B'l L LUVtJUT, OOKSELLER, University Place, NEW TOBK. J. Q,. ADAMS UPON CICERO. FROM THE BOSTON COURIER. GU-INCY, Nov. 20, 1S39. DEAR SIR . I return herewith the three volumes of Mr. ; Preecott's History of Ferdinand and Isabella, which I have read with great pleasure, and with a promise to myself if < possible to return to it hereafter. In the rhetorical treatises of Cicero, he enumerates, and characterizes an.] eulogizes a multitude of Roman orators who lived before his own times ; but it is as if a meridian sun should descant upon the splendor of the stars of the . preceding night. For after ages there never has been but ', one Roman orator, and that is Cicero himself. Even of ' his great competitor and rival, Hortensius, there it not a ' scrap remaining; and if there was, the only use of it would be to show the immeasurable distance between the two A THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS OF CICERO. THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS OF CICERO. A NEW EDITION, REVISED AND CORRECTED, BY W. H. MAIN. " O vitae Philosophia dux ! o virtutis indagatrix, expultrixque vitiorum ! quid non modo nos, sed omnino vita hominum, sine te, esse potuissetV Cic, Tcsc. QU^ST. lib. v. $. 2. LONDON: PUBLISHED BY W. PICKERING, 57; CHANCERY LANE. MDCCCXXIV. T. White, Printer, Johnson's Court, London. CONTENTS. BOOK I. Page On the Contempt of Death 1 BOOK II. On bearing Pain 77 BOOK III. On Grief of Mind lift BOOK IV. On other Perturbations of the Mind 170 BOOK V. Whether Virtue alone be sufficient for a happy Life . . 292 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS OF BOOK I. ON THE CONTEMPT OF DEATH. I. As I am, at length, entirely, or to a great degree, freed from the fatigue of defending clients, and the duties of a senator, I have recourse again, BRUTUS, principally by your advice, to those studies which never have been out of my mind, although neglected at times, and which after a long interval I have resumed : and since the reason and pre- cepts of all arts which relate to living well, depend on the study of wisdom, which is called philosophy, I have thought of illustrating this in the Latin tongue ; not because philosophy could not be understood in the Greek language, or by Greek masters ; but it was always my opinion, that we have been mdre happy at inventing than the 2 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS Greeks, or that we have improved on whatever we have received from them, which they have thought worthy their care and pains : for, with regard to manners and economy, family and domestic affairs, we certainly now manage them with more elegance, and better than they did ; and our ances- tors have, beyond all dispute, formed the republic on better laws and customs. What shall I say of our military affairs ; in which, as our ancestors excelled them much in valour, so more in disci- pline ? As to those things which are attained not by study, but nature, neither Greece, nor any nation, is comparable with them ; for with whom was ever that gravity, that steadiness, that greatness of soul, probity, faith such distinguished virtue of every kind, as to equal them with ours ? Greece excelled us in learning, and all kinds of literature, and it was easy to' do so where there was no competition ; for amongst the Greeks the poets were the most ancient species of learned men. Of these Homer and Hesiod were before the foundation of Rome ; Archilochus, in the reign of Romulus. We received poetry much later; Livy gives us a fable near five hundred and ten years after the building of Rome, in the consulate of C. Claudius, the son of Caecus, and M. Tuditanus, a year before the birth of Ennius, who was older than Plautus and Nasvius. II. It was, therefore, late before poets were OF CICERO. 3 either known or received amongst us ; though we find in Cato de Originibus that the guests used to sing at their entertainments, the praises of famous men, to the sound of the flute ; but a speech of Cato's shows the custom to have been in no great esteem, as he censures Marcus Nobilior, for carrying poets with him into his province : for that consul, as we know, carried Ennius with him into ^tolia. Therefore the less esteem poets were in, the less were those studies pur- sued : not but if, had there been amongst us any of. great abilities that way, they would not have been at all inferior to the Greeks. Do we ima- gine that, had it been commendable in Fabius, a man of the first quality, to paint, we should have been without many Polycleti and Parrhasii ? Honour nourishes art, and glory is the spur with all to studies ; those studies are always neglected, which are a kind of disgrace to any. The Greeks held vocal and instrumental music as the greatest erudition, and therefore it is recorded of Epami- nondas, who, in my opinion, was the first man amongst the Greeks, that he played excellently on the flute ; and Themistocles some years be- fore was deemed ignorant because he refused at an entertainment to play on the lyre. For this reason musicians flourished in Greece ; music was a general study ; and whoever was unacquainted with it, was not considered as, fully instructed in 4 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS learning. Geometry was in high esteem with them, therefore none were more honourable than mathematicians ; but we have confined this art to bare counting and measuring. III. But on the contrary, we soon entertained the orator ; no ways eloquent at first, but capable enough for an harangue, he soon became elo- quent ; for it is reported that. G alba, Africanus, and Laelius, were men of learning; that even Cato was studious, who was an age before them : then succeeded the Lepidi, Carbo, and Gracchi, and so many great orators after them, even to our 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 had no assistance from our own language, which I have undertaken to raise and illustrate ; so that, as I have been of service to my countrymen, when employed in public affairs, I may, if possible, be so to them in my retirement. In this I must take the more pains, because many books are said to be written inaccurately, by excellent men, but not erudite scholars : for indeed it may be 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 methodize, nor illus- strate nor entertain his reader, is an unpardonable abuse of letters and retirement: they, therefore, read their books to one another, which were never taken OF CICERO. 5 up by any but those who claimed the same privi- lege of writing. Wherefore, if oratory has acquired any reputation from my application to it, I shall, with more pains, open the fountains of philosophy, from which flowed all the advantages of the other. But, IV. As ARISTOTLE, a man of excellent parts, abundant in all knowledge, being moved at the glory of the rhetorician Isocrates, commenced teacher of youth, and joined philosophy with elo- quence : so it is my design not to lay aside my former study of oratory, and yet employ myself in this greater and more fruitful art ; for I always thought, that to be able to speak copiously and elegantly on the most important questions, was the most consummate philosophy, to which sub- ject I have so diligently applied myself, that I have already ventured to have Disputations like the Greeks. And lately when you left us,!having many of my friends about me, I attempted at my Tus- culum what I could do in that way ; for as I formerly practised declaiming, which nobody con- tinued longer than myself, so this is now to be the declamation of my old age. I ordered a person to propose something he would have discussed : I disputed on that, either sitting or walking, and have compiled the scholae as the Greeks call them, of five days, in as many books. It was in this manner : when he who was the hearer had said 6 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS what he thought proper, I disputed against him ; for this is, you know, the old and Socratic method of disputing against another's opinion; for Socrates thought the truth might thus the easier be disco- vered. But to give you a better notion of our dis- putations, 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. M. 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 1 A. Certainly. M. Then those who must soon die, and those who must die some time or other, are both miserable ? A. So it appears to me. M. Then all are miserable ? A. Every one. M. And, indeed, if you are consistent with yourself, all that are already born, or shall be, are not only miserable, but always will be so; for should you maintain those only to be miserable, who must die, 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 been born. A. So indeed I think. M. Tell me, I beseech you, are you afraid of the three- headed Cerberus below, the roaring waves of Cocytus, the passage over Acheron, Tantalus ex- OP CICERO. 7 piring with thirst, while the water touches his chin ; or Sisyphus, Who sweats with arduous toil to gain The steepy summit of the mount in vain ? Perhaps, too, you dread the inexorable judges, Minos and Rhadamanthus, before whom nor Crassus, nor M. Antonius can defend you ; nor, since the cause lies before Grecian judges, De- mosthenes. But you must plead for yourself before a very great assembly : you dread perhaps these, and therefore look on death as an eternal evil. VI. A. Do you take me to be mad enough to give credit to such things 1 M. What ? do you not believe them ? A. Not in the least. M. I am sorry to hear that. A. Why, I beg 1 M. Be- cause I could have been very eloquent in speaking against them. A. And who could not on such a subject ? or, what occasion is there to refute these monsters of the poets and painters ? M. And yet you have books of philosophers full of arguments against these. A. Idle enough, truly ! for, who is so weak as to be concerned about them ? M. If then there are none miserable in the infernal re- gions, there must be no one there. A. I am alto- gether of that opinion. M. Where then are those you call miserable ? or what place do they in- habit ? if they are at all, they must be somewhere ? A. I, indeed, am of opinion, they are no where. 8 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS M. Therefore there are none such. A. Even so, and yet they are miserable for this very reason, that they are not at all. M. I had rather now that you had been afraid of Cerberus, than to speak thus inaccurately. A. Why so ? M. Be- cause you admit him to be, who is not ; where is your sagacity ? When you say any one is miserable, you say such a one is, when he is not. A. I am not so absurd as to say that. M. What is it you say then ? A. I say, for instance, that Crassus is miserable in being deprived of such great riches by death ; that Cn. Pompey was so, in being taken from such glory and honour ; upon the whole, that all are miserable who are deprived of this light. M. You have returned to the same point, for to be miserable implies an exist- ence ; but you just now denied that the dead had any existence ; if they are not, they can be nothing ; and if so, not miserable. A. Perhaps I do not express what I mean, for I look upon this very thing, not to exist, after having been, to be very miserable. M. What, more so than not to have been at all? therefore, those who are not yet born, are miserable because they are not; and we ourselves, if we are to be miserable after death, were miserable before we were born : but I do not remember I was miserable before I was born ; and I should be glad to know, if your memory is OF CICERO. 9 better, what you recollect of yourself before you were born. VII. A. You are pleasant, as if I had said, they are miserable who are not born, and that they are not so who are dead. M. You say then that they are so 1 A. Yes, because they are most miserable not to be, after they have been. M. You do not observe, that you assert contradic- tions ; for what is a greater contradiction, than that that should be not only miserable, but should be at all, which is not ? When you go out at the Capene gate and see the tombs of the Calatini, the Scipios, Servilii, and Metelli, do you look on them as miserable ? A. Because you distress rne with a word, henceforward I will not say they are miserable in general, but miserable for this, that they are not. M. You do not say then M. Cras- sus is miserable, but only miserable M. Crassus. A. Evidently so. M. As if it did not follow, that whatever you declare in that manner, either is or is not. Are you not acquainted with the first principles of logic ? for this is the first thing they lay down, whatever is asserted, (for so I render the Greek term, | 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. Crest-fallen, unembraced, I now let fall, Listless, those hands that lately conquer'd all - } When the Nemaean 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 partake : By this too fell the Erymanthian boar : E'en Cerberus did his weak strength deplore. This sinewy arm did overcome 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 in such intolerable pain ? IX. Let us see what ^schylus says, who was not only a poet, but according to report a Pytha- 90 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS gorean philosopher: how doth he make Prome- theus bear the pain he suffered for the Lemnian 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, Seizing my entrails ; which, in rav'nous guise, He preys on ! then with wings 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' etherial way. Thus do I nourish with my blood this pest, Confin'd my arms, unable to contest ; Intreating only, that in pity Jove Would take my life, and this curs'd plague remove. But endless ages past, unheard my moan, Sooner shall drops dissolve this very stone. We scarce think it possible not to call one affected in this manner, miserable; if such a one is miser- able, then pain is an evil. X. A. Hitherto you are on my side ; I will OF CICERO. 9 1 see to that by and by ; and, in the meanwhile, whence are those verses? I do not remember them. M. I will inform you, for you are in the right to ask ; you see that I have much leisure. A. What then? M. I imagine, when you were at Athens, you attended frequently these schools ? A. Yes, and with great pleasure. M. You observed then, though none of them at that time were very eloquent, yet they used to throw in verses in their harangues. A. Dionysius the Stoic used to apply a great many. M. You say right; but they were repeated without any choice or elegancy. But our Philo gave you a few select lines and well adapted ; wherefore since I took a fancy to this kind of elderly declamation, I am very fond of quoting our poets, and where I cannot be sup- plied from them, I translate from the Greek, that the Latin language may want no ornament in this kind of disputation. XI. But do you see the ill effects of poetry ? The poets introduce the bravest men lamenting over their misfortunes : they soften our minds, and they are besides so entertaining, that we do not only read them, but get them by heart. Thus, what with poetry, our want of discipline at home, and our tender and delicate manner of living, virtue is become quite enervated. Plato there- fore was right in banishing them his common- wealth, where he required the best morals, and 92 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS the best form of government. But we, who have all our learning from Greece, read and learn these from our 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 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, if greater than infamy, gave up that opinion at a word's speaking. Suppose I ask Epicurus the same question. He answers, that the least pain is a greater evil than the great- est infamy: that there is no evil in infamy itself, unless attended with pain. What pain then must attend Epicurus, when he saith this very thing, that pain is the greatest evil; for nothing can be a greater disgrace to a philoso- pher than to talk thus. Therefore you allowed enough, when you admitted infamy to appear to you a greater evil than pain. If you abide by this, you will see how far pain should be re- sisted : and that our enquiry 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 trifling arguments, that it is no evil, as if the dispute was about a word, not the thing itself. Why do you impose upon me, Zeno ? for when you deny, what appears very OF CICERO. 93 dreadful to me, to be an evil, I am deceived, and am at a loss to know why, what is to me so mi- serable, 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 uneasy. I know that pain is not vice, you need not inform me of that : but show me, that, to be in pain or not, is all one ; it has nothing to do, say you, with a happy life, for that consists of virtue alone ; but yet pain is to be avoided. If I ask, why ? it is disagree- able, against nature, hard to bear, woeful and afflicting. XIII. Here are many words to express that variously, which we call by the single word, evil. You are defining pain, instead of removing it, when you say, it is disagreeable, unnatural, scarce to be borne : nor are you wrong in saying so, but the man who vaunts thus, and maintains nothing to be good but what is honest, nothing evil but what is base, should not give way to any pain. This would be wishing, not proving. This is better, and has more truth in it, that all things which nature abhors are to be looked on as evil ; what she approves of, are to be con- sidered as good: this admitted, and the dispute about words removed, that what they with reason embrace, and which we call honest, right, be- coming, and sometimes include under the general 94 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS name of virtue, would appear to such advantage, that all other things which are looked on as the gifts of fortune, or the good things of the body, would seem trifling and insignificant : no evil, nor all the collective body of evils together, would be comparable to the evil of infamy. Wherefore, if, as you granted in the beginning, infamy is worse than pain, pain is certainly nothing ; for whilst it shall appear to you base and unmanly to groan, cry out, lament, or faint under pain, whilst you have any notion of probity, dignity, honour, and keeping your eye on them, you refrain yourself; pain will certainly yield to virtue, and by the influence of imagination, will lose its whole force. For you must either give up virtue, or despise pain. Will you allow of such a virtue as pru- dence, without which no virtue can indeed be conceived ? What then^? will that suffer you to labour and take pains to no purpose ? Will tem- perance permit you to do any thing to excess ? Can justice be maintained by one, who through the force of pain betrays secrets, one that dis- covers his confederates, and relinquishes many duties of life ? How will you act consistent with courage, and its attendants, greatness of soul, reso_ lution, patience, a contempt for all worldly things ? Can you hear yourself called a great man, when you lie groveling, dejected, and deploring your- self, with a lamentable voice ; no one would call OF CICERO. .9,5 you a man, in such a condition : therefore you must either quit all pretensions to courage, or pain must be laid asleep. XIV. You know very well, that though part of your Corinthian furniture be gone, the re- mainder is safe without that ; but if you lose one virtue (though virtue cannot be lost); should you, I say, acknowledge that you were short in one, you would be stripped of all. Can you then call Prometheus a brave man, of a great soul, endued with patience, and steadiness above the frowns of fortune ? or Philoctetes, for I choose to instance in him, rather than yourself, for he cer- tainly was not brave, who lay in his bed, watered with his tears, Whose groans, bewailings, and whose bitter cries, With grief incessant rend 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 assuaged 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 ? Pain vexes us, let it sting us to the heart ; if you have no defence, submit to it ; but if you are secured by Vulcanian armour, i. e. with resolution, oppose it; should you fail to do so, that guardian of your honour, your courage, would forsake and leave you. By the laws of Lycurgus, and by those which were 96 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS given to the Cretans by Jupiter, or which Minos received from that god, as the poets say, the youths are trained up to hunting, running, en- during hunger and thirst, cold and heat. The boys at Sparta are scourged so at the altars, that the blood follows the lash, nay, sometimes, as I heard when I was there, they are whipped to death ; and 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 more force than reason ? XV. There is some difference betwixt labour and pain ; they border upon one another, but with a distinction. Labour is a certain exercise of the mind or body, in some employ or undertaking that requires pains ; but pain is a sharp motion in the body, disagreeable to our senses. Both these the Greeks, whose language is more copious than ours, express by the common name of now? ; there- fore they call industrious men, pains-taking, or rather fond of labour; we, more pertinently, laborious ; for there is a difference betwixt labour and pain. You see, O Greece, your barrenness of words, sometimes, though you think you always abound. I say, then, there is a difference betwixt labour and pain. When Marius was cut for a swelling in his thigh, he felt pain; when he headed his troops in a very hot season, he laboured. Yet they bear some resemblance to OP CICERO. 97 one another; for the accustoming ourselves to labour makes us support pain with more ease. On this reason the founders of the Grecian form of government provided that the bodies of their youth should be strengthened by labour, which custom the Spartans transferred even to their women, who in other cities are more delicately clothed, and not exposed to the air: but it was otherwise with them. The Spartan women, with a manly air, Fatigues and dangers with their husbands share ; They in fantastic sports have no delight, Partners with them in exercise and fight. In these laborious exercises pain interferes some- times, they are thrown down, receive blows, have bad falls and are bruised, and the labour itself hardens them against pain. XVI. As to military service, (I speak of our own, not the Spartans, for they marched slow to the sound of the flute, and scarce a word of command was given without an anapest;) you may see whence the very name of an army (Ex- ercitus) is derived; great is the labour of an army on its march; then consider that they carry more than a fortnight's provision, and whatever else they may want: then the burthen of the stakes, for as to shield, sword, or helmet, they look ,on them as no more incumbrance than their own limbs, for they say arms are the limbs of a soldier, 98 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS which they carry so commodiously, that when there is occasion they throw down their burdens, and use their arms as readily as their limbs. What are the exercises of the legions ? What labour in the running, encounters, shouts ! Hence it is, that they make so slight of wounds in action. Take a soldier of equal bravery, but unexercised, and he will seem a woman ; but why should there be this sensible difference betwixt a raw man, and an old soldier? It is true, the age of young soldiers is for the most part preferable, but it is practice that enables them to bear labour, and despise wounds. Thus you 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 enquires 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 /Esculapius are employ'd, No room for me, so many are annoy'd. XVII. This is certainly Eurypilus himself, experienced man! Whilst his friend is con- tinually enlarging on his sorrows, you may observe that he is so far from weeping, that he 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. OP CICERO. 99 Patroclus, I imagine, were he a man, would lead him off to his chamber to bind up his wounds; but not a word of that, for he enquires how it went. Say how the Argives bear themselves in fight ? He could not express their toils so well by words, as what he had suffered himself. Peace ! and my wounds bind up ; But though Eurypilus could not, ^Esopus could. Where Hector's fortune press'd our yielding troops, and he explains the rest, though in pain ; so un- bounded is military glory in a brave man ! Can- not a wise and learned man achieve what this old soldier could ? yes, indeed ; and in a much better way ; but at present I confine myself to custom and practice. I am not yet come to speak of reason and philosophy. You may often hear of diminutive old women living without victuals three or four days ; but take away a wrestler's provision but for one day, he will implore Jupiter Olympius, the very god for whom he exercises himself : he will cry out, It is intolerable. Great is the force of custom ! Sportsmen will continue whole nights in the snow : they will bear being parched upon the mountains. By custom the boxers will not so much as utter a groan, how- ever bruised by the cestus. But what do you think of those who put a victory in the Olympics 100 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS on a footing with the Consulate formerly? What wounds will the gladiators bear, who are either barbarians, or the dregs of men ? How do they, who are trained to it, prefer being wounded to the basely avoiding it ? How often do they appear to consider nothing but the giving satisfaction to their masters or 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 ordinary gladiator ever gave a sigh? Who ever turned pale ? Who ever disgraced himself either on his legs, or when down ? who that was on the ground ever drew in his neck to avoid the stroke? so great is the force of practice, deli- beration, and custom! shall this then be done by A Samnite rascal, worthy his employ ? And shall a man born to glory have so soft a part in his soul as not to be able to fortify himself by reason and reflection? The sight of the gladia- tors' combats is by some looked on as cruel and inhuman, 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, by our eyes we could not, better instructions to harden us against pain and death. XVIII. I have now done with exercise, custom, and a sense of honour; proceed we now to con- OF CICERO. 