 painful than I expected, as a return for my illustrious ac- 
 tions ? For I was one who, though it was in my power to 
 reap more profit from leisure than most men, on account 
 of the diversified sweetness of my studies, in which I had 
 lived from boyhood or, if any public calamity had hap- 
 pened, to have borne no more than an equal share with the 
 rest of my countrymen in the misfortune I nevertheless 
 did not hesitate to oppose myself to the most formidable 
 tempests and torrents of sedition, for the sake of saving 
 my countrymen, and at my own proper danger to secure 
 the common safety of all the rest. For our country did 
 not beget and educate us with the expectation of receiving 
 no support, as I may call it, from us ; nor for the purpose . 
 of consulting nothing but our convenience, to supply us| 
 with a secure refuge for idleness and a tranquil spot for 
 rest ; but rather with a view of turning to her own advan- 
 tage the nobler portion of our genius, heart, and counsel;, 
 giving us back for our private service only what she can 
 spare from the public interests. ^ 
 
 V. Those apologies, therefore, in w^hich men take ref- 
 
364 ON THE COMMONWEALTH. 
 
 uge as an excuse for their devoting themselves witli more 
 plausibility to mere inactivity do certainly not deserve to 
 be listened to; when, for instance, they tell us that those 
 who meddle v/ith public affairs are generally good-for- 
 nothing men, with whom it is discreditable to be com- 
 pared, and miserable and dangerous to contend, especially 
 when the multitude is in an excited state. On which ac- 
 
 I count it is not the part of a wise man to take the reins, 
 since he cannot restrain the insane and unregulated move- 
 ments of the common people. Nor is it becoming to a 
 man of liberal birth, say they, thus to contend with such 
 vile and unrefined antagonists, or to subject one's self to 
 the lashings of contumely, or to put one's self in the way 
 of injuries which ought not to be borne by a wise man. 
 As if to a virtuous, brave, and magnanimous man there 
 could be a juster reason for seeking the government than 
 this to avoid being subjected to worthless men, and to 
 prevent the Commonwealth from being torn to pieces by 
 them ; when, even if they were then desirous to save her, 
 they would not have the power. 
 
 VI. But this restriction who can approve, which would 
 interdict the wise man from taking any share in the gov- 
 ernment beyond such as the occasion and necessity may 
 compel him to? As if any greater necessity could pos- 
 sibly happen to any man than happened to me. In which, 
 how could I have acted if I had not been consul at the 
 time? and how could I have been a consul unless I had 
 maintained that course of life from my childhood which 
 raised me from the order of knights, in which I was born, 
 to the very highest station ? You cannot produce extem- 
 pore^ and just when you please, the power of assisting a 
 commonwealth, although it may be severely pressed by 
 dangers, unless you have attained the position which en- 
 ables you legally to do so. And what most surprises me 
 in the discourses of learned men is to hear those persons 
 Avho confess themselves incapable of steering the vessel of 
 
 the State in smooth seas (which, indeed, they never learn- 
 ed, and never cared to know) profess themselves ready to 
 
 j assume the h(;lm amidst the fiercest tempests. For those 
 men are accustomed to say openly, and indeed to boast 
 greatly, that they have never learned, and have never taken 
 
ON THE COMMONWEALTH. 365 
 
 the least pains to explain, the principles of either establjsh- 
 ino- or maintaining a conimonweallh ; and they look on 
 this practical science as one which belongs not to men of 
 learning and wisdom, but to those who have made it their 
 especial study. How, then, can it be reasonable for such 
 men to promise their assistance to the State, when they 
 shall be compelled to it by necessity, while they are igno- 
 rant how to govern the republic when no necessity press- 
 es upon it, which is a much more easy task? Indeed, 
 though it were true that the wise man loves not to thrust 
 himself of his own accord into the administration of pub- 
 lic affairs, but that if circumstances oblige him to it, then 
 he does not refuse the office, yet I think that this science 
 of civil legislation should in no wise be neglected by the 
 philosopher, because all resources ought to be ready to his 
 hand, which he knows not how soon he may be called on 
 to use. 
 
 VII. I have spoken thus at large for this reason, because 
 in this work I have proposed to myself and undertaken a 
 discussion on the government of a state ; and in order to 
 render it useful, I was bound, in the first place, to do away 
 with this pusillanimous hesitation to mingle in public af- 
 fairs. If there be any, therefore, who are too much influ- 
 enced by the authority of the philosophers, let them con- 
 sider the subject for a moment, and be guided by the opin- 
 ions of those men whose authority and credit are greatest 
 among learned men ; whom I look upon, though some of 
 them have not personally governed any state, as men who 
 have nevertheless discharged a kind of office in the repub- 
 lic, inasmuch as they have made many investigations into, 
 and left many writings concerning, state affairs. As to 
 those whom the Greeks entitle the Seven Wise Men, I find 
 that they almost all lived in the middle of public business. 
 Nor, indeed, is there anything in which human virtue can 
 more closely resemble the divine powers than in establish- 
 ing new states, or in preserving those already established. 
 
 VIII. And concerning these affairs, since it has been our' 
 good fortune to achieve something worthy of memorial in 
 the government of our country, and also to have acquired 
 some facility of explaining the powers and resources of 
 politics, we can treat of this subject with the weight of 
 
366 ON THE COMMONWEALTH. 
 
 personal experience and the habit of instruction and ilhis. 
 tration. Whereas before us many have been skilful in 
 theory, though no exploits of theirs are recorded ; and 
 many others have been men of consideration in action, 
 but unfamiliar with the arts of exposition. Nor, indeed, is 
 it at all our intention to establish a new and self-invented 
 system of government; but our purpose is rather to recall 
 to memory a discussion of the most illustrious men of tlieir 
 age in our Commonwealth, which you and I, in our youth, 
 vi^hen at Smyrna, heard mentioned by Publius Rutilius 
 Rufus, who reported to us a conference of many days in 
 which, in my opinion, there was nothing omitted that could 
 throw light on political affairs. 
 
 IX. For when, in the year of the consulship of Tudi- 
 tanus and Aquilius, Scipio Africanus, the son of Paulus 
 ^milius, formed the project of spending the Latin holi- 
 days at his country-seat, where his most intimate friends 
 had promised him frequent visits during this season of 
 relaxation, on the first morning of the festival, his ne- 
 phew, Quintus Tubero, made his appearance ; and when 
 Scipio had greeted him heartily and embraced him How^ 
 is it, my dear Tubero, said he, that I see you so early ? 
 For these holidays must afford you a capital opportunity 
 of pursuing your favorite studies. Ah ! replied Tubero, 
 I can study my books at any time, for they are always 
 disengaged ; but it is a great privilege, my Scipio, to find 
 you at leisure, especially in this restless period of public 
 affairs. You certainly have found me so, said Scipio, but, 
 to speak truth, I am rather relaxing from business than 
 from study. Nay, said Tubero, you must try to relax 
 from your studies too, for here are several of us, as w^e 
 have appointed, all ready, if it suits your convenience, to 
 aid you in getting through this leisure time of yours. I 
 am very willing to consent, answered Scipio, and we may 
 be able to compare notes respecting the several topics that 
 interest us. 
 
 X. Be it so, said Tubero ; and since you invite me to 
 discussion, and present the opportunity, let us first exam- 
 ine, before any one else arrives, what can be the nature 
 of the parhelion, or double sun, which was mentioned in 
 tlio senate. Those that affirm they witnessed this prodi* 
 
ON THE COMMONWEALTH. 367 
 
 gy are neither few nor unworthy of credit, so that there 
 is more reason for investigation than incredulity.* 
 
 Ah ! said Scipio, I wisli we had our friend Pana3tiu8 
 with us, who is fond of investigating all things of this 
 kind, but especially all celestial phenomena. As for my 
 opinion, Tubero, for I always tell you just what I think, 
 I hardly agree in these subjects with that friend of mine, 
 since, respecting things of which we can scarcely form a 
 conjecture as to their character, he is as positive as if he 
 had seen them with his own eyes and felt them with his 
 own hands. And I cannot but the more admire the wis- 
 dom of Socrates, who discarded all anxiety respecting 
 things of this kind, and affirmed that these inquiries con- 
 cerning tlie secrets of nature were either above the efforts 
 of human reason, or were absolutely of no consequence at 
 all to human life. 
 
 But, then, my Africanus, replied Tubero, of what credit 
 is the tradition which states that Socrates rejected all 
 these physical investigations, and confined his whole at- 
 tention to men and manners ? For, with respect to him 
 what better authority can we cite than Plato ? in many 
 passages of whose works Socrates speaks in such a man- 
 ner that even when he is discussing morals, and virtues, 
 and even public affairs and politics, he endeavors to inter- 
 weave, after the fashion of Pythagoras, the doctrines of 
 arithmetic, geometry, and harmonic proportions with them. 
 
 That is true, replied Scipio ; but you are aware, I be- 
 lieve, that Plato, after the death of Socrates, was induced 
 to visit Egypt by his love of science, and that after that 
 he proceeded to Italy and Sicily, from his desire of un- 
 derstanding the Pythagorean dogmas ; that he conversed 
 much with Archytas of Tarentum and Timseus of Locris ; 
 
 ^ This phenomenon of the parhelion, or mock sun, which so puzzled 
 Cicero's interlocutors, has been very satisfactorily explained by modem sci- 
 ence. The parhelia are formed by the reflection of the sunbeams on a 
 cloud properly situated. They usually accompany the coronse, or lumi- 
 nous circles, and are placed in the same circumference, and at the same 
 height. Their colors resemble that of the rainbow ; the red and yellow 
 are towards the side of the sun, and the blue and violet on the other. 
 There are, however, corona) sometimes seen without parhelia, and vice 
 versa. Parhelia are double, triple, etc., and in 1629, a parhelion of five 
 suns was seen at Home, and another of six suns at Aries, 1G66. 
 
368 ON THE COMMONWEALTH. 
 
 
 
 that he collected the works of Philolaus ; and that, find< 
 ing in these places the renown of Pythagoras flourishing, 
 he addicted himself exceedingly to the disciples of Pythag* 
 eras, and their studies ; therefore, as he loved Socrates 
 with his whole heart, and wished to attribute all great 
 discoveries to him, he interwove the Socratic elegance 
 and subtlety of eloquence with somewhat of the obscurity 
 of Pythagoras, and with that notorious gravity of his di- 
 versified arts. 
 
 XL When Scipio had spoken thus, he suddenly saw 
 Lucius Furius approaching, and saluting him, and em- 
 bracing him most affectionately, he gave him a seat on his 
 own couch. And as soon as Publius Rutilius, the worthy 
 reporter of the conference to us, had arrived, when we had 
 saluted him, he placed him by the side of Tubero. Then 
 said Furius, What is it that you are about? Has our 
 entrance at all interrupted any conversation of yours? 
 By no means, said Scipio, for you yourself too are in the 
 habit of investigating carefully the subject which Tubero 
 was a little before proposing to examine ; and our friend 
 Rutilius, even under the walls of Numantia, was in the 
 habit at times of conversing with me on questions of the 
 same kind. What, then, was the subject of your discus- 
 sion ? said Philus. We were talking, said Scipio, of the 
 double suns that recently appeared, and I wish, Philus, to 
 hear what you think of them. 
 
 XII. Just as he was speaking, a boy announced that 
 La^lius was coming to call on him, and that he had already 
 left his house. Then Scipio, putting on his sandals and 
 robes, immediately went forth from his chamber, and when 
 he had walked a little time in the portico, he met Laelius, 
 and welcomed him and those that accompanied him, name- 
 ly, Spurius Mummius, to whom he was greatly attached, 
 and C. Fannius and Quintus Sca3vola, sons-in-law of Lseli- 
 us, two very intelligent young men, and now of the qua3s- 
 torian age.^ 
 
 When he had saluted them all, he returned through the 
 portico, placing Laelius in the middle; for there was in 
 their friendship a sort of law of reciprocal courtesy, so 
 
 There U n little uncertainty as to what this age was, but it was prob- 
 ably about twenty-five. 
 
ON THE COMMONWEALTH. 369 
 
 that in the camp Lielius paid Scipio almost divine honors, 
 on account of his emuient renown in war and in private 
 life; in his turn Scipio reverenced Loelius, even as a father, 
 because he was older than himself. 
 
 Then after they had exchanged a few words, as they 
 walked up and down, Scipio, to whom their visit was ex- 
 tremely welcome and agreeable, wished to assemble them 
 in a sunny corner of the gardens, because it was still win- 
 ter ; and when tliey had agreed to this, there came in an- 
 other friend, a learned man, much beloved and esteemed 
 by all of them, M. MnniHus, who, after having been most 
 warmly welcomed by Scipio and the rest, seated himself 
 next to La3lius. 
 
 XIII. Then Philus, commencing the conversation, said : 
 It does not appear to me that the presence of our new 
 guests need alter the subject of our discussion, but only 
 that it should induce us to treat it more philosophically, 
 and in a manner more worthy of our increased audience. 
 What do you allude to? said Luelius; or what was the 
 discussion we broke in upon ? Scipio was asking me, re- 
 plied Philus, what I thought of the parhelion, or mock sun, 
 whose recent apparition was so strongly attested. 
 
 Loeliiis. Do you say then, my Philus, that we have suf- 
 ficiently examined those questions which concern our own 
 houses and the Commonwealth, that we begin to investi- 
 gate the celestial mysteries? 
 
 And Philus replied : Do you think, then, that it does 
 not concern our houses to know what happens in that vast 
 home which is not included in walls of human fabrication, 
 but which embraces the entire universe a home which 
 the Gods share with us, as the common country of all in- 
 telligent beings ? Especially when, if we are ignorant of 
 these things, there are also many great practical truths 
 which result from them, and which bear directly on the 
 welfare of our race, of which we must be also ignorant. 
 And here I can speak for myself, as well as for you, LaB- 
 lius, and all men who are ambitious of wisdom, that the 
 knowledge and consideration of the facts of nature are by 
 themselves very delightfuh 
 
 Lcelius. I have no objection to the discussion, especial- 
 ly as it is holiday-time with us. But cannot we have the 
 
 16* 
 
3V0 ON THE COMMONWEALTH. 
 
 pleasure of hearing yen resume it, or are we come too 
 late? 
 
 jPhilus. We have not yet commenced the discussion, 
 and since the question remains entiie and unbroken, I 
 shall have the greatest pleasure, my LaeHus, in handing 
 over the argument to you. 
 
 JLcelius. No, I had much rather hear you, unless, indeed, 
 Manilius tliinks himself able to compromise the suit be- 
 tween the two suns, that they may possess heaven as joint 
 sovereigns without intruding on each other's empire. 
 
 Tlien ManiUus said : Are you going, Laelius, to ridicule 
 a science in which, in the first place, I myself excel; and, 
 secondly, without which no one can distinguish what is 
 his own, and what is another's? But to return to the 
 point. Let us now at present listen to Philus, who seems 
 to me to have started a greater question than any of those 
 that have engaged the attention of either Publius Mucius 
 or myself. 
 
 Xiy. Then Philus said: I am not about to bring you 
 anything new, or anything which has been thought over 
 or discovered by me myself. But I recollect that Caius 
 Sulpicius Gallus, who was a man of profound learning, as 
 you are aware, when this same thing was reported to have 
 taken place in his time, while he was staying in the house 
 of Marcus Marcellus, who had been his colleague in the 
 consulship, asked to see a celestial globe which Marcellus's 
 grandfather had saved after the capture of Syracuse from 
 that magnificent and opulent city, without bringing to his 
 own home any other memorial out of so great a booty; 
 which I had often heard mentioned on account of the 
 great fame of Archimedes ; but its appearance, however, 
 did not seem to me particularly striking. For that other 
 is more elegant in form, and more generally known, which 
 was made by the same Archimedes, and deposited by the 
 same Marcellus in the Temple of Virtue at Rome. But 
 as soon as Gallus had begun to explain, in a most scien- 
 tific manner, the principle of this machine, I felt that the 
 Sicilian geometrician must have possessed a genius supe- 
 rior to anything we usually conceive to belong to our nat- 
 ure. For Gallus assured us that that other solid and com- 
 pact globe was a very ancient invention, and that tlie first 
 
ON THE COMMONWEALTH. 371 
 
 model had been originally made by Thales of Miletus. 
 That afterward Eudoxus of Cnidus, a disciple of Plato, 
 had traced on its surface the stars that appear in the sky, 
 and that many years subsequently, borrowing from Eudox- 
 us 'this beautiful design and representation, Aratus had il- 
 lustrated it in his verses, not by any science of astronomy, 
 but by the ornament of poetic description. He added that 
 the figure of the globe, which displayed the motions of the 
 sun and moon, and the five planets, or wandering stars, 
 could not be represented by the primitive solid globe ; and 
 that in this the invention of Archimedes was admirable, 
 because he had calculated how a single revolution should 
 maintain unequal and diversified progressions in dissimilar 
 motions. In fact, when Gallus moved this globe, we ob- 
 served that the moon succeeded the sun by as many turns 
 of the wheel in the machine as days in the heavens. From 
 whence it resulted that the progress of the sun was mark- 
 ed as in the heavens, and that the moon touched the point 
 where she is obscured by the earth's shadow at the instant 
 the sun appears opposite.^ * * * 
 
 XV. * * * =^ I had myself a great affection for. this Gal- 
 lus, and I know that he was very much beloved and es- 
 teemed by my father Paulus. I recollect that when I was 
 very young, when my father, as consul, commanded in 
 Macedonia, and we were in the camp, our army was seized 
 with a pious terror, because suddenly, in a clear night, the 
 bright and full moon became eclipsed. And Gallus, who 
 was then our lieutenant, the year before that in which he 
 was elected consul, hesitated not, next morning, to state 
 in the camp that it was no prodigy, and that the phenom- 
 enon which had then appeared would always appear at 
 certain periods, when the sun was so placed that he could 
 not affect the moon with his light. 
 
 ^ Cicero here gives a very exact and correct account of the planeta- 
 riura of Archimedes, which is so often noticed by the ancient astrono- 
 mers. It no doubt corresponded in a great measure to our modem 
 phmetarium, or orrery, invented by the eurl of that name. This elabo- 
 rate machine, whose manufacture requires the most exact and critical 
 science, is of the greatest service to those who study the revohitions of 
 the stars, for astronomic, astrologic, or meteorologic purposes. 
 
 ^ The end of the fourteenth chapter and the first words of the fifteenth 
 are lost . but it is plain that in the fifteenth it is Scipio who is speaking. 
 
372 ON THE COMMONWEALTH. 
 
 But do you mean, said Tubero, that he dared to speak 
 thus to men ahnost entirely uneducated and ignorant? 
 
 8ci]_no. He did, and with great * * * for his opinion 
 was no i-esult of insolent ostentation, nor was his language 
 unbecoming the dignity of so wise a man : indeed, he per- 
 fornied a very noble action in thus freeing his countrymen 
 from the terrors of an idle superstition. 
 
 XVI. And they relate that in a similar way, in the great 
 war in which the Athenians and Lacedaemonians contend- 
 ed with such violent resentment, the famous Pericles, the 
 first man of his country in credit, eloquence, and political 
 genius, observing the Athenians overwhelmed with an ex- 
 cessive alarm during an eclipse of the sun which caused 
 a sudden darkness, told them, what he had learned in the 
 school of Anaxagoras, that these phenomena necessarily 
 happened at precise and regular periods when the body of 
 the moon was interposed between the sun and the earth, 
 and that if they happened not before every new moon, 
 still they could not possibly happen except at the exact 
 time of the new moon. And when he had proved this 
 truth by his reasonings, he freed the people from their 
 alarms ; for at that period the doctrine was new and un- 
 familiar that the sun was accustomed to be eclipsed by 
 the interposition of the moon, which fact they say that 
 Thales of Miletus was the first to discover. Afterward 
 my friend Ennius appears to have been acquainted with 
 the same tlieory, who, wn-iting about 350^ years after the 
 foundation of Rome, says, " In the nones of June the sun 
 was covered by the moon and niglit." The calculations 
 in the astronomical art have attained such perfection that 
 from that day, thus described to us by Ennius and record- 
 ed in the pontifical registers, the anterior eclipses of the 
 sun have been computed as far back as the nones of July 
 in the reign of Romulus, when that eclipse took place, in 
 the obscurity of which it was affirmed that Virtue bore 
 Romulus to heaven, in spite of the perishable nature which 
 carried him off by the common fate of humanity. 
 
 ' There is evidently some eiTov in the text here, for Ennius was born 
 515 A.U.C., was a personal friend of the elder Afrieanns, and died about 
 675 A.u.c, so tliat it is plain that we ought to read in the text 550, 
 not 350. 
 
ON THE COMMONWEALTH. 373 
 
 XVII. Then said Tubero: Do not you think, Scipio, 
 tliat this astronomical science, which every day proves so 
 useful, just now appeared in a different Hght to you,* * * * 
 which the rest may see. Moreover, who can think any-f 
 thing in human affairs of brilliant importance who has 
 penetrated this starry empire of the gods? Or who can 
 tliink anything connected with mankind long who has 
 learned to estimate the nature of eternity? or glorious 
 who is aware of the insignificance of the size of the earth, 
 even in its whole extent, and especially in the portion 
 which men inhabit? And when we consider that almost 
 imperceptible point which we ourselves occupy unknown 
 to the majority of nations, can we still hope that our name 
 and reputation can be widely circulated ? And then our 
 estates and edifices, our cattle, and the enormous treasures 
 of our gold and silver, can they be esteemed or denomi- 
 nated as desirable goods by him who observes their per- 
 ishable profit, and their contemptible use, and their uncer- 
 tain domination, often falling into the possession of the 
 very w^orst men ? How happy, then, ought we to esteem 
 that man who alone has it in his power, not by the law 
 of the Romans, but by the privilege of philosophers, to en- 
 joy all things as his own ; not by any civil bond, but by 
 the common right of nature, which denies that any tiling can 
 really be possessed by any one but him who understands 
 its true nature and use; who reckons our dictatorships 
 and consulships rather in the rank of necessary offices than 
 desirable employments, and thinks they must be endured 
 rather as acquittances of our debt to our country than 
 sought for the sake of emolument or glory the man, in. 
 short, who can apply to himself the sentence which Cato 
 tells us my ancestor Af ricanus loved to repeat, " that he 
 was never so busy as when he did nothing, and never less 
 solitary than when alone." 
 
 For w^ho can believe that Dionysius, when after every 
 possible effort he ravished from his fellow-citizens their 
 liberty, had performed a nobler work than Archimedes, 
 when, without appearing to be doing anything, he manu- 
 factured the globe which we have just been describing? 
 
 ^ Two pages are lost here. Afterward it is again Scipio who is 
 
 speaking. 
 
874 ON THE COMMONWEALTH. 
 
 Who does not see that those men are in reality more soli. 
 tary who, in the midst of a crowd, find no one with whom 
 they can converse congenially than those who, without 
 Avitnesses, hold communion with themselves, and enter 
 into the secret counsels of the sagest philosophers, while 
 they delight themselves in their writings and discoveries? 
 And who would think any one richer than the man who 
 is in want of nothing which nature requires; or more 
 powerful than he who has attained all that she has need of ; 
 or happier than he who is free from all mental perturba- 
 tion ; or more secure in future than he who carries all his 
 property in himself, which is thus secured from shipwreck? 
 And what power, what magistracy, what royalty, can be 
 preferred to a wisdom which, looking down on all terres- 
 trial objects as low and transitory things, incessantly di- 
 rects its attention to eternal and immutable verities, and 
 which is persuaded that though others are called men, 
 none are really so but those who are refined by the appro- 
 priate acts of humanity? 
 
 In this sense an expression of Plato or some other phi- 
 losopher appears to me exceedingly elegant, who, when a 
 tempest had driven his ship on an unknown country and 
 a desolate shore, during the alarms with wliich their ig- 
 norance of the region inspired his companions, observed, 
 they say, geometrical figures traced in the sand, on which 
 he immediately told them to be of good cheer, for he had 
 observed the indications of Man. A conjecture he de- 
 duced, not from the cultivation of the soil which he beheld, 
 but from the symbols of science. For this reason, Tubero, 
 learning and learned men, and these your favorite studies, 
 have always particularly pleased me. 
 
 XVIII. Then La3lius replied : I cannot venture, Scipio, 
 to answer your arguments, or to [maintain the discussion 
 either against] you, Philus, or Manilius.^ * * * 
 
 We had a friend in Tubero's father's family, who in 
 these respects may serve him as a model. 
 
 Sextus so wise, and ever on his guard. 
 
 Wise and cautious indeed he was, as Ennius justly de- 
 scribes him not because he searched for what he could 
 ^ Two pages are lost here. 
 
ON THE COMMONWEALTH. 375 
 
 never find, but because he knew how to answer those who 
 prayed for deliverance from cares and difficulties. It is 
 he who, reasoning against the astronomical studies of Gal- 
 ium, used frequently to repeat these words of Achilles in 
 the Iphigenia :^ 
 
 They note the astrologie signs of heaven, 
 Whene'er the goats or scorpions of great Jove, 
 Or other monstrous names of brutal forms, 
 Rise in the zodiac ; but not one regards 
 The sensible facts of earth, on which we tread. 
 While gazing on the starry prodigies. 
 
 He used, however, to say (and I have often listened to 
 him with pleasure) that for liis part he thought that Ze- 
 thus, in the piece of Pacuvius, was too inimical to learning. 
 He much preferred the Neoptolemus of Ennius, who pro- 
 fesses himself desirous of philosophizing only in modera- 
 tion; for that he did not think it right to be wholly de- 
 voted to it. But though the studies of the Greeks have so 
 many charms for you, there are others, perhaps, nobler and 
 more extensive, which we may be better able to apply to 
 the service of real life, and even to political affairs. As to 
 these abstract sciences, their utility, if they possess any, 
 lies principally in exciting and stimulating the abilities of 
 youth, so that they more easily acquire more important ac- 
 complishments. 
 
 XIX. Then Tubero said : I do not mean to disagree 
 with you, Lselius ; but, pray, what do you call more impor- 
 tant studies ? 
 
 Lcelius. I will tell you frankly, though perhaps you will 
 think lightly of my opinion, since you appeared so eager 
 in interrogating Scipio respecting the celestial phenomena; 
 but I happen to think that those things which are every 
 day before our eyes are more particularly deserving of our 
 attention. Why should the child of Paulus JEmilius, the 
 nephew of ^milius, the descendant of such a noble family 
 and so glorious a republic, inquire how there can be two 
 suns in heaven, and not ask how there can be two senates 
 in one Commonwealth, and, as it were, two distinct peo- 
 
 ^ Both Ennius and Ncevius wrote tragedies called " Iphigenia." Mai 
 thinks the text here corrupt, and expresses some doubt whether there is 
 a quotation here at all. 
 
376 ON THE COMMONWEALTH. 
 
 pies ? For, as you see, the death of Tiberius Gracchus, 
 and the whole system of his tribuneship, has divided ono 
 people into two parties. But the slanderers and the ene- 
 mies of Scipio, encouraged by P. Crassus and Appius 
 Claudius, maintained, after the death of these two chiefs, 
 a division of nearly half the senate, under the influence of 
 Metellus and Mucins. Nor would they permit the man* 
 who alone could have been of service to help us out of our 
 difliculties during the movement of the Latins and their al- 
 lies towards rebellion, violating all our treaties in the pres- 
 ence of factious triumvirs, and creating every day some 
 fresh intrigue, to the disturbance of the worthier and 
 wealthier citizens. This is the reason, young men, if you 
 will listen to me, why you should regard this new sun 
 with less alarm ; for, whether it does exist, or whether it 
 does not exist, it is, as you see, quite harmless to us. As 
 to the manner of its existence, we can know little or noth- 
 ing ; and even if we obtained the most perfect understand- 
 ing of it, this knowledge would make us but little wiser or 
 happier. But that there should exist a united people and 
 a united senate is a thing which actually may be brought 
 about, and it will be a great evil if it is not ; and that it 
 does not exist at present we are aware ; and we see that 
 if it can be effected, our lives will be both better and hap- 
 pier. 
 