101 sider the force of reason, unless you have some- thing 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. It is the Stoics' business then to determine if pain be an evil or not, who endeavour to show by some strained and trifling 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 ap- pears ; and I say, that men are influenced more by some false representations and appearance of it, and that all which is really felt is tolerable. Where shall I begin then ? shall I superficially go over what I said before, that my discourse may have a greater scope ? This then is agreed on by all, both by the learned and unlearned, that it becomes the brave and magnanimous, those that have patience and a spirit above this world, not to give way to pain ; and every one commends a man who bears it thus. Whatever then is expected from a brave man, and is commendable in him, it would be base in any one to be afraid of at its approach, or not to bear when it came. But I would have you be aware, that all the right affections of the soul come under the name of virtues ; this is not properly the name of them all, but that they all have their name from some leading virtue : for virtue comes from vir the Latin name of a man, 102 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS and courage is the peculiar distinction of a man. Now there are two distinct offices in this, a con- tempt of death, and of pain. We must then pro- vide ourselves with these ; if we would be men of virtue, or rather, if we would be men, because virtue takes its very name from vir, i.e. man. XIX. You may enquire perhaps how ? and such an enquiry is not amiss, for philosophy is ready with her assistance. Epicurus offers him- self to you, far from a bad man, or rather a very good one ; he advises no more than he knows ; Despise, saith he, pain. Who is it saith this ? the same who calls pain the greatest of all evils, not very consistently indeed. Let us hear him. If the pain is at the height, it must needs be short. I must have that over again, for I do not appre- hend what you mean by at the height or short. That is at the height, than which nothing is higher ; that is short, than which nothing is shorter. I do not regard the greatness of any pain, from which, by the shortness of its con- tinuance, 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 I am capable of; for the pain is confined to my foot : but my eye may pain me, I may have a pain in the head, sides, lungs, every part of me. It is far then from being at the height ; therefore, says he, pain of a OF CICERO. 103 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 laughs at us.- My opinion 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 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 determine the measure of that greatness ; nor, as I know, doth he fix what he means by great with regard to the pain, nor short with respect to its continuance. Let us pass him by then as one who says just nothing at all ; and let us force him to acknowledge, not- withstanding 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 no where better to all appearance than from 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 virtue itself speaks to you through them. XX. Will you, when you may observe children at Lacedaemon, young men at Olympia, Barba- rians in the amphitheatre, receive deep wounds, 104 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS and never once open their mouths ; will you, I say, when any pain twitches you, cry out like a woman ? should you not rather bear it with resolution and constancy ? and not cry, It is in- tolerable, nature cannot bear it. I hear what you say, boys bear this, led thereto by glory : some bear it through shame, many through fear ; and do we imagine that nature cannot bear what is borne by many, and in such different circum- stances ? nature not only bears it, but challenges it, for there is nothing with her preferable to it, nothing she desires more than credit and reputa- tion, than praise, than honour, and glory. I was desirous of describing this under many names, and I have used many, that you may have the clearer idea of it ; for I meant to say, that what- ever is desirable of itself, proceeding from virtue, or placed in virtue, and commendable on its own account (which I should sooner call the only good than the chief good) is what men should prefer above all things. As we declare thus of honesty, the contrary is due to infamy : nothing is so odious, so detestable, nothing so unworthy a man, which if you are convinced of (for at the begin- ning of this discourse you allowed, that there appeared to you more evil in infamy than in pain) what remains is, that you have the command over yourself. XXI. Though the expression may not seem OF CICERO. 105 justifiable to bid you divide yourself, assign to one part of man command, to the other sub- mission, yet it is not without its elegancy. For the soul admits of a two-fold division, one of which partakes of reason, the other is without it ; when therefore we are ordered to give a law to ourselves, the meaning is, that reason should restrain our rashness. Every soul of man has naturally something soft, low, enervated in a manner, and languid. Were there nothing be- sides this, men would be the greatest of mon- sters ; but there is present to every man reason, which presides and gives law to all, which by improving itself, and making continual advances, becomes perfect virtue. It behoves a man then to take care, that reason has the command over that part to which obedience is assigned ; as a master over his slave, a general over his army, a father over his son. If that part of the soul misbehaves, which I call soft, if it gives itself up to lamentations, and womanish tears, it should be restrained, and committed to the care of friends and relations, for we often see those brought to order by shame, whom no reasons can affect. Therefore we should confine those like our servants, in safe custody, with chains. But those who have more resolution, yet are not so stout as they should be ; we should encourage with our advice, to behave as good soldiers, re- 1 06 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS collecting themselves to maintain their honour. That wise man at Greece, in the Niptrae, doth not lament too much over his wounds, or rather he is moderate in his grief. Move slow, my friends, your hasty speed refrain, Lest by your motion you increase my pain. Pacuvius is better in this than Sophocles, for with him Ulysses bemoans his wounds too lament- ably ; for the very 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, E'en thou, Ulysses, long to war inur'd, Thy wounds, though great, too feebly hast endurM- The wise poet understood that custom was no contemptible instructor how to bear pain. But the same complains with more decency, though in great pain, 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 the 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 he corrects the sense of them ? Therefore in the conclusion of the Niptrae he blames others, even when he was dying. OF CICERO. 107 Complaint on fortune may become the man, None but a woman will thus weeping stand. That soft place in his soul obeys his reason, as an abashed soldier doth his stern commander. XXII. Whenever a completely wise man shall appear (such indeed, we have never as yet seen, but the philosophers have described, in their writings, what sort of man he is to be, if ever he is) ; such an one, or at least his perfect reason, will have the same authority over the inferior part as a good parent has over his dutiful chil- dren, he will bring it to obey his nod, without any trouble or pains. He will rouse himself, prepare and arm himself to oppose pain as he would an enemy. If you enquire what arms he will pro- vide himself with ; he will struggle with his pain, assume a resolution, will reason with himself; he will say thus to himself, Take care that yc;U are guilty of nothing base, languid, or unmanly. He will turn over in his mind all the different kinds of honesty. Zeno of Elea will be presented to him, who suffered every thing rather than betray his confederates in the design of putting an end to the tyranny. He will reflect on Anaxarchus, the Democritian, who having fallen into the hands of Nicocreon king of Cyprus, without the least entreaty or refusal submitted to every kind of torture. Calanus, the Indian, will occur to him, an ignorant man, and a barbarian, born at the 108 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS foot of Mount Caucasus, who committed himself to the flames by a free voluntary act. But we, if we have the tooth-ach, or a pain in the foot, or if the body be any ways affected, cannot bear it. Our sentiments of pain, as well as pleasure, are so trifling and effeminate, we are so enervated and dissolved, that we cannot bear the sting of a bee without crying out. But C. Marius, a plain countryman, but of a manly soul, when he was cut, as I mentioned above, at first refused to be tied down, and he is the first instance of any one's being cut without tying down ; why did others bear this afterwards from the force of example ? You see then pain is more in opinion than nature, and yet the same Marius is 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 )iis pain with resolution ; but as a man, he was not willing to undergo any greater without evident cause. The whole then consists in this, to have the command over yourself: I have already told you what kind of command this is, and by considering what is most consistent with patience, fortitude, and greatness of soul, a man not only refrains himself, but by some means or other even mitigates 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 OF CICERO. 109 he can, and on that account loses his life some- times, though his body is never touched, when he who stands his ground meets with nothing like this : so, they who cannot bear the appearances of pain, throw themselves away, and give themselves up to affliction and dismay. But they that oppose it, are often more than a match for it. For the body has a certain resemblance to the soul : as burdens are the easier borne the more the body is exerted, and they crush us if we give way ; so the soul by exerting itself resists the whole weight that would oppress it ; but if it yields, it is so pressed, that it cannot support itself. And if we consider things truly, the soul should exert itself in every pursuit, for that is the only security for its doing its duty. But this should be prin- cipally regarded in pain, not to do any thing timidly, dastardly, basely, or slavishly, or effe- minately, and above all things we should dismiss and discharge that Philoctetean clamour. A man is allowed sometimes to groan, but yet seldom, but it is not sufferable even in a woman to howl ; and this is the very funeral lamentation which is forbidden by the twelve tables. Nor doth a wise or brave man ever groan, unless when he exerts himself to give his resolution greater force, as they that run in the stadium, make as much noise as they can. It is the same with the wrestlers ; but the boxers, when they aim a blow with the cestus 110 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS at their adversary, give a groan, not because they are in pain, or from a sinking of their spirits, but because their whole body is upon the stretch when they throw out these groans, and the blow comes the stronger. XXIV. What ! they who would speak louder than ordinary, are they satisfied with working their jaws, sides, or tongue, or stretching the common organs of speech ? the whole body is at full stretch, if I may be allowed the expression, every nerve is exerted to assist their voice. I have actually seen M. Antony's knee touch the ground when he was speaking with vehemence for himself, with relation to the Varian law. 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, running, or boxing, the more people strain them- selves, the greater their force. Since therefore this exertion has so much attributed to it, we should apply it in pain, if it helps to strengthen the mind. But if it is a groan of lamentation, if it is weakness or abjectness ; I should scarce call him a man who complied with it. For even sup- posing that such groaning give any ease, it should be considered, whether it was consistent with a brave and resolute man. But, if it doth not ease our pain, why should we debase ourselves to no purpose ? for what is more unbecoming in a man OF CICERO. Ill than to cry like a woman? But this precept about pain is not confined to that; we should apply this exertion of the soul to every thing else. Doth anger, rage, or lust prevail? We should have recourse to the same magazine, and apply to the same arms ; but since our subject is pain, we will let the others alone. To bear pain then sedately and calmly, it is of great use to consider with all our soul, as the saying is, how noble it is to do so, for we are naturally desirous (as I said before, nor can it be too often repeated) and very much inclined to what is honest, of which if we discover but the least glimpse, there is nothing we are not prepared to undergo and suffer to attain it. From this impulse of our minds, this tendency to true praise and honesty, such dangers are supported in war, brave men are not sensible of their wounds in action, or if they are sensible, prefer death to the departing but the least step from their honour. The Decii saw the shining swords of their enemies when they rushed into the battle. The dying nobly, and the glory, made all fear of death of little weight. Do you imagine that Epaminondas groaned when he perceived that his life flowed out with his blood ? for he left his country tri- umphing over the Lacedaemonians, whereas he found it in subjection to them. These are the 112 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS 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 behave in bed ? you bring me back to the philo- sophers, who seldom go to war. Among these, Dionysius of Heraclea, a man certainly of no resolution, having learned bravery 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 he had formerly conceived of pain. Who, when his fellow-disciple Cleanthes asked him why he had changed his opinion, answered, Whoever had applied so much time to philosophy, and cannot bear pain ; may be a sufficient proof that pain is an evil. I have spent many years at philosophy, and yet cannot bear pain. Pain is therefore an evil. It is reported that Cleanthes on that struck his foot on the ground, and repeated a verse out of the Epigona3. Amphiaraus, hear'st thou this below ? He meant Zeno : he was sorry the other dege- nerated from him. But it was not so with our Posidonius, whom I have often seen myself, and I will tell you what Pompey used to say of him ; that when he came to Rhodes, on his leaving Syria, he had great OF CICERO. 1 1 3 desire to hear Posidonius, but was informed that he was very ill of a severe fit of the gout : yet he had great inclination to pay a visit to so famous a philosopher. Wheirhe had seen him, and paid his compliments, and had spoken with great re- spect of him, he said he was very sorry that he could not have a lecture from him. But, indeed you may, replied the other, nor will I suffer any bodily pain to occasion so great a* man to visit me in vain. On this Pompey relates, that as he lay on his bed, he disputed gravely and copiously on this very subject, that nothing was good but what was honest : that in his paroxysms he would often say, Pain, it is to no purpose, notwithstanding you are troublesome, I will never acknowledge you an evil : and in general all honourable and illustrious labours become tolerable by disregard- ing them. XXV. Do we not observe, that where those ex- ercises called gymnastic are in esteem, those who enter the lists never concern themselves about dan- gers : where the praise of riding and hunting pre- vails, they who pursue this decline no pain. What shall I say of our own ambitious pursuits, or desire of honour? What fire will not candidates run through to gain a single vote ? Therefore Africanus had always in his hand the Socratic Xenophon, being particularly pleased with his saying, that the same labours were not equally heavy to the general 114 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS and to the common man, because honour itself made the lahour lighter to the general. But yet, so it happens, that even with the illiterate vulgar, an opinion of honor prevails, though they cannot discern what it is. They are led by report and common opinion to look on that as honorable, which has the general voice. Not that I would have you, should the multitude be ever so fond of you, rely on their judgment, nor approve of what they think right ; you must use your own judgment. Should you have a pleasure in approving what is right, you will not only have the mastery over yourself, (which I recommended to you just now) but over every body, and every thing. Lay this down then, that a great capacity, and most lofty elevation of soul, which distinguishes itself most by despising and looking down with contempt on pain, is the most excellent of all things, and the more so, if it doth not depend on the people, nor aims at applause, but derives its satisfaction from itself. Besides, to me indeed every thing seems the more commendable, the less the people are courted, and the fewer eyes there are to see it. Not that you should avoid the public, for every generous action loves the public view ; yet no theatre for virtue is equal to a consciousness of it. XXVI. And let this be principally considered, that this bearing of pain, which I have often said OF CICERO. 11 5 is to be strengthened by an exertion of the soul, should be the same in every thing. For you meet with many who, through a desire of victory, or for glory, or to maintain their rights, or their liberty, have boldly received wounds, and bore themselves up under them ; and the very same persons, by remitting from that in- tenseness of their minds, were unequal to bearing the pain of a disease. For they did not support themselves under their 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 sickness 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 manly enough ; 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 hindered from obtaining them, you should conclude, either that pain is no evil, or that, notwithstanding whatever is dis- agreeable, and contrary to nature, you may choose to call an evil, yet it is so very small, that it 1 16 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS may so effectually be got the better of by virtue as quite to disappear. Which I would have you think of 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 honour, we may not only despise the stings of pain, but the storms of fortune, especially if we have recourse to that retreat which was our yesterday's subject. As, if some god had advised one who was pur- sued by pirates, to throw himself over-board, saying, there is something at hand to receive you, either a dolphin will take you up as it did Arion of 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, he would forego all fear : so, though your pains be ever so sharp and disagreeable, if they are not so great as to be intolerable, you see where you may betake your- self. I thought this would 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, OF CICERO. 117 but I see we must not drop our philosophy. A. No, indeed, we will have the one in the fore- noon, this at the usual time. M. It shall be so, and I will comply with your very laudable inclinations. THE END OF THE SECOND BOOK. THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. BOOK III. ON GRIEF OF MIND. WHAT reason shall I assign, Brutus, why, as we consist of soul and body, the art of curing and preserving the body should be so much sought after, and the invention of it, as being so useful, should be ascribed to the immortal gods ; but the medicine of the soul should neither be the object of inquiry, whilst it was unknown, nor so much improved after its discovery, nor so well received or approved of by some, disagreeable, and looked on with an envious eye by many others ? Is it because the soul judges of the pains and disorders of the body, but we do not form any judgment of the soul by the body ? Hence it comes that the soul never judgeth of itself, but when that by which itself is judged is in a bad state. Had na- ture given us faculties for discerning and viewing herself, and could we go through life by keeping our eye on her, our best guide, no one certainly would be in want of philosophy or learning. OF CICERO. 1 19 But, as it is, she has furnished us only with some few sparks, which we soon so extinguish by bad morals and depraved customs, that the light of nature is quite put out. The seeds of virtues are connatural to our constitutions, 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 to all kinds of depravity and wrong 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 imbibe so many errors, that truth gives place to falsehood, and nature herself to established opinion. To these we may add the poets ; who, on account of the appearance they exhibit of learning and wis- dom, are heard, read, and got by heart, and make a deep impression on our minds. But when to these are added the people, who are as it were one great body of instructors, and the multitude, who declare unanimously for vice, then are we alto- gether overwhelmed with bad opinions, and revolt entirely from nature ; so that they seem to deprive us of our best guide, who have ascribed all great- ness, worth, and excellence, to honour, and power, and popular glory, which indeed every excellent man aims at; but whilst he pursues that only true honour, which nature has in view, 120 THE TU6CULAN DISPUTATIONS he finds himself husied in arrant trifles, and in pursuit of no conspicuous form of virtue, but a 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 true judgments of pre-eminent virtue; it is as it were the very echo of virtue ; which being generally the atten- dant 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 commends wicked and immoral actions, and taints the appearance and beauty of the other, by assuming the resemblance of honesty. By not being able to discover the difference of these, some men, ignorant of real excellence, and in what it consists, have been the destruction of their country or of themselves. And thus the best men have erred, not so much in their in- tentions, as by a mistaken conduct. What, is there no cure for those who are carried away by the love of money, or the lust of pleasures, by which they are little short of madmen, which is the case of all weak people ? or is it because the dis- orders of the mind are less dangerous than those of the body ? or because the body will admit of a cure, but the soul is incurable ? III. But there are more disorders of the mind than of the body, for the generality, and of a V OF CICERO. more dangerous nature ; for these very disorders are the more offensive, because they belong to the mind, and disturb that; and the mind, when disordered, is, as Ennius saith, in a constant error ; it can neither bear nor endure any thing, and is under the perpetual influence of desires. Now, what disorders can be worse to the body than these two distempers of the mind, (for I overlook others) weakness, and desires ? But how indeed can it be maintained that the soul cannot prescribe to itself, when she invented the very medicine for the body ? when, with regard to bodily cures, con- stitution and nature have a great share ; nor do ail, who suffer themselves to be cured, find in- stantly that effect ; but those minds which are disposed to be cured, and submit 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, neither are we our- selves obliged to exert our utmost abilities in order to our cure. But as to philosophy in general, I have, I think, in my Horttnsius sufficiently spoken of the credit and improvement it deserves : .since that, indeed, I have continually either dis- puted or written on its most material branches : and I have laid down in these books what I disputed with my particular friends at my Tuscu- lum : but as I have spoken in the two former 122 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS of pain and death, the third day of our disputa- tion shall make up this volume. When we came down into the academy, the day declining towards afternoon, I asked of one of those who were present a subject to discourse on ; then the business was carried on in this manner. IV. A. My opinion is, that a wise man is sub- ject to grief. M. What, and to the other pertur- bations of mind, as fears, lusts, anger ? For these are pretty much like what the Greeks call -toOy. I might name them diseases, and that would be literal, but it is not agreeable to our way of speaking. For envy, delight, and pleasure, are all called by the Greeks diseases, being motions of the mind repugnant to reason: but we, I think, are right, in calling the same motions of a disturbed soul, perturbations, very seldom diseases ; unless it appears otherwise to you. A. I am of your opinion. M. And do you think a wise man sub- ject 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 ? doth every commotion of the mind seem to you to be madness 1 M. Not to me only ; but I apprehend, though I have often been surprised at it, that it appeared so to our ancestors many ages before Socrates : from whom is derived all that philoso- phy which relates to life and morals. A. How so ? M. Because the name madness implies a 'OF CICERO. sickness of the mind and disease, that is an un- soundness, and a distemperature of mind, which they call madness. The philosophers called all perturbations of the soul diseases, and their opi- nion was, that no fool was free from these ; but all that are diseased are unsound, and the minds of all fools are diseased, therefore all fools are mad. They held a soundness of the mind to depend on a certain tranquillity and steadiness; they called that madness, where the mind was with- out these, because soundness was inconsistent with a perturbed mind, as well as a disordered body. V. Nor were they less ingenious in calling the state of the soul, devoid of the light of reason, ' out of itself,' i. e. mad. 