 XX. Then Mucins said : What, then, do you consider, 
 ray Lselius, should be our best arguments in endeavoring 
 to bring about the object of your wishes? 
 
 LobUus. Those sciences and arts which teach us how 
 we may be most useful to the State ; for I consider that 
 the most glorious office of wisdom, and the noblest proof 
 and business of virtue. In order, therefore, that we may 
 consecrate these holidays as much as possible to conversa- 
 tions which may be profitable to the Commonwealth, let 
 us beg Scipio to explain to us what in his estimation ap- 
 pears to be the best form of government. Then let us 
 pass on to other points, the knowledge of which may lead 
 us, as I hope, to sound political views, and unfold the 
 causes of the dangers which now threaten us. 
 
 XXI. When Philus,Manilius, and Muramius had all ex- 
 
 * He means Scipio himself. 
 
ON THE COMMONWEALTH. 377 
 
 pressed their great approbation of this idea' * * * I have 
 ventured [to open our discussion] in this way, not only 
 because it is but just that, on State politics the chief man 
 in the State slioukl be the principal speaker, but also be- 
 cause I recollect tiiat you, Scipio, were fornierly very much 
 in the habit of conversing with Panaetius and Polybius, 
 two Greeks, exceedingly learned in political questions, and 
 that you are master of many arguments by which you prove 
 that by far the best condition of government is that which 
 our ancestors have handed down to us. And as you, there- 
 fore, are familiar with this subject, if you will explain to 
 us your views respecting the general principles of a state 
 (I speak for my friends as well as myself), we shall feel ex- 
 ceedingly obliged to you. 
 
 XXII. Then Scipio said : I must acknowledge that there 
 is no subject of meditation to which my mind naturally 
 turns with more ardor and intensity than this very one 
 which La^lius has proposed to us. And, indeed, as I see 
 that in every profession, every artist who would distinguish 
 himself, thinks of, and aims at, and labors for no other ob- 
 ject but that of attaining perfection in his art, should not 
 I, whose main business, according to the example of my 
 father and my ancestors, is the advancement and right ad- 
 ministration of government, be confessing myself more in- 
 dolent than any common mechanic if I were to bestow on 
 this noblest of sciences less attention and labor than they 
 devote to their insignificant trades? However, I am nei- 
 ther entirely satisfied with the decisions which the great- 
 est and wisest men of Greece have left us ; nor, on the oth- 
 er hand, do I venture to prefer my own opinions to theirs. 
 Therefore, I must request you not to consider me either 
 entirely ignorant of the Grecian literature, nor yet disposed, 
 especially in political questions, to yield it the pre-eminence 
 over our own ; but rather to regard me as a true-born Ro- 
 man, not illiberally instructed by the care of my father, and 
 inflamed with the desire of knowledge, even from my boy- 
 hood, but still even more familiar with domestic precepts 
 and practices than the literature of books. 
 
 XXIII. On this Philus said: I have no doubt, my 
 Scipioj that no one is superior to you in natural genius, 
 
 J There is again a hiatus. What follows is spoken by La3lius. 
 
378 ON THE COMMONWEALTH. 
 
 and that you are very far superior to every one in the 
 practical experience of national government and of impor- 
 tant business. We are also acquainted with the course 
 which your studies have at all times taken ; and if, as you 
 say, you have given so much attention to this science and 
 art of politics, we cannot be too much obliged to La3lius 
 for introducing the subject : for I trust that what we shall 
 liear from you will be far more useful and available than 
 all the writings put together which the Greeks have writ- 
 ten for us. 
 
 Then Scipio replied : You are raising a very high expec- 
 tation of my discourse, such as is a most oppressive bur- 
 den to a man who is required to discuss grave subjects. 
 
 And Philus said : Although that may be a difficulty, 
 my Scipio, still you will be sure to conquer it, as you al- 
 ways do; nor is there any danger of eloquence failing you, 
 when you begin to speak on the affairs of a common- 
 wealth. 
 
 XXIV. Then Scipio proceeded : I will do what you 
 wish, as far as I can ; and I shall enter into the discussion 
 under favor of that rule which, I think, should .be adopted 
 by all persons in disputations of this kind, if they wish to 
 avoid being misunderstood ; namely, that when men have 
 agreed respecting the proper name of the matter under 
 discussion, it should be stated what that name exactly 
 means, and what it legitimately includes. And when that 
 point is settled, then it is fit to enter on the discussion ; 
 for it will never be possible to arrive at an understand- 
 ing of what the character of the subject of the discussion 
 is, unless one first understands exactly what it is. Since, 
 then, our investigations relate to a commonwealth, we must 
 first examine what this name properly signifies. 
 
 And when Lselius had intimated his approbation of this 
 course, Scipio continued : . 
 
 I shall not adopt, said he, in so clear and simple a man- 
 ner that system of discussion which goes back to first 
 principles ; as learned men often do in this sort of discus- 
 sion, so as to go back to the first meeting of male and fe- 
 male, and then to the first birth and formation of the first 
 family, and define over and over again what there is in 
 words, and in how many manners each thing is stated. 
 
ON THE COMMONWEALTH. 379 
 
 For, as I am speaking to men of prudence, who have act- 
 ed with the greatest glory in the Commonwealtli, both in 
 peace and war, I will take care 'not to allow the subject of 
 the discussion itself to be clearer than my explanation of 
 it. Nor have I undertaken this task with the design of 
 examining all its minuter points, like a school-master; nor 
 will I promise you in the following discourse not to omit 
 any single particular. 
 
 Then Ltelius said : For my part, I am impatient for ex- 
 actly that kind of disquisition which you promise us. 
 
 XXV. Well, then, said Africanus, a commonwealth is a 
 constitution of the entire people. But the people is not 
 every association of men, however congregated, but the 
 association of the entire number, bound together by the 
 compact of justice, and the communication of utility. The, 
 first cause of this association is not so much the weakness 
 of man as a certain spirit of congregation which naturally 
 belongs to him. For the human race is not a race of iso- 
 lated individuals, wandering and solitary ; but it is so con- 
 stituted that even in the affluence of all things [and with-j 
 out any need of reciprocal assistance, it spontaneouslyj 
 seeks society]. 
 
 XXVI. [It is necessary to presuppose] these original 
 seeds, as it were, since we cannot discover any primary 
 establishment of the other virtues, or even of a common- 
 wealth itself. These unions, then, formed by the principle 
 which I have mentioned, established their head- quarters 
 originally in certain central positions, for the convenience 
 of the whole population; and having fortified them by 
 natural and artificial means, they called this collection of 
 houses a city or town, distinguished by temples and pub- 
 lic squares. Every people, therefore, which consists of 
 such an association of the entire multitude as I have de- 
 scribed, every city which consists of an assemblage of the 
 people, and every commonwealth which embraces every 
 member of these associations, must be regulated by a cer- 
 tain authority, in order to be permanent. 
 
 This intelligent authority should always refer itself to 
 that grand first principle which established the Common- 
 wealth. It must be deposited in the hands of one supreme 
 person, or intrusted to the administration of certain dele- 
 
380 ON THE COMMONWEALTH. 
 
 gated rulers, or undertaken by the whole multitude. When 
 the direction of all depends on one person, we call this in- 
 dividual a king, and this form of political constitution a 
 kingdom. When it is in the power of privileged delegates, 
 the State is said to be ruled by an aristocracy ; and when 
 the people are all in all, they call it a democracy, or popu- 
 lar constitution. And if the tie of social affection, which 
 originally united men in political associations for the sake 
 of public interest, maintains its force, each of these forms 
 of government is, I will not say perfect, nor, in my opin- 
 ion, essentially good, but tolerable, and such that one may 
 accidentally be better than another : either a just and wise 
 king, or a selection of the most eminent citizens, or even 
 the populace itself (though this is the least commendable 
 form), may, if there be no interference of crime and cupid- 
 ity, form a constitution sufficiently secure. 
 
 XXVII. But in a monarchy the other members of the 
 State are often too much deprived of public counsel and 
 jurisdiction; and under the rule of an aristocracy the 
 multitude can hardly possess its due share of liberty, since 
 it is allowed no share in the public deliberation, and no 
 power. And when all things are carried by a democracy, 
 although it be just and moderate, yet its very equality is 
 a culpable levelling, inasmuch as it allows no gradations 
 of rank. Therefore, even if Cyrus, the King of the Per- 
 sians, was a most righteous and wise monarch, I should 
 still think that the interest of the people (for this is, as I* 
 have said before, the same as the Commonwealth) could 
 not be very effectually promoted when all things depended 
 on the beck and nod of one individual. And though at 
 present the people of Marseilles, our clients, are governed , 
 with the greatest justice by elected magistrates of the 
 highest rank, still there is always in this condition of the 
 people a certain appearance of servitude ; and when the 
 Athenians, at a certain period, having demolished their 
 Areopagus, conducted all public affairs by the acts and 
 decrees of the democracy alone, their State, as it no longer 
 contained a distinct gradation of ranks, was no longer able 
 to retain its original fair appearance. 
 
 XXVIII. I have reasoned thus on the three forms of 
 government, not looking on them in their disorganized 
 
ON THE COMMONWEALTH. 381 
 
 and confused conditions, but in their proper and regular 
 administration. These three particular forms, however, 
 contained in themselves, from the first, the faults and de- 
 fects I have mentioned; but they have also other danger-' 
 ous vices, for there is not one of these three forms of gov- 
 ernment which has not a precipitous and slippery passage 
 down to some proximate abuse. For, after thinking of 
 that endurable, or, as you will have it, most amiable king, 
 Cyrus to name him in preference to any one else then, 
 to produce a change in our minds, we behold the barbar- 
 ous Phalaris, that model of tyranny, to which the mo- 
 narchical authority is easily abused by a facile and natural 
 inclination. And, in like manner, along-side of the wise 
 aristocracy of Marseilles, we might exhibit the oligarchical 
 faction of the thirty tyrants which once existed at Athens. 
 And, not to seek for other instances, among the same 
 Athenians, we can show you that when unlimited power 
 was cast into the hands of the people, it infiamed the fury 
 of the multitude, and aggravated that universal license 
 which ruined their State.^ * * * 
 
 XXIX. The worst condition of things sometimes results 
 from a confusion of those factious tyrannies into which 
 kings, aristocrats, and democrats are apt to degenerate. 
 For thus, from these diverse elements, there occasionally 
 arises (as I have said before) a new kind of government. 
 And wonderful indeed are the revolutions and periodical 
 returns in natural constitutions of such alternations and 
 vicissitudes, which it is the part of the wise politician to 
 investigate with the closest attention. But to calculate 
 their approach, and to join to this foresight the skill which 
 moderates the course of events, and retains in a steady 
 hand the reins of that authority which safely conducts the 
 people through all the dangers to which they expose them- 
 selves, is the work of a most illustrious citizen, and of al- 
 most divine genius. 
 
 There is a fourth kind of government, therefore, which, 
 in my opinion, is preferable to all these : it is that mixed 
 and moderate government which is composed of the three 
 particular forms which I have already noticed. 
 
 XXX. Lceliiis. I am not ignorant, Scipio, that such is 
 
 ' Again two pages are lost. 
 
382 ON THE COMMONWEALTH. 
 
 your opinion, for I have often heard you say so. But I do 
 not tlie less desire, if it is not giving you too much trou- 
 ble, to hear wliich you consider the best of these three 
 forms of commonwealths. For it may be of some use iu 
 considering^ * * 
 
 XXXI. * * '' And each commonwealth corresponds to 
 the nature and Avill of him who governs it. Therefore, in 
 no other constitution than that m which the people exer- 
 cise sovereign power has liberty any sure abode, than which 
 there certainly is no more desirable blessing. And if it be 
 not equally established for every one, it is not even liber- 
 ty at all. And how can there be this character of equali- 
 ty, I do not say under a monarchy, where slavery is least 
 disguised or doubtful, but even in those constitutions in 
 which the people are free indeed in words, for they give 
 their suffrages, they elect officers, they are canvassed and 
 solicited for magistracies ; but yet they only grant those 
 things which they are obliged to grant whether they will 
 or not, and which are not really in their free power, though 
 others ask them for them ? For they are not themselves 
 admitted to the government, to the exercise of public au- 
 thority, or to offices of select judges, which are permitted 
 to those only of ancient families and large fortunes. But 
 in a free people, as among the Rhodians and Athenians, 
 there is no citizen who^ * * 
 
 XXXII. * * * No sooner is one man, or several, elevated 
 by wealth and power, than they say that * * * arise from 
 their pride and arrogance, when the idle and the timid 
 give way, and bow down to the insolence of riches. But 
 if the people knew how to maintain its rights, then they 
 say that nothing could be more glorious and prosperous 
 than democracy; inasmuch as they themselves would be 
 the sovereign dispensers of laws, judgments, war, peace, 
 public treaties, and, finally, of the fortune and life of each 
 individual citizen; and this condition of things is the only 
 one which, in their opinion, can be really called a common- 
 wealth, that is to say, a constitution of the people. It is 
 on this principle that, according to them, a peo})le often 
 vindicates its liberty from the domination of kings and 
 
 ' Asain two pages arc lost. It is evident that Scipio is speaking 
 again in caj). xxxi. " Again two pay;es are lost. 
 
ON THE COMMONWEALTH. 383 
 
 noliles; wliile, on the other hand, kings are not sought 
 for among free peoples, nor are the power and wealth 
 of aristocracies. They deny, moreover, that it is fair to 
 reject this general constitution of freemen, on account of 
 the vices of the unbridled populace; but that if the peo- 
 ple be united and inclined, and directs all its efforts to 
 the safety and freedom of the community, nothing can be 
 stronger or more unchangeable; and they assert that this 
 necessary union is easily obtained in a republic so consti- 
 tuted that the good of all classes is the same; while the 
 conflicting interests that prevail in other constitutions in- 
 evitably produce dissensions; therefore, say they, when 
 the senate had the ascendency, the republic had no stabil- 
 ity ; and when kings possess the power, this blessing is 
 still more rare, since, as Ennius expresses it, 
 
 III kingdoms there's no faith, and little love. 
 
 Wherefore, since the law is the bond of civil society, and 
 the justice of the law equal, by what rule can the associa- 
 tion of citizens be held together, if the condition of the 
 citizens be not equal? For if the fortunes of men cannot 
 be reduced to this equality if genius cannot be equally 
 the property of all rights, at least, should be equal among 
 those who are citizens of the same republic. For what is 
 a republic but an association of rights ?i * * * 
 
 XXXIII. But as to the other political constitutions, 
 these democratical advocates do not think they are wor- 
 thy of being distinguished by the name which they claim. 
 For why, say they, should we apply the name of king, the 
 title of Jupiter the Beneficent, and not rather the title of 
 tyrant, to a man ambitious of sole authority and power^ 
 lording it over a degraded multitude ? For a tyrant may 
 be as merciful as a king may be oppressive ; so that the 
 whole difference to the people is, whether they serve an in- 
 dulgent master or a cruel one, since serve some one they 
 must. But how could Sparta, at the period of the boasted 
 superiority of her political institution, obtain a constant 
 enjoyment of just and virtuous kings, Avhen they necessa- 
 rily received an hereditary monarch, good, bad, or indiffer- 
 ent, because he happened to be of the blood royal? As to 
 ^ Again two pages are lost. 
 
384 ON THE COMMONWEALTH. 
 
 aristocrats, Who will endure, say they, that men should 
 distinguish themselves by such a title, and that not by the 
 voice of the people, but by their own votes? For how is 
 such a one judged to be best either in learning, sciences, 
 or arts ?^ * * 'J' 
 
 XXXiy. * * * If it does so by hap-hazard, it will be 
 as easily upset as a vessel if the pilot were chosen by lot 
 from among the passengers. But if a people, being free, 
 chooses those to whom it can trust itself and, if it desires 
 its own preservation, it will always choose the noblest 
 then certainly it is in the counsels of the aristocracy that 
 the safety of the State consists, especially as nature has not 
 only appointed that these superior men should excel the 
 inferior sort in high virtue and courage, but has inspired 
 the people also with the desire of obedience towards these, 
 their natural lords. But they say this aristocratical State 
 is destroyed by the depraved opinions of men, who, through 
 ignorance of virtue (which, as it belongs to few, can be 
 discerned and appreciated by few), imagine that not only 
 rich and powerful men, but also those who are nobly born, 
 are necessarily the best. And so when, through this pop- 
 ular error, the riches, and not the virtue, of a few men has 
 taken possession of the State, these chiefs obstinately re- 
 tain the title of nobles, though they want the essence of 
 nobility. For riches, fame, and power, without wisdom 
 and a just method of regulating ourselves and command- 
 ing others, are full of discredit and insolent arrogance; 
 nor is there any kind of government more deformed than 
 that in which the wealthiest are regarded as the noblest. 
 
 But when virtue governs the Commonwealth, what can 
 be more glorious? When he who commands the rest is 
 himself enslaved by no lust or passion ; when he himself 
 exhibits all the virtues to which he incites and educates 
 the citizens; when he imposes no law on the people which 
 he does not himself observe, but presents his life as a liv- 
 ing law to his fellow-countrymen ; if a single individual 
 could thus suffice for all, there would be no need of more; 
 and if the community could find a chief ruler thus worthy 
 of all their suffrages, none would require elected magis- 
 trates. 
 
 ^ Here four pages are lost. 
 
ON THE COMMONWEALTH. 385 
 
 It was the difficulty of forming plans which transferred 
 the government from a king into the hands of many ; and 
 the error and temerity of the people likewise transferred 
 it from the hands of the many into those of the few. Thus, 
 between the weakness of the monarch and the rashness 
 of the multitude, the aristocrats have occupied the mid- 
 dle place, than which nothing can be better arranged ; and 
 while they superintend the public interest, the people nec- 
 essarily enjoy the greatest possible prosperity, being free 
 from all care and anxiety, having intrusted their security 
 to others, who ought sedulously to defend it, and not allow 
 the people to suspect that their advantage is neglected by 
 their rulers. 
 
 For as to that equality of rights which democracies so 
 loudly boast of, it can never be maintained; for the peo- 
 ple themselves, so dissolute and so unbridled, are always 
 inclined to flatter a number of demagogues ; and there is 
 in them a very great partiality for certain men and digni- 
 ties, so that their equality, so called, becomes most unfair 
 and iniquitous. For as equal honor is given to the most 
 noble and the most infamous, some of whom must exist in 
 every State, then the equity which they eulogize becomes 
 most inequitable an evil which never can happen in those 
 states which are governed by aristocracies. These rea- 
 sonings, my Lfelius, and some others of the same kind, are 
 usually brought forward by those that so highly extol this 
 form of political constitution. 
 
 XXXV. Then Leelius said : But you have not told us, 
 Scipio, which of these three forms of government you 
 yourself most approve. 
 
 Scijno. You are right to shape your question, which of 
 the tliree I most approve, for there is not one of them 
 which I approve at all by itself, since, as I told you, I pre- 
 fer that government which is mixed and composed of all 
 these forms, to any one of them taken separately. But if I 
 must confine myself to one of these particular forms sim- 
 ply and exclusively, I must confess I prefer the royal one, 
 and praise that as the first and best. In this, which I here 
 choose to call the primitive form of government, I find the 
 title oi father attached to that of king, to express that he 
 watches over the citizens as over his children, and endeav- 
 
 17 
 
386 ON THE COMMONWEALTH. 
 
 ors rather to preserve them in freedom than reduce them 
 to slavery. So that it is more advantageous for those who 
 are insignificant in property and capacity to be supported 
 by the care of one excellent and eminently powerful man. 
 The nobles here present themselves, who profess that tliey 
 can do all this in much better style; for they say that 
 there is much more wisdom in many than in one, and at 
 least as much faith and equity. And, last of all, come the 
 people, who cry with a loud voice that they will render 
 obedience neither to the one nor the few; that even to 
 brute beasts nothing is so dear as liberty ; and that all 
 men who serve either kings or nobles are deprived of it. 
 Thus, the kings attract us by affection, the nobles by talent, 
 the people by liberty; and in the comparison it is hard to 
 choose the best. 
 
 Loelius, I think so too, but yet it is impossible to de- 
 spatch the other branches of the question, if you leave this 
 primary point undetermined. 
 
 XXXVI. Scipio. We must then, I suppose, imitate 
 Aratus, who, when he prepared himself to treat of great 
 things, thought himself in duty bound to begin with Ju- 
 piter. 
 
 Jjcelius. Wherefore Jupiter? and what is there in this 
 discussion which resembles that poem? 
 
 Soipio. Why, it serves to teach us that we cannot bet- 
 ter commence our investigations than by invoking him 
 whom, with one voice, both learned and unlearned extol as 
 the universal king of all gods and men. 
 
 How so ? said La3lius. 
 
 Do you, then, asked Scipio, believe in nothing which is 
 not before your eyes? whether these ideas have been es- 
 tablished by the chiefs of states for the benefit of society, 
 that there might be believed to exist one Universal Mon- 
 arch in heaven, at whose nod (as Homer expresses it) all 
 Olympus trembles, and that he might be accounted both 
 king and father of all creatures; for there is great au- 
 thority, and there are many witnesses, if you choose to call 
 all many, who attest that all nations have unanimously rec- 
 ognized, by the decrees of their chiefs, that nothing is bet- 
 ter than a king, since they think that all the Gods are gov- 
 erned by the divine power of one sovereign ; or if avc sus- 
 
ON THE COMMONWEALTH. 337 
 
 pect tliat this opinion rests on the error of the ignorant, 
 and should be classed among the fables, let us listen to 
 those universal testimonies of erudite men, who have, as it 
 were, seen with their eyes those things to the knowledge 
 of wliich we can hardly attain by report. 
 
 What men do you mean ? said La3lius. 
 
 Those, replied Scipio, who, by the investigation of nat- 
 ure, have arrived at the opinion that the whole universe 
 [is animated] by a single Mind.' * * * 
 
 XXXVII. But if you please, my Lailius, I will bring 
 forward evidences which are neither too ancient nor in 
 any respect barbarous. 
 
 Those, said Lselius, are what I want. 
 
 Scipio. You are aware that it is now not four centuries 
 since this city of ours has been without kings. 
 
 Lmlius. You are correct; it is less than four centuries. 
 
 Scipio. Well, then, what are four centuries in the age 
 of a state or city ? is it a long time? 
 
 Lcdius. It hardly amounts to the age of maturity. 
 
 Scipio. You say truly ; and yet not four centuries have 
 elapsed since there was a king in Rome. 
 
 Lcdius. And he was a proud king. 
 
 Scip)io. But who was his predecessor? 
 
 Laelius. He was an admirably just one; and, indeed, we 
 must bestow the same praise on all his predecessors as far 
 back as Romulus, who reigned about six centuries ago. 
 
 Scipio. Even he, then, is not very ancient. 
 
 Lcelius. No; he reigned when Greece was already be- 
 coming old. 
 
 Scipio. Agreed. Was Romulus, then, think you, king 
 of a barbarous people ? 
 
 Lodius. Why, as to that, if we were to follow the ex- 
 ample of the Greeks, who say that all people are either 
 Greeks or barbarians, I am afraid that we must confess 
 that he was a king of barbarians ; but if this name be- 
 longs rather to manners than to languages, then I believe 1 
 the Greeks were just as barbarous as the Romans. j 
 
 Then Scipio said : But with respect to the present ques- 
 tion, we do not so much need to inquire into the nation as 
 into the disposition. For if intelligent men, at a period so 
 * Here four pages are lost. 
 
388 ON THE COMMONWEALTH. 
 
 little remote, desired the government of kings, you will 
 confess that I am producing authorities that are neither 
 antiquated, rude, nor insignificant. 
 
 XXXVIII. Then Ltelius said: I see, Scipio, that you 
 are very sufficiently provided with authorities ; but with 
 me, as with every fair judge, authorities are worth less 
 than arguments. 
 
 Scipio replied : Then, Ltelius, you shall yourself make 
 use of an argument derived from your own senses. 
 
 Lcdius. What senses do you mean ? 
 
 Scipio. The feelings which you experience when at any 
 time you happen to feel angry with any one. 
 
 Lcelius. That happens rather oftener than I could wish. 
 
 Scipio. Well, then, when you are angry, do you permit 
 your anger to triumph over your judgment? 
 
 No, by Hercules! said La3lius; I imitate the famous Ar- 
 chytas of Tarentum, who, when he came to his villa, and 
 found all its arrangements were contrary to his orders, said 
 to his steward, "Ah ! you unlucky scoundrel, I would flog 
 you to death, if it were not that I am in a rage with you.^' 
 
 Capital, said Scipio. Archytas, then, regarded unrea- 
 sonable anger as a kind of sedition and rebellion of nature 
 which he sought to appease by reflection. And so, if we 
 examine avarice, the ambition of power or of glory, or the 
 lusts of concupiscence and licentiousness, we shall find a 
 certain conscience in the mind of man, which, like a king, 
 sways by the force of counsel all the inferior faculties and 
 propensities ; and this, in truth, is the noblest portion of 
 our nature; for when conscience reigns, it allows no rest- 
 ing-place to lust, violence, or temerity. 
 
 JLcelius. You have spoken the truth. 
 
 jSci^no. Well, then, does a mind thus governed and reg- 
 ulated meet your approbation ? 
 
 Lmlius. More than anything upon earth. 
 
 Scipio. Then you would not approve that the evil pas- 
 sions, which are innumerable, should expel conscience, and 
 that lusts and animal propensities should assume an as- 
 cendency over us? 
 
 Lmlius. For my part, I can conceive nothing more 
 wretched than a mind thus degraded, or a man animated 
 by a soul so licentious. 
 
ON THE COMMONWEALTH. 389 
 
 Scipio. Yon desire, thenj that all the faculties of the 
 mind should submit to a ruling power, and that conscience 
 should reign over them all ? 
 
 Lcelius. Certainly, that is my wish. 
 
 Scipio. How, then, can you doubt what opinion to form 
 on the subject of the Commonwealth ? in which, if the 
 State is thrown into many hands, it is very plain that there 
 will be no presiding authority; for if power be not united, 
 it soon comes to nothing. 
 
 XXXIX. Then Laelius asked: But what difference is 
 there, I should like to know, between the one and the 
 many, if justice exists equally in many? 
 
 And Scipio said : Since I see, my Laelius, that the au- 
 thorities I have adduced have no great influence on you, I 
 must continue to employ you yourself as my witness in 
 proof of what I am saying. 
 
 In what way, said Laelius, are you going to make me 
 again support your argument ? 
 
 Scipio. Why, thus : I recollect, when we were lately at 
 Forniiae, that you told your servants repeatedly to obey the 
 orders of more than one master only. 
 
 Lcelius. To be sure, those of my steward. 
 
 Scipio. What do you at home? Do you commit your 
 affairs to the hands of many persons? 
 
 Lcelius. No, I trust them to myself .alone. 
 
 Scijno. Well, in your whole establishment, is there any 
 other master but yourself? 
 
 Lcelius. Not one. 
 
 Scipio. Then I think you must grant me that, as re- 
 spects the State, the government of single individuals, pro- 
 vided they are just, is superior to any other. 
 
 Loeliiis. You have conducted me to this conclusion, and 
 I entertain very nearly that opinion. 
 
 XL. And Scipio said : You would still further agree 
 with me, my Lselius, if, omitting the common comparisons, 
 that one pilot is better fitted to steer a ship, and a physi- 
 cian to treat an invalid, provided they be competent men 
 in their respective professions, than many could be, I should 
 come at once to more illustrious examples. 
 
 Lcelius. What examples do you mean ? 
 
 Scipio. Do not you observe that it was the cruelty and 
 
390 ON THE COMMONWEALTH. 
 
 ])ride of one single Tarqiiin only that made the title of 
 king nnpopular among the Romans? 
 
 Lmlius. Yes, I acknowledge that. 
 
 Scipio. You are also aware of this fact, on which I think 
 I shall debate in the course of the coming discussion, that 
 after the expulsion of King Tarquin, the people was trans- 
 ported by a wonderful excess of liberty. Then innocent 
 men were driven into banishment ; then the estates of many 
 individuals were pillaged, consulships were made annual, 
 public authorities were overawed by mobs, popular appeals 
 took place in all cases imaginable; then secessions of the 
 lower orders ensued, and, lastly, those proceedings which 
 tended to place all powers in the hands of the populace. 
 
 Lmlius. I must confess this is all too true. 
 
 Ail these things now, said Scipio, happened during pe- 
 riods of peace and tranquilHty, for license is wont to pre- 
 vail when there is little to feai-, as in a calm voyage or a 
 trifling disease. But as we observe the voyager and the 
 invalid implore the aid of some one competent director, as 
 soon as the sea grows stormy and the disease alarming, so 
 our nation in peace and security commands, threatens, re- 
 sists, appeals from, and insults its magistrates, but in war 
 obeys them as strictly as kings ; for public safety is, after 
 all, rather more valuable than popular license. And in the 
 most serious wars, our countrymen have even chosen the 
 entire command to be deposited in the hands of some single 
 chief,without a colleague; the very name of which magistrate 
 indicates the absolute character of his power. For though 
 he is evidently called dictator because he is appointed {dici- 
 tur), yet do we still observe him, my Laelius, in our sacred 
 books entitled Magister Populi (the master of the people). 
 
 This is certainly the case, said La^lius. 
 
 Our ancestors, therefore, said Scipio, acted wisely.^ * * 
 
 XLL When the people is deprived of a just king, as En- 
 nius says, after the death of one of the best of monarchs, 
 
 They hold his memory dear, and, in the warmth 
 Of tlieir discoin-se, they cry, O Romuhis! 
 O prince divine, sprung from the might of Mars 
 To be thy country's guardian ! O our sire ! 
 Be our protector still, O heaven-begot ! 
 
 ' Two pages are missing here. 
 
ON THE COMMONWEALTH. 391 
 
 Not heroes, nor lords alone, did they call those whom 
 they lawfully obeyed ; nor merely as kings did they pro- 
 claim them; but they pronounced them their country's 
 guardians, their fathers, and their Gods. Nor, indeed, 
 without cause, for they added. 
 
 Thou, Prince, hast broiiglit us to the gates of light. 
 
 And truly they believed that life and honor and glory had 
 arisen to them from the justice of their king. The same 
 good-will would doubtless have remained in their descend- 
 ants, if the same virtues had been preserved on the throne ; 
 but, as you see, by the injustice of one man the whole of 
 that kind of constitution fell into ruin. 
 
 I see it indeed, said Lgelius, and I long to know the 
 history of these political revolutions both in our own 
 Commonwealth and in every other. 
 
 XLII. And Scipio said: When I shall have explained 
 my opinion respecting the form of government which I 
 prefer, I shall be able to speak to you more accurately re- 
 specting the revolutions of states, though I think that such 
 will not take place so easily in the mixed form of govern- 
 ment which 1 recommend. With respect, however, to ab- 
 solute monarchy, it presents an inherent and invincible 
 tendency to revolution. No sooner does a king begin to 
 be unjust than this entire form of government is demol- 
 ished, and he at once becomes a tyrant, which is the worst 
 of all governments, and one very closely related to mon- 
 archy. If this State falls into the hands of the nobles, 
 which is the usual course of events, it becomes an aris- 
 tocracy, or the second of the three kinds of constitutions 
 which I have described; for it is, as it were, a royal that 
 is to say, a paternal council of the chief men of the State 
 consulting for the public benefit. Or if the people by it- 
 self has expelled or slain a tyrant, it is moderate in its 
 conduct as long as it has sense and wisdom, and while it 
 rejoices in its exploit, and applies itself to maintaining 
 the constitution which it has established. But if ever the 
 people has raised its forces against a just king and robbed 
 him of his throne, or, as has frequently happened, has 
 tasted the blood of its legitimate nobles, and subjected 
 the whole Commonwealth to its own license, you can im- 
 
392 ON THE COMMONWEALTH. 
 
 agine no flood or conflagration so terrible, or any whose 
 violence is harder to appease than this unbridled insolence 
 of the populace. 
 
 XLIII. Then we see realized that which Plato so viv- 
 idly describes, if I can but express it in our language. It 
 is by no means easy to do it justice in translation : how- 
 ever, I will try. 
 
 When, says Plato, the insatiate jaws of the populace 
 are fired Avith the thirst of liberty, and when the people, 
 urged on by evil ministers, drains in its thirst the cup, 
 not of tempered liberty, but unmitigated license, then the 
 magistrates and chiefs, if they are not utterly subservient 
 and remiss, and shameless promoters of the popular licen- 
 tiousness, are pursued, incriminated, accused, and cried 
 down under the title of despots and tyrants. I dare say 
 you recollect the passage. 
 
 Yes, said Lselius, it is familiar to me. 
 
 Scipio. Plato thus proceeds: Then those who feel in 
 duty bound to obey the chiefs of the State are persecuted 
 by the insensate populace, who call them voluntary slaves. 
 But those who, though invested with magistracies, wish 
 to be considered on an equality with private individuals, 
 and those private individuals who labor to abolish all dis- 
 tinctions between their own class and the magistrates, are 
 extolled with acclamations and overwhelmed with honors, 
 so that it inevitably happens in a commonwealth thus rev- 
 olutionized that liberalism abounds in all directions, due 
 authority is found wanting even in private families, and 
 misrule seems to extend even to the animals that witness 
 it. Then the father fears the son, and the son neglects 
 the father. All modesty is banished; they become far 
 too liberal for that. No difference is made between the 
 citizen and the alien ; the master dreads and cajoles his 
 scholars, and the scholars despise their masters. The 
 young men assume tlie gravity of sages, and sages must 
 stoop to the follies of children, lest they should be hated 
 and oppressed by them. The very slaves even are under 
 but little restraint; wives boast the same rights as their 
 husbands ; dogs, horses, and asses are emancipated in this 
 outrageous excess of freedom, and run about so violent- 
 ly that they frighten the passengers from the road. At 
 
ON THE COMMONWEALTH. 393 
 
 length the termination of all this infinite licentiousness is, 
 that tlie minds of the citizens become so fastidious and 
 effeminate, that when they observe even the slightest ex- 
 ertion of authority they grow angry and seditious, and 
 thus the laws begin to be neglected, so that the people are 
 absolutely witliout any master at all. 
 
 Then Lailius said: You have very accurately rendered 
 tlie opinions wliicli lie expressed. 
 
 XLIV. Scipio, Now, to return to the argument of my 
 discourse. It appears that this extreme license, which is 
 the only liberty in the eyes of the vulgar, is, according to 
 Plato, such that from it ns a sort of root tyrants natural- 
 ly arise and spring up. For as the excessive power of an 
 aristocracy occasions the destruction of the nobles, so this 
 excessive liberalism of democracies brings after it the 
 slavery of the people. Thus we find in the weather, the 
 soil, and the animal constitution the most favorable con- 
 ditions are sometimes suddenly converted by their excess 
 into the contrary, and this fact is especially observable 
 in political governments; and this excessive liberty soon 
 brings the people collectively and individually to an ex- 
 cessive servitude. For, as I said, this extreme liberty easi- 
 ly introduces the reign of tyranny, the severest of all un- 
 just slaveries. In fact, from the midst of this unbridled 
 and capricious populace, they elect some one as a leader 
 in opposition to their afflicted and expelled nobles : some 
 new chief, forsooth, audacious and impure, often insolent- 
 ly persecuting those who have deserved well of the State, 
 and ready to gratify the populace at his neighbor's ex- 
 pense as well as his own. Then, since the private condi- 
 tion is naturally exposed to fears and alarms, the people 
 invest him with many powers, and these are continued in 
 his hands. Such men, like Pisistratus of Athens, will 
 soon find an excuse for surrounding themselves with 
 body-guards, and they will conclude by becoming tyrants 
 over the very persons who raised tliem to dignity. If 
 such despots perish by the vengeance of the better citi- 
 zens, as is generally the case, the constitution is re-estab- 
 lished ; but if they fall by the hands of bold insurgents, 
 then the same faction succeeds them, which is only anoth- 
 er species of tyranny. And the same revolution arises 
 
394 ON THE COMMONWEALTH. 
 
 from tlie fair system of aristocracy when any corruption^ 
 has betrayed the nobles from the path of rectitude. Thus 
 the power is Hke the ball which is flung from liand to 
 hand : it passes from kings to tyrants, from tyrants to the 
 aristocracy, from them to democracy, and from these back 
 again to tyrants and to factions; and thus the same kind 
 of government is seldom long maintained. 
 
 XLV. Since these are the facts of experience, royalty 
 is, in my opinion, very far preferable to the three other 
 kinds of i)olitical constitutions. But it is itself inferior 
 to that which is composed of an equal mixture of the three 
 best forms of government, united and modified by one an- 
 other. I wish to establish in a commonwealth a royal and- 
 pre-eminent chief. Another portion of power should be 
 deposited in the hands of the aristocracy, and certain 
 things should be reserved to the judgment and wish of 
 the multitude. This constitution, in the first place, pos- 
 sesses that great equality without which men cannot long 
 maintain their freedom ; secondly, it offers a great stabili- 
 ty, while the particular separate and isolated forms easily 
 fall into their contraries; so that a king is succeeded by a 
 despot, an aristocracy by a faction, a democracy by a mob 
 and confusion ; and all these forms are frequently sacri- 
 ficed to new revolutions. In this united and mixed consti- 
 tution, however, similar disasters cannot happen without 
 the greatest vices in public men. For there can be little 
 to occasion revolution in a state in which every person is 
 firmly established in his appropriate rank, and there are 
 but few modes of corruption into wdiich we can fall. 
 
 XL VI. But I fear, Lselius, and you, my amiable and 
 learned friends, that if I were to dwell any longer on this 
 argument, my words would seem rather like the lessons of 
 a master, and not like the free conversation of one who is 
 uniting with you in the consideration of truth. I shall 
 therefore pass on to those things which are familiar to all, 
 and which I have long studied. And in these matters I 
 believe, I feel, and I afiirni that of all governments there 
 is none which, either in its entire constitution or the dis- 
 tribution of its parts, or in the discipline of its manners, 
 is comparable to that which our fathers received from our 
 tarliest ancestors, and which they have handed down to 
 
ON THE COMMONWEALTH. 395 
 
 us. And since you wisli to hear from me a development 
 of this constitution, with which you are all acquainted, I 
 shall endeavor to explain its true character and excellence. 
 Thus keeping ray eye fixed on the model of our Roman 
 Commonwealth, I shall endeavor to accommodate to it all 
 that I have to say on the best form of government. And 
 by treating the subject in this way, I think I shall be able 
 to accomplish most satisfactorily the task which Lailius 
 has imposed on me. 
 
 XL VII. LcbUus. It is a task most properly and pecul- 
 iarly your own, my Scipio ; for who can speak so well as 
 you either on the subject of the institutions of our ances- 
 tors, since you yourself are descended from most illustri- 
 ous ancestors, or on that of the best form of a constitution 
 which, if we possess (though at this moment we do not, 
 still), when we do possess such a thing, who will be more 
 flourishing in it than you? or on that of providing coun- 
 sels for tlie future, as you, who, by dispelling two mighty 
 perils from our city, have provided for its safety for^^ver? 
 
 FRAGMENTS. 
 
 XLVIII. As our country is the source of the greatest 
 benefits, and is a parent dearer than those who have given 
 us life, we owe her still warmer gratitude than belongs to 
 our human relations. * * * 
 
 Nor w^ould Carthage have continued to flourish during 
 six centuries without wisdom and good institutions. * * * 
 
 In truth, says Cicero, although the reasonings of those 
 men may contain most abundant fountains of science and 
 virtue ; still, if we compare them with the achievements 
 and complete actions of statesmen, they will seem not to 
 have been of so much service in the actual business of men 
 as of amusement for their leisure. 
 
396 ON THE COMMONWEALTH. 
 
 INTRODUCTION TO THE SECOND BOOK, 
 
 BY THE ORIGINAL TRANSLATOR. 
 
 In this second book of his Commonwealth, Cicero gives us a spirited 
 and eloquent review of the history and successive developments of 
 the Roman constitution. He bestows the warmest praises on its early 
 kings, points out the great advantages which had resulted from its 
 primitive monarchical system, and explains how that system had been 
 gradually broken up. In order to prove the importance of reviving 
 it, he gives a glowing picture of the evils and disasters that had be- 
 fallen the Roman State in consequence of that overcharge of demo- 
 cratic folly and violence which had gradually gained an alarming pre- 
 ponderance, and describes, with a kind of prophetic sagacity, tlie fruit 
 of his political experience, the subsequent revolutions of the Roman 
 State, which such a state of things would necessarily bring about. 
 
 BOOK 11. 
 
 I. [When, therefore, lie observed all his friends kindled 
 with the dejsire of hearing him, Scipio thus opened the 
 discussion. I will commence, said Scipio, with a senti- 
 ment of old Cato, whom, as you know, I singularly loved 
 and exceedingly admired, and to whom, in compliance with 
 the judgment of both my parents, and also by my own de- 
 sire, I was entirely devoted during my youth ; of whose 
 discourse, indeed, I could never have enough, so much 
 experience did he possess as a statesman respecting the 
 republic which he had so long governed, both in peace 
 and wai", with so much success. There was also an ad- 
 mirable propriety in his style of conversation, in which 
 wit was tempered with gravity; a wonderful aptitude for 
 acquiring, and at the same time communicating, informa- 
 tion ; and his life was in perfect correspondence and uni- 
 son with his language. lie used to say that the govern- 
 ment of Rome was superior to that of other states for this 
 reason, because in nearly all of them tliere had been single 
 individuals, each of whom had regulated their common- 
 
ON THE COMMONWEALTH. 397 
 
 wealth according to their own laws and their own ordi- 
 nances. So Minos had done in Crete, and Lycurgus in 
 Sparta; and in Athens, which experienced so many rev- 
 olutions, first Theseus, then Draco, then Solon, then Clis- 
 thones, afterward many others; and, lastly, when it was 
 almost lifeless and quite prostrate, that great and wise 
 man, Demetrius Phalereus, supported it. J>ut our llo- 
 maii constitution, on the contrary, did not spring from the 
 genius of one individual, but from that of many; and it 
 was established, not in the lifetime of one man, but in the 
 course of several ages and centuries. For, added he, there 
 never yet existed any genius so vast and comprehensive as 
 to allow nothing at any time to escape its attention ; and 
 all the geniuses in the world united in a single mind could 
 never, within the limits of a single life, exert a foresight 
 sufficiently extensive to embrace and harmonize all, with- 
 out the aid of experience and practice. 
 
 Thus, according to Cato's usual habit, I now ascend in 
 my discourse to the " origin of the people," for I like to 
 adopt the expression of Cato. I shall also more easily ex- 
 ecute my proposed task if I thus exhibit to you our polit- 
 ical constitution in its infancy, progress, and maturity, now 
 so firm and fully established, than if, alter the example of 
 Socrates in the books of Plato, I were to delineate a mere 
 imaginary republic. 
 
 II. When all had signified their approbation, Scipio re- 
 sumed : What commencen.ient of a political constitution 
 can we conceive more brilliant, or more universally known, 
 than the foundation of Rome by the hand of Komulus? 
 And he was the son of Mars : for we may grant this much 
 to the common report existing among men, especially as 
 it is not merely ancient, but one also which has been wise- 
 ly maintained by our ancestors, in order that those who 
 have done great service to communities may enjoy the 
 reputation of having received from the Gods, not only 
 their genius, but their very birth. 
 
 It is related, then, that soon after the birth of Romulus 
 and his brother Remus, Amulius, King of Alba, fearing 
 that they might one day undermine his authority, ordered 
 that they should be exposed on the banks of the Tiber; 
 and that in this situation the infant Ronmlus was stickled 
 
398 ON THE COMMONWEALTH. 
 
 by a wild beast: tliat he was afterward educated by the 
 shepherds, and brought up in the rough way of living and 
 labors of the countrymen ; and that lie acquired, when he 
 grew up, such superiority over the rest by the vigor of his 
 body and tlic courage of his soul, that all the people who 
 at that time inhabited the plains in the midst of which 
 Rome now stands, trauquilly and willingly submitted to 
 his government. And when he had made himself the 
 chief of those bands, to come from fables to facts, he took 
 Alba Longa, a powerful and strong city at that time, and 
 slew its king, Amulius. 
 
 III. Having acquired this glory, he conceived the design 
 (as they tell us) of founding a new city and establishing a 
 new state. As respected the site of his new city, a point 
 which requires the greatest foresight in him who would 
 lay the foundation of a durable commonwealth, he chose 
 the most convenient possible position. For he did not ad- 
 vance too near the sea, which he miglit easily have done 
 with the forces under liis command, either by entering the 
 territory of the Kutuli and Aborigines, or by founding his 
 citadel at the mouth ot the Tiber, where many years after 
 Ancus Martins established a colony. But Romulus, with 
 admirable genius and foresight, observed and perceived 
 that sites very near the sea are not the most favorable 
 positions for cities which would attain a durable prosperi- 
 ty and dominion. And this, first, because maritime cities 
 are always exposed, not only to many attacks, but to per- 
 ils they cannot provide against. For the continued land 
 gives notice, by many indications, not only of any regular 
 approaches, but also of any sudden surprises of an ene- 
 my, and announces them beforehand by the mere sound. 
 There is no adversary who, on an inland territory, can ar- 
 rive so swiftly as to prevent our knowing not only his ex- 
 istence, but his character too, and where he comes from. 
 But a maritime and naval enemy can fall upon a town 
 on the sea-coast before any one suspects that he is about 
 to come ; and when he does come, nothing exterior indi- 
 cates who he is, or whence he comes, or what he wishes ; 
 nor can it even be determined and distinguished on all oc- 
 casions whether he is a friend or a foe. 
 
 IV. I3ut maritime cities are likewise naturally exposed 
 
ON THE COMMONWEALTH. 399 
 
 to corrupt influences, and revolutions of manners. Their 
 civilization is more or less adulterated by new languages 
 and customs, and they import not only foreign merchan- 
 dise, but foreign fashions, to such a degree that nothing 
 can continue unalloyed in the national institutions. Those 
 who inhabit these maritime towns do not remain in tlieir 
 native place, but are urged afar from their homes by 
 winged hope and speculation. And even when they do 
 not desert their country in person, still their minds are al- 
 ways expatiating and voyaging round the world. 
 
 Nor, indeed, was there any cause which more deeply 
 undermined Corinth and Carthage, and at last overthrew 
 them both, than this wandering and dispersion of their 
 citizens, whom the passion of commerce and navigation 
 had induced to abandon the cultivation of their lands and 
 their attention to military pursuits. 
 
 The proximity of the sea likewise administers to mari- 
 time cities a multitude of pernicious incentives to luxury, 
 which are either acquired by victory or imported by com- 
 merce ; and the very agreeableness of their position nour- 
 ishes many expensive and deceitful gratifications of the 
 passions. And what I have spoken of Corinth may be 
 applied, for aught I know, without incorrectness to the 
 wliole of Greece. For the Peloponnesus itself is almost 
 wholly on the sea-coast ; nor, besides the Phliasians, are 
 there any whose lands do not touch the sea; and beyond 
 the Peloponnesus, the ^nianes, the Dorians, and the Dol- 
 opes are the only inland people. Why should I speak of 
 the Grecian islands, which, girded by the waves, seem all 
 afloat, as it were, together with the institutions and man- 
 ners of their cities? And these things, I have before no- 
 ticed, do not respect ancient Greece only; for which of all 
 those colonies which have been led from Greece into Asia, 
 Thracia, Italy, Sicily, and Africa, with the single exception 
 of Magnesia, is there that is not washed by the sea? Thus 
 it seems as if a sort of Grecian coast had been annexed to 
 territories of the barbarians. For among the barbarians 
 themselves none were heretofore a maritime people, if we 
 except the Carthaginians and Etruscans ; one for the sake 
 of commerce, the other of pillage. And this is one evi- 
 dent reason of the calamities and revolutions of Greece, 
 
400 ON THE COMMONWEALTH. 
 
 because she became infected with the vices which belong 
 to maritime cities, which I just now briefly enumerated. 
 But yet, notwithstanding these vices, they have one great 
 advantage, and one which is of universal appHcation, 
 namely, that there is a great facility for new inhabitants 
 flocking to them. And, again, that the inhabitants are en- 
 abled to export and send abroad the produce of their na- 
 tive lands to any nation they please, which offers them a 
 market for their goods. 
 
 V. By what divine wisdom, then, could Romulus em- 
 brace all the benefits that could belong to maritime cities, 
 and at the same time avoid the dangers to which they are 
 exposed, except, as he did, by building his city on the 
 bank of an inexliaustible river, whose equal current dis- 
 charges itself into the sea by a vast mouth, so that the 
 city could receive all it Avanted from the sen, and discharge 
 its superabundant commodities by the same channel ? And 
 in the same river a communication is found by which it 
 not only receives from the sea all the productions neces- 
 sary to the conveniences and elegances of life, but those 
 also which are brought fi'om tlie inland districts. So that 
 Romulus seems to me to have divined and anticipated 
 tliat this city would one day become the centre and abode 
 of a powerful and opulent empire; for there is no other 
 part of Italy in which a city could be situated so as to be 
 able to maintain so wide a dominion with so much ease. 
 
 VI. As to the natural fortifications of Rome, who is so 
 negligent and unobservant as not to have them depicted 
 and deeply stamped on his memory? Such is the plan 
 and direction of the walls, which, by the prudence of 
 Romulus and his royal successors, are bounded on all 
 sides by steep and rugged hills; and^the only aperture 
 between the Esquiline and Quirinal mountains is enclosed 
 by a formidable rampart, and surrounded by an immense 
 fosse. And as for our fortified citadel, it is so secured by 
 a precipitous barrier and enclosure of rocks, that, even in 
 that horrible attack and invasion of the Gauls, it remained 
 im})regnable and inviolable. Moreover, the site which he 
 selected had also an abundance of fountains, and was 
 healthy, though it was in the midst of a pestilential re- 
 gion ; for there are hills which at once create a current 
 
ON THE COMMONWEALTH. 401 
 
 of fresh air, and fling an agreeable shade over the val- 
 leys. 
 
 VIL These things he effected with wonderful rapidity, 
 and thus established the city, whicli, from his own name 
 Ronuilus, he determined to call Rome. And in order to 
 strengthen his new city, he conceived a design, singular 
 enough, and even a little rude, yet worthy of a great man, 
 and of a genius which discerned far away in futurity the 
 means of strengthening his power and his people. The 
 young Sabine females of honorable birth who had come to 
 Rome, attracted by the public games and spectacles which 
 Romulus then, for the first time, established as annual 
 games in the circus, were suddenly carried off at the feast 
 of Consus^ by his orders, and were given in marriage to 
 the men of the noblest families in Rome. And when, on 
 this account, the Sabines had declared war against Rome, 
 the issue of the battle being doubtful and undecided, 
 Romulus made an alliance with T.;tius, King of the Sa- 
 bines, at the intercession of the matrons themselves who 
 had been carried off. By this compact he admitted the 
 Sabines into the city, gave them a participation in the re- 
 ligious ceremonies, and divided his power with their king. 
 
 VIIL But after the death of Tatius, the entire govern- 
 ment was again vested in the hands of Romulus, although, 
 besides making Tatius his own partner, he had also elected 
 some of tlie chiefs of the Sabines into the royal council, 
 who on account of their affectionate regard for the people 
 w^ere called /)<:/^r<35, or fathers. He also divided the people 
 into three tribes, called after the name of Tatius, and his 
 own name, and that of Locumo, who had fallen as his ally 
 in the Sabine war; and also into thirty curiae, designated 
 by the names of those Sabine virgins, who, after being 
 carried off at the festivals, generously offered themselves 
 as the mediators of i)eace and coahtion. 
 
 But though these orders were established in the life of 
 Tatius, yet, after his death, Romulus reigned with still 
 greater power by the counsel and authority of the senate. 
 
 IX. In this respect he approved and adopted the prin- 
 ciple which Lycurgus but little before had applied to the 
 government of Lacedfemon ; namely, that the monarchical 
 * A name of Neptune. 
 
402 ON THE COMMONWEALTH. 
 
 authority and the royal power operate best in the govern* 
 ment of states when to this supreme authority is joined 
 the influence of tlie noblest of the citizens. 
 
 Therefore, thus supported, and, as it were, propped up 
 by this council or senate, Romulus conducted many wars 
 with the neighboring nations in a most successful manner; 
 and while he refused to take any portion of the booty to 
 liis own palace, he did not cease to enrich the citizens. 
 He also cherished the greatest respect for that institution 
 of hierarchical and ecclesiastical ordinances which we still 
 retain to the great benefit of the Commonwealth ; for in 
 the very commencement of his government he founded 
 the city with religious rites, and in the institution of all 
 public establishments he was equally careful in attending 
 to these sacred ceremonials, and associated with himself 
 on these occasions piiests that were selected from each of 
 the tribes. He also enacted that the nobles should act as 
 patrons and protectors to the inferior citizens, their natu- 
 ral clients and dependants, in their respective districts, a 
 measure the utility of which I shall afterward notice. 
 The judicial punishments were mostly fines of sheep and 
 oxen ; for the property of the people at that time consist- 
 ed in their fields and cattle, and this circumstance has 
 given rise to the expressions which still designate real 
 and personal wealth. Thus the people were kept in order 
 rather by mulctations than by bodily inflictions. 
 
 X. After Romulus had thus reigned thirty-seven years, 
 and established these two great supports of government, 
 the hierarchy and the senate, having disappeared in a sud- 
 den eclipse of the sun, he was thought worthy of being 
 added to the number of the Gods an honor which no 
 mortal man ever was able to attain to but by a glorious 
 pre-eminence of virtue. And this circumstance was the 
 more to be admired in the case of Romulus because most 
 of the great men that have been deified Avere so exalted 
 to celestial dignities by the people, in periods very little 
 enlightened, when fiction was easy and ignorance went 
 hand-in-hand with credulity. But w^ith respect to Romu- 
 lus, we know that he lived less than six centuries ago, at 
 a time when science and literature were already advanced, 
 and had got rid of many of the ancient errors that had 
 
ON THE COxMMONWEALTH. 403 
 
 prevailed among less civilized peoples. For if, as we con< 
 sider proved by the Grecian annals, Rome was founded in 
 the seventh Olympiad, the life of Komulus was contem- 
 porary with that period in which Greece already abound- 
 ed in poets and musicians an age when fables, except 
 those concerning ancient matters, received little credit. 
 
 For, one hundred and eight years after the promulga- 
 tion of the laws of Lycurgus, the first Olympiad Avas es- 
 tablished, which indeed, through a mistake of names, some 
 authors have supposed constituted by Lycurgus likewise. 
 And Homer himself, according to the best computation, 
 lived about thirty years before the time of Lycurgus. We 
 must conclude, therefore, that Homer flourished very many 
 years before the date of Romulus. So that, as men had 
 now become learned, and as the times themselves were not 
 destitute of knowledge, there was not much room left for 
 the success of mere fictions. Antiquity indeed has received 
 fables that have at times been sufficiently improbable : but 
 this epoch, which was already so cultivated, disdaining 
 every fiction that was impossible, rejected' * * * We may 
 therefore, perhaps, attach some credit to this story of Rom- 
 ulus's immortality, since human life was at that time ex- 
 perienced, cultivated, and instructed. And doubtless there 
 was in him such energy of genius and virtue that it is not 
 altogether impossible to believe the report of Proculus Ju- 
 lius, the husbandman, of that glorification having befallen 
 Romulus which for many ages we have denied to less il- 
 lustrious men. At all events, Proculus is reported to have 
 stated in the council, at the instigation of the senators, who 
 wished to free themselves from all suspicion of having 
 been accessaries to the death of Romulus, that he had 
 seen him on that hill which is now called the Quirinal, 
 and that he had commanded him to inform the people 
 that they should build him a temple on that same hill, and 
 offer him sacrifices under the name of Quirinus. 
 