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, as received from him, have carefully pre- served ; for whatever mind is distempered, (and as I just now said, the philosophers call all perturbed motions of the mind distempers,) is no more sound than a body in a fit of sickness. Hence it is, that wisdom is the soundness of the mind, .folly the distempered state, which is unsoundness, and that is madness ; and these are much better ex- pressed by the Latin words than the Greek : which you will find in many other places. But 1 24 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS of that elsewhere : now, to our present purpose. The very force of the word speaks what, and what kind of thing it is we enquire after. For we must necessarily understand by the sound, those whose minds are under no perturbation from any motion, as it were a disease. They who are differently affected we must necessarily call un- sound. 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 command over themselves ; though anger in- cludes 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 pana, I do not easily apprehend ; but we define it much better than they, for we distinguish this madness, which, being allied to folly, is more ex- tensive, from what is called a furor, or raving. The Greeks indeed would do so too, but they have no one word that will express it ; what we call/wror, they call /*eXa W x*a, as if the reason were affected only by a black bile, and not disturbed as often by a violent rage, or fear, or grief. Thus we say Athamas, Alcmaeon, Ajax, and Orestes, were raving ; because one affected in this manner was not allowed by the twelve tables to have the OF CICERO. 125 management of his own affairs ; therefore the words are not, if he is mad, but, if he begins to be raving. For they looked upon madness to be an unsettled humour, that proceeded from not being of sound mind : yet 'such a one might take care of common things, execute the usual and customary duties of life : but they thought one that was raving to be totally blind ; which notwithstanding it is allowed to be greater than madness, is nevertheless of such a nature, that a wise man may be even subject to raving. But this is another question : we will return to our purpose. VI. I think you said that it was your opinion, a wise man was subject to grief. And so indeed I think. M. It is natural enough to think so, for we are not the offspring of a rock : 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 of our academy, say this amiss : ' I am by no means of their opi- nion, who talk so much in praise of I know not what insensibility, which neither can be, nor ought to be : I would choose,' saith he, ' never to be ill ; but should I be so, I should choose to have my feeling, either supposing there was to be an amputation, or any other separation of my body. For that insensibility cannot be but at the 126 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS expense of some unnatural wildness of mind, or stupor of body.' But let us consider if to talk thus is not allowing that we are weak, and com- plying with our softness. Notwithstanding, let us be hardy enough, not only to lop off every arm of our miseries, but pluck up every fibre of their roots : yet still something perhaps may be left behind, so deep doth folly strike its roots : but whatever may be left, it should be no more than is necessary. But 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 begun, let us submit ourselves to it for a cure ; we may be cured if we please. I shall advance something farther. I shall not treat of grief alone, though that indeed is the principal thing ; but, as I pro- posed, of every disorder of the mind, as the Greeks call it : and first, with your leave, I shall treat it in the manner of the Stoics, whose method is to reduce their arguments into a little room ; then I shall enlarge more in my own way. VII. A man of courage relies on himself; I do not say is confident, because by a bad custom of speaking that is looked on as a fault, though the word is derived from confiding in yourself, which is commendable. He who relies on him- self, is certainly under no fear ; for there is a re- OF CICERO. 127 pugnance betwixt this self-reliance and fear. Now ' whoever is subject to grief is subject to fear ; for whatever things we grieve at when present, we dread as hanging over us and approaching. Thus it comes about, that grief is repugnant to courage: it is very probable, therefore, that whoever is subject to grief, the same is liable to fear, and a kind of broken-heartedness and sinking. Now whenever these befal a man, he is in a servile state, and must own that he is overpowered. Whoever entertains these, must entertain timidity and cowardice. But these cannot befal a man of courage ; neither therefore can grief ; but the man of courage is the only wise man : therefore grief cannot befal the wise man. It is besides neces- sary, that whoever is brave, should be a man of a great soul ; a great soul is invincible : whoever is invincible looks down with contempt on all things here, and holds them as below him. But no one can despise those things on account of which he may be affected with grief: from whence it fol- lows, that a wise man is never affected with grief, for all wise men are brave, therefore a wise man is not subject to grief. As the eye, when disordered, is not in a disposition for per- forming its office well ; and the other parts, with the body itself, when dislocated, cannot perform their office and appointment ; so the mind, when disordered, is ill disposed to do its duty : the 128 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS 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, therefore is never out of order. But grief is a disorder of the mind, therefore a wise man will be always free from it. VIII. It is very probable, that what the Greeks mean by their i.^wa., is the temperate man with us, for they call all that virtue ^^oowjv, which I one while name temperance, at another time mo- deration, nay sometimes modesty ; and I do not know whether that virtue may not be properly called frugality, which has a more confined mean- ing with the Greeks ; for they call frugal men xfij<7p>K, which implies only that they are useful : but it has a more extensive meaning ; for all ab- stinence, all innocency, (which the Greeks have no common name for, though they might have iSxa&tav, for innocency is that affection of mind which would offend no one) and several other virtues, are comprehended under frugality, which, were it not of the first rate, but confined into so small a compass as some imagine, the sirname 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 injustice ; or who misbehaves OF CICERO. 129 through rashness, which is folly ; for that reason the word frugality takes in these three virtues of fortitude, justice, and prudence, though this is common with all virtues, for they are all con- nected and knit together. Let us allow then frugality to be the other and fourth virtue ; the peculiar property of which seems to be, to govern and appease all tendencies to too eager a desire after any thing, to refrain lust, and preserve a de- cent steadiness in every thing. The vice in con- trast to this, is called prodigality. Frugality I imagine is derived from fruits, the best thing the earth produces. Whoever is frugal then, or % if it is more agreeable to you, whoever is mode- rate, temperate, such a one must of course be constant ; whoever is constant, must be quiet : the quiet man must be void of all perturbation, therefore of grief likewise : and these are the properties of a wise man; therefore a wise man must be without grief. IX. So that Dionysius of Heraclea is right when, upon this complaint of Achilles in Homer, Anger and rage my breast inflame, My glory tarnished, and since lost my fame, he reasons thus : Is the hand as it should be, when it is affected with a swelling, or. is any other member of the body when it is not in its natural state ? Must not the mind then, when it is puffed up, or distended, be out of order ? But the E 130 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS mind of a wise man is without any disorder ; it never swells, or is puffed up ; but the mind in anger is otherwise. A wise man therefore 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 he thinks has injured him; hut whoever has this earnest desire must necessarily be much pleased with the accomplishment of his wishes ; hence he is delighted with his neighbour's misery ; which as a wise man is not capable of, he is not capable of anger. But should a wise man be subject to grief, he may likewise be sub- ject to anger, from which being free, he must be void of grief. Besides, could a wise man be subject to grief, he might be so to pity, he might be open to a disposition for envy : I do not say he might be envious, for that consists of the very act of envying. X. Therefore compassion and envy are con- sistent in the same man ; for whoever is uneasy at any one's adversity, is uneasy at another's pros- perity : as Theophrastus laments the loss of his companion Callisthenes, and is disturbed at the success of Alexander ; therefore he saith, that Callisthenes met with a man of great power and success, but who did not know how to make use of his good fortune ; and as pity is an uneasiness arising from the misfortunes of another, so envy OF CICERO. 131 is an uneasiness that proceeds from the good suc- cess of another : therefore whoever is capable of pity, is capable of envy. But a wise man is incapable of envy, and consequently of pity. For were a wise man used to grieve, to pity would be familiar to him ; therefore to grieve, is far from a wise man. Though these reasonings of the Stoics, and their conclusions, are rather stiff and contracted, and require a more diffuse and free way, yet great stress is to be laid on the opinions of those men, who have a peculiar bold and manly turn of thought. For our particular friends the Peripatetics, notwithstanding all their erudition, gravity, and flow of words, do not satisfy me about the moderation of these disorders and dis- eases of the soul, for every evil, though moderate, is in its nature great. But our business is to divest our wise man of all evil ; for as the body is not sound, though but slightly affected, so the mind under any moderate disorder loses its sound- ness : therefore the Romans have with their usual skill called trouble, anguish, 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 na0<>,-, i. e. a distemper. But we have given them a more proper name ; for a disorder of mind is very like a disease of the body. But lust doth 132 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS not resemble sickness ; neither doth immoderate joy, which is a high and exulting pleasure of the mind. Fear, too, is not very like a distemper, though it borders upon grief of mind, but properly as sickness of the body, it is so called from its connexion with pain ; the same may be said of this grief: therefore I must explain whence this pain proceeds, i. e. the cause that occasions this grief, as 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 distemper, so we shall discover the method of cure when the cause is found out. XI. The whole cause then is in opinion, not indeed of this grief alone, but of every other dis- order of the mind ; which are of four sorts, but consisting of many parts. For as every disorder or perturbation is a motion of the mind, either devoid of reason, or in despite of reason, or in diso- bedience to reason, and that motion is incited by an opinion of good and evil ; these four perturba- tions are divided equally into two parts : for two of them proceed from an opinion of good ; one of which is an exulting pleasure, i. e. a joy elate be- yond measure, arising from an opinion of some pre- sent great good : the other, which may be rightly called either a desire or. a lust, is an immoderate inclination after some conceived great good, in disobedience to reason. Therefore these two OF CICERO. 133 kinds, the exulting pleasure, and the lust, have their rise from an opinion of good, as the other two, fear and grief, from that of evil. For fear is an opinion of some great evil hanging over us ; and grief is an opinion of some great evil present and indeed it is a fresh conceived opinion of such an evil, 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 by folly, if we are desirous to pass the share of life that is allotted us with any ease or satisfaction. But of the others I shall speak elsewhere : our business at present is to drive away grief if we can, for that is what I proposed ; as you said it was your opinion a wise man might be subject to grief, which I can by no means allow of; for it is a frightful, horrid, and detesta- ble thing, which we should fly from with our ut- most efforts, with wind and tide, as I may say. XII. That descendant of Tantalus, how doth he appear to you ? He who sprung from Pelops, who formerly stole Hippodamia from her father- in-law king (Enomaus, and married her by force ? He who was descnded from Jupiter himself, how broken-hearted doth he 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. 134 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS Will you condemn yourself, Thyestes, and deprive yourself of life, on account of the greatness of another's crime ? What ! do you not look upon the son of the god of light, as unworthy his father's shining on him ? Hollow his eyes, his body worn away, His furrowM cheeks his frequent tears betray; His beard neglected, his combined hairs, Rough and uncomb'd, bespeak his bitter cares. foolish (Eta, these are evils which you yourself are the cause of, and not occasioned by the acci- dents that befel you ; and that you should behave thus, even when you had been inured to your dis- tress, and after the first swelling of the mind had subsided ! whereas grief consists (as I shall show) in the notion of some recent evil : but your grief, 1 warrant you, proceeded from the loss of your king- dom, not 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 being 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 autho- rity. What could be more impudent than Tar- quin's making war against those who could not bear his tyranny ; who, when he could not recover his kingdom by the forces of the Veientes and OF CICERO. the Latins, is said to have betaken himself to Cuma, and to have died in that city, of old age and grief! Do you then think it can befal a wise man to be oppressed with grief, i. e. with misery ? for, as all perturbation is misery, grief is the rack itself; lust is attended with heat ; exult- ing joy with levity ; fear with a meanness ; but grief with something greater than these ; it con- sumes, torments, afflicts, and disgraces a man ; it tears him, preys upon him, and quite puts an end to him. If we do not divest ourselves so of it, as to throw it quite off, we cannot be free from misery. And it is clear that there must be grief, where any thing has the appearance of a present sore and oppressing evil. Epicurus is of opinion, that grief arises naturally from the imagination of any evil ; that whosoever is eye-witness of any great misfortune, immediately conceives the like may befal himself, and becomes sad instantly on it. The Cyrenaics think, that grief doth not arise from every kind of evil, but from unex- pected, unforeseen evil, and that is indeed of no small power to the heightening grief; for what- soever comes of a sudden, is harder to bear. Hence these lines are deservedly commended : I knew my son, when first he drew his breath, Destin'd by fate to an untimely death j And when I sent him to defend the Greeks, Blows were his errand, not your sportive freaks. Therefore this ruminating beforehand upon evils 136 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS which you see at distance, makes their approach more tolerable ; and on this account, what Euri- pides makes Theseus say, is much commended. You will give me leave to translate them into Latin, as is usual with me. I treasurM 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 J strove With every evil to possess my mind, That, when they came, I the less care might find. But Euripides speaks that of himself, which Theseus said he had heard from some learned man, for he was a hearer of Anaxagoras : who, as they relate, on hearing of the death of his son, said, " I knew my son was mortal ;" which speech seems to intimate that such things afflict those who have not thought on them before. Therefore there is no doubt but that all evils are the heavier from not being foreseen. Though, notwith- standing that this circumstance alone doth not occasion the greatest grief; yet as the mind, by foreseeing and preparing for it, makes all grief the less, a man should consider all that may befal him in this life ; and certainly the excellence of wisdom consists in taking a near view of things, and gaining a thorough experience in all human affairs ; in not being surprised when any thing happens; and in thinking, before the event of things, that there is nothing but what may come OF CICERO. 137 'to pass. Wherefore, at the very time that our affairs are in the best situation, at that very moment we should be most thoughtful how to bear a change of fortune. A traveller, at his return home, ought to be aware of such things as dangers, losses, &c. the debauchery of his son, the death of his wife, or a daughter's illness. He should consider that these are common accidents, and may happen to him, and should be no news to him if they do happen ; but if things fall out better than he expected, he may look upon it as clear gain. XV. Therefore, as Terence has so well ex- pressed what he borrowed from philosophy, shall not we, the fountain from whence he drew it, say the same in a better manner, and abide by it more steadily ? Hence is that same steady countenance, which, according to Xantippe, her husband Socrates always had : 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 saith, 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 the same look who never changed his mind, from whence the countenance has its expression. 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 pre- 138 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS meditation, they break the force of all approaching evils ; and at the same time, I think that those very evils themselves arise more from opinion than nature; for if they were real, no forecast could make them lighter. But I shall speak more particularly to these when I shall have first con- sidered Epicurus's opinion, who thinks that all must necessarily be uneasy who perceive them- selves 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 continu- ance, nor the lighter for having been foreseen ; and it is folly to ruminate on evils to come, or that, perhaps, may never come ; every evil is dis- agreeable enough when it doth come: but he who is constantly considering that some evil may befal him, charges himself with a perpetual evil, for should such evil never light on him, he volun- tarily takes to himself unnecessary misery, so that he is under constant uneasiness, whether he meets with any evil, or only thinks of it. But he places the alleviation of grief on two things, an avoca- tion from thinking on evil, and a call to the con- templation of pleasure. For he thinks the mind may be under the power of reason, and follow her directions : he forbids us then to mind trouble, and calls us off from sorrowful reflections ; he throws a mist over the contemplation of misery. Having sounded a retreat from these, he drives OF CICERO. 139 our thoughts on, and encourages them to view and engage the whole mind in the various plea- sures, with which he thinks the life of a wise man abounds, either from reflecting on the past, or the hope of what is to come. I have said these things in my own way, the Epicureans have theirs; what they say is our business, how they say it is of little consequence. XVI. In the first place, they are wrong in for- bidding men to premeditate on futurity, for there is nothing that breaks the edge of grief and lightens it more, than considering, all life long, that there is nothing but what may happen ; than considering what human nature is, on what con- ditions life was given, and how we may comply with them. The effect of which is, not to be always grieving, but never; for whoever reflects on the nature of things, the various turns of life, the weakness of human nature, grieves indeed at that reflection ; but that grief becomes him as a wise man; for he gains these two points by it; when he is considering the state of human nature, he is enjoying all the advantage of philosophy, and is provided with a triple medicine against adversity. The first is, that he has long reflected that such things might befal him, which reflection alone contributes much towards lessening all mis- fortunes: the next is, that he is persuaded, that we should submit to the condition of human 140 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS nature: the last is, that he discovers what is blameable to be the only evil. But it is not your fault that something lights on you, which it was impossible for man to avoid ; for that withdrawing of our thoughts he recommends, when he calls us off from contemplating on our misfortunes, is imaginary ; for it is not in our power to dissem- ble or forget those evils that 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, which is against nature, and at the same time deprive us of the only assistance na- ture affords, the being accustomed to them, which, though it is a slow cure that time brings, is a very powerful one ? You order me to employ my thoughts on something good, and forget my misfortunes. You would say something, and worthy 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 grieve ? Why do you faint, and yield to fortune, who perhaps may have power to harass and disturb you, but should not quite unman you ? Virtue has great force, rouse your virtues if they droop. Take fortitude for your guide, which will give you such spirits, that you will despise every thing that can befal man, and look on them as trifles. OF CICERO. 141 Join to this temperance, which is moderation, and which was just now called frugality, which will not suffer you to do any thing base or bad ; for what is worse or baser than an effeminate man ? Not even justice will suffer you to do so, which seems to have the least weight in this affair, which notwithstanding will inform you that you are doubly unjust: when you require what doth not belong to you, that you who are born mortal, should be in the condition of the immortals, and take it much to heart that you are to restore what was lent you. What answer will you make to prudence, who acquaints you that she is a virtue sufficient of herself, both for a good life and a happy one ? whom, it would be unreasonable to commend and so much desire, unless she were in- dependent, having every thing centring in herself, and not obliged to look out for any supply, being self-sufficient. Now, Epicurus, if you invite me to such goods as these, I will obey, follow, and attend you as my guide, and even forget, as you order me, my misfortunes ; and I do this much more readily from a persuasion that they are not to be ranked amongst evils. But you are for bringing my thoughts over to pleasure. What pleasures ? pleasures of the body, I imagine, or such as are recollected or presumed on account of the body. Is this all ? Do I explain your opinion right ? for his disciples used to deny that we un- 142 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS derstand Epicurus. This is what he saith, and what that curious fellow old Zeno, who is one of the sharpest of them, used in my hearing at Athens to enforce and talk so loudly of; that he alone was happy, who could enjoy present pleasure, and who was persuaded that he should enjoy it without pain, either all or the greatest part of his life ; or if should any pain interfere, if it was the sharpest, it must be short ; should it be of longer continuance, it would have more of sweet than bitter in it : that whosoever reflected on these things would be happy, especially if satisfied with the good things he had enjoyed, without fear of death, or 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. What then? Can the proposing and thinking of such a life make Thyestes' grief the less, or (Eta's, of whom I spoke above, or that of Telamon, who was driven from his country to penury and banish- ment ? on whom they exclaimed thus : Is this the man surpassing glory rais'd ? Is this that Telamon so highly prais'd By wondering Greece, at whose sight, like the sun, All others with diminished lustre shone ? Now, should any one like him be depressed with the loss of his fortune, he must apply to those old grave philosophers for relief, not to OF CICERO. 143 these voluptuaries : for what great good do they promise? Allow we, 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, if by advancing thus far we shall abate our grief? Grant that to be in pain is the greatest evil; whosoever then has proceeded so far as not to be in pain, is he there- fore in immediate possession of the greatest good? What, Epicurus, do we use any evasions, and not allow in our own words the same to be pleasure, which you are used to boast of with such assu- rance? Are these your words or not? This is what you say in that book which contains all the doctrine of your school. I will perform the office of an interpreter, lest any should imagine I have invented. 