 XI. You see, therefore, that the genius of this great 
 man did not merely establish the constitution of a new 
 people, and then leave them, as it were, crying in their 
 cradle; but he still continued to superintend their educa- 
 
 ^ About seven lines are lost here, and there is a great deal of corrup- 
 tion and imperfection in the next few sentences. 
 
404 ON THE COMMONWEALTH. 
 
 lion till they had arrived at an adult and wellnigh a ma* 
 ture age. 
 
 Then Laelius said : We now see, my Scipio, what you 
 meant when you said that you would adopt a new method 
 of discussing the science of government, different from 
 any found in the writings of the Greeks. For that prime 
 master of philosophy, whom none ever surpassed in elo- 
 quence, I mean Plato, chose an open plain on which to 
 build an imaginary city after his .own taste a city ad- 
 mirably conceived, as none can deny, but remote enough 
 from the real life and manners of men. Others, witliout 
 proposing to themselves any model or type of government 
 whatever, have argued on the constitutions and forms of 
 states. You, on the contrary, appear to be about to unite 
 these two methods ; foi", as far as you have gone, you seem 
 to prefer attributing to others your discovei'ies, rather than 
 start new theories under your own name and authority, 
 as Socrates has done in the writings of Plato. Thus, in 
 speaking of the site of Rome, you refer to a systematic 
 policy, to the acts of Romulus, which were many of them 
 the result of necessity or chance; and you do not allow 
 your discourse to run riot over many states, but you fix 
 and concentrate it on our own Commonwealth. Proceed, 
 then, in the course you have adopted ; for I see that you 
 intend to examine our other kings, in your pursuit of a 
 perfect republic, as it w^ere. 
 
 XIL Therefore, said Scipio, when that senate of Romu- 
 lus which was composed of the nobles, whom the king him- 
 self respected so highly that he designated ihe m patres, or 
 fathers, and their children patricians, attempted after the 
 death of Romulus to conduct the government without a 
 king, the people would not suffer it, but, amidst their re- 
 gret for Romulus, desisted not from demanding a fresh 
 monarch. The nobles then prudently resolved to estab- 
 lish an interregnum a new political form, unknown to oth- 
 er nations. It was not without its use, however, since, dur- 
 ing the interval which elapsed before the definitive nom- 
 ination of the new king, the State was not left without a 
 ruler, nor subjected too long to the same governor, nor 
 exposed to the fear lest some one, in consequence of the 
 prolonged enjoyment of power, should become more un- 
 
ON THE COMMONWEALTH. 405 
 
 willing to lay it aside, or more powerful if he wished to 
 secure it permanently for himself. At which time this 
 new nation discovered a political provision which had es- 
 caped the Spartan Lycurgus, who conceived that the mon- 
 arch ought not to be elective if indeed it is true that this 
 depended on Lycurgus but that it was better for the 
 Lacedaemonians to acknowledge as their sovereign the next 
 heir of the race of Hercules, whoever he might be : but our 
 Romans, rude as they were, saw the importance of appoint- 
 ing a king, not for his family, but for his virtue and ex- 
 perience. 
 
 XIII. And fame having recognized these eminent qual- 
 ities in Numa Pompilius, the Roman people, without par- 
 tiality for their own citizens, committed itself, by the coun- 
 sel of the senators, to a king of foreign origin, and sum- 
 moned this Sabine from the city of Cures to Rome, that 
 he might reign over them. Numa, although the people 
 had proclaimed him king in their Comitia Curiata, did 
 nevertheless himself pass a Lex Curiata respecting his 
 own authority; and observing that the institutions of 
 Romulus had too much excited the military propensities 
 of the people, he judged it expedient to recall them from 
 this habit of warfare by other employments. 
 
 XIV. And, in the first place, he divided severally among 
 the citizens the lands which Romulus had conquered, and 
 taught them that even without the aid of pillage and dev- 
 astation they could, by the cultivation of their own terri- 
 tories, procure themselves all kinds of commodities. And 
 he inspired them with the love of peace and tranquillity, 
 in which faith and justice are likeliest to flourish, and ex- 
 tended the most powerful protection to the people in the 
 cultivation of their fields and the enjoyment of their prod- 
 uce. Pompilius likewise having created hierarchical insti- 
 tutions of the highest class, added two augurs to the old 
 number. He intrusted the superintendence of the sacred 
 rites to five pontiffs, selected fronr the body of the nobles; 
 and by those laws which we still preserve on our monu- 
 ments he mitigated, by religious ceremonials, the minds 
 that had been too long inflamed by military enthusiasm 
 and enterprise. 
 
 He also established the Flamines and the Saliau priests 
 
406 ON THE COMMONWEALTH. 
 
 and the Vestal Virgins, and regulated all departments of 
 our ecclesiastical policy with the most pious care. In the 
 ordinance of sacrifices, he wished that the ceremonial should 
 be very arduous and the expenditure very light. He thus 
 appointed many observances, whose knowledge is extreme- 
 ly important, and v/hose expense far from burdensome. 
 Thus in religious worship he added devotion and removed 
 costliness. He was also the first to introduce markets, 
 games, and the other usual methods of assembling and 
 uniting men. By these establishments, he inclined to be- 
 nevolence and amiability spirits whom the passion for war 
 had rendered savage and ferocious. Having thus reigned 
 in the greatest peace and concord thirty-nine years for in 
 dates we mainly follow our Polybius, than whom no one 
 ever gave more attention to the investigation of the his- 
 tory of the times he departed this life, having corrobo- 
 rated the two grand principles of political stability, relig- 
 ion and clemency. 
 
 XV. When Scipio had concluded these remarks. Is it 
 not, said Manilius, a true tradition which is current, that 
 our king Numa was a disciple of Pythagoras himself, or 
 that at least he was a Pythagorean in his doctrines ? For 
 I have often heard this from my elders, and we know that 
 it is the popular opinion ; but it does not seeni to be clear- 
 ly proved by the testimony of our public annals. 
 ' Then Scipio replied : The supposition is false, my Ma- 
 nilius ; it is not merely a fiction, but a ridiculous and bun- 
 gling one too ; and we should not tolerate those statements, 
 even in fiction, relating to facts which not only did not hap- 
 pen, but which never could have happened. For it was 
 not till the fourth year of the reign of Tarquinius Super- 
 bus that Pythagoras is ascertained to have come to Syba- 
 ris, Crotona, and this part of Italy. And the sixty-second 
 Olympiad is the common date of the elevation of Tarquin 
 to the throne, and of the arrival of Pythagoras. From 
 which it appears, when we calculate the duration of the 
 reigns of the kings, that about one hundred and forty 
 years must liave elapsed after the death of Numa before 
 Pythagoras first arrived in Italy. And this fact, in the 
 minds of men who have carefully studied the annals of 
 time, has never been at all doubted. 
 
ON THE COMxMONWEALTH. 407 
 
 O yo inunortnl Gods ! said Manilius, how deep and how 
 inveterate is this error in the minds of men ! However, 
 it costs me no effort to concede that our Roman sciences 
 were not imported from beyond the seas, but that they 
 spruns: from our own indigenous and domestic virtues. 
 
 XVI. You will become still more convinced of this fact, 
 said Africanus, when tracing the progress of our Common- 
 wealth as it became gradually developed to its best and 
 maturest condition. And you will find yet further occa- 
 sion to admire the wisdom of our ancestors on this very 
 account, since you will perceive that even those things 
 which they borrowed from foreigners received a much 
 higher improvement among us than they possessed in the 
 countries from whence they were imported among us ; and 
 you will learn that the Roman people was aggrandized, not 
 by chance or hazard, but rather by counsel and discipline, 
 to which fortune indeed was by no means unfavorable. 
 
 XVII. After the death of King Pompilius, the people, 
 after a short period of interregnum, chose TuUus Hostilius 
 for their king, in the Comitia Curiata; and TuUus, after 
 Numa's example, consulted the people in their curias to 
 procure a sanction for his government. His excellence 
 chiefly appeared in his military glory and great achieve- 
 ments in war. He likewise, out of his military spoils, con- 
 structed and decorated the House of Comitia and the Sen- 
 ate-house. He also settled the ceremonies of the procla- 
 mation of hostilities, and consecrated their righteous insti- 
 tution by the religious sanction of the Fetial priests, so 
 that every war which was not duly announced and de- 
 clared might be adjudged illegal, unjust, and impious. 
 And observe how wisely our kings at that time perceived 
 that certain rights ought to be allowed to the peoi)le, of 
 which we shall have a good deal to say hereafter. Tullus 
 did not even assume the ensigns of royalty without the 
 approbation of the people ; and when he appointed twelve 
 lictors, with their axes to go before him' * * * 
 
 XVIII. * * * [llaiiilins^.] This Commonwealth of Rome, 
 which you are so eloquently describing, did not creep tow- 
 ards perfection ; it rather flew at once to the maturity of 
 its grandeur. 
 
 ^ Two pages are lost here. 
 
408 ON THE COMMONWEALTH. 
 
 [Sclpio.] After Tulliis, Ancns Martins, a descendant of 
 Nnma by his danghter, was appointed king by the people. 
 He also procured the passing of a law^ through the Comi- 
 tia Curiata respecting his government. This king having 
 conquered the Latins, admitted them to the rights of citi- 
 zens of Rome. He added to the city the Aventine and 
 Caelian hills; he distributed the lands he had taken in 
 war ; he bestowed on the public all the maritime forests 
 he had acquired ; and he built the city Ostia, at the mouth 
 of the Tiber, and coloiiized it. When he had thus reigned 
 twenty-three years, he died. 
 
 Then said La3lius : Doubtless this king deserves our 
 praises, but the Roman history is obscure. We possess, 
 indeed, the name of this monarch's mother, but we know 
 nothing of his father. 
 
 It is so, said Scipio ; but in those ages little more than 
 the names of the kings were recorded. 
 
 XIX. For the first time at this period, Rome appears 
 to have become more learned by the study of foreign lit- 
 erature; for it was no longer a little rivulet, flowing from 
 Greece towards the walls of our city, but an overflowing 
 river of Grecian sciences and arts. This is generally at- 
 tributed to Demaratus, a Corinthian, the first man of his 
 country in reputation, honor, and wealth ; who, not being 
 able to bear the despotism of Cypselus, tyrant of Corinth, 
 fled with large treasures, and arrived at Tarquinii, the most 
 flourishing city in Etruria. There, understanding that the 
 domination of Cypselus was thoroughly established, he, 
 like a free and bold-hearted man, renounced his country, 
 and was admitted into the number of the citizens of Tar- 
 quinii, and fixed his residence in that city. And having 
 married a woman of the city, he instructed his two sons, 
 according to the method of Greek education, in all kinds 
 of sciences and arts.'^ * * * 
 
 XX. * * * [One of these sons] was easily admitted to 
 
 1 The Lex Curiata de Lnperio, so often mentioned here, was the same 
 as the Auctoritas Patrurn, and was necessary in order to confer npon the 
 dictator, consuls, and other magistrates the i7nperium, or military com- 
 mand : without this they had only a potestas, or civil authority, and 
 conid not meddle with military afliiirs. 
 
 '^ Two pages arc missing here. . 
 
ON THE COMMONWEALTH. 409 
 
 the rights of citizenship at Rome ; and on account of his 
 accomplished manners and learning, he became a favorite 
 of our king Ancus to such a degree that he was a partner 
 in all his counsels, and was looked upon almost as his as- 
 sociate in the government. He, besides, possessed won- 
 derful affability, and was very kind in assistance, support, 
 protection, and even gifts of money, to the citizens. 
 
 When, therefore, Ancus died, the people by their unani- 
 mous suffrages chose for their king this Lucius Tarquinius 
 (for he had thus transformed the Greek name of his fam- 
 ily, that he might seem in all respects to imitate the cus- 
 toms of his adopted countrymen). And when he, too, had 
 procured the passing of a law respecting his authority, he 
 commenced his reign by doubling the original number of 
 the senators. The ancient senators he called patricians of 
 the major families {pati'es majorum gentium)^ and he ask- 
 ed their votes first ; and those new senators whom he him- 
 self had added, he entitled patricians of minor families. 
 After this, he established the order of knights, on the plan 
 which we maintain to this day. He would not, however, 
 change the denomination of the Tatian, Rhamnensian, and 
 Lucerian orders, though he wished to do so, because Attus 
 Nasvius, an augur of the highest reputation, would not 
 sanction it. And, indeed, I am aware that the Corinthi- 
 ans were remarkably attentive to provide for the mainte- 
 nance and good condition of their cavalry by taxes levied 
 on the inheritance of widows and orphans. To the first 
 equestrian orders Lucius also added new ones, composing 
 a body of three hundred knights. And this number lie 
 doubled, after having conquered the ^quicoH, a large and 
 ferocious people, and dangerous enemies of the Roman 
 State. Having likewise repulsed from our walls an inva- 
 sion of the Sabines, he routed them by the aid of his cav- 
 alry, and subdued them. He also was the first person 
 who instituted the grand games which are now called the 
 Roman Games. He fulfilled his vow to build a temple to 
 tlie all-good and all-powerful Jupiter in the Capitol a vow 
 which he made durinir a battle in the Sabine war and 
 died after a reign of tliirty -eight years. 
 
 XXL Then Laelius said : All that you have been relat- 
 ing corroborates the saying of Cato, that the constitution 
 
 18 
 
410 ON THE COMMONWEALTH. 
 
 of the Roman Commonwealth is not the work of one man, 
 or one age ; for we can clearly see what a great progress 
 in excellent and useful institutions was continued nnder 
 each successive king. But we are now arrived at the 
 reign of a monarch who appears to me to have been of all 
 our kings he who had the greatest foresight in matters of 
 political government. 
 
 So it appears to me, said Scipio; for after Tavquinius 
 Prisons comes Servius Sulpicius, who was the first who is 
 reported to have reigned without an order from the peo- 
 ple. He is supposed to have been the son of a female 
 slave at Tarquinii, by one of the soldiers or clients of 
 King Prisons ; and as he was educated among the servants 
 of this prince, and waiting on him at table, the king soon 
 observed the fire of his genius, which shone forth even 
 from his childhood, so skilful was he in all his words and 
 actions. Therefore, Tarquin, whose own children were then 
 very young, so loved Servius that he was very commonly 
 believed to be his own son, and he instructed him with 
 the greatest care in all the sciences with which he was 
 acquainted, according to the most exact discipline of the 
 Greeks. 
 
 But when Tarquin had perished by the plots of the sons 
 of Ancus, and Servius (as I have said) had begun to reign, 
 not by the order, but yet with the good-will and consent, 
 of the citizens because, as it was falsely reported that 
 Prisons was recovering from his wounds, Servius, arrayed 
 in the royal robes, delivered judgment, freed the debtors 
 at his own expense, and, exhibiting the greatest affability, 
 announced that he delivered judgment at the command of 
 Prisons he did not commit himself to the senate; but, 
 after Prisons was buried, he consulted the people respect- 
 ing his authority, and, being authorized by them to as- 
 sume the dominion, he procured a law to be passed through 
 the Comitia Curiata, confirming his government. 
 
 He then, in the first place, avenged the injuries of the 
 Etruscans by arms. After which' * * * 
 
 XXH. * * * he enrolled eighteen centuries of knights 
 of the first order. Afterward, having created a great 
 number of knights from tlie common mass of tlie j)eople, 
 ' Here two pages are missing. 
 
ON THE COMMONWEALTH. 411 
 
 he divided the rest of the people into five classes, distin- 
 guishing between the seniors and the juniors. These he 
 so constituted as to place the suffrages, not in the hands 
 of the multitude, but in the power of the men of property. 
 And he took care to make it a rule of ours, as it ought to 
 be in every government, that the greatest number should 
 not have the greatest weight. You are well acquainted 
 with this institution, otlierwise I would explain it to you; 
 but you are familiar with the whole system, and know 
 how the centuries of knights, with six suffrages, and the 
 first class, comprising eighty centuries, besides one other 
 century which was allotted to the artificers, on account of 
 their utility to the State, produce eighty-nine centuries. 
 If to these there are added twelve centuries for that is 
 the number of the centuries of the knights which remain' 
 the entire force of the State is summed up; and the 
 arrangement is such that the remaining and far more nu- 
 merous multitude, which is distributed through the nine- 
 ty-six last centuries, is not deprived of a right of suffrage, 
 which would be an arrogant measui-e ; nor, on the other 
 hand, permitted to exert too great a preponderance in the 
 government, which would be dangerous. 
 
 In this arrangement, Servius was very cautious in his 
 choice of terms and denominations. He called the rich 
 assidui, because they afforded pecuniary succor'* to the 
 State. As to those whose fortune did not exceed 1500 
 pence, or those who had nothing but their labor, he called 
 them 2^^'oletarii classes, as if the State should expect from 
 them a hardy progeny^ and population. 
 
 Even a single one of the ninety-six last centuries con- 
 tained numerically more citizens than the entire first class. 
 Thus, no one was excluded from his right of voting, yet 
 the preponderance of votes was secured to those who had 
 the deepest stake in the welfare of the State. Moreover, 
 with reference to the accensi, velati, trumpeters, horn- 
 blowers, proletarii* * * * 
 
 XXIII. * * * That that republic is arranged in the best 
 manner which, being composed in due proportions of those 
 
 ' I have translated this very corrupt passage according to Niebuhr's 
 emendation. ^ Assiduns, ab aire dando. 
 
 " Tioletarii, a prole. Here four pages are missing. 
 
412 ON THE COMMONWEALTH. 
 
 three elements, the monarchical, the aristocratical, and the 
 democratic, does not by punishment irritate a fierce and 
 savage mind. * * * [A similar institution prevailed at 
 Carthage], which was sixty-five years more ancient than 
 Rome, since it was founded thirty-nine years before the 
 first Olympiad ; and that most ancient law-giver Lycurgus 
 made nearly the same arrangements. Thus the system of 
 regular subordination, and this mixture of the three prin- 
 cipal forms of government, appear to me common alike to 
 us and them. But there is a peculiar advantage in our 
 Commonwealth, than which nothing can be more excellent, 
 which I shall endeavor to describe as accurately as possi- 
 ble, because it is of such a character that nothing analo- 
 gous can be discovered in ancient states; for these politi- 
 cal elements which I have noticed were so united in the 
 constitutions of Rome, of Sparta, and of Carthage, that 
 they were not counterbalanced by any modifying power. 
 For in a state in which one man is invested with a per- 
 petual domination, especially of the monarchical character, 
 although there be a senate in it, as there was in Rome un- 
 der the kings, and in Sparta, by the laws of Lycurgus, or 
 even where the people exercise a sort of jurisdiction, as 
 they used in the days of our monarchy, the title of king 
 must still be pre-eminent; nor can such a state avoid be- 
 ing, and being called, a kingdom. And this kind of gov- 
 ernment is especially subject to frequent revolutions, be- 
 cause the fault of a single individual is sufiicient to pre- 
 cipitate it into the most pernicious disasters. 
 
 In itself, however, royalty is not only not a reprehensi- 
 ble form of government, but I do not know whether it 
 is not far preferable to all other simple constitutions, if I 
 approved of any simple constitution whatever. But this 
 preference applies to royalty so long only as it maintains 
 its appropriate character; and this character provides that 
 one individual's perpetual power, and justice, and univer- 
 sal wisdom should regulate the safety, equality, and tran- 
 quillity of the whole people. But many privileges must 
 be wanting to communities that live under a king; and, 
 in the first place, liberty, which does not consist in slavery 
 to a just master, but in slavery to no master at alP * * * 
 ' Two pages jue missing here. 
 
ON THE COMMONWEALTH. 413 
 
 XXIV. * * * [Let us now pass on to the reign of the 
 seventh and last king of Rome, Tarqninius Superbus.] 
 And even this unjust and cruel master had good fortune 
 for liis companion for some time in all his enterprises. 
 For he subdued all Latium ; he captured Suessa Pometia, 
 a i)0\verful and wealthy city, and, becoming possessed of 
 an immense spoil of gold and silver, he accomplished his 
 father's vow by the building of the Capitol. He estab- 
 lished colonies, and, faithful to the institutions of those 
 from whom he sprung, he sent magnificent presents, as 
 tokens of gratitude for his victories, to Apollo at Delphi. 
 
 XXV. Here begins the revolution of our political sys- 
 tem of government, and I must beg your attention to its 
 natural course and progression. For the grand point of 
 political science, the object of our discourses, is to know 
 the march and the deviations of governments, that when 
 we are acquainted with the particular courses and inclina- 
 tions of constitutions, we may be able to restrain them 
 from their fatal tendencies, or to oppose adequate obstacles 
 to their decline and fall. 
 
 For this Tarqninius Superbus, of whom I am speaking, 
 being first of all stained with the blood of his admirable 
 predecessor on the throne, could not be a man of sound 
 conscience and mind ; and as he feared himself the se- 
 verest punishment for his enormous crime, he sought his 
 protection in making himself feared. Then, in the glory 
 of his victories and his treasures, he exulted in insolent 
 pride, and could neither regulate his own manners nor the 
 passions of the members of his family. 
 
 When, therefore, his eldest son had offered violence to 
 Lucretia, daughter of Tricipitinus and wife of CoUatinus, 
 and this chaste and noble lady had stabbed herself to death 
 on account of the injury she could not survive then a 
 man eminent for his genius and virtue, Lucius Brutus, 
 dashed from his fellow-citizens this unjust yoke of odious 
 servitude ; and though he was but a private man, he sus- 
 tained the government of the entire Commonwealth, and 
 was the first that taught the people in this State that no 
 one was a private man when the preservation of our liber- 
 ties was concerned. Beneath his authority and command 
 our city rose against tyranny, and, stirred by the recent 
 
414 ON THE COMMONWEALTH. 
 
 grief of the father and relatives of Lucretia, and with the 
 recollections of Tarquin's haughtiness, and the numberless 
 crimes of himself and his sons, they pronounced sentence 
 of banishment against him and his children, and the whole 
 race of the Tarquins. 
 
 XXVI. Do you not observe, then, how the king some- 
 times degenerates into the despot, and how, by the fault 
 of one individual, a form of government originally good is 
 abused to the worst of purposes ? Here is a specimen of 
 that despot over the people whom the Greeks denominate 
 a tyrant. For, according to them, a king is he who, like a 
 father, consults the interests of his people, and who pre- 
 serves those whom he is set over in the very best condi- 
 tion of life. This indeed is, as I have said, an excellent 
 form of government, yet still liable, and, as it were, inclined, 
 to a pernicious abuse. For as soon as a king assumes an 
 unjust and despotic power, he instantly becomes a tyrant, 
 than which nothing baser or fouler, than which no imag- 
 inable animal can be more detestable to gods or men ; for 
 though in form a man, he surpasses the most savage mon- 
 sters in ferocious cruelty. For who can justly call him a 
 human being, who admits not between himself and his fel- 
 low-countrymen, between himself and the whole human 
 race, any communication of justice, any association of 
 kindness? But we shall find some fitter occasion of 
 speaking of the evils of tyranny when the subject itself 
 prompts us to declare against them who, even in a state 
 already liberated, have affected these despotic insolencies. 
 
 XXVII. Such is the first origin and rise of a tyrant. 
 For this was the name by which the Greeks choose to des- 
 ignate an unjust king; and by the title king our Romans 
 universally understand every man who exercises over the 
 people a perpetual and undivided domination. Thus Spu- 
 rius Cassius, and Marcus Manlius, and Spurius Ma^lius, 
 are said to have wished to seize upon the kingly power, 
 and lately [Tiberius Gracchus incurred the same accusa- 
 tion].^ * * * 
 
 XXVIII. * * * [Lycurgus, in Sparta, formed, under the 
 name of Elders,] a small council consisting of twenty-eight 
 members only ; to these he allotted the supreme legislative 
 
 ' Two pages are missing here. 
 
ON THE COMMONWEALTH. 415 
 
 authority, while the king held the supreme executive au- 
 thority. Our Romans, emulating his example, and trans- 
 lating his terms, entitled those whom he had called Elders, 
 Senators, which, as we have said, was done by Romulus in 
 reference to the elect patricians. In this constitution, 
 however, the power, the influence, and name of the king is 
 still pre-eminent. You may distribute, indeed, some show 
 of power to the people, as Lycurgus and Romulus did, 
 but you inflame them with the thirst of liberty by allow- 
 ing them even the slightest taste of its sweetness ; and still 
 their hearts will be overcast with alarm lest their king, as 
 often happens, should become unjust. The prosperity of 
 the people, therefore, can be little better than fragile, when 
 placed at the disposal of any one individual, and subjected 
 to his will and caprices. 
 
 XXIX. Thus the first example, prototype, and original 
 of tyranny has b^en discovered by us in the history of our 
 own Roman State, religiously founded by Romulus, with- 
 out applying to the theoretical Commonwealth which, ac- 
 cording to Plato*s recital, Socrates was accustomed to de- 
 scribe in his peripatetic dialogues. We have observed 
 Tarquin, not by the usurpation of any new power, but by 
 the unjust abuse of the power which he already possessed, 
 overturn the whole system of our monarchical constitution. 
 
 Let us oppose to this example of the tyrant another, a 
 virtuous king wise, experienced, and well informed re- 
 specting the true interest and dignity of the citizens a 
 guardian, as it were, and superintendent of the Common- 
 wealth ; for that is a proper name for every ruler and 
 governor of a state. And take you care to recognize such 
 a man when you meet him, for he is the man who, by coun- 
 sel and exertion, can best protect the nation. And as the 
 name of this man has not yet been often mentioned in our 
 discourse, and as the character of such a man must be of- 
 ten alluded to in our future conversations, [I shall take an 
 early opportunity of describing it.]' * * * 
 
 XXX. * * * [Plato has chosen to suppose a territory 
 and establishments of citizens, whose fortunes] were pre- 
 cisely equal. And he has given us a description of a city, 
 rather to be desired than expected ; and he has made out 
 
 * Here twelve pages are missing. 
 
416 ON THE COMMONWEALTir. 
 
 not sncli a one as can really exist, but one in which the 
 principles of political affairs may be discerned. But for 
 me, if I can in any way accomplish it, while I ado])t the 
 same general principles as Plato, I am seeking to reduce 
 them to experience and practice, not in the shadow and 
 picture of a state, but in a real and actual Commonwealth, 
 of unrivalled amplitude and power; in order to be able 
 to point out, with the most graphic precision, the causes 
 of every political good and social evil. 
 
 For after Rome had flourished more than two hundred 
 and forty years under her kings and interreges, and after 
 Tarquin was sent into banishment, the Roman people con- 
 ceived as much detestation of the name of king as they 
 had once experienced regret at the death, or rather dis- 
 appearance, of Romulus. Therefore, as in the first in- 
 stance they could hardly bear the idea of losing a king, 
 so in the latter, after the expulsion of Tarquin, they could 
 not endure to hear the name of a king.^ * * * 
 
 XXXI. * * * Therefore, when that admirable constitu- 
 tion of Romulus had lasted steadily about tAVO hundi-ed 
 and forty years. * * * The whole of that law was abol- 
 ished. In this humor, our ancestors banished Collatinus, 
 in spite of his innocence, because of the suspicion that at- 
 tached to his family, and all the rest of the Tarquins, on 
 account of the un])opularity of their name. In the same 
 humor, Valerius Publicola was the first to lower the fasces 
 before the people, when he spoke in the assembly of the 
 people. He also had the materials of his house conveyed 
 to the foot of Mount Velia, having observed that the com- 
 mencement of his edifice on the summit of this hill, where 
 King Tullius had once dwelt, excited the suspicions of the 
 people. 
 
 It was the same man, who in this respect pre-eminently 
 deserved the name of Publicola, who carried in favor of 
 the people the first law received in the Comitia Centuriata, 
 that no magistrate should sentence to death or scourging 
 a Roman citizen Avho appealed from his authority to the 
 people. And the pontifical books attest that the right of 
 appeal had existed, even against the decision of the kings. 
 Our augural books affirm the same thing. And the Twelve 
 ^ Sixteen pages are missing here. 
 
ON THE COMMONWli:ALTH. 41 : 
 
 Tables prove, by a multitude of laws, that there was a right 
 of appeal from every judgment and penalty. Besides, ihe 
 historical fact that the decemviri who compiled the laws 
 wcM-e created with the privilege of judging without appeal, 
 sufficiently proves that the other magistrates had not the 
 same power. And a consular law, passed by Lucius Va- 
 lerius Politus and Marcus Horatius Barbatus, men justly 
 |)opular for promoting union and concord, enacted that no 
 magistrate sliould thenceforth be appointed with authority 
 to judge without appeal; and the Portian laws, the work 
 of three citizens of the name of Fortius, as you are aware, 
 added nothing new to this edict but a penal sanction. 
 
 Therefore Publicola, having promulgated this law in fa- 
 vor of appeal to the people, immediately ordered the axes 
 to be removed from the fasces, which the lictors carried 
 before the consuls, and the next day appointed Spurius 
 Lucretius for his colleague. And as the new consul was 
 the oldest of the two, Publicola ordered his lictors to pass 
 over to him ; and he was the first to establish the rule, 
 that each of the consuls should be preceded by the lictoi's 
 in alternate months, that there should be no greater ap- 
 pearance of imperial insignia among the free people than 
 they had witnessed in the days of their kings. Thus, in 
 my opinion, he proved himself no ordinary man, as, by so 
 granting the people a moderate degree of liberty, he more 
 easily maintained the authority of the nobles. 
 
 Nor is it without reason that I have related to you these 
 ancient and almost obsolete events; but I wished to ad- 
 duce my instances of men and circumstances from illustri- 
 ous persons and times, as it is to such events that the rest 
 of my discourse will be directed. 
 
 XXXIL At that period, then, the senate preserved the 
 Commonwealth in such a condition that though the people 
 were really free, yet few acts were passed by the people, 
 but. almost all, on the contrary, by the authority, customs, 
 and traditions of the senate. And over all the consuls 
 exercised a power in time, indeed, only annual, but in 
 nature and prerogative completely royal. 
 
 The consuls maintained, with the greatest energy, that 
 rule which so much conduces to the power of our nobles 
 and great men, that the acts of the commons of the people 
 
 IS* 
 
418 ON THE COMMONWEALTH. 
 
 shall not be binding, unless the authority of the patricians 
 has approved them. About the same period, and scarcely 
 ten years after the first consuls, we find the appointment 
 of the dictator in the person of Titus Lartius. And this 
 new kind of power namely, the dictatorship appears 
 exceedingly similar to the monarchical royalty. All his 
 power, however, was vested in the supreme authority of 
 the senate, to which the people deferred ; and in these 
 times great exploits were performed in war by brave men 
 invested with the supreme command, whether dictators or 
 consuls. 
 
 XXXIIT. But as the nature of things necessarily 
 brought it to pass that the people, once freed from its 
 kings, should arrogate to itself more and more authority, 
 we observe that after a short interval of only sixteen years, 
 in the consulship of Postumus Cominius and Spurius Cas- 
 sius, they attained their object ; an event explicable, per- 
 haps, on no distinct principle, but, nevertheless, in a man- 
 ner independent of any distinct principle. For recollect 
 what I said in commencing our discourse, that if there ex- 
 ists not in the State a just distribution and subordination 
 of rights, offices, and prerogatives, so as to give sufficient 
 domination to the chiefs, sufficient authority to the coun- 
 sel of tlie senators, and sufficient liberty to the people, this 
 form of the government cannot be durable. 
 
 For when the excessive debts of the citizens had thrown 
 the State into disorder, the people first retired to Mount 
 Sacer, and next occupied Mount Aventine. And even the 
 rigid discipline of Lycurgus could not maintain those re- 
 straints in the case of the Greeks. For in Sparta itself, 
 under the reign of Theopompus,the five magistrates whom 
 they term Ephori, and in Crete ten whom they entitle Cos- 
 mi, were established in opposition to the royal power, just 
 as tribunes were added among us to counterbalance the 
 considar authority. 
 
 XXXIV. There might have been a method, indeed, by 
 which our ancestors could have been relieved from the 
 pressure of debt, a method with which Solon the Athenian, 
 who lived at no very distant period before, was acquaint- 
 ed, and which our senate did not neglect when, in the in- 
 dignation which the odious avarice of one individual ex- 
 
ON THE COMMONWEALTH. 419 
 
 cited, all the bonds of the citizens were cancelled, and the 
 right of arrest for a while suspended. In the same way, 
 when the plebeians were oppressed by the weight of the 
 expenses occasioned by public misfortunes, a cure and 
 remedy were sought for the sake of public security. The 
 senate, however, having forgotten their former decision, 
 gave an advantage to the democracy ; for, by the creation 
 of two tribunes to appease the sedition of the people, the 
 power and authority of the senate were diminished ; which, 
 however, still remained dignified and august, inasmuch as 
 it was still composed of the wisest and bravest men, who 
 protected their country both with their arms and with 
 their counsels ; whose authority was exceedingly strong 
 and flourishing, because in honor they were as much before 
 their fellow-citizens as they were inferior in luxuriousness, 
 and, as a general rule, not superior to them in wealth. And 
 their public virtues were the more agreeable to the people, 
 because even in private matters they were ready to serve 
 every citizen, by their exertions, their counsels, and their 
 liberality. 
 
 XXXV. Such was the situation of the Commonwealth 
 when the quaestor impeached Spurius Cassius of being so 
 much emboldened by the excessive favor of the people as 
 to endeavor to make himself master of monarchical power. 
 And, as you have heard, his own father, having said that 
 he had found that his son was really guilty of this crime, 
 condemned him to death at the instance of the people. 
 About fifty -four years after the first consulate, Spurius 
 Tarpeius and Aulus Aternius very much gratified the peo- 
 ple by proposing, in the Comitia Centuriata, the substi- 
 tution of fines instead of corporal punishments. Twenty 
 years afterward, Lucius Papirius and Publius Pinarius, the 
 censors, having by a strict levy of fines confiscated to the 
 State the entire flocks and herds of many private individ- 
 uals, a light tax on the cattle was substituted for the law 
 of fines in the consulship of Caius Julius and Publius Pa- 
 pirius. 
 
 XXXVI. But, some years previous to this, at a period 
 when the senate possessed the supreme influence, and the 
 people were submissive and obedient, a new system was 
 adopted. At that time both the consuls and tribunes of 
 
420 ON THE COMMONWEALTH. 
 
 the people abdicated their magistracies, and the decemviri 
 were appointed, who were invested with great authority, 
 from wiiich there was no appeal whatever, so as to exercise 
 the chief domination, and to compile the laws. After hav- 
 ing composed, with much wisdom and equity, the Ten Ta- 
 bles of laws, they nominated as their successors in the en- 
 suing year other decemviri, whose good faith and justice 
 do not deserve equal praise. One nuunber of this college, 
 however, merits our highest commendation. I allude to 
 Caius Julius, who declared respecting the nobleman Lucius 
 Sestius, in whose chamber a dead body had been exhumed 
 under his own eyes, that though as decemvir he held the 
 highest power without appeal, he still required bail, be- 
 cause he was unwilling to neglect that admirable law which 
 permitted no court but the Comitia Centuriata to pro- 
 nounce final sentence on the life of a Roman citizen. 
 
 XXXYII. A third year followed under the authority of 
 the same decemvirs, and still they were not disposed to ap- 
 point their successors. In a situation of the Common- 
 wealth like this, which, as I have often repeated, could not 
 be durable, because it had not an equal operation with re- 
 spect to all the ranks of the citizens, the whole public pow- 
 er was lodged in the hands of the chiefs and decemvirs of 
 the highest nobility, witliout the counterbalancing author- 
 ity of the tribunes of the people, without the sanction of 
 any other magistracies, and without appeal to the people 
 in the case of a sentence of death or scourging. 
 
 Thus, out of the injustice of these men, there was sud- 
 denly produced a great revolution, which changed the en- 
 tire condition of the government, or they added two ta- 
 bles of very tyrannical laws, and though matrimonial alli- 
 ances had always hdcn permitted, even with foreigners, 
 they forbade, by the most abominable and inhuman edict, 
 that any marriages should take place between the nobles 
 and the commons an order which was afterward abrogat- 
 ed by the decree of Canuleius. Besides, they introduced 
 into all their political measures corruption, cruelty, and 
 avarice. And indeed the story is well known, and cele- 
 brated in many literary compositions, that a certain Dcci- 
 mus Virginius was obliged, on account of the libidinous 
 violence of one of these decemvirs, to stab his virgin daugh- 
 
ON THE COMMONWEALTH. 421 
 
 ter in the midst of the fornm. Then, when he in his des- 
 peration had fled to the Roman army which was encamp- 
 ed on Mount Algidum, the soldiers abandoned the war in 
 wliich they were engaged, and took possession of the Sa- 
 cred Mount, as they had done before on a similar occasion, 
 and next invested Mount Aventine in their arnis.^ Our 
 ancestors knew how to prove most thoroughly, and to re- 
 tain most wisely. * * * 
 
 XXXVIII. And when Scipiohad spoken in this manner, 
 and all his friends were awaiting in silence the rest of his 
 discourse, then said Tubero : Since these men who are old- 
 er than I, my Scipio, make no fresh demands on you, I 
 shall take the liberty to tell you what I particularly wish 
 you would explain in your subsequent remarks. 
 
 Do so, said Scipio, and I shall be glad to hear. 
 
 Then Tubero said : You appear to me to have spoken 
 a panegyric on our Commonwealth of Rome exclusively, 
 though Lrelius requested your views not only of the gov- 
 ernment of our own State, but of the policy of states in 
 general. I have not, therefore, yet sufficiently learned from 
 your discourse, with respect to that mixed form of gov- 
 ernment you most approve, by what discipline, moral and 
 legal, we may be best able to establish ad maintain it. 
 
 XXXIX. Af ricanus replied : I think that we shall soon 
 find an occasion better adapted to the discussion you have 
 proposed, respecting the constitution and conservatism of 
 states. As to the best form of government, I think on 
 this point I have suificiently answered the question of 
 La^lius. For in answering him, I, in the first place, spe- 
 cifically noticed the three simple forms of government 
 monarchy, aristocracy, and democracy; and the three vi- 
 cious constitutions contrary to them, into which they often 
 degenerate; and I said that none of these forms, taken 
 separately, was absolutely good ; but I described as pref- 
 erable to either of them that mixed government which is 
 composed of a proper amalgamation of these simple ingre- 
 dients. If I have since depicted our own Roman consti- 
 tution as an example, it was not in order to define the very 
 best form of government, for that may be understood 
 without an example; but I wished, in the exhibition of a 
 
 * Here eight pages are missing. 
 
422 ON THE COMMONWEALTH. 
 
 mighty commonwealth actually in existence, to render dis- 
 tinct and visible what reason and discourse would vainly 
 attempt to display without the assistance of experimental 
 illustration. Yet, if you still require me to describe the 
 best form of government, independent of all particular 
 examples, we must consult that exactly proportioned and 
 graduated image of government which nature herself pre- 
 sents to her investigators. Since you * * * this model of 
 a city and people^ * * * 
 
 XL. * * * which I also am searching for, and which I 
 am anxious to arrive at. 
 
 Lcelius. You mean the model that would be approved 
 by the truly accomplished politician ? 
 
 Scipio. The same. 
 
 Jjcelius. You have plenty of fair patterns even now be- 
 fore you, if you would but begin with yourself. 
 
 Then Scipio said: I wish I could find even one such, 
 even in the entire senate. For he is really a wise politi- 
 cian who, as we have often seen in Africa, while seated on 
 a huge and unsightly elephant, can guide and rule the 
 monster, and turn him whichever way he likes by a slight 
 admonition, without any actual exertion. 
 
 LobUus. I recollect, and when I was your lieutenant I 
 often saw, one of these drivers. 
 
 Scipio. Thus an Indian or Carthaginian regulates one 
 of these huge animals, and renders him docile and familiar 
 with human manners. But the genius which resides in 
 the mind of man, by whatever name it may be called, is 
 required to rein and tame a monster far more multiform 
 and intractable, whenever it can accomplish it, which in- 
 deed is seldom. It is necessary to hold in with a strong 
 hand that ferocious^ * * * 
 
 XLI. * * * [beast, denominated the mob, which thirsts 
 after blood] to such a degree that it can scarcely be sated 
 with the most hideous massacres of men. * * * 
 
 But to a man who is greedy, and grasping, and lustful, and fond of 
 wallowing in voluptuousness. 
 
 ' A great many pages are missing here. 
 
 ' Several pages are lost here ; the passage in brackets is found in 
 Nonius under the word " exulto." 
 
ON THE COMMONWEALTH. 423 
 
 The fourth kind of anxiety is that which is prone to mourning and 
 melancholy, and which is constantly worrying itself. 
 
 [ The next paragraph, ' 'Esse autevi angores, " etc. , is wholly unintelli- 
 gible without the context.^ 
 
 As an unskilful ciiarioteer is dragged from his chariot, covered with 
 dirt, bruised, and lacerated. 
 
 The excitements of men's minds are like a chariot, with horses har- 
 nessed to it ; in the proper management of which, the chief duty of the 
 driver consists in knowing his road : and if he keeps the road, then, how- 
 ever rapidly he proceeds, he will encounter no obstacles ; but if he quits 
 the proper track, then, although he may be going gently and slowly, he 
 will either be perplexed on rugged ground, or fall over some steep place, 
 or at least he will be carried where he has no need to go.' 
 
 XLII. * * * can be said. 
 
 Then Lselius said : I now see the sort of politician you 
 require, on whom you would impose the office and task of 
 government, which is what I wished to understand. 
 
 He must be an almost unique specimen, said Africanus, 
 for the task which I set him comprises all others. He 
 must never cease from cultivating and studying himself, 
 that he may excite others to imitate him, and become, 
 through the splendor of his talents and enterprises, a liv- 
 ing mirror to his countrymen. For as in flutes and harps, 
 and in all vocal performances, a certain unison and har- 
 mony must be preserved amidst the distinctive tones, 
 which cannot be broken or violated without offending ex- 
 perienced ears ; and as this concord and delicious harmony 
 is produced by the exact gradation and modulation of dis- 
 similar notes; even so, by means of Ihe just apportion- 
 ment of the highest, middle, and lower classes, the State is 
 maintained in concord and peace by the harmonic subor- 
 dination of its discordant elements: and thus, that which 
 is by musicians called harmony in song answers and cor- 
 responds to what we call concord in the State concord, 
 the strongest and loveliest bond of security in every com- 
 monwealth, being always accompanied by justice and 
 equity. 
 
 XLIII. And after this, when Scipio had discussed with considerable 
 breadth of principle and felicity of illustration the great advantage that 
 justice is to a state, and the great injury which would arise if it were 
 
 * This and other chapters printed in smaller type are generally pre- 
 sumed to be of doubtful authenticitv. 
 
424 ON THE COMMONWEALTH. 
 
 wiinting, Piliis, one of those who were present at the discussion, took np 
 thij niatiLT ;ind demanded that this question should be argued more ca:e- 
 fully, and that sometiiing more should be said about justice, on account 
 of a sentiment that was now obtaining among people in general, that 
 political affairs could not be wholly carried on without some disregard 
 of justice. 
 
 XLIV. * * * to be full of justice. 
 
 Then Scipio replied ; I certainly think so. And I de- 
 clare to you that I consider that all I have spoken respect- 
 ing the government of the State is worth nothing, and 
 that it will be useless to proceed further, unless I can 
 prove that it is a false assertion that political business 
 cannot be conducted without injustice and corruption; 
 and, on the other hand, establish as a most indisputable 
 fact that without the strictest justice no government what- 
 ever can last long. 
 
 But, with your permission, we have had discussion 
 enough for the day. The rest and much remains for 
 our consideration we will defer till to-morrow. When 
 they had all agreed to this, the debate of the day was 
 closed. 
 
 INTRODUCTION TO THE THIRD BOOK, 
 
 BY THE ORIGINAL TRANSLATOR. 
 
 CiCKRO here enters on the grand question of Political Justice, and en- 
 deavors to evince throughout the absolute verity of that inestimable 
 proverb, " Honesty is the best j)olicy," in all public as well as in all 
 private affairs. St. Augustine, in his City of God, has given the fol- 
 lowing analysis of this magnificent disquisition : 
 
 " In the third hook of Cicero's Commonwealth " (says he) "the question 
 of Political Justice is most earnestly discussed. Philus is appointed to 
 support, as well as he can, the sophistical arguments of those who think 
 that political government cannot be carried on without the aid of in- 
 justice and chicanery. He denies holding any such opinion himself; 
 yet, in order to exhibit the truth more vividly tlirotigh the force of 
 contrast, he pleads Avith the utmost ingenuity the cause of injustice 
 against justice; and endeavors to show, by plausible exam])les and 
 specious dialectics, that injustice is as useful to a statesman as justice 
 would be injurious. Then Lailius, at the general request, takes np the 
 plea for justice, and maintains with all his eloquence that nothing 
 could be so ruinous to states as injustice and dishonesty, and that 
 
ON THE COMMONWEALTH. 425 
 
 without a supremo justice no political government could expect a long 
 duration. This point being sufficiently proved, Scipio returns to tlie 
 principal discussion, lie rei)roduces and enforces the short definition 
 that he had given of a commonwealth that it consisted in tlie wel- 
 fare of the entire people, I)y which word ' people ' he does not mean 
 the mob, but the community, bound together by the sense of common 
 rights and mutual benefits. He notices how important such just defi- 
 nitions are in all debates whatever, and draws this conclusion from 
 the preceding arguments that the Commonwealth is the common 
 welfare whenever it is swayed with justice and wisdom, whetlier it be 
 subordinated to a king, an aristocracy, or a democracy. But if the 
 king be unjust, and so becomes a tyrant; and the aristocracy unjust, 
 which makes them a faction ; or the democrats unjust, and so degen- 
 erate into revolutionists and destructives then not only the Com- 
 monwealth is corrupted, but in fact annihilated. For it can be no 
 longer the common welfare w-hen a tyrant or a faction abuse it; and 
 the people itself is no longer the people when it becomes unjust, since 
 it is no longer a community associated by a sense of right and utility, 
 according to the definition." Aug. Civ. Dei. 3-21. 
 This book is of the utmost importance to statesmen, as it serves to neu- 
 tralize the sophistries of Machiavelli, which are still repeated in many 
 cabinets. 
 
 BOOK III. 
 
 j^ * * * 1 Cicero, in the third book of his treatise On a 
 Commonwealth, says that nature has treated man less like 
 a mother than a step-dame, for she has cast him into mor- 
 tal life with a body naked, fragile, and infirm, and with a 
 mind agitated by troubles, depressed by fears, broken by 
 labors, and exposed to passions. In this mind, however, 
 there lies hidden, and, as it were, buried, a certain divine 
 spark of genius and intellect. 
 
 Though man is born a frail and powerless being, never- 
 theless he is safe from all animals destitute of voice ; and 
 at the same time those other animals of greater strength, 
 although they bravely endure the violence of weather, can- 
 not be safe from man. And the result is, that reason does 
 more for man than nature does for brutes; since, in the 
 latter, neither the greatness of their strength nor the firm- 
 ness of their bodies can save them from being oppressed 
 by us, and made subject to our power. * * * 
 
 ' The beginning of this book is lost. The two first paragraphs come, 
 the one from St. Augustine, the other from Lactantius. 
 
426 ON THE COMMONWEALTH. 
 
 Plato returned thanks to nature that he had been born 
 a man. 
 
 II. * * * aiding our slowness by carriages* and when 
 it had taught men to utter the elementary and confused 
 sounds of unpolished expression, articulated and distin- 
 guished them into their proper classes, and, as their ap- 
 propriate signs, attached certain words to certain things, 
 and thus associated, by the most delightful bond of speech, 
 the once divided races of men. 
 
 And by a similar intelligence, the inflections of the voice, 
 which appeared infinite, are, by the discovery of a few 
 alphabetic characters, all designated and expressed ; by 
 which we maintain converse with our absent friends, by 
 which also indications of our wishes and monuments of 
 past events are preserved. Then came the use of numbers 
 a thing necessary to human life, and at the same time 
 immutable and eternal ; a science which first urged us to 
 raise our views to heaven, and not gaze without an object 
 on the motions of the stars, and the distribution of days 
 and nights. 
 
 III. * * * ^ [Then appeared the sages of philosophy], 
 whose minds took a higher flight, and who were able to 
 conceive and to execute designs worthy of the gifts of the 
 Gods. Wherefore let those men who have left us sublime 
 essays on the principles of living be regarded as great men 
 which indeed they are as learned men, as masters of 
 truth and virtue; provided that these principles of civil 
 government, this system of governing people, whether it 
 be a thing discovered by men who have lived amidst a 
 variety of political events, or one discussed amidst their 
 opportunities of literary tranquillity, is remembered to be, 
 as indeed it is, a thing by no means to be despised, being 
 one which causes in first-rate minds, as we not unf requent- 
 ly see, an incredible and almost divine virtue. And when 
 to these high faculties of soul, received from nature and 
 expanded by social institutions, a politician adds learning 
 and extensive information concerning things in general, 
 like those illustrious personages who conduct the dialogue 
 in the present treatise, none will refuse to confess the su- 
 periority of such persons to all others; for, in fact, what 
 
 * Eight or nine pages are lost here. 
 
ON THE COMMONWEALTH. 421 
 
 can be more admirable than the study and practice of the 
 grand affairs of state, united to a Hterary taste and a fa- 
 miliarity with the liberal arts? or what can we imagine 
 more perfect than a Scipio, a Lselius, or a Philus, who, not 
 to omit anything which belonged to the most perfect ex- 
 cellence of the greatest men, joined to the examples of our 
 ancestors and the traditions of our countrymen the foreign 
 philosophy of Socrates ? 
 
 Wherefore he who had both the desire and the power 
 to acquaint himself thoroughly both with the customs and 
 the learning of his ancestors appears to me to have at- 
 tained to the very highest glory and honor. But if we 
 cannot combine both, and are compelled to select one of 
 these two paths to wisdom though to some people the 
 tranquil life spent in the research of literature and arts 
 may appear to be the most happy and delectable yet, 
 doubtless, the science of politics is more laudable and il- 
 lustrious, for in this political field of exertion our greatest 
 men have reaped their honors, like the invincible Curius, 
 
 Whom neither gold nor iron could subdue. 
 
 IV. * * * ^ that wisdom existed still. There existed 
 this general difference between these two classes, that 
 among the one the development of the principles of nature 
 is the subject of their study and eloquence, and among the 
 other national laws and institutions form the principal top- 
 ics of investigation. 
 
 In honor of our country, we may assert that she has 
 produced within herself a great number, I will not say of 
 sages (since philosophy is so jealous of this name), but of 
 men worthy of the highest celebrity, because by them the 
 precepts and discoveries of the sages have been carried out 
 into actual practice. And, moreover, though there have 
 existed, and still do exist, many great and glorious empires, 
 yet since the noblest masterpiece of genius in the world is 
 the establishment of a state and commonwealth which shall 
 be a lasting one, even if we reckon but a single legislator 
 for each empire, the number of these excellent men will ap- 
 pear very numerous. To be convinced of this, we have 
 only to turn our eyes on any nation of Italy, Latium, the 
 * Here six pages are lost. 
 
428 ON THE COMMONWEALTH. 
 
 Sabines, the Volsciniis, the Samnites, or the Etrurians, .'ind 
 then direct our attention to that mighty nation of tlie 
 Greeks, and then to the Assyrians, Persians, and Cartha- 
 ginians, and 1 * * * 
 
 V. * * * [Scipio and his friends having again assem- 
 bled, Scipio spoke as follows : In our last conversation, 
 I promised to prove that honesty is the best policy in all 
 states and commonwealths whatsoever. But if I am to 
 plead in favor of strict honesty and justice in all public af- 
 fairs, no less than in private, I must request Phil us, or some 
 one else, to take up the advocacy of the other side; the 
 truth will then become more manifest, from the collision 
 of opposite arguments, as we see every day exemplified at 
 the Bar.] 
 
 And Philus replied : In good truth, you have allotted 
 me a very creditable cause when you wish me to under- 
 take the defence of vice. 
 
 Perhaps, said Lselius, you are afraid, lest, in reproducing 
 the ordinary objections made to justice in politics, you 
 should seem to express your own sentiments; though you 
 are universally respected as an almost unique example of 
 the ancient probity and good faith ; nor is it unknown how 
 familiar you are with the lawyer-like habit of disputing on 
 both sides of a question, because you think that this is the 
 best way of getting at the truth. 
 
 And Philus said : Yery well ; I obey you, and wilfully, 
 with my eyes open, I will undertake this dirty business ; 
 because, since those who seek for gold do not flinch at the 
 sight of the mud, so we who are searching for justice, 
 which is far more precious than gold, are bound to shrink 
 from no annoyance. And I wish, as I am about to make 
 use of the antagonist arguments of a foreigner, I might 
 also employ a foreign language. The pleas, therefore, 
 now to be urged by Lucius Furius Philus are those 
 [once employed by] the Greek Carneades, a man who 
 was acoustomed to express whatever [served his turn].'' 
 
 ' Here twelve pages are missing. 
 
 "^ We have been obliged to insert two or three of these sentences be- 
 tween brackets, wliich are not found in the original, for the sake of 
 showing the drift of the arguments of Philus. He himself was fully 
 convinced that justice and morality were of eternal and immutable obli- 
 
ON THE COMMONWEALTH. 429 
 
 * * * 1 J^^^l it 1)^. understood, therefore, that I by no means 
 express my own sentiments, but those of Carneades, in or- 
 der that you may refute this philosopher, who was wont to 
 turn the best causes into joke, through the mere wanton- 
 ness of wit, 
 
 VL He was a philosopher of the Academic School ; and if any one is 
 ii!;n()iant of his great power, and eloquence, and acuteness in arguing, he 
 limy learn it from the mention made of him by Cicero or by Lucilius, 
 when Nei)tune, discoursing on a very difficult subject, declares that it 
 cannot be explained, not even if hell were to restore Carneades himself 
 for the purpose. Tiiis philosopher, having been sent by the Athenians to 
 Home as an ambassador, discussed the subject of justice very amply in 
 the hearing of Galba and Cato the Censor, who were the greatest orators 
 of the day. An-d the next day he overturned all his arguments by others 
 of a contrary tendency, and disparaged justice, which the day before 
 he had extolled ; speaking not indeed with the gravity of a philosopher 
 whose wisdom ought to be steady, and whose opinions unchangeable, 
 but in a kind of rhetorical exercise of arguing on each side a practice 
 which he was accustomed to adopt, in order to be able to refute others 
 who were asserting anything. The arguments by which he disparaged 
 justice are mentioned by Lucius Furius in Cicero ; I suppose, since he 
 was discussing the Commonwealth, in order to introduce a defence and 
 panegyric of that quality without which he did not think a commonwealth 
 could be administered. But Carneades, in order to refute Aristotle and 
 Plato, the advocates of justice, collected in his first argument everything 
 that was in the habit of being advanced on behalf of justice, in order 
 afterward to be able to overturn it, as he did. 
 