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 ab- stracted from ideas raised by external objects, which are agreeable motions ; or those other plea- sures, which are perceived by the whole man from his senses ; nor can the pleasures of the mind be any ways said to constitute the only good ; for I always perceived my mind to be pleased with the hopes of enjoying those things I mentioned above, and presuming I should enjoy them with- out any interruption from pain :" and from triese 144 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS words any 'one may understand what pleasure Epicurus was acquainted with. Then he speaks thus, a little lower down ; " I have often enquired of those who are reputed to be wise men what would be the remaining good, if they should withdraw these, unless they meant to give us no- thing 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 lies in those pleasures which I mentioned above." What follows is much the same, and his whole book on the chief good every where abounds with the same opinions. Will you then invite Telamon to this kind of life to ease his grief ? and should you observe any of your friends under affliction, would you prescribe to him a sturgeon before a treatise of Socrates ? or a concert rather than Plato ? or lay before him the beauty and variety of some garden, present him with a nosegay, burn per- fumes, and bid him be crowned with a garland of roses and woodbines ? Should you add one thing more, you would certainly wipe out all his grief. XIX. Epicurus must allow of these ; or he must take out of his book what I just now said was a literal translation ; or rather he must de- stroy his whole book, for it is stuffed with plea- sures. We must enquire, then, how we can ease him of his grief, who can say thus : OF CICERO. 145 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 'in sunk by fortune to this abject plight. What ! to ease his grief, must we mix him a cup of sweet wine, or something of that kind ? Lo ! the same poet presents us with another somewhere else : I, Hector, once so great, now claim your aid. We should assist her, for she looks out for help. Where shall I now apply, where seek support ? Where hence betake me, or to whom resort ? No means remain of comfort or of joy, In flames my palace, and in ruins Troy; Each wall, so late superb, deformed nods, And not an altar left t' appease the gods. You know what should follow, and particularly this : Of father, country, and of friends bereft, Not one of all those sumptuous temples left ; Which, whilst the 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 off the riches of Priam to the best advantage, which had the appearance of a long continuance, what doth he add? Lo, these all perish'd in one blazing pile ; The foe old Priam of his life beguiled, And with his blood thy altar, Jove, defiled. Admirable poetry ! There is something mournful 146 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS in the subject, as well as the words and measure. We must drive away this grief of hers : how is that to be done ? Shall we lay her on a bed of down ; introduce a singer ; 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, were it once settled what was good. XX. It may be said, What ! do you imagine Epicurus really meant these, and that he main- tained any thing so sensual ? Indeed I do not imagine so, for I am sensible he has said many excellent things, and with great gravity. There- fore, as I said before, I am speaking of his acute- ness, not 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. He did not barely say this, but he has explained what he would say : he saith, that taste, embracings, sports, and music, and those forms which affect the eyes with pleasure, are the chief good. Have I invented this ? have I misrepresented him ? I should be glad to be confuted, for what am I endeavouring at, but to clear up truth in every question ? Well, but the same saith, that pleasure is at its height where OF CICERO. 147 pain ceases, and that to be free from all pain is the greatest pleasure. Here are three very great mistakes in a very few words. One is, that he contradicts himself; for, but just now, he could not imagine any thing good, unless the senses were in a manner tickled with some pleasure ; but now, to be free from pain is the highest pleasure. Can any one contradict himself more ? The other mistake is, that where there is naturally a threefold division, the first, to be pleased ; next, not to be in pain ; the last, to be equally distant from pleasure and pain : he imagines the first and the last to be the same, and makes no difference be- twixt pleasure and a cessation of pain. The last mistake is in common with some others ; which is this, that as virtue is the most desirable thing, and as philosophy was investigated for the attain- ment 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 largest distributions of the public money, and had exhausted the treasury, yet spoke much of preserving it. What signifies what they say, when we see what they do ? That Piso who was surnamed Frugal, harangued always against the law that was proposed for distributing the corn, but when it had passed, though a consular man, he came to receive the corn. Gracchus observed Piso standing in the court, and asked 148 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS him, in the hearing of the people, how it was con- sistent for him to take corn by a law he had himself opposed ? " I was against your dividing 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 sufficiently show that the public revenue was dissipated by the Sem- pronian law ? Read Gracchus's speeches, and you will pronounce him patron of the treasury. Epicurus denies that any one can live pleasantly who doth 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 ; maintains a wise man to be always happy : all these things become a philosopher to say, but they are not consistent with pleasure. But 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 we so too as to pain ? I maintain therefore the impropriety of that man's 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 inno- cent, complain, that I take great pains to inveigh against Epicurus, as if we were rivals for some ho- nour or distinction. I place the chief good in the mind, he in the body ; I in virtue, he in pleasure ; OF CICERO. 149 and the Epicureans are up in arms, and implore the assistance of their neighbours, and many are ready to fly to their aid. But, as for my part, I declare I am very indifferent about the matter, let it take what turn it may. For what! is the contention about the Punic war ? on which very subject, though M. Cato and L. Lentulus were of different opinions, there was no difference betwixt them. These behave with too much heat, especially as the cause they would defend is no very repu- table one, and for which they dare not plead either in the senate, or assembly of the people, before the army or the censors : but I will dispute this with them another time, and with such temper that no difference may arise, for I shall be ready to yield to their opinions when founded 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, has no view but to please himself, or to make all things depend on his own advantage; as such things are not very commendable, they should confine them to their own breasts, and leave off to talk with that parade of them. XXII. What remains is the opinion of the Cyrenaics, who think that men grieve when any thing happens unexpectedly. And that is, indeed, as I said before, a great aggravation ; and I know that it appeared so to Chrysippus, " Whatever falls 150 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS out unexpected is so much the heavier." But the whole does not turn on this ; though the sudden approach of an enemy sometimes occasions more confusion than when you expected him, and a sudden storm at sea throws the sailors into a greater fright than when they foresaw it, and it is the same in many cases. But when you care- fully 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 accounts. The first is, that you have not time to consider how great the accident is ; the next is, when you are persuaded you could have guarded against them had you foreseen them, the misfortune seemingly contracted by your own fault makes your grief the greater. That it is so, time evinces ; which, as it advances, brings with it so much ease, that though the same misfortunes continue, the grief not only becomes the less, but in some cases is entirely removed. Many Cartha- ginians were slaves at Rome, many Macedonians when Perseus their king was taken prisoner. I saw, too, when I was a young man, some Corinthians in the Peloponnesus. They might all have lamented with Andromache. All these I saw But they had perhaps given over lamenting them- selves, for by their countenances, speech, and other gestures, you might have taken them for OF CICERO. 1,5 1 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 acquired a cal- lousness. I have read a book of Clitomachus, which he sent to his captive citizens, to comfort them on the ruin of Carthage ; there is in it a disputation written by Carneades, which, as Clito- machus saith, he had inserted into his com- mentary ; the subject was, " Whether a wise man should seem to grieve at the captivity of his country ?" You have there what Carneades said against it. There the philosopher applies such a strong medicine to a fresh grief, as would be quite unnecessary in one of any continuance ; nor, had this very book been sent to the captives some years after, would it have found any wounds to cure, but scars ; for grief, by a gentle progress and slow degrees, wears away imperceptibly. Not that the nature of things is altered, or can be, but that custom teaches what reason should, that those things lose their weight which before seemed to be of some consequence. XXIII. It may be said, What occasion is there to apply to reason, or any consolation that we generally make use of, to ease the grief of the afflicted ? For we have this always at hand, that there is nothing but what we may expect. But how will any one be enabled to bear 1,52 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS his misfortunes the better by knowing that they are unavoidable ? Saying thus subtracts nothing from the sum of the grief: it infers only that nothing has fallen out but what mi^ht have been o . thought of; and yet this manner of speaking has some little consolation in it, but, I apprehend, not much. Therefore those unlooked-for things have not so much force as to give rise to all our grief ; the blow perhaps may fall the heavier, but what- ever falls out doth not appear the greater on that account ; no, it is because it has lately happened, not because it has befallen us unexpected, that makes it seem the greater. There are two ways then of discerning the truth, not only of things that seem evil, but of those that have the appear- ance of good. For we either enquire into the na- ture of the thing, what, and how great it is, as sometimes with regard to poverty ; the burden of which we may lighten when by our disputations we show how very little, how few things nature requires ; or without any subtle arguing we refer them to examples, as here we instance in a So- crates, there in 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 was borne by Fa- bricius should be insupportable by others ? Of a piece with this is that other way of comforting, OF CICERO. 153 that nothing happens but what is common to human nature : now this argument cloth not only inform us what human nature is, but implies that all things are tolerable which others have borne and can bear. XXIV. Is poverty the subject? they tell you of many who have submitted to it with patience. Is it the contempt of honours ? they acquaint you with some who never enjoyed any, and were the hap- pier for it ; and of those who have preferred a private retired life to public employment, men- tioning their names with respect : they tell you of the verse of that most powerful king, who praises an old man, and pronounces him happy, who could reach old age 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 affliction : thus every misfortune becomes the less by others having undergone the same. Reflection thus discovers to us how much opinion had imposed on us. And this is what that Tela- mon declares, " I knew my son was mortal ;" and thus Theseus, " I on my future misery did dwell;" and Anaxagoras, " I knew my son was mortal." All these, by frequently reflecting on human affairs, discovered that they were by no means to be estimated by vulgar opinions : and indeed it seems to me to be pretty much the same with 154 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS those who consider beforehand as with those who have their remedy from time, excepting that a kind of reason cures the one, the other is pro- vided with this by nature ; discovering thereby, that what was imagined to be the greatest evil, is not so great as to defeat the happiness of life. Thus it comes about, that the hurt which was not foreseen is greater, and not, as they suppose, that when the like misfortunes befal two different peo- ple, he only of them is affected with grief on whom it lights unexpectedly. So that some, under the oppression of grief, are said to have borne it worse on 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 it in our Antiochus, used to blame Chrysippus for commending these verses of Euripides : Man, doom'd to care, to pain, disease, and strife, Walks his short journey thro' the vale of life : Watchful attends the cradle and the grave, And passing generations longs to save : Last dies himself: yet wherefore should we mouru ? For man must to his kindred dust return ; Submit to the destroying hand of fate, As ripen'd ears the harvest-sickle wait. He would not allow a speech of this kind to avail at all to the 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 ; for to preach up comfort OF CICERO. ] 55 from the misfortunes of another, is a comfort 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, makes you submit to the gods, and informs you that you are a man, which reflection greatly alle- viates grief: and they do not produce these ex- amples to please those of a malevolent disposition, but that any one in affliction may be induced to bear what he observes many others bear 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 Xt^y, as it were Xwr^, i. e. a dissolution of the whole man. The whole of which I think may be pulled up by the roots, by explaining, as I said at the beginning, the cause of grief ; for it is nothing else but an opinion and estimation of a present acute evil. Thus any bodily pain, let it be ever so grievous, may be tolerable where any hopes are ^proposed of some considerable good ; and we receive such conso- lation 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 if to the opinion of evil there be added this other, that we ought to lament, that it is right so to do, and part of our duty ; then is 156 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS brought about that grievous disorder of mind. To which opinion \ve owe all those various and horrid kinds of lamentations, 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 foolish king in his sorrow tore away the hairs of his head, imagining that being bald he would be less sensible of grief. But whoever acts thus is persuaded he ought to do so. And thus ^Eschines accuses Demosthenes of sacrificing within seven days after the death of his daughter. But how rhetorically! how copiously! what sen- tences has he collected? what words doth he throw out ? You may see by this that an orator may do any thing, which nobody would have ap- proved of, but from a prevailing opinion, that every good man ought to lament heavily the loss of a relation. Hence it comes, that some, when in sorrow, betake themselves to deserts; as Homer ' saith of Bellerophon, Wide o'er the JElean field he chose to stray, A long, forlorn, uncomfortable way ! Woes heap'd on woes consum'd his wasted heart; Pop. II. B. vi. 1. 247. and thus Niobe is feigned to have been turned into stone, from her never speaking, I suppose, in OF CICERO. 157 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. XXVII. Now all these things tire done in grief, from a persuasion of the truth, rectitude, and necessity of them ; and it is plain, that it proceeds from a conviction of its being their duty ; for should these mourners by chance drop their grief, and seem more calm or cheerful for a mo- ment, they presently check themselves and return to their lamentations again, and blame themselves for having been guilty of any intermissions from their grief. Parents and masters generally correct children not by words only, but by blows, if they show any levity when the family is under afflic- tion ; and, as it were, oblige them to be sorrowful. What? doth it not appear, when you cease of course to mourn, and perceive your grief has been ineffectual, that the whole was an act of your own choosing? What saith he, in Terence, who punishes himself, i. e. the Self-Tormentor, " I am persuaded I do less injury to my son by being miserable myself." He determines to be mise- rable ; and can any one determine on any thing 158 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS against his will ? " I should think I deserved any misfortune." He should think he deserved any misfortune, were he otherwise than miserable. Therefore you see the evil is in opinion, not in nature. How is it, when some things prevent of themselves 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 honours not with solemn 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 occasion (seeing the thing is in our own power) that we should let slip in order to get rid of care and grief? It was plain, that Cn. Pompey's friends, when they saw him fainting under his wounds, though at that very time they were under great uneasiness how they themselves, surrounded by the enemy, might escape, 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, OF CICERO. 159 as fear with them prevailed over grief, cannot 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 turns to no account ? Therefore if we can get rid of it, we need never to have been subject to it. It must be acknowledged then that men take up grief wilfully 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 befals them, sup- pose themselves hardened against fortune, as that person in Euripides : Had this the first essay of fortune been, And I no storms thro' 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 doth not lie in the thing itself. Your principal philosophers, or lovers of wisdom, though they have not yet ar- rived at it, are not they sensible that they are under the greatest evil ? For they are fools, and folly is the greatest of all evils; and yet they lament not. How shall we account for this? Because that opinion is not fixed to that kind of evil : it is not our opinion that it is right, meet, 160. THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS and our duty, to be uneasy because we are not all wise men. Whereas this opinion is strongly affixed to that uneasiness where mourning is con- cerned, which is the greatest of all grief. There- fore Aristotle, when he blames some ancient phi- losophers for imagining that by their genius they had brought philosophy to the highest perfection, says, they must be either extremely foolish, or ex- tremely 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. Theophrastus is re- ported to have accused nature at his death for giving to stags and crows so long a life, which was of no use to them, and for giving so few days to men, where it would have been of the greatest use ; whose days, had they been lengthened, the life of man would have been provided with all kinds of learning, and with arts in the greatest perfection. He lamented therefore 'that he should die just as he had begun to discover these. What? doth not every grave and dis- tinguished philosopher acknowledge himself ignorant of many things ? and that there arc many things he must learn over and over again ? and yet, though these are sensible that they stick in the very midway of folly, than which nothing can be worse, are under no great afflic- tion, because the opinion that it is their duty OF CICERO. 16 1 to lament never interferes. What shall we say of those who think it unbecoming in a man to grieve ? amongst whom we may reckon Q. Maxi- mus, who buried his son that had been consul, and L. Paulus, who lost two sons within a few days of one another. Of the same opinion wasM. Cato, who lost his son just as he was designed for Praetor ; and many others, which I have collected in my book of Consolation. Now what made these 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 wrong : from whence 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 voluntarily ? Pain proceeds from nature ; which you must submit to, agreeably to what even your own Grantor teaches, this presses and gains upon you unavoidably. So that the very same Oileus, in Sophocles, who had before comforted Telamon on the death of Ajax, on hearing of the death of his own son is broken- hearted. On this alteration of his mind we have these lines : Show nae 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. M 162 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS Now when they urge these, their endeavour is to evince, that nature is 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 taking grief on us. The first is from the opinion of some evil, on the discovery and persuasion of which, grief comes of course. Besides, many people are persuaded they do something very acceptable to the dead when they lament over them. To these may be added a kind of womanish superstition, in ima- gining that to acknowledge themselves afflicted and humbled by the gods, is the readiest way of appeasing them. But few see what contradictions these things are charged with. They commend those who die calmly, but they blame those who can bear the loss of another with the same calm- ness ; as if it were possible that it should be true, as lovers say, that any one can love another more than himself. There is indeed something excel- lent in this, and, if you examine it, no less just than true, that we should love those who ought to be dear to us, as well as we love ourselves ; but to love them more than ourselves is impossible ; nor is it desirable in friendship that I should love my friend more than myself, or he me: this would occasion much confusion in life, and break in upon all the duties of it. OF CICERO. 163 XXX. But of this elsewhere : at present it is sufficient not to lay our misery to the loss of our friends, nor to love them more than, were they sen- sible, they would approve of, or at least more than we do ourselves. Now as to what they say, that some are not all eased by our consolations ; and moreover add, that the comforters themselves ac- knowledge 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 our own folly, and much may be said against folly. But not to admit of consolation seems to bespeak their own misery ; and they who cannot bear their misfortunes with that tem- per they recommend to others, they are but on a footing with the covetous, who find fault with those that are so ; as do the vain-glorious with those of the same turn with themselves. For it is the peculiar characteristic of folly to discover the vices of others, forgetting its own. But since we find that grief is removed by length of time, we have the greatest proof that the strength of it de- pends not merely on time, but the daily considera- tion 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 inhim who grieves? There- fore it is from daily reflecting that it is no evil for 164 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS which you grieve, and not from the length of time, that you have the cure of grief. XXXI. Here some talk of moderate grief, which, supposing it natural, what occasion is there for consolation ? for nature herself will determine the measure of it ; but if it is in opinion, the whole opinion may be destroyed. I think it has been sufficiently said, that grief arises from an opinion of some present evil which includes this, that it is incumbent on us to grieve. To this definition Zeno has added very justly, that the opinion of this pre- sent evil should be recent. Now this word recent is explained thus ; not that alone is recent which happened a little while ago, but, as long as there shall be any force or vigour or freshness in that imagined evil, so long it is entitled to the name of recent. As Artemisia, the wife of Mausolus king of Caria, who made that noble sepulchre at Halicar- nassus ; whilst she lived she lived in grief, and died of that, being worn out by it, so that that opinion was always recent with her : but you cannot call that so, which in time decays. Now the duty of a comforter is, to remove grief entirely, to quiet it, or draw it off as much as you can, to keep it under, and prevent its spreading, or to divert it. There are some who think with Cleanthes, that the only duty of a comforter is to prove, that it is by no means any evil. Others, as the Peripatetics, that the evil is ov CICERO. 