 VII. Many philosophers indeed, and especially Plato and Aristotle, 
 have spoken a great deal of justice, inculcating that virtue, and extol- 
 ling it with the highest praise, as giving to every one what belongs to 
 him, as preserving equity in all things, and urging that while the other 
 virtues are, as it were, silent and shut up, justice is the only one which 
 
 gation, and that the best interests of all beings lie in their perpetual de- 
 velopment and application. This eternity of Justice is beautifully illus- 
 trated by Montesquieu. "Long," says he, "before positive laws were 
 instituted, the moral relations of justice were absolute and universal. 
 To say that there were no justice or injustice but that which depends on 
 the injunctions or prohibitions of positive laws, is to say that the radii 
 which spring from a centre are not equal till we have formed a circle 
 to illustrate the proposition. We must, therefore, acknowledge that the 
 relations of equity were antecedent to the positive laws which corrobo- 
 rated them." But though Philus was fully convinced of this, in order 
 to give his friends Scipio and La;lius an opportunity of proving it, he 
 frankly brings forward every argument for injustice that sophistry had 
 ever cast in the teeth of reason. 1S>/ the original Translator. 
 
 ' Here four pages are missing. The following sentence is preserved 
 in Nonius. 
 
430 ON THE COMMONWEALTH. 
 
 is not absorbed in considerations of self-interest, and which is not secret, 
 but finds its whole field for exercise out-of-doors, and is desirous of do- 
 ing good and serving as many people as possible ; as if, forsooth, justice 
 ought to exist in judges only, and in men invested with a certain author- 
 ity, and not in every one ! But there is no one, not even a man of the 
 lowest class, or a beggar, who is destitute of opportunities of displaying 
 justice. But because these philosophers knew not what its essence was, 
 or whence it proceeded, or what its employment was, they attributed 
 that first of all virtues, wliich is the common good of all men, to a few 
 only, and asserted that it aimed at no advantage of its own, but was 
 anxious only for that of others. So it was well that Carneades, a man 
 of the greatest genius and acuteness, refuted their assertions, and over- 
 threw that justice which had no firm foundation ; not because he thought 
 justice itself deserving of blame, but in order to show that tliose its de- 
 fenders had brought forward no trustworthy or strong arguments in its 
 behalf. 
 
 Justice looks out-of-doors, and is prominent and conspicuous in its 
 whole essence. 
 
 Which virtue, beyond all others, wholly devotes and dedicates itself 
 to the advantage of others. 
 
 VIII. * * * Both to discover and maintain. While the 
 other, Aristotle, has filled four large volumes with a dis- 
 cussion on abstract justice. For I did not expect any- 
 thing grand or magnificent from Chrysippus, who, after 
 his usual fashion, examines everything rather by the sig- 
 nification of words than the reality of things. But it was 
 surely worthy of those heroes of philosophy to ennoble by 
 their genius a virtue so eminently beneficent and liberal, 
 which everywhere exalts the social interests above the 
 selfish, and teaches us to love others rather than ourselves. 
 It was worthy of their genius, we say, to elevate this vir- 
 tue to a divine throne, not far from that of Wisdom. And 
 certainly they neither wanted the will to accomplish this 
 (for what else could be the cause of their writing on the 
 subject, or what could have been their design?) nor the 
 genius, in which they excelled all men. But the weakness 
 of their cause was too great for either their intention or 
 their eloquence to make it popular. In fact, this justice 
 on which w^e reason is a civil right, but no natural one; 
 for if it were natural and universal, then justice and in- 
 justice would be recognized similarly by all men, just as 
 the heat and cold, sweetness and bitterness. 
 
 IX. Now, if any one, carried in that chariot of winged 
 serpents of wliich the poet Pacuvius makes mention, could 
 
ON THE COMMONWEALTH. 431 
 
 take his flight over all nations and cities, and accurately 
 observe their proceedings, he would see that the sense of 
 justice and right varies in different regions. In the first 
 place, he would behold among the unchangeable people of 
 Egypt, which preserves in its archives the memory of so 
 many ages and events, a bull adored as a Deity, under the 
 name of Apis, and a multitude of other monsters, and all 
 kinds of animals admitted by the same nation into the 
 number of the Gods. 
 
 In the next place, he would see in Greece, as among our- 
 selves, magnificent temples consecrated by images in hu- 
 man form, which the Persians regarded as impious ; and it 
 is affirmed that the sole motive of Xerxes for command- 
 ing the conflagration of the Athenian temples was the be- 
 lief that it was a superstitious sacrilege to keep confined 
 within narrow walls the Gods, whose proper home was 
 the entire universe. But afterward Philip, in his hostile 
 projects against the Persians, and Alexander, who carried 
 them into execution, alleged this plea for war, that they 
 were desirous to avenge the temples of Greece, which the 
 Greeks had thought proper never to rebuild, that this 
 monument of the impiety of the Persians might always 
 remain before the eyes of their posterity. 
 
 How many such as the inhabitants of Taurica along 
 the Euxfne Sea ; as the King of Egypt, Busiris ; as the 
 Gauls and the Carthaginians have thought it exceedingly 
 pious and agreeable to the Gods to sacrifice men ! And, 
 besides, the customs of life are so various that the Cre- 
 tans and ^tolians regard robbery as honorable. And 
 the Lacedaemonians say that their territory extends to all 
 places which they can touch with a lance. The Atheni- 
 ans had a custom of swearing, by a public proclamation, 
 that all the lands which produced olives and corn were 
 their own. The Gauls consider it a base employment to 
 raise corn by agricultural labor, and go with arms in their 
 hands, and mow down the harvests of neighboring peo- 
 ples. But we ourselves, the most equitable of all nations, 
 who, in order to raise the value of our vines and olives, do 
 not permit the races beyond the Alps to cultivate either 
 vineyards or oliveyards, are said in this matter to act with 
 prudence, but not with justice. You see, then, that wis- 
 
432 ON THE COMMONWEALTH. 
 
 doiii and policy are not always the same as equity. And 
 Lyciirgus, that famous inventor of a most admirable ju- 
 risprudence and most wholesome laws, gave the lands of 
 the rich to be cultivated by the common people, who were 
 reduced to slavery. 
 
 X. If I were to describe the diverse kinds of laws, in- 
 stitutions, manners, and customs, not only as they vary in 
 the numerous nations, but as they vary likewise in single 
 cities in tliis one of ours, for example I could prove that 
 they have had a thousand revolutions. For instance, that 
 eminent expositor of our laws who sits in the present com- 
 pany I mean Manilius if you were to consult him rela- 
 tive to the legacies and inheritances of women, he would 
 tell you that the present law is quite different from that he 
 was accustomed to plead in his youth, before the Voconian 
 enactment came into force an edict which was passed in 
 favor of the interests of the men, but which is evidently 
 full of injustice with regard to women. For why should 
 a woman be disabled from inheriting property? Why 
 can a vestal virgin become an heir, while her mother can- 
 not? And why, admitting that it is necessary to set some 
 limit to the wealth of women, should Crassus's daughter, 
 if she be his only child, inherit thousands without offend- 
 ing the law, while my daughter can only receivQ a small 
 share in a bequest.^ * * * 
 
 XI. * * * [If this justice were natural, innate, and uni- 
 versal, all men would admit the same] law and right, and 
 the same men would not enact different laws at diff'erent 
 times. If a just man and a virtuous man is bound to obey 
 the laws, I ask, what laws do you mean ? Do you intend 
 all tlie laws indifferently? But neither does virtue per- 
 mit this inconstancy in moi'al obligation, nor is such a va- 
 riation compatible with natural conscience. The laws are, 
 therefore, based not on our sense of justice, but on our fear 
 of punishment. There is, therefore, no natural justice; 
 and hence it follows that men cannot be just by natui-e. 
 
 Are men, then, to say that variations indeed do exist in 
 
 the laws, but that men who are virtuous through natural 
 
 conscience follow that which is really justice, and not a 
 
 mere semblance and disguise, and that it is the distinguish- 
 
 ' Two pages are missing here. 
 
ON THE COMMONWEALTH. 433 
 
 ing characteristic of the truly just aud virtuous man to 
 render every one his due rights? Are we, then, to attrib- 
 ute the first of these characteristics to animals ? For not 
 only men of moderate abilities, but even first-rate sages 
 and philosophers, as Pythagoras and Empedocles, declare 
 that all kinds of living creatui-es have a right to the same 
 justice. They declare that inexpiable penalties impend 
 over those who have done violence to any animal whatso- 
 ever. It is, therefore, a crime to injure an animal, and the 
 perpetrator of such crime^ * * * 
 
 Xir. For when he^ inquired of a pirate by what riglit he dared to in- 
 fest the sea with his little brigantine: "By the same right," he replied, 
 " wiiich is your warrant for conquering the world." * * * 
 
 Wisdom and prudence instruct ns by all means to increase 
 our power, riches, and estates. For by what means could 
 this same Alexander, that illustrious general, who extend- 
 ed his empire over all Asia, without violating the proper- 
 ty of other men, have acquired such universal dominion, 
 enjoyed so many pleasures, such great power, and reigned 
 without bound or limit? 
 
 But justice commands ns to have niercy upon all men, 
 to consult the interests of the whole human race, to give to 
 every one ais due, and injure no sacred, public, or foreign 
 rights, and to forbear touching what does not belong to ns. 
 What is the result, then ? If you obey the dictates of 
 wisdom, then wealth, power, riches, honors, provinces, and 
 kingdoms, from all classes, peoples, and nations, are to be 
 aimed at. 
 
 However, as we are discussing public matters, those ex- 
 amples are more illustrious which refer to what is done 
 publicly. And since the question between justice and pol- 
 icy applies equally to private and public affaii'S, I think it 
 well to speak of the wisdom of the people. I will not, 
 however, mention other nations, but come at once to our 
 own Roman people, whom Africanus, in his discourse yes- 
 terday, traced from the cradle, and whose empire now era- 
 braces the whole world. Justice is^ * * * 
 
 ^ Several pages are missing here. 
 ^ He means Alexander the Great. 
 ' Six or eight pages are lost here. 
 19 
 
434 ON THE COMMONWEALTH. 
 
 Xlir. How far utility is at varicance with justice we may learn from 
 the Koman people itself, which, declaring war by means of the fecials, 
 and committing injustice with all legal formality, always coveting and 
 laying violent hands on the property of others, acquired the possession 
 of the whole world. 
 
 What is the advantage of one's own country but the disadvantnge of 
 another state or nation, by extending one's dominions by territories evi- 
 dently wrested from others, increasing one's power, improving one's rev- 
 enues, etc. ? Therefore, whoever has obtained these advantages for his 
 country that is to say, whoever has overthrown cities, subdued nations, 
 and by these means filled the treasury with money, taken lands, and en- 
 riched his fellow-citizens such a man is extolled to the skies ; is be- 
 lieved to be endowed with consummate and perfect virtue; and this mis- 
 take is fallen into not only by the populace and the ignorant, but by phi- 
 losophers, who even give rules for injustice. 
 
 XIV. * * * For all those who have the right of life and 
 death over the people are in fact tyrants ; but they prefer 
 being called by the title of king, which belongs to the all- 
 good Jupiter. But when certain men, by favor of wealth, 
 birth, or any other means, get possession of the entire gov- 
 ernment, it is a faction ; but they choose to denominate 
 themselves an aristocracy. If the people gets the upper 
 hand, and rules everything after its capricious will, they 
 call it liberty, but it is in fact license. And when every 
 man is a guard upon his neighbor, and every class is a 
 guard upon every other class, then because no one trusts 
 in his own strength, a kind of compact is formed between 
 the great and the little, from \vhence arises that mixed 
 kind of government which Scipio has been commending. 
 Thus justice, according to these facts, is not the daugh- 
 ter of nature or conscience, but of human imbecility. For 
 when it becomes necessary to choose between these three 
 predicaments, either to do \vrong without retribution, or 
 to do wrong with retribution, or to do no wrong at all, 
 it is best to do wrong with impunity ; next, neither to do 
 wrong nor to suffer for it; but nothing is more wretched 
 than to struggle incessantly between tlie wrong we inflict 
 and that we receive. Therefore, he who attains to that 
 first end^ * * * 
 
 XV. This was the sum of the argument of Carnendes: that men had 
 established laws among themselves from considerations of advantage, 
 
 * A great many pages are missing here. 
 
ON THE COMMONWEALTH. 435 
 
 vaijing them according to their different customs, and altering them 
 often so as to adapt them to the times ; but that there was no such thing 
 as natural law ; that all men and all other animals are led to their own 
 advantage by the guidance of nature ; that there is no such thing as jus- 
 tice, or, if there be, tliat it is extreme folly, since a man would injure 
 himself while consulting the interests of others. And he added these 
 arguments, that all nations who were flourishing and dominant, and 
 even the Komans tiiemselves, who were the masters of the whole Avorld, 
 if they wished to be just that is to say, if they restored all that belonged 
 to others would have to return to their cottages, and to lie down in 
 want and misery. 
 
 Except, perhaps, of the Arcadians and Athenians, wlio, 
 I presume, dreading that this great act of retribution 
 might one day arrive, pretend that they were sprung from 
 the earth, like so many field-mice. 
 
 XVI. In* reply to these statements, the following argu- 
 ments are often adduced by those who are not unskilful in 
 discussions, and who, in this question, have all the greater 
 weight of authority, because, when we inquire, Who is a 
 good man? understanding by that term a frank and sin- 
 gle-minded man w^e have little need of captious casuists, 
 quibblers, and slanderers. For those men assert that the 
 wise man does not seek virtue because of the personal 
 gratification which the practice of justice and beneficence 
 procures him, but rather because the life of the good man 
 is free from fear, care, solicitude, and peril; while, on the 
 other hand, the wicked always feel in their souls a certain 
 suspicion, and always behold before their eyes images of 
 judgment and punishment. Do not you think, therefore, 
 that there is any benefit, or that there is any advantage 
 which can be procured by injustice, precious enough to 
 counterbalance the constant pressure of remorse, and the 
 haunting consciousness that retribution awaits the sinnei", 
 and hangs over his devoted head.^ * -i * 
 
 XYII. [Our philosophers, therefore, put a case. Sup- 
 pose, say they, two men, one of whom is an excellent and 
 admirable person, of high honor and remarkable integrity; 
 the latter is distinguished by nothing but his vice and au- 
 dacity. And suppose that their city has so mistaken their 
 characters as to imagine the good man to be a scandalous, 
 impious, and audacious criminal, and to esteem the wicked 
 ' Six or eight pages are missing here. 
 
436 ON THE COMMONWEALTH. 
 
 man, on the contrary, as a pattern of probity and fidelity. 
 On account of this error of their fellow-citizens, the good 
 man is arrested and tormented, his hands are cut off, his 
 eyes are plucked out, he is condemned, bound, burned, 
 extermijnated, reduced to want, and to the last appears to 
 all men to be most deservedly the most miserable of men. 
 On the other hand, the flagitious wretch is exalted, wor- 
 shipped, loved by all, and honors, offices, riches, and emol- 
 uments are all conferred on him, and he shall be reckoned 
 by his fellow-citizens the best and worthiest of mortals, 
 and in the highest degree deserving of all manner of pros- 
 perity. Yet, for all this, who is so mad as to doubt which 
 of these two men he would rather be ? 
 
 XVIII. What happens among individuals happens also 
 among nations. Tliei-e is no state so absurd and ridiculous 
 as not to prefer unjust dominion to just subordination. 
 I need not go far for examples. During my own consul- 
 ship, wlien you were my fellow-counsellors, we consulted 
 respecting the treaty of Numantia. No one was ignorant 
 that Quintus Pompey had signed a treaty, and that Man- 
 cinus had done the same. The latter, being a virtuous 
 man, supported the proposition which I laid before tlie 
 people, after the decree of the senate. The former, on the 
 other side, opposed it vehemently. If modesty, probity, 
 or faith had been regarded, Mancinus would have cai-ried 
 his point ; but in reason, counsel, and prudence, Pompey 
 surpassed him. AVhether^ * * * 
 
 XIX. If a man should have a faithless slave, or an un- 
 wholesome house, with whose defect he alone was ac- 
 quainted, and he advertised them for sale, would he state 
 the fact that his servant was infected with knavery, and 
 his house with malaria, or would he conceal these objec- 
 tions from the buyer? If he stated those facts, he would 
 be honest, no doubt, because he would deceive nobody; 
 but still he would be tliought a fool, because lie would ei- 
 ther get very little for his property, or else fail to sell it at 
 all. By concealing these defects, on the other hand, he 
 will be called a shrewd man as one who has taken care 
 of his own interest; but he will be a rogue, notwithstand- 
 ing, because he will be deceiving liis neighbors. Again, 
 
 ^ Several pages are lost here. 
 
ON THE COMMONWEALTH. 437 
 
 let US suppose that one man nieots another, who sells gold 
 and silver, conceiving them to be copper or lead ; shall he 
 hold his peace that he may make a capital bargain, or cor- 
 rect the mistake, and purchase at a fair rate? He would 
 evidently be a fool in the world's opinion if he preferred 
 the latter. 
 
 XX. It is justice, beyond all question, neither to com- 
 mit murder nor robbery. What, then, would your just 
 man do, if, in a case of shipwreck, he saw a weaker man 
 than himself get possession of a plank? Would he not 
 thrust him off, get hold of the timber himself, and escnpe 
 by his exertions, especially as no human witness could be 
 present in the mid-sea? If he acted like a wise man of 
 the world, he would certainly do so, for to act in any oth- 
 er way would cost him his life. If, on the other hand, he 
 prefers death to inflicting unjustifiable injury on his neigh- 
 boi', he will be an eminently honorable and just man, but 
 not the less a fool, because he saved another's life at the 
 expense of his own. Again, if in case of a defeat and 
 rout, when the enemy were pressing in the rear, this just 
 man should find a wounded comrade mounted on a horse, 
 shall he respect his right at the risk of being killed him- 
 self, or shall he fling him from the horse in order to pre- 
 serve his own life from the pursuers? If he does so, ho 
 is a wise man, but at the same time a wicked one ; if ho 
 does not, he is admirably just, but at the same time stupid. 
 
 XXI. Scipio. I might reply at great length to these 
 sophistical objections of Philus, if it were not, my Laelius, 
 that all our friends are no less anxious than myself to 
 hear you take a leading part in the present debate, espe- 
 cially as you promised yesterday that you would plead at 
 large on my side of the argument. If you cannot spare time 
 for this, at any rate do not desert us; we all ask it of you. 
 
 Lodius. This Carneades ought not to be even listened to 
 by our young men. I think all the while that I am hearing 
 him that he must be a very impure person ; if he be not, as 
 I would fain believe, his discourse is not less pernicious. 
 
 XXII.^ True law is right reason conformable to nature, 
 
 ^ This and the following chapters are not the actual words of Cicero, 
 but quotations by Lactantius and Augustine of what they affirm that he 
 said. 
 
438 ' ON THE COMMONWEALTIL 
 
 universal, unchangeable, eternal, whose commands urge us 
 to duty, and whose prohibitions restrain us from evil. 
 Whether it enjoins or forbids, the good respect its injunc- 
 tions, and the wicked treat them with indifference. This 
 law cannot be contradicted by any other law, and is not 
 liable either to derogation or abrogation. Neither the 
 senate nor the people can give us any dispensation for not 
 obeying this universal law of justice. It needs no other 
 expositor and interpreter than our own conscience. It is 
 not one thing at Rome, and another at Athens ; one thing 
 to-day, and another to-morrow; but in all times and na- 
 tions this universal law must forever reign, eternal and im- 
 perishable. It is the sovereign master and emperor of all 
 beings. God himself is its author, its promulgator, its en- 
 forcer. And he who does not obey it flies from himself, 
 and does violence to the very nature of man. And by so 
 doing he will endure the severest penalties even if he 
 avoid the other evils wdiich are usually accounted punish- 
 ments. 
 
 XXIII. I am aware that in the tliird book of Cicero's treatise on the 
 Commonwealth (unless I am mistaken) it is argued that no war is ever 
 undertaken by a well-regulated commonwealth unless it be one eitiier for 
 the sake of keeping faith, or for safety ; and what he means by a wav 
 for safety, and what safety he wislies us to understand, he jjoints out in 
 another passage, where he says, "But private men often escape from 
 these penalties, which even the most stupid persons feel want, exile, 
 imprisonment, and stripes by embracing the opportunity of a speedy 
 death ; but to states death itself is a penalty, tliougli it appears to deliver 
 individuals from punishment. For a state ought to be established so as 
 to be eternal : therefore, there is no natural decease for a state, as there 
 is for a man, in whose case death is not only inevitable, but often even 
 desirable; but when a state is put an end to, it is destroyed, extin- 
 guished. It is in some degree, to compare small things with great, as if 
 this whole world were to perish and fall to pieces." 
 
 In his treatise on the Commonwealth, Cicero says those wai's are un- 
 just which are undertaken without reason. Again, after a'few sentences, 
 he adds, No war is considered just unless it be formally announced and 
 declared, and unless it be to obtain restitution of what has been taken 
 away. 
 
 But our nation, by defending its allies, has now become the master 
 of all the whole world. 
 
 XXIV. Also, in that same treatise on the Commonwealth, he argues 
 most strenuously and vigorously in the cause of justice against injustice. 
 And since, wlien a little time before the part of injustice was upheld 
 against justice, and the doctrine was urged that a republic could not 
 
ON THE COMMONWEALTH. 439 
 
 prosper and flourish except by injustice, this was put forward as the 
 strongest argument, that it was unjust for men to serve other men as 
 their masters ; but that unless a dominant state, such as a great repub- 
 lic, acted on this injustice, it could not govern its provinces ; answer 
 was made on behalf of justice, that it was just that it should be so, be- 
 cause slavery is advantageous to such men, and their interests are con- 
 sulted by a right course of conduct that is, by the license of doing in- 
 jury being taken from the wicked and they will fare better when subju- 
 gated, because when not subjugated they fared worse: and to confirm 
 this reasoning, a noble instance, taken, as it were, from nature, was 
 added, and it was said, Why, then, does God govern man, and why 
 does the mind govern the body, and reason govern lust, and the other 
 vicious parts of the mind? 
 
 XXV. Hear what Tally says more plainly still in the third book of 
 his treatise on the Commonwealth, when discussing the reasons for gov- 
 ernment. Do we not, says he, see that nature herself has given the 
 power of dominion to everything that is best, to the extreme advantage 
 of what is subjected to it? Why, then, does God govern man, and why 
 does the mind govern the body, and reason govern lust and passion and 
 the other vicious parts of the same mind ? Listen thus far ; for present- 
 ly he adds, But still there are dissimilarities to be recognized in govern- 
 ing and in obeying. For as the mind is said to govern the body, and 
 also to govern lust, still it governs the body as a king governs his sub- 
 jects, or a parent his children ; but it governs lust as a master governs 
 his slaves, because it restrains and breaks it. The authority of kings, 
 of generals, of magistrates, of fothers, and of nations, rules their subjects 
 and allies as the mind rules bodies ; but masters control their slaves, as 
 the best part of the mind that is to say, wisdom controls the vicious 
 and weak parts of itself, such as lust, passion, and the other perturba- 
 tions. 
 
 For there is a kind of unjust slavery when those belong to some one 
 else who might be their own masters ; but when those are slaves who 
 cannot govern themselves, there is no injury done. 
 
 XXVI. If, says Carneades, you were to know that an asp was lying 
 hidden anywhere, and that some one who did not know it was going to 
 sit upon it, whose death would be a gain to you, you would act wickedly 
 if you did not warn him not to sit down. Still, you would not be liable 
 to punishment; for who could prove that you had known? But we are 
 bringing forward too many instances; for it is plain that unless equity, 
 good faith, and justice proceed from nature, and if all these things are 
 referred to interest, a good man cannot be found. And on these topics 
 a great deal is said by LobHus in our treatise on the llepublic. 
 
 If, as we are reminded by you, we have spoken well in that treatise, 
 when we said that nothing is good excepting what is honorable, and 
 nothing bad excepting what is disgraceful. * * * 
 
 XXVII. I am glad that you approve of the doctrine that the affection 
 borne to our children is implanted by nature; indeed, if it be not, there 
 can be no conection between man and man which has its origin in nat- 
 ure. And if there be not, then there is an end of all society in life. 
 May it turn out well, says Carneades, spealiing shamelessly, but stiU 
 
440 ON THE COMMONWEALTH. 
 
 more sensibly than my fiiend Lucius or Patro : for, as they refer every- 
 thing to themselves, do they think that anything is eve/ done for the 
 sake of another? And when they say that a man ought to be good, in 
 order to avoid misfortune, not because it is right by nature, they do not 
 perceive that they are speaking of a cunning man, not of a good one. 
 But these arguments are argued, I think, in those books by praising 
 which you have given me spirits. 
 
 In which I agree that an anxious and hazardous justice is not that of 
 a wise man, 
 
 XXVIII. And again, in Cicero, that same advocate of justice, Lae- 
 lins, says, Virtue is clearly eager for honor, nor has she any other re- 
 ward ; which, however, she accepts easily, and exacts without bitterness. 
 And in another place the same La3lius says : 
 
 When a man is inspired by virtue such as this, what 
 bribes can you offer him, what treasures, what thrones, 
 what empires ? He considers these but mortal goods, and 
 esteems his own divine. And if the ingratitude of the 
 people, and the envy of his competitors, or the violence of 
 powerful enemies, despoil his virtue of its earthly recom- 
 pense, he still enjoys a thousand consolations in the appro- 
 bation of conscience, and sustains himself by contemjjlat- 
 ing the beauty of moral rectitude. 
 
 XXIX. * * * This virtue, in order to be true, must be 
 universal. Tiberius Gracchus continued faithful to his 
 fellow -citizens, but he violated the rights and treaties 
 guaranteed to our alhes and the Latin peoples. But if 
 this habit of arbitrary violence begins to extend itself fur- 
 ther, and perverts our authority, leading it from right to 
 violence, so that those who had voluntarily obeyed us are 
 only restrained by fear, then, although we, during our days, 
 may escape the peril, yet am I solicitous respecting the 
 safety of our posterity and the immortality of the Com- 
 monwealth itself, which, doubtless, might become perpet- 
 ual and invincible if our people would maintain their an- 
 cient institutions and manners, 
 
 XXX. When Lailius had ceased to speak, all those that 
 were present expressed the extreme pleasure they found 
 in his discourse. But Scipio, more affected than the rest, 
 and ravished with the delight of sympathy, exclaimed : 
 You have pleaded, my La3lius, many causes with an elo- 
 quence superior to that of Servius Galba, our colleague, 
 whom you used during his life to prefer to all others, even 
 to the Attic orators [and never did I hear you speak with 
 
ON THE COMMONWEALTH. 441 
 
 more energy than to-day, wliile pleading the cause of jus- 
 tice]^ ** * 
 
 * * * That two things were wanting to enable him to speak in public 
 and in the fonim, contidence and voice. 
 
 XXXT. * * * This justice, continued Scipio, is the very 
 foundation of lawful government in political constitutions. 
 Can we call the State of Agrigentum a commonwealth, 
 where all men aie oppressed by the cruelty of a single 
 tyrant where there is no universal bond of right, nor so- 
 cial consent and fellowship, which should belong to every 
 people, properly so named ? It is the same in Syracuse 
 that illustrious city which Timaeus calls the greatest of 
 the Grecian towns. It was indeed a most beautiful city; 
 and its admirable citadel, its canals distributed through 
 all its districts, its broad streets, its porticoes, its temples, 
 and its walls, gave Syracuse the appearance of a most 
 flourishing state. But while Dionysius its tyrant reigned 
 there, nothing of all its wealth belonged to the people, 
 and the people were nothing better than the slaves of one 
 master. Thus, wdierever I behold a tyrant, I know that 
 the social constitution must be not merely vicious and cor- 
 rupt, as I stated yesterday, but in strict truth no social 
 constitution at all. 
 
 XXXII. Lcelius. You have spoken admirably, my 
 Scipio, and I see the point of your observations. 
 
 Scipio. You grant, then, that a state which is entirely 
 in the power of a faction cannot justly be entitled a polit- 
 ical community ? 
 
 Lcelius. That is evident. 
 
 jScijno. You judge most correctly. For what was the 
 State of Athens when, during the great Peloponnesian 
 war, she fell under the unjusl) domination of the thirty 
 tyrants? The antique glory of that city, the imposing 
 aspect of its edifices, its theatre, its gymnasium, its porti- 
 coes, its temples, its citadel, the admirable sculptures of 
 Phidias, and the magnificent harbor of Piraeus did they 
 constitute it a commonwealth ? 
 
 Lcelius. Certainly not, because these did not constitute 
 the real welfare of the community. 
 
 ' Twelve pages are missing here. 
 19* 
 
442 ON THE COMMONWEALTH. 
 
 Scipio. And at Rome, when the decemvirs ruled with^ 
 out api^eal from their decisions, in tlie third year of their 
 power, had not liberty lost all its securities and all its 
 blessings ? 
 
 Lcdius. Yes; the welfare of the community was no 
 longer consulted, and the people soon roused themselves, 
 and recovered their appropriate rights. 
 
 XXXIII. Scipio. I now come to the third, or demo- 
 cratical, form of government, in which a considerable dif- 
 ficulty presents itself, because all things are there said to 
 lie at the disposition of the people, and are carried into 
 execution just as they please. Here the populace inflict 
 punishments at their pleasure, and act, and seize, and keep 
 possession, and distribute property, without let or hinder- 
 ance. Can you deny, my Laelius, that this is a fair defini- 
 tion of a democracy, where the people are all in all, and 
 where the people constitute the State? 
 
 Lceliiis. There is no political constitution to which I 
 more absolutely deny the name of a commonicealth than 
 that in which all things lie in the power of the multitude. 
 If a commonwealth, which implies the welfare of the en- 
 tire community, could not exist in Agrigentum, Syracuse, 
 or Athens when tyrants reigned over them if it could 
 not exist in Kome when under the oligarchy of the decem- 
 virs neither do I see how this sacred name of common- 
 wealth can be applied to a democracy and the sway of 
 the mob ; because, in the first place, my Scipio, I build on 
 your own admirable definition, that there can be no com- 
 munity, properly so called, unless it be regulated by a com- 
 bination of rights. And, by this definition, it appears 
 that a multitude of men may be just as tyrannical as a 
 single despot; and it is so much the worse, since no mon- 
 ster can be more barbarous than the mob, which assumes 
 the name and appearance of the people. Nor is it at all 
 reasonable, since the laws place the property of madmen 
 in the hands of their sane relations, that wo should do 
 the [very reverse in politics, and throw the property of 
 the sane into the hands of the mad multitude]^ * * * 
 
 XXXIV. * * * [It is far more rational] to assert that 
 a wise and virtuous aristocratical government deserves 
 
 * Eight pages are missing here. 
 
ON THE COMMONWEALTH. 443 
 
 the title of a common wealtli, as it approaches to the nat- 
 ure of a kingdom. 
 
 And much more so in my opinion, said Mummius. For 
 the unity of power often exposes a king to become a des- 
 pot; but wlien an aristocracy, consisting of many virtuous 
 men, exercise power, that is the most fortunate circum- 
 stance possible for any state. However this be, I much 
 prefer royalty to democracy ; for that is the third kind of 
 government which you have remaining, and a most vicious 
 one it is. 
 
 XXXV. Scipio replied : I am well acquainted, my 
 Mummius, with your decided antipathy to the democrati- 
 cal system. And, although we may speak of it with rallicr 
 more indulgence than you are accustomed to accord it, 
 1 must certainly agree with you, that of all the three par- 
 ticular forms of government, none is less commendable 
 than democracy. 
 
 I do not agree with you, however, w^hen you would im- 
 ply that aristocracy is preferable to royalty. If you sup- 
 pose that wisdom governs the State, is it not as well that 
 this wisdom should reside in one monarch as in many 
 nobles ? 
 
 But we are led away by a certain incorrectness of terms 
 in a discussion like the present. When we pronounce the 
 word " aristocracy," which, in Greek, signifies the govern- 
 ment of the best men, what can be conceived more excel- 
 lent? For what can be thought better than the best? 
 But when, on the other hand, the title "king" is mention- 
 ed, we begin to imagine a tyrant; as if a king must be 
 necessarily unjust. But we are not speaking of an unjust 
 king when we are examining the true nature of royal au- 
 thority.^ To this mime of king, therefore, do but attach 
 the idea of a Romulus, a Numa, a Tullus, and perhaps you 
 will be less severe to the monarchical form of constitution. 
 
 Mummius. Have you, then, no commendation at all for 
 any kind of democratical government? 
 
 Scipio. Why, I think some democratical forms less ob- 
 jectionable than others ; and, by way of illustration, I w^ill 
 ask you what you thought of the government in the isle 
 of Rhodes, where we were lately together; did it appear 
 to vou a leoitimate and rational constitution ? 
 
444 ON THE COMMONWEALTH. 
 
 Mummius. It did, and not much liable to abuse. 
 
 Sci2no. You say truly. But, if you recollect, it was a 
 very extraordinary experiment. All the inhabitants Avere 
 alternately senators and citizens. Some months they spent 
 in their senatorial functions, and some months they spent 
 in their civil employments. In both tliey exercised judi- 
 cial powers; and in the theatre and the court, the same 
 men judged all causes, capital and not capital. And they 
 had as much influence, and were of as much importance 
 
 OC T* T* T^ 
 
 FRAGMENTS. 
 
 XXXVI. There is therefore some unquiet feeh'ng in individuals, wliich 
 either exults in pleasure or is crushed by annoyance. 
 
 \_The next is an incomplete sentence, and, as such, unintelligible. '\ 
 
 The Phoenicians were tlie first wlio by tlieir commerce, and by the 
 merchandise which tliey carried, bronglit avarice and magnificence and 
 insatiable degrees of everytliing into Greece. 
 
 Sardanapalus, the luxurious king of Assyria, of whom Tully, in the 
 third book of his treatise on tlie Eepublic, says, "The notorious Sarda- 
 napalus, far more deformed by his vices than even by his name." 
 
 \Vhat is tlie meaning, then, of this absurd acceptation, unless some 
 one wishes to make the whole of Athos a monument? For what is 
 Athos or the vast Olympus ? * * * 
 
 XXXVI \. I will endeavor in the proper place to show it, according 
 to the definitions of Cicero himself, in which, putting forth Scipio as 
 tlie speaker, he has briefly explained what a commonwealth and what a 
 republic is ; adducing also many assertions of his own, and of those 
 whom he has represented as taking i)art in that discussion, to the etlect 
 that the State of Rome was not such a commonwealth, because there 
 has never been genuine justice in it. However, according to definitions 
 which are more reasonable, it was a commonwealth in some degree, and 
 it was better legulated by the more ancient than by the later Komans. 
 
 It is now fitting tliat I should explain, as briefly and as clearly as I 
 can, what, in th". second book of this work, I promised to prove, accord- 
 ing to the definitions which Cicero, in his books on the Commonwealth, 
 puts into tlie mouth of Scipio, arguing that the Roman State was never 
 a commonwealth ; for he briefly defines a commonwealth as a state of 
 tlie people ; the ])eople as an assembly of the multitude, united by a com- 
 mon feeling of riglit, and a community of interests. What he calls a 
 common feeling of right he explains by discussion, showing in this way 
 that a commonwealth cannot j)roceed without justice. Wiiere, there- 
 fore, there is no genuine justice, there can be no right, for that which is 
 done according to right is done justly ; and what is done unjustly cannot 
 
ON THE COMMONWEALTH. 445 
 
 be (lone according to right, for the unjust regulations of men are not to 
 be called or thought rights; since they themselves call that right (jus) 
 which flows from the source of justice : and they say that that assertion 
 which is often made by some persons of erroneous sentiments, namely, 
 that that is right which is advantageous to the most powerful, is false. 
 Wherefore, where there is no true justice there can be no company of 
 men united by a common feeling of right; therefore there can be no 
 people (populus), according to that definition of IScipio or Cicero : and if 
 there be no people, there can be no state of the people, but only of a mob 
 such as it may be, which is not worthy of the name of a people. And 
 thus, if a commonwealth is a state of a people, and if that is not a peo- 
 ple which is not united by a common feeling of right, and if there is no 
 right where there is no justice, then the undoubted inference is, that 
 where there is no justice there is no commonwealth. Moreover, justice 
 is that virtue which gives every one his own. 
 
 No war can be undertaken by a just and wise state un- 
 less for faith or self-defence. This self-defence of the 
 State is enough to insure its perpetuity, and this perpe- 
 tuity is what all patriots desire. Those afflictions which 
 even the hardiest spirits smart under poverty, exile, pi is- 
 on, and torment private individuals seek to escape from 
 by an instantaneous death. But for states, the greatest 
 calamity of all is that of death, which to individuals ap- 
 pears a refuge. A slate should be so constituted as to 
 live forever. For a commonwealth there is no natural dis- 
 solution as there is for a man, to whom death not only be- 
 comes necessary, but often desirable. And when a state 
 once decays and falls, it is so utterly revolutionized, that, 
 if we may compare great things with small, it resembles 
 the final wreck of the universe. 
 
 All wars undertaken without a proper motive are un- 
 just. And no war can be reputed just unless it be duly 
 announced and proclaimed, and if it be not preceded by a 
 rational demand for restitution. 
 
 Our Roman Commonwealth, by defending its allies, has 
 got possession of the world. 
 
446 ON THE COMMONWEALTH. 
 
 INTRODUCTION TO THE FOURTH BOOK, 
 
 BY THE ORIGINAL TRANSLATOR. 
 
 In this fourth book Cicero treats of morals and education, and the use 
 and abuse of stage entertainments. We retain nothing of this im- 
 portant book save a few scattered fragments, the beauty of which fills 
 us with the greater regret for the passages we have lost. 
 
 BOOK IV. 
 FRAGMENTS. 
 
 I. * * * Since mention has been made of the body and of the mind, I 
 will endeavor to expLiin the theory of eacii as well as the weakness of 
 my understanding is able to comprehend it a duty which I think it the 
 more becoming in me to undertake, because Marcus Tullius, a man of 
 singular genius, after having attempted to perform it in the fourth book 
 of his treatise on the Commonwealth, compressed a subject of wide ex- 
 tent witliin narrow limits, only touching lightly on all the principal points. 
 And tliat there might be no excuse alleged for his not having followed 
 out tliis topic, he himself has assured us that he was not wanting either 
 in inclination or in anxiety to do so ; for, in the first book of his trea- 
 tise on Laws, when he was touching briefly on the same subject, bespeaks 
 thus: "This topic Scipio, in my opinion, has sufficiently discussed in 
 those books which you have read." 
 
 And the mind itself, which sees the future, remembers the past. 
 
 Well did Marcus Tullius say. In truth, if there is no one who would not 
 prefer death to being changed into the form of some beast, althougli he 
 were still to retain the mind of a man, how much more wretched is it to 
 liave the mind of a beast in the form of a man ! To me this fate appears 
 as much worse than the other as the mind is superior to the body. 
 
 Tullius says somewhere that he does not think the good of a ram and 
 of Publius Africanus identical. 
 
 And also by its being interposed, it causes shade and night, which is 
 adapted both to the numbering of days and to rest from labor. 
 
 And as in the autumn he has opened the earth to receive seeds, in 
 winter relaxed it that it may digest them, and by the ripening powers of 
 summer softened some and burned up others. 
 
 When the shepherds use * * * for cattle. 
 
 Cicero, in the foin-th book of his Commonwealth, uses tlie word "ar- 
 mentum," and "armcntarius," derived from it. 
 
ON THE COMMONWEALTH. 447 
 
 II. The great law of just and regular subordination is 
 the basis of political prosperity. There is much advan- 
 tage in the harmonious succession of ranks and orders 
 and classes, in which the suffrages of the knights and the 
 senators have their due weight. Too many have foolishly 
 desired to destroy this institution, in the vain hope of re- 
 ceiving some new largess, by a public decree, out of a dis- 
 tribution of the property of the nobility. 
 
 III. Consider, now, how wisely the other provisions have 
 been adopted, in order to secure to the citizens the bene- 
 fits of an honest and happy life ; for that is, indeed, the 
 grand object of all political association, and that which 
 every government should endeavor to procure for the peo- 
 ple, partly by its institutions, and partly by its laws. 
 
 Consider, in the first place, the national education of 
 the people a matter on which the Greeks have expended 
 much labor in vain, and which is the only point on which 
 Polybius, who settled among us, accuses the negligence of 
 our institutions. For our countrymen have thought that 
 education ought not to be fixed, nor regulated by laws, nor 
 be given publicly and uniformly to all classes of society. 
 Yov' * * * 
 
 According to Tiilly, who says tliat men going to serve in the army 
 have guardians assigned to them, by wliom they are governed the first 
 year. 
 
 IV. [In our ancient laws, young men were prohibited 
 from appearing] naked in the public baths, so far back 
 were the principles of modesty traced by our ancestors. 
 Among the Greeks, on the contrary, what an absurd sys- 
 tem of training youth is exhibited in their gymnasia! 
 What a frivolous preparation for the labors and hazards of 
 war ! what indecent spectacles, what impure and licentious 
 amours are permitted ! I do not speak only of the Eleans 
 and Thebans, among whom, fn all love affairs, passion is 
 allowed to run into shameless excesses ; but the Spartans, 
 while they permit every kind of license to their young 
 men, save that of violation, fence off, by a very slight wall, 
 the very exception on which they insist, besides other 
 crimes which I will not mention. 
 
 ^ Six or eight pages are missing here. 
 
448 ON THE COMMONWEALTH. 
 
 Then Lailius said : I see, my Scipio, that on the subject 
 of tlie Greek institutions, which you censure, you prefer 
 attacking the customs of the most renowned peoples to 
 contending with your fav(3rite Plato, whose name you 
 have avoided citing, especially as * '' * 
 
 V, So that Cicero, in his treatise on the Commonwealth, says that it 
 was a repvoacli to yonng men if they had no lovers. 
 
 Not only as at Sparta, where boys learn to steal and plunder. 
 
 And our master Plato, even more than Lycurgus, who would have 
 everything to be common, so that no one should be able to call anything 
 his own property. 
 
 I would send him to the same place whither he sends Homer, crown- 
 ed with chaplets and anointed with perfumes, banishing him from the 
 city which he is describing. 
 
 VI. The judgment of the censor inflicts scarcely anything more than 
 a blush on the man whom he condemns. Therefore as all that adjudica- 
 tion turns solely on the name {novien), the punishment is called ignominy. 
 
 Nor should a pjrefect be set over women, an officer who is created 
 among the Greeks ; but there should be a censor to teach husbands to 
 manage their wives. 
 
 So the discipline of modesty has great power. All women abstain 
 from wine. 
 
 And also if any woman was of bad character, her relations used not 
 to kiss her. 
 
 So petulance is derived from asking (petendo) wantonness (procaci- 
 tas) from procando, that is, from demanding, 
 
 VII, Yox I do not approve of the same nation being the ruler and the 
 farmer of lands. But both in private families and in the affairs of the 
 Commonwealth I look upon economy as a revenue. 
 
 Faith {fides) appears to me to derive its name from that being done 
 {fit) which is said. 
 
 In a citizen of rank and noble birth, caressing manners, display, and 
 ambition are marks of levity. 
 
 Examine for a while the books on the Republic, and learn that good 
 men know no bound or limit in consulting the interests of tlieir country. 
 See in that treatise with what praises frugality, and continency, and 
 fidelity to the marriage tie, and chaste, honorable, and virtuous man- 
 ners are extolled. 
 
 VIII. I marvel at the elegant choice, not only of the facts, but of the 
 language. If they dispute {jurg^nt). It is a contest between well- 
 wishers, not a quarrel between enemies, that is called a dispute {jurgium). 
 
 Therefore the law considers that neighbors dispute {jurgare) rather 
 than quarrel (litigare) with one another. 
 
 The bounds of man's care and of man's life are the same; so by the 
 pontifical law the sanctity of burial * * * 
 
 They put them to deatli, though innocent, because they had left those 
 men unburied whom they could not rescue from the sea because of the 
 violence of the storm. 
 
ON THE COMMONWEALTH. 449 
 
 Nor in this discussion liave I advocated the cause of tlie popuhice, 
 but of the good. 
 
 For one cannot easily resist a powerfid people if one j^ives tliein either 
 no viglits at all or very little. . 
 
 In which case I wish I couM augur first with truth and fidelity * * * 
 
 IX. Cicero saying this in vain, when speaking of poets, "And when 
 the shouts and approval of the people, as of some great and wise teacher, 
 has reached them, what darkness do they bring on ! what alarms do 
 they cause! what desires do they excite!" 
 
 Cicero says that if his life were extended to twice its length, he should 
 not have time to read the lyric poets. 
 
 X. As Scipio says in C'icero, "As they thought the whole histrion- 
 ic ait, and everything cotmected with the theatre, discreditable, they 
 thought fit that all men of that description should not only be deprived 
 of the honors belonging to the rest of the citizens, but should also be 
 deprived of their franchise by the sentence of the censors." 
 
 And what the ancient Romans thought on this subject Cicero informs 
 ns, in those books which he wrote on the Commonwealth, where Scipio 
 argues and says * * * 
 
 Comedies could never (if it had not been authorized by 
 the common customs of life) have made theatres approve 
 of their scandalous exhibitions. And the more ancient 
 Greeks provided a certain correction for the vicious taste 
 of the people, by making a law that it shoukl be expressly 
 defined by a censorship what subjects comedy should treat, 
 and how she should treat tliem. 
 
 Whom has it not attacked? or, rather, whom has it not 
 wounded? and whom has it spared? In tliis, no doubt, 
 it sometimes took the right side, and lashed the popular 
 demagogues and seditious agitators, such as Cleon, Cleo- 
 phon, and Hyperbolus. We may tolerate that ; though in- 
 deed the censure of the magistrate would, in these cases, 
 have been more efficacious than the satire of the poet. But 
 when Pericles, who governed the Athenian Commonwealth 
 for so many years with the highest authority, both in 
 peace and war, was outraged by verses, and these were 
 acted on the stage, it was hardly more decent than if, 
 among us, Plantns and Nsevius had attacked Publius and 
 Cnseus, or CaeciUus had ventured to revile Marcus Cato. 
 
 Our laws of the Twelve Tables, on the contrary so 
 careful to attach capital punishment to a very few crimes 
 only have included in this class of capital offences the 
 offence of com])osing or publicly reciting verses of libel, 
 slander, and defamation, in order to cast dishonor and in- 
 
450 ON THE COMMONWEALTH. 
 
 famy on a fellow-citizen. And they have decided wisely; 
 for our life and character should, if suspected, be submit- 
 ted to the sentence of judicial tribunals and the legal in- 
 vestigations of our magistrates, and not to the whims and 
 fancies of poets. Nor should we be exposed to any charge 
 of disgrace which w^e cannot meet by legal process, and 
 openly refute at the bar. 
 
 In our laws, I admire the justice of their expressions, as 
 well as their decisions. Thus the word pleading signiiies 
 rather an amicable suit between friends than a quarrel be- 
 tween enemies. 
 
 It is not easy to resist a powerful people, if you allow 
 them no rights, or next to none. 
 
 The old Romans would not allow any living man to be either praised 
 or blamed on tlie stnge. 
 
 XL Cicero says that comedy is an imitation of life; a mirror of cus- 
 toms, an image of truth. 
 
 Since, as is mentioned in tliat book on the Commonwealth, not only 
 did ^schines the Athenian, a man of the greatest eloquence, who, when 
 a young man, had been an actor of tragedies, concern himself in public 
 affairs, but the Athenians often sent Aristodemus, wbo was also a tragic 
 actor, to Philip as an ambassador, to treat of the most important affairs 
 of peace and war. 
 
 INTRODUCTION TO THE FIFTH BOOK, 
 
 BY THE ORIGINAL TRANSLATOR. 
 
 In this fifth book Cicero explains and enforces the duties of magistrates, 
 and the importance of practical experience to all who undertake their 
 important functions. Only a few fragments have survived the wreck 
 of ages and descended to us. 
 
 BOOK V. 
 FRAGMENTS. 
 
 I. Ennius has told us 
 
 Of men and customs mighty Rome consists ; 
 
 which verse, both for its precision and its verity, appears 
 to me as if it had issued from an oracle; for neither the 
 
ON THE COMMONWEALTH. 451 
 
 men, unless the State had adopted a certain system of 
 manners nor the manners, unless they had been illus- 
 trated by the men could ever have established or main- 
 tained for so many ages so vast a republic, or one of such 
 righteous and extensive sway. 
 
 Thus, long before our own times, the force of heredita- 
 ry manners of itself moulded most eminent men ; and ad- 
 mirable citizens, in return, gave new weight to the ancient 
 customs and institutions of our ancestors. But our age, 
 on tlie contrary, having received the Commonwealth as a 
 finished picture of another century, but one already be- 
 ginning to fade through the lapse of years, has not only 
 neglected to renew the colors of the original painting, but 
 has not even cared to preserve its general form and prom- 
 inent lineaments. 
 
 For what now remains of those antique manners, of 
 which the poet said that our Commonwealth consisted? 
 They have now become so obsolete and forgotten that 
 they are not only not cultivated, but they are not even 
 known. And as to the men, what shall I say? For the 
 manners themselves have only perished through a scarcity 
 of men ; of which great misfortune we are not only called 
 to give an .account, but even, as men accused of capital 
 offences, to a certain degree to plead our own cause in 
 connection with it. For it is owing to our vices, rather 
 than to any accident, that we have retained the name of 
 republic when we have long since lost the reality. 
 
 II. * * * There is no employment so essentially royal 
 as the exposition of equity, which comprises the true in- 
 terpretation of all laws. This justice subjects used gen- 
 erally to expect from their kings. For this reason, lands, 
 fields, woods, and pastures were reserved as the proper- 
 ty of kings, and cultivated for them, without any labor on 
 their part, in order that no anxiety on account of their 
 personal interests might distract their attention from the 
 welfare of the State. Nor was any private man allowed 
 to be the judge or arbitrator in any suit; but all disputes 
 were terminated by the royal sentence. 
 
 And of all our Roman monarchs, Numa appears to me 
 to have best preserved this ancient custom of the kings of 
 Greece. For the others, though they also discharged this 
 
452 ON THE COMMONWEALTH. 
 
 duty, were for the main part employed in conducting mili- 
 tary enterprises, and in attending to those rights which 
 belonged to war. But the long peace of Numa's reign 
 was the mother of law and religion in this city. And he 
 was himself the author of those admirable laws which, as 
 you are aware, are still extant. And this character is 
 precisely what belongs to the man of whom we are speak- 
 in^, '*' * * 
 
 III. [Sci2no. Ought not a farmer] to be acquainted 
 with the nature of plants and seeds ? 
 
 3Ia?iilius. Certainly, provided he attends to his practi- 
 cal business also. 
 
 Scipio. Do you think that knowledge only fit for a 
 steward ? 
 
 3IanUius. Certainly not, inasmuch as the cultivation of 
 land often fails for want of agricultural labor. 
 
 Scipio. Therefore, as the steward knows the nature of 
 a field, and the scribe knows penmanship, and as both of 
 them seek, in their respective sciences, not mere amuse- 
 ment only, but practical utility, so this statesman of ours 
 should have studied the science of jurisprudence and 
 legislation ; he should have investigated their original 
 sources ; but he should not embarrass himself in debating 
 and arguing, reading and scribbling. He should rather 
 employ himself in the actual administration of govern- 
 ment, and become a sort of steward of it, being perfectly 
 conversant with the principles of universal law and equity, 
 without which no man can be just: not unfamiliar with 
 the civil laws of states ; but he will use them for practical 
 purposes, even as a pilot uses astronomy, and a physician 
 natural philosophy. For both these men bring their theo- 
 retical science to bear on the practice of their arts; and 
 our statesman [should do the same with the science of 
 politics, and make it subservient to the actual interests of 
 philanthropy and patriotism]. * * * 
 
 IV. * * * In states in which good men desire glory and 
 approbation, and shun disgrace and ignominy. Nor are 
 such men so much alarmed by the threats and penalties 
 of the law as by that sentiment of shame with which nat- 
 ure has endowed man, which is nothing else than a cer- 
 tain fear of deserved censure. The wise director of a gov- 
 
ON THE COxMMONWEALTH. 453 
 
 ernment strengthens this natural instinct by the force of 
 public opinion, and perfects it by education and manners. 
 And thus the citizens are preserved from vice and corrup- 
 tion rather by honor and shame than by fear of punish- 
 ment. But this argument will be better illustrated when 
 we treat of the love of glory and praise, which we shall 
 discuss on another occasion. 
 
 V". As respects the private life and the manners of the 
 citizens, they are intimately connected with the laws that 
 constitute just marriages and legitimate offspring, under 
 the protection of the guardian deities around the domestic 
 hearths. By these laws, all men should be maintained in 
 their rights of public and private property. It is only un- 
 der a good government like this that men can live happily 
 for nothing can be more delightful than a well-consti- 
 tuted state. 
 
 On which account it appears to me a very strange thing 
 what this * * * 
 
 VI. I therefore consume all my time in considering what is the power 
 of that man, -whom, as you think, we have described carefully enough in 
 our books. Do you, then, admit our idea of that governor of a com- 
 monwealth to whom we wish to refer everything? For thus, I imagine, 
 does Scipio speak in the fiftli book : "For as a fair voyage is the object 
 of the master of a ship, the health of his patient tlie aim of a physician, 
 and victory that of a general, so the happiness of his fellow-citizens is 
 the proper study of the ruler of a commor.wealth ; that they may be 
 stable in power, rich in resources, widely known in reputation, and lion- 
 orable through their virtue. For a ruler ought to be one who can per- 
 fect this, which is the best and most important employment among 
 mankind," 
 
 And works in your literature rightly praise that ruler of a country who 
 consults the welfare of his people more than their inclinations. 
 
 VII. TuUy, in those books which he wrote upon the Commonwealth, 
 could not conceal his opinions, when he sj)eaks of appointing a chief of 
 the State, who, he says, must be maintained by glory ; and afterward he 
 rehites that his ancestors did many admirable and noble actions from a 
 desire of glory. 
 
 Tully, in his treatise on the Commonwealth, wrote that the chief of a 
 state must be maintained by glory, and that a commonwealth would last 
 as long as honor was paid by every one to the chief. 
 
 [ TAe next paragraph is unintelligible.^ 
 
 Which virtue is called fortitude, which consists of magnanimity, and 
 a great contempt of death and pain. 
 
 VIII. As Marcellus was fierce, and eager to fight, Maximus prudent 
 and cautious. 
 
454 ON THE COMMONWEALTH. 
 
 Wlio discovered liis violence and nnbridled ferocity. 
 
 Which has often iiappened not only to individuals, but also to most 
 powerfid nations. 
 
 In the whole world. 
 
 Because he inflicted the annoyances of his old age on your families. 
 
 IX. Cicero, in his treatise on the Commonwealth, says, "As Mene- 
 laus of Laceda!mon had a certain agreeable sweetness of eloquence." 
 And in another place he snys, "Let him cultivate brevity in speaking." 
 