165 p not great. Others, with Epicurus, lead you off from the evil to good : some think it sufficient to show, that nothing has happened but what you had reason to expect. But Chrysippus thinks the main thing in comforting is, to remove the opinion from the person who 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 my- self .in my book of Consolation : for my own mind being much disordered, I have given in that every method of cure. But the proper season is as much to be watched in the cure of the mind, as of the body ; as Prometheus in ^iEschylus, on its being said to him, I think, Prometheus, you this tenet hold, That all men's reason should their rage control ; answers, Yes, when one reason properly applies ; Ill-tim'd advice will make the storm but rise. XXXII. But the principal medicine to be ap- plied in consolation, is to maintain either that it is no evil at all, or a very inconsiderable one : next to that is, to speak to the common condition of life, and with a view, if possible, to the state of the person whom you comfort particularly. The third is, that it is folly to wear oneself out with grief which can avail nothing. For the advice of Cleanthes is for a wise man who wants none ; for 166 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS 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 doctrine is not well chosen. Besides, Cleanthes doth not seem to me sufficiently apprised, that affliction may very often proceed from that very thing which he himself allows to be the greatest misfortune. As was the case with Alcibiades, whom Socrates convinced, as we are told, that there was no difference betwixt him, though a man of the first fashion, and a porter. Alcibiades, being uneasy at this, entreated Socrates with tears in his eyes, to make him a man of virtue, and dis- miss that baseness. What shall we say to this, Cleanthes ? Was there no evil in what afflicted Alcibiades thus ? What strange things doth Lycon say? who, to assuage grief, makes it arise 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 vices and evils of the mind ? I have already said enough of Epicurus's consolation. XXXIII. Nor is that consolation much to be relied on, though frequently practised, and some- times having effect, viz. 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 are to set forth, not how men in general have been OF CICERO. 167 affected with evils, but how men of sense have borne them. As to Chrysippus's method, it is cer- tainly 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 because he thinks it right so to do. Certainly then, as in pleadings we do not state all cases alike, but adjust them to the time, to the nature of the subject under debate, and the person ; thus in assuaging grief, regard should be had to what kind of cure the party will admit of. But, I know not how, we have rambled from what you proposed. For your question was concerning a wise man, with whom nothing can have the appear- ance of evil, that is not dishonourable : or at least would seem so small an evil, that by his wisdom he so over-matches it, that it quite disappears ; who makes no addition to his grief through opinion : who never conceives it right to torment himself above measure, and wear himself out with grief, which is the meanest thing imaginable. Reason, however, it seems, has evinced, though it was not directly our subject at present, that nothing can be called an evil but what is base ; and, by the way, we may discover, that all the evil of affliction has nothing natural in it, but is contracted by our own voluntary judgment of it, and the error of opinion. Therefore I have treated of that kind of affliction, which is the greatest ; the removing of 168 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS which has made it of little consequence to look after remedies for the others. XXXIV. There are certain things usually said on poverty ; others on a retired and undistin- guished life. Thei are particular treatises on banishment, on the ruin of one's country, on slavery, on weakness, or 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 disputations are full of entertainment ; and yet, as physicians, in curing the whole body, help the least part that is affected^ so philosophy, after it has removed grief in gene- ral, if any other deficiency exist ; should poverty bite, should ignominy sting, should banishment bring a dark cloud over us, or should any of those things I just mentioned appear, it applies to each its particular consolation : which you shall hear whenever you please. But we must have recourse to the same fountain, that a wise man is free from all evil, because it is insignificant, because it an- swers no purpose, because it is not founded in nature, but opinion and prejudice, but a kind of courting grief, when once they have imagined that it is their duty to do so. Subtracting then what is altogether voluntary, that mournful uneasiness will be removed ; yet some little anxiety, some small remorse will remain. They may indeed call OF CICEllO. 169 this natural, provided they give it not that horrid, 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 propose, after having felled the trunk, to destroy them all ; andv if you approve of it, by particular dissertations, for I have leisure enough, whatever time it may take up. But it is the same with all uneasiness, though it appears under dif- ferent names. For envy is an uneasiness ; so are emulation, detraction, anguish, sorrow, sadness, tribulation, lamentation, vexation, grief, trouble, affliction, and despair. The Stoics define all these, and all those words I mentioned belong to different things, and do not, as they seem, express the same things ; but they are distinct, as I shall make appear perhaps in another place. These are those fibres of the roots, which, as I said at first, must be cut off, and destroyed, that not one should 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 accept of the cure. But so much for this : the others, whenever you please, shall be ready for you here, or any where else. THE END OF THE THIRD BOOK. THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. BOOK IV. ON OTHER PERTURBATIONS OF THE MIND. I HAVE been apt to wonder, Brutus, on many occasions, at the ingenuity and virtues of our countrymen ; but nothing has surprised me more than those studies, which, though they came some- what late to us, have been transported into this city from Greece. For the auspices, religious ceremonies, courts of justice, appeals to the people, the senate, the establishment of horse and foot, and the whole military discipline, were instituted as early as the foundation of the city by royal au- thority, partly too by laws, not without the as- sistance of the gods. Then with what a surpris- ing and incredible progress did they advance towards all kind of excellence, when once the Republic was freed from the regal power? Not that I propose to treat here of the manners and customs of our ancestors, the discipline and constitution of the city; for I have elsewhere, particularly in the six books I wrote on the THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. 171 Republic, given a very accurate account of them. But whilst 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 pre- served and improved; for they had Pythagoras, a man of consummate wisdom, in a manner, before their eyes; who was in Italy at the time L. Brutus, the illustrious founder of your nobility, 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 probable, but appears 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 Greece, in some of the largest and most powerful cities, in which, first, the name of Pythagoras, and then theirs, who were afterwards 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, my opinion is, that the great esteem the Pythagoreans were held in, gave rise to that opinion amongst our ancestors, that king Numa was a Pythagorean. For, being acquainted with the discipline and institutes of Pythagoras, and having heard from their ances- tors, that the king was a very wise and just man, and not being able to distinguish times that were 172 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS so remote, they inferred, from his being so emi- nent for his wisdom, that he was a hearer of Py- thagoras. II. So far we proceed on conjecture. As to the vestiges of the Pythagoreans, though I might collect many, I shall use but a few ; because that is not our present purpose. Now, as it is reported to have been a custom with them to deliver certain abstruse precepts in verse, and to bring their minds from severe thought to a more composed state by songs and musical instruments ; so Cato, a very serious author, saith in his Origins, that it was customary with our ancestors for the guests at their entertainments, every one in his turn, to sing the praises and virtues of illustrious men to the sound of the flute : from whence it is clear that poems and songs were then composed for the voice. Still, that poetry was in fashion appears from the laws of the twelve tables, wherein it is provided, that none should be made to the injury of another. Another argument of the erudition of those times is, that they played on instruments before the feasts held in honour of their Gods, and the entertainments of their magistrates : now that was peculiar to the sect I am speaking of. To me, indeed, that poem of Appius Caecus, which Panse- tius commends so much in a certain letter to Q. Tubero, has all the marks of a Pythagorean. We have many things derived from them in our cus- OF CICERO. 173 toms : which I pass over, that we may not seem to have learned that elsewhere which we look on 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 attain any thing as soon as they had an in- clination 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 standing with us ; but yet I do not find that I can give you the names of any before the age of Laelius and Scipio : in whose younger days we find that Diogenes the Stoic, and Carneades the Academic, were sent embassadors by the Athe- nians to our senate. As these had never been concerned in public affairs, and one of them was a Cyrenean, the other a Babylonian, they had cer- tainly never been forced from their studies, nor chosen for that employ, unless the study of philo- sophy had been in vogue with some of the great men at that time : who, though they might employ their pens on other subjects ; some on civil law, others on oratory, others on the history of former times, yet promoted this most extensive of all arts, the discipline of living well, more by their life than by their writings. So that of that true and elegant philosophy, (which was derived from Socrates, and 174 THE TUSn [ \\ DISPUTATIONS 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 monuments ; whether this pro- ceeds from the importance of the thing itself, or from men's being otherwise employed, 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 himself 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 that they were invited thereto by the pleasing thoughts of amusement, or that, because there was nothing better, they laid hold of what was offered them. And after Amafinius, when many of the same sen- timents had written much about them, the Pytha- goreans 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, they are at liberty to choose what they like : I shall keep to my old custom ; and being under no restraint from the laws of any particular school, which in philosophy every one must necessarily OF CICERO. 175 confine himself to, I shall always inquire after what lias the most probability in every question, which, as I have often practised on other occasions, I have kept close to in my Tusculan Disputations. There- fore, as I have acquainted you with the disputations of the three former days, this book concludes the fourth. When we had come down into the aca- demy, as we had done the former days, the business was carried on thus. M. Let any one say, who pleases, what he would have disputed. 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 so from grief : unless you allowed it only not to take up time. A. Not at all on that account, for I was extremely satisfied with your discourse. M. You do not think then that a wise man is subject to grief? A. No, by no means. M. But if that cannot disorder the mind of a wise man, nothing else can. For what ? can it be disturbed by fear ? Fear proceeds from the same things when absent, which occasion grief when present. Take away grief then, and you remove fear. V. The two remaining perturbations are, a joy elate above measure, and lust : which, if a wise man is not subject to, his mind will be always at rest. A. I am entirely of that opinion. M. Had you rather, then, that I should immediately crowd all my sails ? or shall I make use of my oars, as if I 1 76 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. were just endeavouring to get clear of the harbour? A. I do not apprehend what you mean by that. M. Why, Chrysippus and the Stoics, when they dispute on the perturbations of the mind, make great part of their debate to consist in dividing and distinguishing : they employ but few words on the subject of curing the mind, and preventing it from being disordered. Whereas the Peripate- tics bring a great many things to promote the cure of it, but have no regard to their thorny partitions and definitions. My question then was, whether I should instantly unfold the sails of my discourse, or make my way out with the oars of the logicians 1 A. Let it be so : for by means of both these, the subject of our enquiry will be more thoroughly discussed. M. It is certainly the better way : and should any thing be too ob- scure, you may inform yourself afterwards. A. I will do so ; but those very obscure things, you will, as usual, deliver with more clearness than the Greeks. A. I will indeed endeavour to do so: but it requires great attention, for should you lose one word, the whole will escape you. What the Greeks call *fcj, we choose to name perturbations (or disorders) rather than diseases, in explain- ing which, I shall follow, first, that very old description of Pythagoras, then Plato's ; who divide the mind into two parts ; they make one of these to partake of reason, the other to be without OF CICERO. 177 it. In that which partakes of reason they place tranquillity, i. e. a placid and undisturbed con- stancy : to the other they assign the turbid mo- tions of anger and desire, which are contrary and opposite to reason. Let this then be our principle, the spring of all our reasonings. But notwith- standing, I shall use the partitions and definitions of the Stoics in describing these perturbations : who seem to me to have been very subtle on this question. VI. Zeno's definition, then, is thus : that a perturbation, which he calls a ir0o?, is a commo- tion of the mind repugnant to reason, and against nature. Some of them define it shorter ; that a perturbation is a more vehement appetite ; but by more vehement they mean an appetite that re- cedes further from the constancy of nature. But they would have the distinct parts 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 : as joy for some present good, lust from future. They suppose fear and grief to proceed from evils : fear from some- thing future, grief from something present: for whatever- things are dreaded as approaching, al- ways occasion grief when present. But joy and lust depend on the opinion of good; as lust is inflamed and provoked, and carried eagerly to what has the appearance of good; joy is transported and N 178 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS exults on obtaining what was desired. For we naturally pursue those things that have the ap- pearance of good ; and fly the contrary. Where- fore, as soon as any thing that has the appearance of good presents itself, nature incites us to the obtaining it. Now, where this is consistent and founded on prudence, this strong desire is by the Stoics called fa^f, but we name it a volition ; and this they allow to none but their wise man, and define it thus. Volition is a reasonable desire, but whatever is incited too violently in opposition to reason, that is a lust, or an unbridled desire ; which is discoverable in all fools. And with re- spect to good, we are likewise moved two ways ; there is a placid and calm motion, consistent with reason, called joy : and there is likewise a vain, wanton exultation, or immoderate joy, Icetitia gestiens, 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 avoid evil ; the avoiding of which, if warranted by 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 an unreasonable caution. A wise man is not affected by any present evil : but the grief of a fool proceeds from beini? affected with an imaginary evil, on OF CICERO. 179 which their minds are contracted and sunk, as they revolt from reason. This, then, is the first definition, which makes grief to consist in the mind's shrinking contrary to the dictates of rea- son. Thus there are four perturbations, and but three opposites, for grief has no opposite. VII. But they would have all perturbations depend on opinion and judgment; therefore they define them more closely ; not only the better to show how blameable they are, but to discover how much they are in our power. Grief then is a recent opinion of some evil, in which it seems to be right, that the mind should shrink and be dejected. Joy, a recent opinion of a present good, in which it seems to be right that the mind should be trans- ported. Fear, an opinion of an impending evil, which we apprehend as intolerable. Lust, an opinion of a good to come, which would be of advantage were it already come, and present with us. But however I have named the judgments and opinions of perturbations, their meaning is not that merely the perturbations consist in them; but the effects likewise of these perturbations : as grief occasions a kind of painful remorse ; fear, a recoil or sudden escape of the mind; joy, a profuse mirth, lust, 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 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS grounds. Now every perturbation has many parts annexed to it of the same kind. Grief is attended with enviousness (I use that word for instruction sake, though it is not so common ; because envy takes in not only the person who envies, but the person too who is envied). Emu- lation, detraction, pity, vexation, mourning, sad- ness, tribulation, sorrow, lamentation, solicitude, disquiet of mind, pain, despair, and whatever else, is of this kind. Fear includes sloth, shame, terror, cowardice, fainting, confusion, astonishment. In pleasure they comprehend a malevolence that is pleased at another's misfortune, a delight, boast- ing, and the like. To lust they associate anger, fury, hatred, enmity, discord, wants, desire, and the rest of that kind. VIII. But they define these in this manner. Envying, they .say, is a grief arising from the prosperous circumstances of another, which are no ways detrimental to the person who envies : for where anyone 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 no ways hurt by the prosperity of another, is in pain at his success, such an one envies indeed. Now that 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; but OF CICERO. 181 that sense of it I shall have no occasion for here ; for that carries praise with it. Emulation is also grief at another's enjoying what I desired to have and am without. Detraction, (and I mean 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 : no one grieves at the punishment of a parricide, or of a be- trayer 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 ourselves. Solicitude, a pensive grief. Trouble, a continued grief. Afflic- tion, a grief that harasses the body. Despair, a grief that excludes all hope of better things to come. What is included under fear, they define to be sloth, which is a dread of some ensuing labour : shame and terror, that affects the body ; hence blushing attends shame; a paleness and tremor, and chattering of the teeth, terror : cow- ardice, an apprehension of some approaching evil ; dread, a fear that unhinges the mind, whence comes that of Ennius, Then dread discharg'd all wisdom from my mind : Fainting is the associate and constant attendant on dread : confusion, a fear that drives away all thought ; astonishment, a continued fear. 182 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS IX. The parts they assign to pleasure come under this description, that malevolence is a plea- sure in the misfortunes of another without any advantage 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 of this kind are a sort of melting pleasures that dis- solve the mind. Boasting is a pleasure that con- sists in making an appearance, and setting off yourself with insolence. What comes under lust they define in this manner. Anger is a lust of punishing any one we imagine has injured us without cause. Heat is anger just forming and beginning to exist, which the Greeks call S^w;. Hatred is a settled anger. Enmity is anger waiting for an opportunity of revenge. Discord is a sharper anger conceived deep in the mind and heart. Want, an insatiable lust. Desire, is when one eagerly wishes to see a person who is absent. Now here they have a distinction : desire is a lust conceived on hearing of certain things reported of some one, or of many, which the Greeks call pre- dicated; as that they are in possession of riches and honours : but want is a lust for those very honours and riches. But they 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 prescriptions of reason, that OF CICERO. 183 the appetites of the mind are by no means to be governed and restrained. As therefore tempe- rance appeases these desires, making them obey right reason, and maintains the well-weighed judgments of the mind; so intemperance, which is in opposition to this, inflames, confounds, and puts every state of the mind into a violent motion. Thus grief and fear, and every other perturbation of the mind, have 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 vwr^ana. \ in opposition to these are certain faulty distastes or loathings ; then sicknesses, which are called ^W^ara by the Stoics ; and these two have their opposite aversions. Here the Stoics, especially Chrysippus, give them- selves unnecessary trouble to show the analogy the diseases of the mind have with 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 understand perturbation to imply a restlessness from the variety and confu- sion of contradictory opinions ; and that when this 184 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS heat and disturbance of the mind is of any stand- ing, anil has taken up its residence, as it were, in the veins and marrow, then commence diseases and sickness, and those aversions which are in op- position to them. XI. What I say here may be distinguished in thought, though they are in fact the same ; and have their rise from lust and joy. For should money be the object of our desire, and should we not instantly apply to reason, Socrates' medi- cine to heal this desire, the evil slides into our veins, and cleaves to our bowels, and from thence proceeds a distemper or sickness, which, when of any continuance, is incurable. The name of this disease is covetousness. It is the same with other diseases ; as the desire of glory, a passion for women, if I may so call THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS the mind is, it requires the more diligence ; which, when it is well applied, it discovers what is best ; when neglected, is involved in many errors. I shall apply then all my discourse to you ; for though you appear to enquire about the wise man, your enquiry may possibly be about yourself. Various, then, are the cures of those perturbations which I have expounded ; for every disorder is not to be appeased the same way ; one medi- cine must be applied to one 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 the cure is to be applied, as to a pertur- bation in general, that is, a contempt of reason, or vehement appetite : or whether it would be better directed to particular perturbations, as to fear, lust, and the rest : whether that is not to be much affected by that which occasioned the grief, or whether every kind of grief is not to be entirely set aside. 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 any thing ? Certainly this is best ; 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. OF CICERO. 207 XXVIII. But any perturbation of the mind of this sort may be, as it were, wiped away by this method of appeasing the mind : by show- ing that there is no good in what gave rise to joy and lust, nor any evil in what occasioned fear or grief. But certainly the most effectual cure is, by showing 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 weak- ness, and an effeminate mind : or when we commend the gravity and constancy of those who bear calmly whatever befals them here, which indeed is generally the case with 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 off from intemperance, the other from covetousness. The other method and ad- dress, which, at the same time that it removes the false opinion, withdraws the disorder, has more subtilty in it : but it seldom succeeds, and is not applicable to vulgar minds, for there are some diseases which that medicine can by no means re- move. For, should any one be uneasy that he is without virtue, without courage, void of duty, or honesty : his anxiety proceeds from a real evil, and yet we must apply another method of cure to him ; and such a one as all the philosophers, however they 208 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS may differ about other things, agree in. For they must necessarily consent to this, that commotion of the mind in opposition to right reason are vicious : that, even admitting those things not to be evils, which occasion fear or grief ; nor those good which provoke desire or joy, yet that very commotion itself is vicious: for we mean by the expressions magnanimous and brave, one who is resolute, se- date, grave, and superior to every thing in this life : but one who either grieves, fears, 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 an overmatch for their minds. XXIX. Wherefore, as I before said, the philo- sophers have all one method of cure ; that nothing is to be said to that, whatever it is, that disturbs the mind, but concerning the perturbation itself. Thus, first, with regard to desire ; when the busi- ness is only to remove that, the enquiry is not to be, whether that be good or evil, which provokes lust ; but lust itself is to be removed : so that, whether honesty be the chief good, or pleasure, or whether it consists in both these together, or in the other three kinds of goods, yet, should there be in any one too vehement an appetite of even virtue itself, the whole discourse-should be directed to the deterring him from that vehemence. But human nature, when placed in a conspicuous view, gives OP CICERO. OQ9 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. There- fore it was not without reason, that Socrates is reported, when Euripides acquainted him with his play, called Orestes, to have begged that the three first verses might be repeated : What tragic story men can mournful tell, Whate'er from fate or from the gods befel, That human nature can support But in order to persuade those to whom any mis- fortune has happened, that they can and ought to bear it, it is very useful to set before them others who have borne the like. Indeed, the method of appeasing grief was explained in my dispute of yesterday, and in my book of Consolation, which I wrote in the midst of my own grief, for I was not the wise man : and applied this, notwithstand- ing Chrysippus's advice to the contrary, who is against applying a medicine to the fresh swellings of the mind ; 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 already said enough : but I must say a little more on that. Now, as grief proceeds from what is present, so fear from future evil : so that some have said that fear is a certain part of grief: others have called fear the harbinger of trouble ; 210 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS which, as it were, introduces the ensuing evil. Now the reasons that make what is present toler- able, make what is to come of> little weight : 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, imbecility, and levity of fear itself, yet it is of greater service to despise those very things we are afraid of. So that it fell out very well, whether it was by accident or design, that I disputed the first and second day on death and pain ; two things that are the most dreaded : now, if what I then said was approved of, we are in a great degree freed from fear. And thus far, on the opinion of evils. XXXI. Proceed we now to goods, i. e. joy and desire. To me, indeed, one thing alone seems to take in the cause of all that relates to the per- turbations of the mind ; that all perturbations are in our own power ; that they are taken up upon opinion ; and are voluntary. This error then must be discharged ; this opinion removed : and, as with regard to imagined evils, we are to make them more tolerable, 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 relates both to good and evil : that, should it be difficult to persuade any one, that none of those things which disturb OF CICERO. 2 1 1 the mind are to be looked on as good or evil, yet a different cure is to be applied to different mo- tions ; and the malevolent person is to be corrected by one way of reasoning, the lover by another, the anxious man by another, and the fearful by ano- ther : and it were 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 any thing good. But, at present, my discourse pro- ceeds upon the common received notions. Let, then, honours, riches, pleasures, and the rest, be the very good things they are imagined ; yet a too elevated and exulting joy on the possessing them is unbecoming ; for, though it were allowable to laugh, a loud laugh would be indecent. Thus a mind enlarged by joy, is as blameable as a con- traction of it in grief: and longing is of equal levity with the joy of possessing ; and as those who are too dejected are said to be effeminate, so they who are too elate with joy, are properly called volatile : and as envy partakes of grief, so to be pleased with another's misfortune, of joy ; and both these are usually corrected, by showing the wildness and insensibility of them. And as it be- comes a man to be cautious, but it is unbecoming to be fearful ; so to be pleased is proper, but to be joyful improper. I have, that I might be the better understood, distinguished pleasure from 2 i 2 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS joy. I have already said above, that a contraction of the mind can never be right, but an elation may : for the joy of Hector in Naevius is one thing, 'Tis joy indeed to hear my praises sung By you, who are the theme of honour'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 unex- pectedly 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 it will be convinced how unbecoming this joy is. And as they are very shameful, who are immode- rately 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 levity, that nothing, I think, is to be compared to it ; of which Caecilius I hold the man of every sense beriev'd, Who grants not love to be of gods the chief: OF CICERO. 2 1 3 Whose mighty power whate'er 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, but on our approving of these debaucheries. But what said that chief of the Ar- gonauts in tragedy ? My life I owe to honour less than love. What then ? 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. But let us allow the poets to trifle : in whose fables we see Jupiter himself engaged in these debaucheries : apply we then to the masters of virtue, the philosophers who deny love to be any thing 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 free and allowed of : therefore Ennius spoke well ; 2 1 4 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS The censure of this crime to those is due, Who naked bodies first expos'd to view : Now supposing them chaste, which I think is hardly possible; they are uneasy and distressed, and the more so, as they contain and refrain them- selves. But to pass over the love of women, where nature has allowed more liberty ; who can mis- understand the poets in their rape of Ganymede, or not apprehend what Laius saith, and what he would be at, in Euripides ? Lastly, what the prin- cipal poets and the most learned have published of themselves in their poems and songs? What doth Alcus, who was distinguished in his own re- public for his bravery, write on the love of young men ? and all Anacreon's poetry is 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 these were libidinous. There have arisen some amongst us philosophers, (and Plato is at the head of them, whom Dicaearchus blames not without reason) who have countenanced love. The Stoics in truth say, not only that their wise man may be a lover, but they also define love itself to be an endeavour of making friendship from the appearance of beau- ty. 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 OF CICERO. 215 from all lust : but I have nothing to say to him, as lust is my subject. But should there be any love, as there certainly is, which is but little short, if at all, of madness, such as his in the Leucadia : Should there be any god whose care I am : it is incumbent on all the gods to see that he en- joys his amorous pleasure. Wretch that I am ! Nothing truer, and he saith very well. What, are you sane, lamenting at this rate ? He seems even to his friends to be out of his senses 1 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 ! He thinks the whole world should be overturned to help his love : he excludes Venus alone as un- kind to him. ' Thy aid, O Venus, why should I invoke?' He thinks Venus too much employed in her own lust, to have regard to any thing else, as if he himself had not said, and committed these shameful things from lust. XXXV. Now the cure for one 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 that he may entirely disregard it ; sometimes he is to be led away to things of another kind, to study, 216 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS business, or other different engagements and con- cerns : very often the cure is effected by change of place, as sick people, that have not recovered their strength. Some think an old love may be driven out by "a new one, as one nail drives out another : but he should be principally advised, what madness love is : for of all the perturba- tions of the mind, nothing is more vehement ; though, without charging it with rapes, debauche- ries, adultery, or even incest, the baseness of any of these being very blameable ; yet, I say, not to mention these, the very perturbation of the mind in 'love, is base of itself, for, to pass over all its mad tricks ; those very things which are looked on as indifferent, what weakness do they argue ? " Affronts, jealousies, jars, parleys, wars, then peace again. Now, for you to ask advice to love by, is all one as if you should ask advice to run mad by." Now is not this inconstancy and muta- bility of mind enough to deter one by its own de- formity ? We are to demonstrate, as was said of every perturbation, that it consists entirely in opinion and judgment, and is owing to ourselves. For if love were natural, all would be in love, and always so, and 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 OF CICERO. 1 2 \ 7 madness : by the instigation of which, we see such contention as this between brothers. Where was there ever impudence like thine ? Who on thy malice ever could refine ? You know what 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. Now what were these inventions ? Hear Thyestes. 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. Now you should put those out of the way, whom they endeavour to attack, till they have recollected themselves ; but what doth recollection here imply, but getting together the dispersed parts of their mind ? or they are to be begged and intreated, if they have the means of revenge, to defer it to another op- portunity, till their anger cools. But the expres- sion of cooling implies, certainly, that there was a 2 1 8 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. heat raised there in opposition to reason : from whence that saying of Archytas is commended : who being somewhat provoked at his steward, ' How would I have treated you/ saith he, * if I had not been in a passion ?' XXXVII. Where then are they who say that anger has its use ? Can madness be of any use ? But still it is natural. Can any thing be natural that is against reason ? or how is it, if anger is natural, that one is more inclined to anger than another ? or how is it, that the lust of revenge should cease before it has revenged itself ? or that any one should repent of what he had done in a passion ? as we see Alexander could scarce keep his hands from himself, when he had killed his favourite Clytus: so great was his compunction! Now who, that is acquainted with these, can doubt but that this motion of the mind is altoge- ther in opinion and voluntary ? for who can doubt but that disorders of the mind, such as covetous- ness, a desire of glory, arise from a great estima- tion of those things, by which the mind is disor- dered ? from whence we may understand, that every perturbation is founded in opinion. And if boldness, i. e. 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 expectation of OF CICERO. 219 evil. Thus fear and other perturbations are evils. Therefore as constancy proceeds from knowledge, so perturbation from error. Now they who are said to be naturally inclined to anger, or pitiful, or envious, or any thing of this kind ; their minds are constitutionally, as it were, in bad health, yet they are curable, as is said of Socrates, when Zopyrus, who professed knowing the nature of every one from his person, had heaped a great many vices on him in a public assembly, he was laughed at by others, who could perceive no such vices in Socrates : .but Socrates kept him in coun- tenance, by declaring that such vices were natural to him, but he had got the better of them by his reason. Therefore, as any one who has the ap- pearance of the best constitution, may yet be more inclined to some particular disorder, so different minds may be differently inclined to different diseases. But those who are said to be vicious, not by nature, but their own fault ; their vices proceed from wrong opinions of good and bad things, so that one is more prone than another, to different motions and perturbations. And so in the body, an inveterate disorder is harder to be got rid of, than a perturbation ; and a fresh tumour in the eyes is sooner cured, than a de- fluxion of any continuance is removed. XXXVIII. But as the cause of perturbations is discovered, all which arise from the judgment or THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS opinion, and volitions, I shall put an end to this discourse. But we ought to be assured, the ends of good and evil being discovered, as far as they are discoverable by man, that nothing can be desired of philosophy greater, or more useful, than what I have disputed of these four days. For to a contempt of death, and the few enabled to bear pain ; I have added the appeasing of grief, than which there is no greater evil to man. 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 perturbation, as of fear, joy, or desire, that they are moved 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 acci- dent, but with reason proposed by you, that I should dispute separately of grief, and of the other perturbations: for there Hes the spring and head of all our miseries : but the cure of grief, and of other disorders, is one and the same, in that they are all voluntary, and founded on opinion ; we take them on ourselves because it seems right so to do. Philosophy promises to pluck up this error, as the root of all our evils: let us surrender ourselves to be instructed by it, and suffer ourselves to be cured; for whilst these evils have possession of us, we not only cannot be happy, but cannot be right in our minds. We must either deny that OF CICERO. 22 1 reason can effect any thing, while, on the other hand, nothing can be done right without reason ; or, since philosophy depends 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. THE END OF THE FOURTH BOOK. THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS. BOOK V. WHETHER VIRTUE ALONE BE SUFFICIENT FORA HAPPY LIFE. THIS fifth day, Brutus, shall put an end to our Tusculan Disputations : on which day I disputed on your favourite subject. For I perceived from that accurate book you wrote me, 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 endeavour to facilitate the proof of it. For among all the topics c philosophy, there is none of more dignity or importance. As the first philosophers must have had some inducement, to neglect every thing for the search of the best state of life : surely, it was with the hopes of living happily, that they laid out so much care and pains on that study. Now, if virtue was dis- covered and carried to perfection by them ; and if virtue is a sufficient security for a happy life : who THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS 223 but must think the work of philosophising excel- lently established by them, and undertaken by me ? But if virtue, as subject to such various and uncertain accidents, is but the slave of fortune, and not of sufficient ability to support herself ; I am afraid we should seem rather to offer up our petitions to her, than endeavour to place our con- fidence in virtue for a happy life. Indeed, when I reflect on those troubles, with which I have been severely exercised by fortune, I begin to suspect this opinion ; and sometimes even to dread the weakness and frailty of human na- ture, for I am afraid lest" as nature has given us infirm bodies, and has joined to these in- curable diseases, and intolerable pains ; she might also have given us minds participating of these bodily pains, and harassed with troubles and un- easinesses, peculiarly her own. But here I cor- rect myself, for forming my judgment of the force of virtue, more from the weakness of others, or mine own perhaps, than from virtue itself: for that (provided there is such a thing as virtue, and your uncle Brutus has removed all doubt of it) has every thing that can befal man in subjection to her ; and by disregarding them, is not at all concerned at human accidents : and being free from every imperfection, thinks nothing beyond herself can relate to her. But we, who increase every approaching evil by our fear, and every present one by our grief, choose rather to THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS 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 : to whose protection as my own inclination and desire led me, from my earliest days, so, under my present misfortunes, I have recourse to the same port, from whence I set out, after having been tost by a violent tempest. O Philosophy, thou conductor of life ! thou disco- verer of virtue, and expeller of vices ! what had not only I myself been, but the whole life of man without you ? To you we owe the origin of cities ; you called together the dispersed race of men into social life ; you united them together, first, by placing them near one another, then by marriages, and lastly, by the communication of speech and languages. To you we owe the invention of laws ; you instructed us in morals and discipline. To you I fly for assistance ; and as I formerly submitted to you in a great degree, so now I sur- render up myself entirely to you. For one day well spent, and agreeably to your precepts, is pre- ferable to an eternity of sin. Whose assistance then can be of more service to me than yours, which has bestowed on us tranquillity of life, and removed the fear of death ? But philosophy is so far from being praised, as she hath deserved of man, that she is wholly neglected by most, and ill spoken of by many. Can any speak ill of the OF CMCERO. 225 the parent of life, and dare to pollute himself thus with parricide! and be so impiously ungrateful as to accuse her, whom he ought to reverence, had he been less acquainted with her ? But this error, I imagine, 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 by whom human life was first improved, 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 philosophy, either in fact or name ? which ac- quired this excellent name from the ancients, by the knowledge of the origin and causes of every thing, both divine and human. Thus those seven 24> every virtue, prudence itself discovers this, that all good men are not therefore happy ; and she recol- lects many things of M. Attilius, Q. Caepio, M. Aquilius : and prudence herself, if these represen- tations are more agreeable to you than the things themselves, pulls back happiness, when it is en- deavouring to throw itself into torments, 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 to dis- pute : but I ask you if I effected any thing or nothing in the foregoing days? A. Yes, something was done, some little matter indeed. J/. But if that is the case, this question is routed, and almost put an end to. A. How so? M. Because turbu- lent motions and violent agitations of the mind, 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 im- pending, can be otherwise than miserable? Now supposing the same person, which is often the case, to be afraid of poverty, ignominy, infamy, or weakness, or blindness ; or lastly, which doth not befal particular men, but often the most powerful nations, slavery ; now can any one under the ap- prehensions of these be happy? What! if he not er CICERO. $31 only dreads as future, but actually feels and bears them at present ? Let us unite in the same person, banishment, mourning, the loss of chil- dren ; whoever is in the midst of this affliction is worn with sickness ; can he be otherwise than very miserable indeed ? What reason can there be, why a man should not rightly enough be called misera- ble, that we see inflamed and raging with lust, coveting every thing with an insatiable desire, and the more pleasures he receives from any thing, still 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 the more miserable, as he thinks him- self the happier ? Therefore, as these are misera- ble, so on the other hand they are happy, who are alarmed by no fears, wasted by no griefs, pro- voked 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 ; so 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 every thing human, every thing that can possibly befal any man, as tolera- ble, so as to be out of the reach of fear or anxiety : and should such a one covet nothing, and be lifted up by no vain joy of mind, what can pre- vent his being happy ? and if these are the effects 232 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS of virtue, why cannot virtue itself make men happy ? VII. A. One of these is undeniable, that they who are under no apprehensions, no ways un- easy, who covet nothing, are lifted up by no vain joy, are happy : therefore I grant you that ; and the other I am not at liberty to dispute ; for it was proved by your former disputations that a wise man was free from every perturbation of mind. M. Doubtless, then, the dispute is over. A. Almost, I think, indeed. M. But yet, that is more usual with the mathematicians than philo- sophers. For the geometricians, when they teach any thing, if what they had before taught relates to their present subject, they take that for grant- ed, and already proved ; and explain only what they had not written on before. The philosophers, whatever subject they have in hand, get every thing together that relates to it ; notwithstanding they had disputed on it somewhere else. Were not that the case, why should the Stoics say so much on that question, whether virtue was abun- dantly sufficient to a happy life ? when it would have been answer enough, that they had before taught, that nothing was good but what was honest : this being proved, the consequence would be, that virtue was sufficient to a happy life : and, as follows from the other, so if a happy life consists in virtue, nothing can be good but OF CICERO. 233 what is honest : but they do not act in this man- ner ; for they have distinct books of honesty, and the chief good ; for though it follows from the former, that virtue has power enough to make life happy, yet they treat the other distinctly ; for every thing, especially of so great consequence should be supported by arguments which belong to that alone. Have a care how you imagine philosophy to have uttered any thing more noble, or that she has promised any thing more fruitful or of greater consequence : for, good gods ! doth she not engage, that she will so accomplish him who submits to her laws, as to be always armed against fortune, and to have every assurance within himself of living well and happily ; that he shall, in one word, be for ever happy. But let us see what she will perform ? In the meanwhile I look upon it as a great thing, that she has pro- mised. 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 : which, when discovered, he was not satisfied with ; nor can there ever be an end to lust. I wish we could engage any one, by a reward, to produce something the better to esta- blish us in this. VIII. A. I wish so indeed : but I want a lit- 234 THL; TUSCULAN DISPUTATION N tie information. For I allow, that in what you have stated, the one is the consequence of the other ; that as, if what is honest be the only good, it must follow, that a happy life is the effect of virtue : so that if a happy life consists in virtue nothing can be good but virtue. But your Brutus, on the authority of Aristo and Antiochus, doth not see this : for he thinks the case to be the same, even if there was any thing good besides virtue. M. What then ? do you imagine I shall dispute 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 to- gether shall be enquired somewhere else : for I frequently disputed that with Antiochus, and lately with Aristo, when, as -general, I lodged 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 under evil, if there are any evils of body or fortune. These things were said, which Antiochus has inserted in his books in many places : that virtue itself was sufficient to make life happy, but not the happiest : and that many things are so called from the major part, though they do not include all, as strength, health, riches honour, and glory : which are determined by their kind, not their number : thus a happy life is so called from its being in a great degree so, though it should fall short in some point. To clear this OF CICERO. up, is not absolutely necessary at present, though it seems to be said without any great consistency : for I do not apprehend what is wanting to one that is happy, to make him happier ? for if any thing be wanting, he cannot be so much as happy ; and as to what they say, that every thing is called and looked upon from the greater part, may be admitted in some things. But when they allow three kinds of evils ; when any one is oppressed with all the evils of two kinds, as with adverse fortune, and his body worn out and harassed with all sorts of pains, shall we say such a one is little short of a happy life, not to say, the hap- piest ? This is what Theophrastus could not main- tain : for when he had laid down, that stripes, torments, tortures, the ruin of one's country, banishment, the loss of children, had great in- fluence as to living miserably and unhappily, he durst not use any high and lofty expressions, when he was so low and abject in his opinion. IX. How right he was is not the question ; he certainly was consistent. Therefore I am not for objecting to consequences where the premises are allowed of. But this most elegant and learned of all the philosophers, is not taken to task when he asserts his three kinds of good ; but he is attacked by all 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. 236 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS For in that he is supposed to say, that such a one cannot reach a complete happy life. He no where indeed saith so absolutely, but what he saith amounts to the same thing. Can I then find fault with him ; to whom I allowed, that pains of body are evils, that the ruin of a man's fortunes is an evil, if he should say that every good man is not happy, when all those things which he reckons as evils, may befal a good man ? The same Theo- phrastus is found fault with by all the books and schools of the philosophers, for commending that sentence in his Callisthenes : Fortune, not wisdom, rules the life of mau. They say, never did philosopher assert any thing so languid. They are right indeed in that : but I do not apprehend any thing could be more con- sistent : for if there are so many good things that depend on the body, so many foreign to it, that depend on chance and fortune, is it not consistent, that fortune, who governs every thing, both what is foreign and what belongs to the body, has greater power than counsel. Or would we rather imitate Epicurus ? who is often excellent in many things which he speaks, but quite indifferent how consistent, or to the purpose. He commends spare diet, and in that he speaks as a philosopher ; but it is for Socrates or Antisthenes to say so, not one who confines all good to pleasure. He denies that any one can live pleasantly, unless he OF CICERO. 237 honestly, wisely, and justly. Nothing is more serious than this, nothing more becoming a philo- sopher, had he not applied this very thing, to live honestly, justly, and wisely, to pleasure. What better, than that fortune interferes but little with a wise man ? But doth he talk thus, who had said that pain is the greatest evil, or the only evil, and who might be afflicted with the sharpest pains all over his body, even at the time he is vaunting him- self the most against fortune ? Which very thing, too, Metrodorus has said, but in better language : ' I have prevented 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, w : ho held nothing to be an evil but what was base ; but for you, Metrodorus, to prevent the approaches of fortune, who confine all that is good to your bowels and marrow ; you, who define the chief good by a firm habit of body, and a 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 sim- ple are taken with these, and from such sentences great is the crowd of their followers. X. But it is the duty of one who disputes ac- curately, to see not what is said, but what is said consistently. As in the opinion which is the subject of this disputation ; I maintain that every good Tin: TusruLAN DISPUTATIONS ( 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, imagine, indeed, those, who are possessed of good without any allay 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 any thing good besides itself : for a crowd of evils would present themselves, if we allow poverty, obscurity, humility, solitude, the loss of friends, acute pains of the body, the loss of health, weakness, blindness, the ruin of ones country, banishment, slavery, to be evils : for, to conclude, a wise man- may be in all these and many others : for they are brought on by chance, which may attack a wise man ; but if these are evils, who can maintain a wise man to be always happy, when all these may light on him at the same time ? I therefore do not easily agree with my Brutus, nor 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 ; who, if they are charmed with this beautiful and illustrious title, which would very well become Pythagoras, Socrates, and Plato, they should be persuaded, that strength, health, OF CICKRO. beauty, riches, honours, 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 multi- tude, nor pain, nor poverty, occasion them any apprehensions ; and that they have every thing within themselves, and that they hold nothing to be good but what is within their own power. Nor can I by any means allow the same person, who falls into the vulgar opinion of good and evil, to make use of these expressions, which can only become 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 taken 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 that pain was the greatest or the only evil, to think that a wise man should say in the midst of his torture, How sweet is this ! We are not there- fore to form our judgment of philosophers from detached sentences, but from their consistency with themselves, and their common manner of talking. XI. A. You engage me to be of your opinion ; but have a care that you are not inconsistent 240 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS yourself. M. By what means ? A. Because I have lately read your fourth book on Good and Evil : in that you appeared to me, when disputing against Cato, to have endeavoured to shew, which with me is to prove, that Zeno and the Peripate- tics differ only about some new words ; which allowed, what reason can there be, if it follows from the arguments of Zeno, that virtue contains all that is necessary to a happy life, that the Peri- patetics should not be at liberty to say the same ? For, in my opinion, regard should be had to the thing, not to words. M. What ? you would con- vict me from my own words, and bring against me what I had said or written elsewhere. You may act in that manner with those who dispute by es- tablished rules : we live from hand to mouth, and say any thing that strikes our mind with probabi- lity, so that we only are at liberty. But because I just now spoke of consistency, I do not think the enquiry in this place is, if Zeno's and his hearer Aristo's opinion be true, that nothing is good but what is honest ; 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 business : for who indeed is more worthy than himself of the glory of that opinion ? Still we may maintain that the same is most happy ; though Zeno of Citium, OF OICF.RO. 241 a stranger and a mean coiner of words, has in- sinuated himself into the old philosophy. XII. Yet 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 saith in Plato's Gorgias, when one asked him, if he did not think Archelaus the son of Per- diccas, who was then looked on as the 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 can I, when I do not know how learned or how good a man he is ? What ! Do you look on a happy life to depend on that ? My opinion entirely is, that good men are happy, and the wicked miserable. Is Archelaus then miserable ? Certainly, if unjust." Now doth it not appear to you, that he placed the whole of a happy life in virtue alone ? But what doth the same say in his funeral oration? " For," saith he, " whoever has every thing that relates to a happy life so compact within himself, as not to be connected with the good or bad fortune of another, and not to depend on what befals another, or be under any uncertainty, such a one has acquired the best rule of living: this is that moderate, that brave, R 242 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS that wise man, who submits to the gain and loss of every thing, and especially of his children, and obeys that old precept ; so as never to be too joyful or too sad, because he depends entirely upon himself." XIII. From Plato therefore all my discourse shall be deduced, as it were, from some sacred and hallowed fountain. Whence can I then more properly begin, than from nature, the parent of all ? For whatsoever she produces, not only of the animal sort, but even of the vegetable, she de- signed it to be perfect in its respective kind. So that among trees, and vines, and those lower plants and trees, which cannot advance themselves higher from the earth, some are ever green, 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 motion, and their own seeds inclosed in every one so as to yield flowers, fruit, or berries, that all may have every perfection that belongs to it, provided no violence prevents it. But the force of nature itself may be more easily discovered in animals, as she has bestowed sense on them. For those animals that can swim she designed inhabitants of the water ; those that fly to expatiate in the air ; some creeping, some walking ; of these very animals some are soli- tary, some herding together ; some wild, others tame, some hidden and covered by the earth ; OF CICERO. 243 and every one of these maintains the law of nature, confining itself to what was bestowed on it, and unable to change its manner of life. And as every animal has from nature something that dis- tinguishes it, which every one maintains and never quits : so man has something far more excellent, though every thing is said to excel by comparison. But the human mind, as derived from the divine reason, can be compared with nothing but with the Deity itself, if I may be allowed the expression. This then, when improved, and its perception so preserved, as not to be blinded by errors, becomes a perfect understanding, that is, absolute reason : which is the very same as virtue. And if every thing is happy, which wants nothing, and is complete and perfect in its kind, r and that is the peculiar lot of virtue ; certainly all who are pos- sessed of virtue are happy. And in this I agree with Brutus, even with Aristotle, Xenocrates, Speusippus, Polemon. To me such only appear completely 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 doth not rely on them ? XIV. But he who makes a threefold division of goods, must necessarily be diffident, for how can he depend on having a sound body, or that his fortune shall continue? but no one can be happy without an immovable, fixed, and permanent 244 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS good. What then is this opinion of theirs ? So that I think that saying of the Spartan may be applied to them, who, on some merchant's boasting before him, that he could dispatch ships to every maritime coast ; replied, that a fortune which de- pended on ropes was not very desirable. Can there be any doubt that whatever may be lost, cannot be of the number of those things which complete a happy life ? for of all that constitutes a happy life, nothing will admit of growing old, of wearing out or decaying ; for whoever is apprehensive of any loss in these cannot be happy : the happy man should be safe, well fenced, well fortified, out of the reach of all annoyance ; not under trifling ap- prehensions, but void of all. As he is not called innocent who but slightly offends, but who offends not at all: so is he only to be held without fear, not who is in but little fear, but who is void of all fear. For what else is courage but an affection of mind, that is ready to undergo perils, as well as to bear pain and labour without any allay of fear? Now this certainly could not be the case, if any thing were good but what depended on honesty alone. But how can any one be in possession of that desirable and much requested 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 OF CICERO. 4 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS not dare to stand where they usually harangued, he generally addressed the people from a high tower. And it is said that when he was disposed to play at tennis, for he delighted much in it, and had pulled off his clothes, he 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 certainly trust your life with him ;' the young man happening to smile at this, he ordered them both to be slain, the one for shewing how he might be taken off, the other for approving of what was said by his smiling. But he was so concerned at what he had done, that nothing affected him more during his whole life : for he had slain one he was extremely par- tial to. Thus do weak men's desires pull them different ways, and whilst they indulge one, they act counter to another. This tyrant, however, showed how happy he esteemed himself. XXI. For whilst Damocles, one of his flatte- rers, was talking in conversation about his forces, his wealth, the greatness of his power, the plenty he enjoyed, the grandeur of his royal palaces, and was maintaining that no one was ever happier: " Have you an inclination," saith he, " Damocles, as this kind of life pleases you, to have a taste of it yourself, and try to make a trial of the good fortune that attends me ?" " I should be glad to make the experiment," says Damocles ; upon OF CICERO. 255 which Dionysius ordered him to be laid on a bed of gold, with the most beautiful covering, embroi- dered, and wrought in a high taste, and he dressed out a great many sideboards with silver and em- bossed gold. He then ordered some youths, dis- tinguished for their handsome 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 provided with the most exquisite meats. Damo- cles thought himself very happy. In the midst of this apparatus Dionysius ordered a bright sword to be Jet down from the ceiling, tied by a horse- hair, so as to hang over the 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 : the garlands fell to pieces. At last he entreated the tyrant to give him leave to go, for that now he had no desire to be happy. Doth not Dionysius, then, seem to have declared there can be no happiness with one who is under con- stant apprehensions ? But he was not now at liberty to return to justice, and restore his citizens their rights and privileges ; for by the indiscretion of youth he had engaged in so many wrong steps, and committed such extravagancies, that had he attempted to have returned to a right way of thinking, he must have endangered his life. THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS XXII. Yet, how desirous he was of those very friends, whose fidelity he dreaded, appears from the 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 Dionysius, " you would admit m< a third." What misery was it for him to be deprived of acquaintance, of company at his table, and of the freedom of conversation ; espe- cially for one who was a man of learning, and from his childhood acquainted with liberal arts, very fond of music, and himself a tragedian, 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 Aquinius was my friend) who did not give himself the prefer- ence. The case is this, you are pleased with your own, I like mine. But to return to Dionysius ; he debarred himself from all civil and polite con- versation, spent his life among fugitives, bondmen, and barbarians : for he was persuaded no one could be his friend, who was worthy of liberty, or had the least desire of being free. 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 and miserable ? XXIII. I will present you with an humble OF CICERO. <257 and obscure mathematician of the same city called Archimedes, who lived many years after : whose tomb, overgrown with shrubs and briars, I in my quasstorship discovered, when the Syracu- sians knew nothing of it, and even denied that there was any such thing remaining : for I re- membered some verses, which I had been informed were engraved on his monument. These set forth that on the top of it there was placed a sphere with a cylinder. When I had carefully examined all the monuments (for there are a great many) at the gate Achradinse, I observed a small column standing out. a little above the briars, with the figure of a sphere and a cylinder upon it ; where- upon I immediately said to the Syracusians, for there were some of their principal magistrates there, that I imagined 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 base of it, I found the inscrip- tion, though the latter parts of all the verses were effaced almost half away. Thus one of the noblest cities of Greece, and once, likewise, the most learned, had known nothing of the monument of its most ingenious citizen, if it had not been discovered to them by a native of Arpinum. But to return from whence I have rambled. Who is there in the least acquainted with the Muses, that is, with 258 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS liberal knowledge, or that deals at all in learning, who would not choose to be this mathematician rather than that tyrant ? If we look into their me- thods of living and their employments, we shall find the mind of the one strengthened and improved, with tracing the deductions of reason, amused with his own ingenuity, the sweetest food of the mind ; the thoughts of the other engaged in continual murders and injuries, in constant fears by night and by day. Now imagine a Democritus, a Pytha- goras, and an Anaxagoras ; what kingdom, what riches would you prefer to their studies and amusements ? for you must necessarily look there for the best of every thing, where the excellency of man is ; but what is there better in man than a sagacious and good mind ? Now the enjoying of that good can alone make us happy : but virtue is the good of the mind ; it follows, therefore, that a happy life depends on that. Hence proceed all things that are beautiful, honest, and excellent, as I said above : but these, I think, must be treated of more at large, for they are well stored with joys. For, as it is clear that a happy life con- sists in perpetual and unexhausted pleasures, it follows too that a happy life must arise from honesty. XXIV. But that what I propose to demon- strate to you may not rest in mere words only, I must set before you the picture of something, as OF CICERO. it were, living and moving in the world, that may dispose us more for the improvement of the under- standing and real knowledge. Let us then pitch upon some man perfectly acquainted with the most excellent arts ; let us present him for a while to our own thoughts, and figure him to our own imaginations. In the first place, he must necessarily be of an extraordinary capacity ; for virtue is not easily connected with dull minds. Next, he must have a great desire of discovering truth, from whence will arise that threefold pro- duction of the mind ; one depends on knowing things, and explaining nature : the other in de- fining what we should desire, and what avoid : the third in judging of consequences and impos- sibilities : in which consists as well subtilty in disputing, as 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 engagements as these, when he views the revolutions and motions of the whole world, and sees those innumerable stars in the heavens, which, though fixed in their places, yet have a common motion with the whole, and ob- serves the seven other stars, some higher, some lower, each maintaining their own course, while their motions, though wandering, have limited and appointed spaces to run through! The sight of which doubtless urged and encouraged those 26O THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS ancient philosophers to employ their search on many other things. Hence arose an enquiry after the beginnings, and, as it were, seeds from whence all things were produced and composed ; what was the origin of every kind as well animate as inanimate, articulate as inarticulate ; what occa- sioned their beginning and end, and by what alteration and change one thing was converted into another : whence the earth, and by what weights it was balanced : by what caverns the seas were supplied : by what gravity all things being carried down tend always to the middle of the world, which in any round body is the lowest place. XXV. A mind employed on such subjects, and which night and day contemplates on them, has in itself that precept of the Delphic god, to " know itself," and to perceive its connexion with the divine reason, from whence it is filled with an insatiable joy. For reflections on the power and nature of the gods raise a desire of imitating their eternity. Nor doth the mind, that sees the neces- sary dependencies and connexions that one cause has with another, think itself confinable to the shortness of this life. Those causes, though they proceed from eternity to eternity, are governed by reason and understanding. Whoever beholds these and examines them, or rather whose view takes in all the parts and bouiula vies of things, with OF CICERO. 261 what tranquillity of mind doth he look on all human affairs, and what is nearer him ! Hence proceeds the knowledge of virtue ; hence arise the kinds and species of virtues ; hence is dis- covered what nature regards as the bounds and extremities of good and evil, to what all duties have respect, and which is the most eligible manner of life. One great effect that arises from informing himself of these, and such like things, is, that virtue is of itself sufficient to a happy life, which is the subject of this disputation. The third qualification of our wise man comes next, which goes through and spreads itself over every part of wisdom ; it is that whereby - we define every particular thing, distinguish the genus from its species, connect consequences, draw just conclusions, and distinguish true and false, 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 most becoming true wisdom. Such are its effects in retirement. Now let A our wise man be considered as protecting the re- public ; what can be more excellent than such a character? By his prudence he will discover the true interests of his fellow-citizens, by his justice he will be prevented from applying what belongs to the public to his own use ; and in short, he will be ever governed by all the virtues, which are many THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS and various ? To these let us add the advantage of his friendships ; in which the learned reckon not only a natural harmony and agreement of senti- ments throughout the conduct of life, but the utmost pleasure and satisfaction in conversing and passing our time constantly with one another. What can be wanting to such 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 n happiness to rejoice in such goods of the mind, that is, virtue, and all wise men enjoy thoroughly these pleasures ; it must necessarily be granted that all such are happy. XXVI. A. What, when in torments and on the rack ? M. Do you imagine I am speak- ing of him as laid on roses and violets ? Is it allowable even for Epicurus (who only affects being a philosopher, and who assumed that name to himself,) to say, and as matters stand, I com- mend him for his saying, a wise man may 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 by pain, every good by pleasure ; who could ridicule whatever we say either of what is honest, or what is base, and could declare of us that we were employed about words, and discharging mere empty sounds ; and that nothing is to be regarded, but as it is perceived smooth or rough by the body ? What, OF CICERO. 263 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 despise for- tune, when the whole of his good and evil is in the power of fortune, but say, that he is happy in the most racking torture, when he had actually declared pain not only the greatest evil, but the only one ? And all this without having recourse to our reme- dies for bearing pain, such as firmness of mind, a shame of doing any thing base, exercise, and the habit of patience, precepts of courage, and a manly hardiness : but saith, he supports himself on the single recollection of past pleasure ; as if any one, being so hot as scarce to be able to bear it, should attempt to recollect that he was once in my country Arpinum, where he was surrounded on every side by cooling streams ; for I do not ap- prehend how past pleasures can allay present evils. But when he saith that a wise man is always happy, who has no right to say so, can he be consistent with himself ? What may they not do, who allow nothing to be desirable, nothing to be looked on as good but what is honest ? Let then the Peripatetics and old Academics follow my example, and at length leave off to mutter to themselves : and openly and with a clear voice let them be bold to say, that a happy life may descend into Phalaris's bull. XXVII. But to dismiss the subtilties of the 264 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS Stoics, which I am sensible I have dealt more in than necessary, let us admit of three kinds of goods : let them really be the three kinds of good, pro- vided no regard is had to the body, and externals, as no otherwise entitled to the appellation of good, than as we are obliged to use them : but let those other and divine goods spread themselves far and near, and reach the very heavens. Why then may I not call him happy, nay, the happiest, 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 we are pre- pared and fortified sufficiently, by the disputations of the foregoing days, against our own death, or the death of our friends, against grief and the other perturbations of the mind. Pain seems to be the sharpest adversary of virtue, that threatens us with burning torches ; that threatens to take down our fortitude, greatness of mind, and patience. Shall virtue then yield to this ? Shall the happy life of a wise and constant man submit 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 saw, at Laccdaemon, troops of young men, with great earnestness contending together with their hands and feet, with their teeth and nails, nay even ready to expire, rather than own themselves conquered. Is any country more savagely bar- OF CICERO. 265 barous than India? Yet they have amongst them some that are held for wise men, who never wear any clothes all their life long, and bear the snow of Caucasus, and the piercing cold of winter, without any pain : and will throw themselves into the fire to be burned without a groan. The women too in India, on the death of their husbands, apply to the judge to have it deter- mined which of them was best beloved by him ; for it is customary there for one man to have many wives. She in whose favour it is deter- mined, attended by her relations, is laid on the pile with her husband : the others, who are post- poned, 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, delicacies, languor, and indolence : we have enervated them by opi- ' nions, and bad customs. Who but knows the manner of the Egyptians ? Their minds being tainted by pernicious opinions, they are ready to bear any torture, rather than hurt an ibis, a snake, cat, dog, or crocodile : and should any one inad- vertently have hurt any of these, they submit to any punishment. So far of human nature. As to the beasts, do they not bear cold, hunger, run- ning about in woods, and on mountains and de- serts ? will they not fight for their young ones till they are wounded ? Are they afraid of any at- 266 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS tacks or blows ? I mention not what the ambi- tious will suffer for honour'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 not to dwell too much on these, and to return to our purpose. I say, and say again, that happiness will submit even to be tor- mented ; and after having accompanied justice, temperance, but principally fortitude, greatness of soul and patience will not stop short at sight of the executioner; and when all other virtues proceed calmly to the torture, will that halt, as I said, on the outside and threshold of the prison / for what can be baser, what can carry a worse ap- pearance, than to be left alone, separated from those beautiful attendants ? which can by no means be the case : for neither can the virtues hold together without happiness, nor happiness without the virtues : so that they will not suffer her to desert them, but will carry that 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 new and unexpected to him: to be independent of OF CICERO. C 267 every one, and abide by his own opinion. For my part, I cannot form an idea of any thing happier than this. The conclusion of the Stoics indeed is easy, as they are persuaded that the end of good is to live agreeably to nature, and 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. Thus the life of a wise man is always happy. You have here what I think may be confidently said of a happy life, and as things are now, very truly, unless you can advance something better. XXIX. A. Indeed I cannot ; but I would willingly request of you, unless it is troublesome (as you are under no confinement from obligations to any particular sect, but gather from all of them whatever most strikes you with the appear- ance of probability :) as you just now seemed 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. M. I will make use then of that liberty, which none but ourselves have the privilege of using in philosophy, whose discourses determine nothing, but take in <268 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS every thing, leaving them, unsupported by any authority, to be judged of by others, according to their weight. And as you seem desirous of know- ing why, notwithstanding the different opinion of philosophers, with regard to the ends of goods, virtue may have sufficient security for a happy life : which security, as we are informed, Car- neades used indeed to dispute against : but he disputed as against the Stoics, whose opinions he combated with great zeal and vehemence ; but I shall handle it with 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 this excel- lent decision, if I may so call it, 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 simple ones ; " that nothing is good but what is honest," according to the Stoics : " nothing good but plea- sure," as Epicurus maintains : " nothing good but a freedom from pain," as Hieronymus asserts : " nothing good but an enjoyment of the principal, or all, or the greatest goods of nature," as Car- neades maintained against the Stoics : these are simple, the others mixt. Three kinds of goods ; the greatest those of the mind, the next those of OF CICERO. 269 the body, The third were external goods, as the Peripatetics say, and the old Academics differ very little from them. Clitomachus and Callipho have coupled pleasure with honesty : but Diodorus, the Peripatetic, 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 they have of weight in 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 Theophrastus, 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 ; which when they have extolled to the skies, with the usual extravagance of good orators, it is easy to reduce the other to nothing by com- parison, and to despise them. They who think praise is to be acquired by pain, are not at liberty to deny those to be happy, who have acquired it. Though they' may be under some evils, yet this name of happy extends very widely. XXXI. Even as trading is said to be lucrative, and farming advantageous, not because the one never meets with any loss, or the other no damage from the inclemency of the weather, but because they succeed in general: so life may be pro- perly called happy, not from its being entirely 270 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS made up of good things, but as it abounds with these to a great and considerable degree. By this way of reasoning, then, a happy life may attend vir- tue even to punishments; nay,may descend with her into Phalaris's bull, according to Aristotle, Xeno- crates,Speusippus,Polemon; and will not be gained over by any allurements to forsake her. Of the same opinion will Calliphon and Diodorus be : both of them such friends to virtue, as to think all things should be discarded and far removed, that are compatible with it. The rest seem to be more scrupulous about these things, but yet get clear of them ; as Epicurus, Hieronymus, and whoever thinks it worth while to defend the deserted Car- neades : not one of them but thinks the mind to be judge of those goods, and can sufficiently 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, it is the same with Hierony- mus and Carneades, and indeed with all the rest of them : for who is not sufficiently prepared against death and pain ? I will begin, with your leave, with him whom we call soft and voluptuous. What ! doth he seem to you to be afraid of death or pain, who calls the day of his death happy ; and when affected by the greatest pains, silences them all by recollecting arguments of his own discover- ing ? And this is not done in such a manner as to give room for imagining that he talks thus wildly on OF CICERO. 27 1 a sudden start : but his opinion of death is, that on the dissolution of the animal, all sense is lost, and what is deprived of sense, as he thinks, can no way affect us. And as to pain, he has his maxims too : if great, the comfort is, that it must be short ; if of long- continuance, it must be tolerable. What then ? Do those great boasters declare any thing better than Epicurus, in opposition to these two things which distress us the most? And as to other things, do not Epicurus and the rest of the philosophers seem sufficiently prepared ? Who doth not dread poverty ? And yet no true philo- sopher ever can. XXXII. But with how little is this man 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, am- bition, or other daily expenses ; why 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 as the Scythians cover themselves; 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 a man in no want. But as to those presents you take 272 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS so much pleasure in, you may dispose of them to your own citizens, or to the immortal gods. "Almost all the philosophers, whatever their discipline be, excepting those who are warped from right reason by a vicious disposition, aree of this very opi- nion. Socrates, when he saw in a procession a great deal of gold and silver, cried out, " How many things are there I do not want!" Xeno- crates, when some ambassadors from Alexander had brought him fifty talents, the largest money of those times, especially at Athens, carried the ambassadors to sup in the academy : and placed just a sufficiency before them, without any appa- ratus. When they asked him the next day to whom he would order the money to be told out : " What ?" saith he, " did you not perceive by our slight rfepast of yesterday, that I had no occasion for money ? " But when he perceived that they were somewhat dejected, he accepted of thirty mina3, that he might not seem to disrespect the king's* generosity. But Diogenes took a greater liberty as a Cynic, w hen Alexander asked him if he wanted any thing : " A little from the sun," said he, for Alexander hindered him from sunning himself. And indeed this very man used to main- tain how much he excelled the Persian king, in his manner of life and fortune ; that he himself was in want of nothing, the other never had OF CICERO. enough ; that lie had no inclination for those pleasures which could never satisfy the other : and that the other could never obtain his. XXXIII. You see, I imagine, how Epicurus has divided his kinds of desires, not very subtilely perhaps, but usefully : that they are " partly na- tural and necessary ; partly natural, but not necessary ; partly neither." Those which are necessary may be supplied almost for nothing; for the things that nature requires are easily obtained. As to the second kind of desires, his opinion is, that any one may easily either enjoy or go without them. With regard to the third, being frivolous, as neither allied to necessity nor nature, he thinks they should be entirely rooted out. On this topic the Epicureans dispute much ; and those pleasures which they do not despise, on account of their species, they reduce one by one, and seem rather for lessening the number of them : for as to wanton pleasures, of which they say a great deal, these, say they, are easy, common, and within any one's reach ; and think that if nature requires them, they are not to be estimated by birth, condition, or rank, but by shape, age, and person : and that it is by no means difficult to refrain from them, should health, duty, or repu- tation require it ; and that this kind of pleasure may be desirable, where it is attended with no in- convenience, but can never be of any use. And T 274 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS what he declares upon the whole of pleasure is such, as shows his opinion to be, that pleasure is always desirable, to be pursued merely as a plea- sure ; and for the same reason pain is to be avoided, because it is pain. So that a wise man will always do himself the justice to avoid plea- sure, should pain ensue from it in a greater pro- portion ; and will submit to pain, the effects of which will be a greater pleasure : so that all plea- surable things, though the corporeal senses are the judges of them, are to be referred to the mind, on which account the body rejoices, whilst it perceives a present pleasure ; but that the mind not only perceives the present as well as the body, but foresees it, whilst 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 living and the magnificence and expensiveness of entertainments are deprecated? because nature is satisfied at a small expense. XXXIV. For who doth not see this, that an appetite is the best sauce ? When Darius, flying from the enemy, had drunk some water which was muddy, and tainted with dead bodies, he de- clared that he had never drunk any thing more pleasant ; the case was, he had never drunk before OF CICERO. 275 when he was thirsty. Nor had Ptolemy ever ate when he was hungry: for as he was travelling over Egypt, his company not keeping up with him, he had some coarse bread presented him in a cottage : upon which he said, " Nothing ever seemed to him pleasanter than that bread." They relate of Socrates, that, once 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 we not see what the Lacedemonians 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 this he who dressed it said, " It was no wonder, for it wanted seasoning." 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 Lacedemonian banquets. And this may not only be conceived from the custom of men, but from the beasts, who are satisfied with any thing that is thrown before them, provided it is not unnatural, and they seek no far- ther. Some entire cities, taught by custom, are de- lighted with parsimony, as I said but just now of the Lacedemonians. Xenophon has given an account of the Persian diet : who never, as he saith, use any thing but cresses with their bread, not but 276 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS that, should nature require any thing more agree- able, many things might be easily supplied by the ground, and plants in great abundance, and of incomparable 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, crammed with eating like fatted oxen : then will you perceive that they who pur- sue 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 entertainment, on seeing him the next day he said, " Your suppers are not only agreeable whilst I partake of them, but the next day also." Besides, the understanding is impaired when we are full with over-bating and drinking. There is an excellent epistle of Plato to Dion's relations. It is written almost in these words; " When I came there, that happy life so much talked of, crowded with Italian and Syracus-an entertainments, was no ways agreeable to me ; to be crammed twice a day, and never to have the night to yourself, and other things which attend on this kind of life, by which a man will never be made the wiser, and may be much less moderate ; for it must be an extraordinary disposition that can be temperate in such circumstances." How OF CICERO. 277 then can a life be pleasant without prudence and moderation ? Hence you discover the mistake of Sardanapalus, the wealthiest king of the Assyri- ans, who ordered it to be engraved on his tomb, I still possess what luxury did cost; But what I left, though excellent, is lost. " What but this," saith Aristotle, " could be inscribed on the tomb, not of a king but an ox ?" He said that he possessed those things when dead, which, in his life-time, he could have no longer than whilst he was enjoying them. Why then are riches desired ? And wherein doth po- verty prevent us from being happy ? In the want, I imagine, of statues, pictures, and diver- sions. Should any one be delighted with these, have not the poor people the enjoyment of these more than they who have them in the greatest abundance ? For we have great numbers of them shown publicly in our city. And whatever pri- vate people may have of them, they have not many of them, 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 manifest, and na- ture daily informs us, how few little trifling things she really stands in need of. XXXVI. Let us enquire then, if obscurity, 278 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS the want of power, or even the being unpopular, can prevent a wise man from being happy ? Observe if popular favour, and this glory which they are so fond of, be not attended with more un- easiness than pleasure ? Our Demosthenes was certainly very weak in declaring himself pleased with a woman who carried water, as is the cus- tom in Greece, whispering to another, " that is he, that is Demosthenes." What could be weaker than this ? And yet what an orator he was ! But although he had learned to speak to others, ho had conversed but little with himself. We may perceive that popular 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 moderate and grave man, who could glory in his obscurity. Shall musicians compose their tunes to their own taste ; and shall a philosopher, master of a much, better art, enquire, not after what is most true but what will please the people ? Can any thing be more absurd than to despise the vulgar as mere unpolished mechanics, when single, and to think them of consequence when collected into a body ? These wise men would contemn our ambitious pursuits, and our vanities, and would reject all honours the people could voluntarily offer to them : but we know not how to despise them, till we begin ta repent of having accepted them. OF CICERO. ,70 Heraclitus, the natural philosopher, relates thus of Hermodorus the chief of the Ephesians ; " that all the Ephesians," saith he, "ought to be punished with death, for saying, when they had expelled Hermodorus out of their city, that they would have no one amongst them better than another ; if there were any such, let him go elsewhere to some other people." Is not this the case, with 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 our- selves) banished his country for being eminently just ? What troubles, then, are they free from, who have no connexions 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 in this world discovers to us both heaven, earth, and sea. XXX VI I. If then honour and riches have no val ue, what is there else to be afraid of? Banishment, I suppose ; which is looked on as the greatest evil. Now, if the evil of banishment proceeds not from ourselves, but from the fro ward disposition of the people, I have just now declared how contemptible it is. But if to leave one's country be miserable, the provinces are full of miserable men: very few of those ever return to their country again. But exiles are amerced of their goods! What then? Has 280 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS 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 doth it differ from constant travelling In which some of the most famous philosophers have spent their whole life : as Xenocrates, Grantor, Arcesilas, Lacydes, Aristotle, Theophrastus, Zeno, Cleanthes, Chrysippus, Antipater, Carneades, Panaetius, Clitomachus, Philo, Antiochus, Po- sidonius, and innumerable others: who from their first setting out never returned home again. Now what ignominy can a wise man be affected with, (for of such a one I spea^,) who can be guilty of nothing to occasion it ; for one who is banished for his deserts ought not to be comforted. Lastly, They can easily reconcile themselves to every ac- cident, who make every thing that ensues from life conduce to pleasure; so that in whatever place these are supplied, there they may live hap- pily. Thus what Teucer said may be applied to every case : Wherever I am happy, there is my country. Socrates, indeed, when asked where he belonged 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 philosophical studies with the greatest satisfaction at Athens, although he was banished? which would not have happened OF CICERO. 281 to him, if he had obeyed the laws of Epicurus, and lived peaceably in the republic. In what was Epicurus happier, living in his country, than Me- trodorus at Athens ? Or did Plato's happiness exceed that of Xenocrates, orPolemo, 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 able to bear the tyrant Cypeselus, fled from Corinth to Tarquinii, settled there, and had children. How, was it an unwise act in him to prefer the liberty of banish- ment to slavery at home ? XXXVIII. Besides the emotions of the mind, all griefs and anxieties are assuaged by forgetting them, and turning our thoughts to pleasure. Therefore it was not without reason, that Epicurus presumed to say that a wise man abounds with good things, because he may always have his pleasures. From whence, as he thinks, our point is gained, that a wise man should be always happy. What! though he should be deprived of the senses of seeing and hearing? Yes: for he holds those things very cheap. For in the first place, what are the pleasures we are deprived of by that dreadful thing, blindness ? For though they allow other pleasures to be confined to the senses, yet what are perceived by the sight do not depend wholly on the pleasure the eyes receive ; as when we taste, smell, touch, or hear ; in all these, the organs 282 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS themselves are the seat of pleasure ; but it is not so with the eyes. The mind is entertained by what we see; but the mind may be entertained many ways, though we could not see at all. I am speaking of a learned and wise man, with whom to think is to live. But thinking with a wise man doth not altogether require the use of his eyes in his investigations; for if night doth not strip him of his happiness, why should blindness, which resembles night, have that effect? For the reply of Antipater the Cyrenaic, to some women who bewailed his being blind, though it is a little too obscene, had no bad meaning. " What do you mean," saith he ; " do you think the night can furnish no pleasure T And we find by his magis- tracies and his actions, that old Appius too, who was blind many years, was not prevented from doing whatever was required of him, with respect to the public 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 applied to a blind guide. XXXIX. When I was a boy, Cn. Aufidius, a blind man, who had served the office of prae- tor, not only gave his opinion in the senate, and was ready to assist his friends, but w r rote a Greek history, and had an insight into literature. Dio- dorus the Stoic was blind, and lived many years at OF CICERO. my house. He indeed, which is scarce credible, besides applying himself more than usual to philo- sophy/ 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 f eyes, telling his scholars how and where to describe every line. They relate of As- clepiades, no obscure Eretric philosopher, when one asked him what inconveniences 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 proper supports of health. Democritus was so blind he could not distinguish white from black : but he knew the difference tetwixt good and evil, just and unjust, honest and base, the useful and useless, great and small. Thus one may live hap- pily without distinguishing colours ; but without acquainting yourself with things, you cannot ; and this man was of opinion, that the intense ap- plication of the mind was taken off by the objects that presented themselves to the eye, and while others often could not see what was before their feet, he travelled through all infinity. It is reported also that Homer was blind, but we ob- 284 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS serve his painting, as well his poetry. What country, what coast, what part of Greece, what military attacks, what dispositions of battle, what army, what ship, what motions of men and ani- mals, has he not so described as to make us .-ec- what he could not see himself? What, then, can we imagine Homer, or any other learned man can want to entertain his mind ? Were it not so, would Anaxagoras, or this very Democritus, have left their estates and patrimonies, and given them- selves up to the pursuit of acquiring this divine entertainment ? It is thus, that the poets, who have represented Tiresias the Augur as a wise man, blind, never exhibit him as bewailing his blindness. But as Homer had described Poly- pheme as a monster and a wild man, he represents him talking with his ram, and speaking of his good fortune, that he could go wherever he pleased and touch what he would. And so far he was right, for that Cyclops was of much the same un- derstanding with his ram. XL. Now as to the evil of being deaf; M. Cras- sus was a little thick of hearing : but it was more uneasiness to him that he heard himself ill spoken of; though, in my opinion, without reason. 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 OF CICERO. 285 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 grunt- ing of a hog when his throat is cutting, nor the roaring of the sea when they are desirous of rest- And if they should chance to be fond of singing, they ought in the first place to consider that many wise men lived happily before music was disco- vered ; besides they may have more pleasure in reading verses, than in hearing them sung. Then, as I before referred the blind to the pleasures of hearing, so I may the deaf to the pleasures of sight : moreover, whoever can converse with him- self doth not need the conversation of another. But supposing 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 : but should they continue so long and the pain be so exquisite, that there should be no reason for bearing them, why, good Gods, should we be under any difficulty ? For there is a retreat at hand ; death is that retreat a shelter where we shall for ever be insensible. Theodorus said to Lysimachus, who threatened him with death, " It is a great matter indeed, for you to do what cantharides can." When Perses intreated Paulus not to lead him in triumph, " That is as you please," said Paulus. I said many things of 286 THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS death in our first day's disputation, 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 undesirable, or at least it will not be dreadful. XLI. That custom in force with the Grecians at their banquets, should, in my opinion, take place in life : Drink, say they, or leave the com- pany; and right enough : let him either enjoy the pleasure of drinking with others, or not stay till he meets with affronts from those that are in liquor. Thus those injuries of fortune you cannot bear, you should leave. This is the very same which is said by Epicurus and Hieronymus. Now if those philosophers, whose opinion it is that virtue has no power of itself, and who say that what we denominate honest and laudable imply nothing, and are only set off with an unmeaning sound : can they nevertheless maintain that a wise man is always happy ? You see what may be done by the Socratic and Platonic philosophers. Some of these allow such superiority to the goods of the mind, as quite to eclipse what concerns the body and all accidental circumstances. But others do not admit these to be goods ; they repose all in the mind : whose disputes Carneades used, as an honorary arbitrator, to determine. For as what seemed goods to the Peripatetics, were allowed to OF CICERO. 287 be advantages by the Stoics ; and as the Peripa- tetics 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, not by mere report ; his opinion was, that there was no ground for disagreeing : Therefore let the philosophers, that hold other tenets, see how they may carry this point. It is very agree- able to me that they make some professions worthy the mouth of a philosopher, with regard to a man's having always the means of living happily. XLII. But as we are to depart in the morn- ing, let us remember these five days' disputations, though indeed, I think, I shall write them : for how can I better employ the leisure I have, what- ever it be owing to ? and I will send these other five books to my Brutus ; by whom I was not only incited to write on philosophy, but provoked. In which it is not easy to say what service I may be of to others ; but in my own various and acute afflictions which surrounded me on all sides, I could find no better solace. THE END. T. WHITE, PRINTER, JOHNSON'S COURT, FLEET STREET. A 000152588 o FINE BOOKS 703 1-2 W. STH ST. Lot ANOCLKI