 By the evidence of which arts, as Tally says, it is a shame for the con- 
 science of the judge to be misled. For he says, "And as nothing in a 
 commonwealth ought to be so uncorrupt as a suffrage and a sentence, I 
 do not see why the man who perverts them by money is worthy of pun- 
 ishment, while he who does so by eloquence is even praised. Indeed, I 
 myself think that he who corrupts the judge by his speech does more 
 harm than he who does so by money, because no one can corrupt a sen- 
 sible man by money, though he may by speaking." 
 
 And when Scipio had said this, Mummius praised him greatly, for he 
 was extravagantly imbued with a hatred of orators. 
 
 INTRODUCTION TO THE SIXTH BOOK. 
 
 In this last book of his Commonwealth, Cicero labors to show that truly 
 pious phiianthropical and patriotic statesmen will not only be reward- 
 ed on earth by the approval of conscience and the applause of all good 
 citizens, but that they may expect hereafter immortal glory in new 
 forms of being. To illustrate this, he introduces the "Dream of 
 Scipio," in which he explains the resplendent doctrines of Plato re- 
 specting the immortality of the soul with inimitable dignity and ele- 
 gance. This Somnium Scipionis, for which we are indebted to the ci- 
 tation of Macrobius, is the most beautiful thing of the kind ever writ- 
 ten. It has been intensely admired by all European scholars, and will 
 be still more so. There are two translations of it in our language ; 
 one attached to Oliver's edition of Cicero's Thoughts, the other by 
 Mr. Danby, published in 1829. Of these we have freely availed our- 
 selves, and as freely we express our acknowledgments. 
 
 BOOK VI. 
 
 SCIPIO'S DREAM. 
 
 I. Therefore you rely upon all the prudence of this rule, which has 
 derived its A^ery name (prudentia) from foreseeing (a providendo). 
 Wherefore the citizen must so prepare himself as to be always armed 
 against those things which trouble the constitution of a state. And that 
 
ON THE COMMONWEALTH. 455 
 
 dissension of ihe citizens, when one party separates from and attacks an- 
 otlicr, is called sedition. 
 
 And in truth in civil dissensions, as the good are of more importance 
 than the many, I think that we should regard the weight of the citizens, 
 and not their number. 
 
 For the lusts, being severe mistresses of the thoughts, command and 
 compel many an vmbridled action. And as they cannot be satisfied or 
 appeased by any means, they ui-ge those whom they have inflamed with 
 their allurements to every kind of atrocity. 
 
 ir. Which indeed was so much the greater in him because though 
 the cause of the colleagues was identical, not only was their un'popularity 
 i^.ot equal, but the influence of Gracchus was employed in mitigating the 
 hatred borne to Claudius. 
 
 Who encomitered the number of the chiefs and nobles with these 
 words, and left behind him that mournful and dignified expression of 
 his gravity and influence. 
 
 That, as he writes, a thousand men might every day descend into the 
 forum with cloaks dyed in purple. 
 
 \_The next paragraph is unintelligible.'] 
 
 For our ancestors wished marriages to be firmly established. 
 
 There is a speech extant of Lalius with which we are all acquainted, 
 expressing how pleasing to the immortal gods are the * * * and * * * of 
 the priests. 
 
 III. Cicero, Avriting about the Commonwealth, in imitation of Plato, 
 has related the story of the return of Er the Famphylian to life ; who, 
 as he says, had come to life again after he had been placed on the funer- 
 al pile, and related many secrets about the shades below ; not speaking, 
 like Plato, in a fabulous imitation of truth, but using a certain reason- 
 able invention of an ingenious dream, cleverly intimating that these things 
 which were uttered about the immortality of the soul, and about heaven, 
 are not the inventions of dreaming philosophers, nor the incredible fables 
 which the Epicureans ridicule, but the conjectures of wise men. He in- 
 sinuates that that Scipio who by the subjugation of Carthage obtained 
 Africanus as a surname for his family, gave notice to Scipio the son of 
 Paulus of the treachery which threatened him from his relations, and 
 tlie course of fate, because by the necessity of numbers he was confined 
 in the period of a perfect life, and he says that he in the fifty-sixth year 
 of his age * * * 
 
 IV. Some of our religion who love Plato, on account of his admirable 
 kind of eloquence, and of some correct opinions Avhich he held, say that 
 he had some opinions similar to my own touching the resurrection of 
 the dead, which subject Tully touches on in his treatise on the Common- 
 wealth, and says that he was rather jesting than intending to say that 
 was true. For he asserts that a man returned to life, and related some 
 stories which harmonized with the discussions of the Platonists. 
 
 V. In this point the imitation has especially preserved the likeness of 
 the work, because, as Plato, in the conclusion of his volume, represents 
 a certain person who had returned to life, which he appeared to have 
 quitted, as indicating what is the condition of souls when stripped of the 
 
456 ON THE COMMONWEALTH. 
 
 body, with the atldition of a certain not unnecessary description of the 
 splieres and stars, an appearance of circumstances indicating things of 
 the same kind is rehited by the Scipio of Cicero, as having been brought 
 before liim in sleep. 
 
 VI. TuUy is found to have preserved tliis arrangement with no less 
 judgment tlian genius. After, in every condition of the Commonwealth, 
 whether of leisure or business, he has given the palm to justice, he has 
 placed the sacred abodes of the immortal souls, and the secrets of the 
 heavenly regions, on the very summit of his completed work, indicating 
 whither they must come, or rather return, who have managed the repub- 
 lic with prudence, justice, fortitude, and moderation. But that Platonic 
 relater of secrets was a man of the name of Er, a Fampliylian by nation, 
 a soldier by profession, who, after he appeared to have died from wounds 
 received in battle, and twelve days afterward was about to receive the 
 honors of the funeral i)ile with the others who were slain at the same 
 time, suddenly either recovering his life, or else never having lost it, as 
 if he were giving a public testimony, related to all men all that he had 
 done or seen in the days that he had thus passed between life and death. 
 Although Cicero, as if himself conscious of the truth, grieves that this 
 story has been ridiculed by the ignorant, still, avoiding giving an exam- 
 ple of foolish reproach, he preferred speaking of the relater as of one 
 awakened from a swoon rather than restored to life. 
 
 VII. And before we look at the words of the dream we must explain 
 what kind of persons they are by whom Cicero says that even the ac- 
 count of Plato was ridiculed, \vho are not apprehensive that the same 
 tiling may happen to them. Nor by this expression does he wish the 
 i.^norant mob to be undei stood, but a kind of men who are ignorant of 
 the truth, though pretending to be pliilosophers with a display of learn- 
 ing, who, it was notorious, had read such things, and were eager to find 
 faults. We will say, tlierefore, who they are whom he reports as having 
 levelled light reproaches against so great a philosopher, and who of 
 them has even left an accusation of him committed to writing, etc. The 
 whole faction of the Epicureans, always wandering at an equal distance 
 from truth, and thinking everything ridiculous which they do not under- 
 stand, has ridiculed the sacred volume, and the most venerable mysteries 
 of nature. But Colotes, who is somewhat celebrated and remarkable 
 for his loquacity among the pupils of Epicurus, has even recorded in a 
 book the bitter reproaches which he aims at him. But since the other 
 arguments which he foolishly urges have no connection with the dream 
 of which we are now talking, we will pass them over at present, and at- 
 tend only to the calumny which will stick both to Cicero and Plato, un- 
 less it is silenced. He says that a fable ought not to have been invented 
 by a philosopher, since no kind of falsehood is suitable to professors of 
 truth. For why, says he, if you wish to give us a notion of heavenly 
 things and to teach ns the nature of souls, did you not do so by a simple 
 and phiin e\i)lanation ? Why was a cliaracter invented, and circum- 
 stances, and strange events, and a scene of cunningly adduced falsehood 
 arranged, to pollute the very door of the investigation of truth by a lie? 
 Since tliese things, though they are said of the Platonic Er, do also at- 
 tack the rest of our dreaming Africanus. 
 
ON THE COMMONWEALTH. 457 
 
 VIII. This occasion incited Scipio to relate liis dream, which he de- 
 clares that he had buried in silence for a long time. For when Ltelius 
 was complaining that there were no statues of Nasica erected in any 
 public place, as a reward for his having slain the tyrant, Scipio replied 
 in these words: "But although the consciousness itself of great deeds 
 is to wise men the most ample reward of virtue, yet that divine nature 
 ought to have, not statues fixed in lead, nor triumphs with withering 
 laurels, but some more stable and lasting kinds of rewards." "What 
 are they?" said Lailius. "Then," said Scipio, "suffer me, since we 
 have now been keeping holiday for three days, * * * etc." By which 
 preface he came to the relation of his dream ; pointing out that those 
 were the more stable and lasting kinds of rewards which he himself had 
 seen in heaven reserved for good governors of commonwealths, 
 
 IX. When I had arrived in Africa, where I was, as you 
 are aware, military tribune of the fourth legion under the 
 consul Manilius, there was nothing of which I was more 
 earnestly desirous than to see King Masinissa, who, for 
 very just reasons, had been always the especial friend of 
 our family. When I was introduced to him, the old man 
 embraced me, shed tears, and then, looking up to heaven, 
 exclaimed I thank thee, O supreme Sun, and ye also, ye 
 other celestial beings, that before I depart from this life 
 I behold in my kingdom, and in this my palace, Publius 
 Cornelius Scipio, by whose mere name I seem to be rean- 
 imated ; so completely and indelibly is the recollection of 
 that best and most invincible of men, Africanus, imprinted 
 in my mind. 
 
 After this, I inquired of him concerning the affairs of 
 his kingdom. He, on the other hand, questioned me about 
 the condition of our Commonwealth, and in this mutual 
 interchange of conversation we passed the whole of that 
 day. 
 
 X. In the evening we were entertained in a manner 
 worthy the magnificence of a king, and carried on our dis- 
 course for a considerable part of the night. And during 
 all this time the old man spoke of nothing but Africanus, 
 all whose actions, and even remarkable sayings, he remem- 
 bered distinctly. At last, when we retired to bed, I fell 
 into a more profound sleep than usual, both becaiuse I was 
 fatigued with my journey, and because I had sat up the 
 greatest part of the night. 
 
 Here I had the following drean], occasioned, as I verily 
 believe, by our preceding conversation ; for it frequently 
 
 20 
 
458 ON THE COMMONWEALTH. 
 
 happens that the thoughts and discourses wliich have em- 
 ployed us in the daytime produce in our sleep an effect 
 somewhat similar to that Avhich Ennius writes happened 
 to him about Homer, of whom, in his waking hours, he 
 used frequently to think and speak. 
 
 Africanus, I thought, appeared to me in that shape, with 
 which I was better acquainted from his picture than from 
 any personal knowledge of him. When I perceived it 
 was he, I confess I trembled with consternation ; but he 
 addressed me, saying. Take courage, my Scipio; be not 
 afraid, and carefully remember what I shall say to you. 
 
 XI. Do you see that city * Carthage, which, though 
 brought under the Roman yoke by me, is now renewing 
 former wars, and cannot live in peace? (and he pointed 
 to Carthage from a lofty spot, full of stars, and brilliant, 
 and glittering) to attack which city you are this day ar- 
 rived in a station not much superior to that of a private 
 soldier. Before two years, however, are elapsed, you shali 
 be consul, and complete its overthrow ; and you shall ob- 
 tain, by your own merit, the surname of Africanus, which 
 as yet belongs to you no otherwise than as derived from 
 me. And when you have destroyed Carthage, and received 
 the honor of a triumph, and been made censor, and, in 
 quality of ambassador, visited Egypt, Syria, Asia, and 
 Greece, you shall be elected a second time consul in your 
 absence, and, by utterly destroying Numantia, put an end 
 to a most dangerous war. 
 
 But when you have entered the Capitol in your tri- 
 umphal car, you shall find the Roman Commonwealth all 
 in a ferment, through the intrigues of my grandson Tibe- 
 rius Gracchus. 
 
 XII. It is on this occasion, my dear Africanus, that you 
 show your country the greatness of your understanding, 
 capacity, and prudence. But I see that the destiny, how- 
 ever, of that time is, as it were, uncertain ; for when your 
 age shall have accomplished seven times eight rerolntions 
 of the sun, and your fatal hours shall be marked out by 
 the natural product of these two numbers, each of >vhich 
 is esteemed a perfect one, but for different reasons, then 
 shall the whole city have recourse to you alone, and place 
 its hopes in your auspicious name. On you the senate, 
 
ON THE COMMONWEALTH. 459 
 
 all good citizens, the allies, the people of Latium, shall cast 
 their eyes ; on you the preservation of the State shall en- 
 tirely depend. In a word, if you escafpe the impious 
 machinations of your relatives^ you will, in quality of 
 dictator, establish order and tranquillity in the Common' 
 wealth. 
 
 When on this Lailius made an exclamation, and the rest 
 of the company groaned loudly, Scipio, with a gentle smile, 
 said, I entreat you, do not wake me out of my dream, but 
 have patience, and hear the rest. 
 
 XIII. Now, in order to encourage you, my dear Afri- 
 canus, continued the shade of my ancestor, to defend the 
 State with the greater cheerfulness, be assured that, for 
 all those who have in any way conduced to the preserva- 
 tion, defence, and enlargement of their native country, 
 there is a certain place in heaven v/here they shall enjoy 
 an eternity of happiness. For nothing on earth is more 
 agreeable to God, the Supreme Governor of the universe, 
 than the assemblies and societies of men united together 
 by laws, which are called states. It is from heaven their 
 rulers and preservers came, and thither they return. 
 
 XIV. Though at these words I was extremely troubled, 
 not so much at the fear of death as at the perfidy of my 
 own relations, yet I recollected myself enough to inquire 
 whether he himself, my father Paulus, and others whom 
 we look upon as dead, were really living. 
 
 Yes, truly, replied he, they all enjoy life who have es- 
 caped from the chains of the body as from a prison. But 
 as to what you call life on earth, that is no more than one 
 form of death. But see ; here comes your father Paulus 
 towards you ! And as soon as I observed him, my eyes 
 burst out into a flood of tears ; but he took me in his 
 arms, embraced me, and bade me not weep. 
 
 XV. When my first transports subsided, and I regain- 
 ed the liberty of speech, I addressed my father thus: Thou 
 best and most venerable of parents, since this, as I am in- 
 formed by Africanus, is the only substantial life, why do 
 I linger on earth, and not rather haste to come hither 
 where you are ? 
 
 That, replied he, is impossible : unless that God, whose 
 temple is all that vast expanse you behold, shall free you 
 
460 ON THE COMMONWEALTH. 
 
 from the fetters of tlie body, you can liave no admission 
 into this place. Mankind have received tlieir being on 
 this very condition, that they should labor for the pres- 
 ervation of that globe which is situated, as you see, in the 
 midst of this temple, and is called earth. 
 
 Men are likewise endowed with a soul, which is a por- 
 tion of the eternal fires which you call stars and constella- 
 tions; and which, being round, spherical bodies, animated 
 by divine intelligences, perform their cycles and revolu- 
 tions with amazing rapidity. It is your duty, therefore, 
 my Publius, and that of all who have any veneration for 
 the Gods, to preserve this wonderful union of soul and 
 body ; nor without the express command of Him who gave 
 you a soul should the least thought be entertained of quit- 
 ting human life, lest you seem to desert the post assigned 
 you by God himself. 
 
 But rather follow the examples of your grandfather 
 here, and of me, your father, in paying a strict regard to 
 justice and piety; which is due in a great degree to par- 
 ents and relations, but most of all to our country. Such 
 a life as this is the true way to heaven, and to the compa- 
 ny of those, who, after having lived on earth and escaped 
 from the body, inhabit the place which you now behold. 
 
 XVI. This was the shining circle, or zone, whose re- 
 markable brightness distinguishes it among the constel- 
 lations, and which, after the Greeks, you call the Milky 
 Way. 
 
 From thence, as I took a view of the universe, every- 
 thing appeared beautiful and admirable; for there those 
 stars are to be seen that are never visible from our globe, 
 and everything appears of such magnitude as we could 
 not have imagined. The least of all the stars was that 
 removed farthest from heaven, and situated next to the 
 earth ; I mean our moon, which shines with a borrowed 
 light. Now, the globes of the stars far surpass the mag- 
 nitude of our earth, which at that distance appeared so 
 exceedingly small that I could not but be sensibly affected 
 on seeing our whole empire no larger than if we touched 
 the earth, as it were, at a single point. 
 
 XVII. And as I continued to observe the earth with 
 great attention, How long, I pray you, said African us, 
 
ON THE COMMONWEALTH. 461 
 
 will your mind be fixed on that object? why don't yon 
 rather take a view of the magnificent temples among which 
 you have arrived ? The universe is composed of nine cir- 
 cles, or rather spheres, one of which is the heavenly one, 
 and is exterior to all the rest, which it embraces ; being 
 itself the Supreme God, and bounding and containing the 
 whole. In it are fixed those stars which revolve with 
 never-varying courses. Below this are seven other spheres, 
 which revolve in a contrary direction to that of the heav- 
 ens. One of these is occupied by the globe which on 
 earth they call Saturn, Next to that is the star of Jupi- 
 ter, so benign and salutary to mankind. The third in or- 
 der is that fiery and terrible planet called Mars. Below 
 this, again, almost in the middle region, is the sun the 
 leader, governor, and prince of the other luminaries; the 
 soul of the world, which it regulates and illumines ; be- 
 ing of such vast size that it pervades and gives light to 
 all places. Then follow Venus and Mercury, which at- 
 tend, as it w^ere, on the sun. Lastly, the moon, which 
 shines only in the reflected beams of the sun, moves in 
 the lowest sphere of all. Below this, if we except that 
 gift of the Gods, the soul, which has been given by the 
 liberality of the Gods to the human race, everything is 
 mortal, and tends to dissolution ; but above the moon all 
 is eternal. For the earth, which is the ninth globe, and 
 occupies the centre, is immovable, and, being the lowest, 
 all others gravitate towards it. 
 
 XVIII. When I had recovered myself from the aston- 
 ishment occasioned by such a wonderful prospect, I thus 
 addressed Africanus : Pray what is this sound that strikes 
 my ears in so loud and agreeable a manner? To which 
 he replied : It is that which is called the music of the 
 s^jJieres, being produced by their motion and impulse; 
 and being formed by unequal intervals, but such as are 
 divided according to the justest proportion, it produces, 
 by duly tempering acute with grave sounds, various con- 
 certs of harmony. For it is impossible that motions so 
 great should be performed without any noise; and it is 
 agreeable to nature that the extremes on one side should 
 produce sharp, and on the other flat sounds. For which 
 reason the sphere of the fixed stars, being the highest, and 
 
462 ON THE COMMONWEALTH. 
 
 being carried with a more rapid velocity, moves with a 
 shrill and acute sound; whereas that of the moon, being 
 the lowest, moves with a very flat one. As to the earth, 
 which makes the ninth sphere, it remains immovably fixed 
 in the middle or lowest part of the universe. But those 
 eight revolving circles, in which both Mercury and Venus 
 are moved with the same celerity, give out sounds that are 
 divided by seven distinct intervals, which is generally the 
 regulating number of all things. 
 
 This celestial harmony has been imitated by learned 
 musicians both on stringed instruments and with the 
 voice, whereby they have opened to themselves a way to 
 roturn to the celestial regions, as have likewise many oth- 
 ers who have employed their sublime genius while on earth 
 in cultivating the divine sciences. 
 
 By the amazing noise of this sound the ears of man- 
 kind have been in some degree deafened ; and indeed hear- 
 ing is the dullest of all the human senses. Thus, the peo- 
 ple who dwell near the cataracts of the Nile, which are 
 called Catadupa,' are, by the excessive roar w^hich that 
 river makes in precipitating itself from those lofty moun- 
 tains, entirely deprived of the sense of hearing. iVnd so 
 inconceivably great is this sound which is produced by 
 the rapid motion of the whole universe, that the human ear 
 is no more capable of receiving it than the eye is able to 
 look steadfastly and directly on the sun, whose beams easi- 
 ly dazzle the strongest sight. 
 
 While I was busied in admiring the scene of wonders, I 
 could not help casting my eyes every now and then on the 
 earth. 
 
 XIX. On wdiich Africanus said, I perceive that you are 
 still employed in contemplating the seat and residence of 
 mankind. But if it appears to you so small, as in fact it 
 really is, despise its vanities, and fix your attention forever 
 on these heavenly objects. Is it possible that you should 
 attain any human applause or glory that is worth the con- 
 tending for? The earth, you see, is peopled but in a very 
 few places, and those, too, of small extent ; and they ap- 
 pear like so many little spots of green scattered through 
 vast, unctiltivated deserts. And those who inhabit the 
 ' Catadupa, from Kara, and dolTroc, noise. 
 
ON THE COMMONWEALTH. 463 
 
 earth are not only so remote from each other as to be cut 
 off from all mutual correspondence, but their situation be- 
 ing in oblique or contrary parts of the globe, or perhaps 
 in those diametrically opposite to yours, all expectation of 
 universal fame must fall to the ground, 
 
 XX. You may likewise observe that the same globe of 
 the earth is girt and surrounded with certain zon i, where- 
 of those two that are most remote from each other, and 
 lie under the opposite poles of heaven, are congealed with 
 frost ; but that one in the middle, which is far the largest, 
 is scorched with the intense heat of the sun. The other 
 two are habitable, one towards the south, the inhabitants 
 of which are your antipodes, with whom you have no con^ 
 nection ; the other, towards the north, is that which you 
 inhabit, whereof a very small part, as you may see, falls to 
 your share. For the whole extent of what you see is, as 
 it were, but a little island, narrow at both ends and wide 
 in the middle, which is surrounded by the sea which on 
 earth you call the great Atlantic Ocean, and which, not- 
 withstanding this magnificent name, you see is very insig- 
 nificant. And even in these cultivated and well-known 
 countries, has yours, or any of our names, ever passed the 
 heights of the Caucasus or the currents of the Ganges? 
 In what other parts to the north or the south, or where the 
 sun rises and sets, will your names ever be heard ? And 
 if we leave these out of the question, how small a space is 
 there left for your glory to spread itself abroad ; and how 
 long will it remain in the memory of those whose minds 
 are now full of it ? 
 
 XXI. Besides all this, if the progeny of any future gen- 
 eration should wish to transmit to their posterity the 
 praises of any one of us which they have heard from their 
 forefathers, yet the deluges and combustions of the earth, 
 which must necessarily happen at their destined periods, 
 will prevent our obtaining, not only an eternal, but even a 
 durable glory. And, after all, what does it signify wheth- 
 er those who shall hereafter be born talk of you, when 
 those who have lived before you, whose number Avas per- 
 haps not less, and whose merit certainly greater, were not 
 so much as acquainted with your name ? 
 
 XXII. Especially since not one of those who shall hear 
 
464 ON THE COMMONWEALTH. 
 
 of US is able to retain in his memory the transactions of a 
 single year. The bulk of mankind, indeed, measure their 
 year by the return of the sun, which is only one star. But 
 when all the stars shall have returned to the place whence 
 they set out, and after long periods shall again exhibit 
 the same aspect of the whole heavens, that is what ought 
 properly to be called the revolution of a year, though I 
 scarcely dare attempt to enumerate the vast multitude of 
 ages contained in it. For as the sun in old time was 
 eclipsed, and seemed to be extinguished, at the time when 
 the soul of Romulus penetrated into these eternal man- 
 sions, so, when all the constellations and stars shall revert 
 to their primary position, and the sun shall at the same 
 point and time be again eclipsed, then you may consider 
 that the grand year is completed. Be assured, however, 
 that the twentieth part of it is not yet elapsed. 
 
 XXIII. Wherefore, if you have no hopes of returning 
 to this place where great and good men enjoy all that 
 their souls can wish for, of what value, pray, is all that hu- 
 man glory, which can hardly endure for a small portion of 
 one year? 
 
 If, then, you wish to elevate your views to the contem- 
 plation of this eternal seat of splendor, you will not be 
 satisfied with the praises of your fellow-mortals, nor with 
 any human rewards that your exploits can obtain ; but 
 Virtue herself must point out to you the true and only ob- 
 ject worthy of your pursuit. Leave to others to speak of 
 you as they may, for speak they will. Their discourses 
 will be confined to the narrow limits of the countries you 
 see, nor will their duration be very extensive; for they 
 will perish like those who utter them, and will be no more 
 remembered by their posterity. 
 
 XXIV. When he had ceased to speak in this manner, I 
 said, O Africanus, if indeed the door of heaven is open to 
 those who have deserved well of their country, although, 
 indeed, from my childhood I have always followed yours 
 and my father's steps, and have not neglected to imitate 
 your glory, still, I will from henceforth strive to follow 
 them more closely. 
 
 Follow them, then, said he, and consider your body only, 
 not yourself, as mortal. For it is not your outward form 
 
ON THE COMMONWEALTH. 465 
 
 which constitutes your being, but your mind ; not that 
 substance which is palpable to the senses, but your spirit- 
 ual nature. Know, then, that you are a God for a God 
 it must be, which flourishes, and feels, and recollects, and 
 foresees, and governs, regulates and moves the body over 
 which it is set, as the Supreme Ruler does the world which 
 is subject to him. For as that Eternal Being moves what- 
 ever is mortal in this world, so the immortal mind of man 
 moves the frail body with which it is connected. 
 
 XXV. For whatever is always moving must be eternal; 
 but that which derives its motion from a power which is 
 foreign to itself, when that motion ceases must itself lose 
 its animation. 
 
 That alone, then, w^hich moves itself can never cease to 
 be moved, because it can never desert itself. Moreover, 
 it must be the source, and origin, and principle of motion 
 in all the rest. There can be nothing prior to a principle, 
 for all things must originate from it ; and it cannot itself 
 derive its existence from any other source, for if it did it 
 would no longer be a principle. And if it had no begin- 
 ning, it can have no end ; for a beginning that is put an 
 end to will neither be renewed by any other cause, nor 
 will it produce anything else of itself. All things, there- 
 fore, must originate from one source. Thus it follows 
 that motion must have its source in something which is 
 moved by itself, and which can neither have a beginning 
 nor an end. Otherwise all the heavens and all nature 
 must perish, for it is impossible that they can of themselves 
 acquire any power of producing motion in themselves. 
 
 XXVI. As, therefore, it is plain that what is moved by 
 itself must be eternal, who will deny that this is the gener- 
 al condition and nature of minds ? For as everything is 
 inanimate which is moved by an impulse exterior to itself, 
 so what is animated is moved by an interior impulse of its 
 own ; for this is the peculiar nature and power of mind. 
 And if that alone has the powder of self-motion, it can 
 neither have had a beginning, nor can it have an end. 
 
 Do you, therefore, exercise this mind of yours in the 
 best pursuits. And the best pursuits are those which 
 consist in promoting the good of your country. Such 
 employments will speed the flight of your mind to this its 
 
466 ON THE COMMONWEALTH. 
 
 proper abode ; and its flight will be still more rapid, if, 
 even while it is enclosed in the body, it will look abroad, 
 and disengage itself as much as possible from its bodily 
 dwelling, by the contemplation of things which are exter- 
 nal to itself. 
 
 This it should do to the utmost of its power. For the 
 minds of those who have given themselves up to the pleas- 
 ures of the body, paying, as it were, a servile obedience 
 to their lustful impulses, have violated the laws of God 
 and man ; and therefore, when they are separated from 
 their bodies, flutter continually round the earth on which 
 they lived, and are not allowed to return to this celestial 
 region till they have been purified by the revolution of 
 many ages. 
 
 Thus saying, he vanished, and I awoke from my dream. 
 
 A FRAG^IENT. 
 
 And although it is most desirable that fortune should 
 remain forever in the most brilliant possible condition, 
 nevertheless, the equability of life excites less interest than 
 those changeable conditions wherein prosperity suddenly 
 revives out of the most desperate and ruinous circum- 
 stances. 
 
 THE END. 
 
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 THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY