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Cicero's Tusculan Disputations by Marcus Tullius Cicero

M >> Marcus Tullius Cicero >> Cicero\'s Tusculan Disputations




XXXIII. These arguments may be refuted; for they proceed from his not
knowing that, while discussing the subject of the immortality of the
soul, he is speaking of the intellect, which is free from all turbid
motion; but not of those parts of the mind in which those disorders,
anger and lust, have their seat, and which he whom he is opposing, when
he argues thus, imagines to be distinct and separate from the mind. Now
this resemblance is more remarkable in beasts, whose souls are void of
reason. But the likeness in men consists more in the configuration of
the bodies: and it is of no little consequence in what bodies the soul
is lodged; for there are many things which depend on the body that give
an edge to the soul, many which blunt it. Aristotle, indeed, says that
all men of great genius are melancholy; so that I should not have been
displeased to have been somewhat duller than I am. He instances many,
and, as if it were matter of fact, brings his reasons for it. But if
the power of those things that proceed from the body be so great as to
influence the mind (for they are the things, whatever they are, that
occasion this likeness), still that does not necessarily prove why a
similitude of souls should be generated. I say nothing about cases of
unlikeness. I wish Panaetius could be here: he lived with Africanus. I
would inquire of him which of his family the nephew of Africanus's
brother was like? Possibly he may in person have resembled his father;
but in his manners he was so like every profligate, abandoned man, that
it was impossible to be more so. Whom did the grandson of P. Crassus,
that wise and eloquent and most distinguished man, resemble? Or the
relations and sons of many other excellent men, whose names there is no
occasion to mention? But what are we doing? Have we forgotten that our
purpose was, when we had sufficiently spoken on the subject of the
immortality of the soul, to prove that, even if the soul did perish,
there would be, even then, no evil in death?

_A._ I remembered it very well; but I had no dislike to your digressing
a little from your original design, while you were talking of the
soul's immortality.

_M._ I perceive you have sublime thoughts, and are eager to mount up to
heaven.

XXXIV. I am not without hopes myself that such may be our fate. But
admit what they assert--that the soul does not continue to exist after
death.

_A._ Should it be so, I see that we are then deprived of the hopes of a
happier life.

_M._ But what is there of evil in that opinion? For let the soul perish
as the body: is there any pain, or indeed any feeling at all, in the
body after death? No one, indeed asserts that; though Epicurus charges
Democritus with saying so; but the disciples of Democritus deny it. No
sense, therefore, remains in the soul; for the soul is nowhere. Where,
then, is the evil? for there is nothing but these two things. Is it
because the mere separation of the soul and body cannot be effected
without pain? But even should that be granted, how small a pain must
that be! Yet I think that it is false, and that it is very often
unaccompanied by any sensation at all, and sometimes even attended with
pleasure; but certainly the whole must be very trifling, whatever it
is, for it is instantaneous. What makes us uneasy, or rather gives us
pain, is the leaving all the good things of life. But just consider if
I might not more properly say, leaving the evils of life; only there is
no reason for my now occupying myself in bewailing the life of man, and
yet I might, with very good reason. But what occasion is there, when
what I am laboring to prove is that no one is miserable after death, to
make life more miserable by lamenting over it? I have done that in the
book which I wrote, in order to comfort myself as well as I could. If,
then, our inquiry is after truth, death withdraws us from evil, not
from good. This subject is indeed so copiously handled by Hegesias, the
Cyrenaic philosopher, that he is said to have been forbidden by Ptolemy
from delivering his lectures in the schools, because some who heard him
made away with themselves. There is, too, an epigram of Callimachus[20]
on Cleombrotus of Ambracia, who, without any misfortune having befallen
him, as he says, threw himself from a wall into the sea, after he had
read a book of Plato's. The book I mentioned of that Hegesias is called
[Greek: Apokarterteron], or "A Man who starves himself," in which a man
is represented as killing himself by starvation, till he is prevented
by his friends, in reply to whom he reckons up all the miseries of
human life. I might do the same, though not so fully as he, who thinks
it not worth any man's while to live. I pass over others. Was it even
worth my while to live, for, had I died before I was deprived of the
comforts of my own family, and of the honors which I received for my
public services, would not death have taken me from the evils of life
rather than from its blessings?

XXXV. Mention, therefore, some one, who never knew distress; who never
received any blow from fortune. The great Metellus had four
distinguished sons; but Priam had fifty, seventeen of whom were born to
him by his lawful wife. Fortune had the same power over both, though
she exercised it but on one; for Metellus was laid on his funeral pile
by a great company of sons and daughters, grandsons, and
granddaughters; but Priam fell by the hand of an enemy, after having
fled to the altar, and having seen himself deprived of all his numerous
progeny. Had he died before the death of his sons and the ruin of his
kingdom,

With all his mighty wealth elate,
Under rich canopies of state;

would he then have been taken from good or from evil? It would indeed,
at that time, have appeared that he was being taken away from good; yet
surely it would have turned out advantageous for him; nor should we
have had these mournful verses,

Lo! these all perish'd in one flaming pile;
The foe old Priam did of life beguile,
And with his blood, thy altar, Jove, defile.

As if anything better could have happened to him at that time than to
lose his life in that manner; but yet, if it had befallen him sooner,
it would have prevented all those consequences; but even as it was, it
released him from any further sense of them. The case of our friend
Pompey[21] was something better: once, when he had been very ill at
Naples, the Neapolitans, on his recovery, put crowns on their heads, as
did those of Puteoli; the people flocked from the country to
congratulate him--it is a Grecian custom, and a foolish one; still it
is a sign of good fortune. But the question is, had he died, would he
have been taken from good, or from evil? Certainly from evil. He would
not have been engaged in a war with his father-in-law;[22] he would not
have taken up arms before he was prepared; he would not have left his
own house, nor fled from Italy; he would not, after the loss of his
army, have fallen unarmed into the hands of slaves, and been put to
death by them; his children would not have been destroyed; nor would
his whole fortune have come into the possession of the conquerors. Did
not he, then, who, if he had died at that time, would have died in all
his glory, owe all the great and terrible misfortunes into which he
subsequently fell to the prolongation of his life at that time?

XXXVI. These calamities are avoided by death, for even though they
should never happen, there is a possibility that they may; but it never
occurs to a man that such a disaster may befall him himself. Every one
hopes to be as happy as Metellus: as if the number of the happy
exceeded that of the miserable; or as if there were any certainty in
human affairs; or, again, as if there were more rational foundation for
hope than fear. But should we grant them even this, that men are by
death deprived of good things; would it follow that the dead are
therefore in need of the good things of life, and are miserable on that
account? Certainly they must necessarily say so. Can he who does not
exist be in need of anything? To be in need of has a melancholy sound,
because it in effect amounts to this--he had, but he has not; he
regrets, he looks back upon, he wants. Such are, I suppose, the
distresses of one who is in need of. Is he deprived of eyes? to be
blind is misery. Is he destitute of children? not to have them is
misery. These considerations apply to the living, but the dead are
neither in need of the blessings of life, nor of life itself. But when
I am speaking of the dead, I am speaking of those who have no
existence. But would any one say of us, who do exist, that we want
horns or wings? Certainly not. Should it be asked, why not? the answer
would be, that not to have what neither custom nor nature has fitted
you for would not imply a want of them, even though you were sensible
that you had them not. This argument should be pressed over and over
again, after that point has once been established, which, if souls are
mortal, there can be no dispute about--I mean, that the destruction of
them by death is so entire as to remove even the least suspicion of any
sense remaining. When, therefore, this point is once well grounded and
established, we must correctly define what the term to want means; that
there may be no mistake in the word. To want, then, signifies this: to
be without that which you would be glad to have; for inclination for a
thing is implied in the word want, excepting when we use the word in an
entirely different sense, as we do when we say that a fever is wanting
to any one. For it admits of a different interpretation, when you are
without a certain thing, and are sensible that you are without it, but
yet can easily dispense with having it. "To want," then, is an
expression which you cannot apply to the dead; nor is the mere fact of
wanting something necessarily lamentable. The proper expression ought
to be, "that they want a good," and that is an evil.

But a living man does not want a good, unless he is distressed without
it; and yet, we can easily understand how any man alive can be without
a kingdom. But this cannot be predicated of you with any accuracy: it
might have been asserted of Tarquin, when he was driven from his
kingdom. But when such an expression is used respecting the dead, it is
absolutely unintelligible. For to want implies to be sensible; but the
dead are insensible: therefore, the dead can be in no want.

XXXVII. But what occasion is there to philosophize here in a matter
with which we see that philosophy is but little concerned? How often
have not only our generals but whole armies, rushed on certain death!
But if it had been a thing to be feared, L. Brutus would never have
fallen in fight, to prevent the return of that tyrant whom he had
expelled; nor would Decius the father have been slain in fighting with
the Latins; nor would his son, when engaged with the Etruscans, nor his
grandson with Pyrrhus have exposed themselves to the enemy's darts.
Spain would never have seen, in one campaign, the Scipios fall fighting
for their country; nor would the plains of Cannae have witnessed the
death of Paulus and Geminus, or Venusia that of Marcellus; nor would
the Latins have beheld the death of Albinus, nor the Leucanians that of
Gracchus. But are any of these miserable now? Nay, they were not so
even at the first moment after they had breathed their last; nor can
any one be miserable after he has lost all sensation. Oh, but the mere
circumstance of being without sensation is miserable. It might be so if
being without sensation were the same thing as wanting it; but as it is
evident there can be nothing of any kind in that which has no
existence, what can there be afflicting to that which can neither feel
want nor be sensible of anything? We might be said to have repeated
this over too often, only that here lies all that the soul shudders at
from the fear of death. For whoever can clearly apprehend that which is
as manifest as the light--that when both soul and body are consumed,
and there is a total destruction, then that which was an animal becomes
nothing--will clearly see that there is no difference between a
Hippocentaur, which never had existence, and King Agamemnon, and that
M. Camillus is no more concerned about this present civil war than I
was at the sacking of Rome, when he was living.

XXXVIII. Why, then, should Camillus be affected with the thoughts of
these things happening three hundred and fifty years after his time?
And why should I be uneasy it I were to expect that some nation might
possess itself of this city ten thousand years hence? Because so great
is our regard for our country, as not to be measured by our own
feeling, but by its own actual safety.

Death, then, which threatens us daily from a thousand accidents, and
which, by reason of the shortness of life, can never be far off, does
not deter a wise man from making such provision for his country and his
family as he hopes may last forever; and from regarding posterity, of
which he can never have any real perception, as belonging to himself.
Wherefore a man may act for eternity, even though he be persuaded that
his soul is mortal; not, indeed, from a desire of glory, which he will
be insensible of, but from a principle of virtue, which glory will
inevitably attend, though that is not his object. The process, indeed,
of nature is this: that just in the same manner as our birth was the
beginning of things with us, so death will be the end; and as we were
noways concerned with anything before we were born, so neither shall we
be after we are dead. And in this state of things where can the evil
be, since death has no connection with either the living or the dead?
The one have no existence at all, the other are not yet affected by it.
They who make the least of death consider it as having a great
resemblance to sleep; as if any one would choose to live ninety years
on condition that, at the expiration of sixty, he should sleep out the
remainder. The very swine would not accept of life on those terms, much
less I. Endymion, indeed, if you listen to fables, slept once on a time
on Latmus, a mountain of Caria, and for such a length of time that I
imagine he is not as yet awake. Do you think that he is concerned at
the Moon's being in difficulties, though it was by her that he was
thrown into that sleep, in order that she might kiss him while
sleeping. For what should he be concerned for who has not even any
sensation? You look on sleep as an image of death, and you take that on
you daily; and have you, then, any doubt that there is no sensation in
death, when you see there is none in sleep, which is its near
resemblance?

XXXIX. Away, then, with those follies, which are little better than the
old women's dreams, such as that it is miserable to die before our
time. What time do you mean? That of nature? But she has only lent you
life, as she might lend you money, without fixing any certain time for
its repayment. Have you any grounds of complaint, then, that she
recalls it at her pleasure? for you received it on these terms. They
that complain thus allow that if a young child dies, the survivors
ought to bear his loss with equanimity; that if an infant in the cradle
dies, they ought not even to utter a complaint; and yet nature has been
more severe with them in demanding back what she gave. They answer by
saying that such have not tasted the sweets of life; while the other
had begun to conceive hopes of great happiness, and, indeed, had begun
to realize them. Men judge better in other things, and allow a part to
be preferable to none. Why do they not admit the same estimate in life?
Though Callimachus does not speak amiss in saying that more tears had
flowed from Priam than his son; yet they are thought happier who die
after they have reached old age. It would be hard to say why; for I do
not apprehend that any one, if a longer life were granted to him, would
find it happier. There is nothing more agreeable to a man than
prudence, which old age most certainly bestows on a man, though it may
strip him of everything else. But what age is long, or what is there at
all long to a man? Does not

Old age, though unregarded, still attend
On childhood's pastimes, as the cares of men?

But because there is nothing beyond old age, we call that long: all
these things are said to be long or short, according to the proportion
of time they were given us for. Artistotle saith there is a kind of
insect near the river Hypanis, which runs from a certain part of Europe
into the Pontus, whose life consists but of one day; those that die at
the eighth hour die in full age; those who die when the sun sets are
very old, especially when the days are at the longest. Compare our
longest life with eternity, and we shall be found almost as short-lived
as those little animals.

XL. Let us, then, despise all these follies--for what softer name can I
give to such levities?--and let us lay the foundation of our happiness
in the strength and greatness of our minds, in a contempt and disregard
of all earthly things, and in the practice of every virtue. For at
present we are enervated by the softness of our imaginations, so that,
should we leave this world before the promises of our fortune-tellers
are made good to us, we should think ourselves deprived of some great
advantages, and seem disappointed and forlorn. But if, through life, we
are in continual suspense, still expecting, still desiring, and are in
continual pain and torture, good Gods! how pleasant must that journey
be which ends in security and ease! How pleased am I with Theramenes!
Of how exalted a soul does he appear! For, although we never read of
him without tears, yet that illustrious man is not to be lamented in
his death, who, when he had been imprisoned by the command of the
thirty tyrants, drank off, at one draught, as if he had been thirsty,
the poisoned cup, and threw the remainder out of it with such force
that it sounded as it fell; and then, on hearing the sound of the
drops, he said, with a smile, "I drink this to the most excellent
Critias," who had been his most bitter enemy; for it is customary among
the Greeks, at their banquets, to name the person to whom they intend
to deliver the cup. This celebrated man was pleasant to the last, even
when he had received the poison into his bowels, and truly foretold the
death of that man whom he named when he drank the poison, and that
death soon followed. Who that thinks death an evil could approve of the
evenness of temper in this great man at the instant of dying? Socrates
came, a few years after, to the same prison and the same cup by as
great iniquity on the part of his judges as the tyrants displayed when
they executed Theramenes. What a speech is that which Plato makes him
deliver before his judges, after they had condemned him to death!

XLI. "I am not without hopes, O judges, that it is a favorable
circumstance for me that I am condemned to die; for one of these two
things must necessarily happen--either that death will deprive me
entirely of all sense, or else that, by dying, I shall go from hence
into some other place; wherefore, if all sense is utterly extinguished,
and if death is like that sleep which sometimes is so undisturbed as to
be even without the visions of dreams--in that case, O ye good Gods!
what gain is it to die? or what length of days can be imagined which
would be preferable to such a night? And if the constant course of
future time is to resemble that night, who is happier than I am? But if
on the other hand, what is said be true, namely, that death is but a
removal to those regions where the souls of the departed dwell, then
that state must be more happy still to have escaped from those who call
themselves judges, and to appear before such as are truly so--Minos,
Rhadamanthus, AEacus, Triptolemus--and to meet with those who have lived
with justice and probity![23] Can this change of abode appear otherwise
than great to you? What bounds can you set to the value of conversing
with Orpheus, and Musaeus, and Homer, and Hesiod? I would even, were it
possible, willingly die often, in order to prove the certainty of what
I speak of. What delight must it be to meet with Palamedes, and Ajax,
and others, who have been betrayed by the iniquity of their judges!
Then, also, should I experience the wisdom of even that king of kings,
who led his vast troops to Troy, and the prudence of Ulysses and
Sisyphus: nor should I then be condemned for prosecuting my inquiries
on such subjects in the same way in which I have done here on earth.
And even you, my judges, you, I mean, who have voted for my acquittal,
do not you fear death, for nothing bad can befall a good man, whether
he be alive or dead; nor are his concerns ever overlooked by the Gods;
nor in my case either has this befallen me by chance; and I have
nothing to charge those men with who accused or condemned me but the
fact that they believed that they were doing me harm." In this manner
he proceeded. There is no part of his speech which I admire more than
his last words: "But it is time," says he, "for me now to go hence,
that I may die; and for you, that you may continue to live. Which
condition of the two is the best, the immortal Gods know; but I do not
believe that any mortal man does."

XLII. Surely I would rather have had this man's soul than all the
fortunes of those who sat in judgment on him; although that very thing
which he says no one except the Gods know, namely, whether life or
death is most preferable, he knows himself, for he had previously
stated his opinion on it; but he maintained to the last that favorite
maxim of his, of affirming nothing. And let us, too, adhere to this
rule of not thinking anything an evil which is a general provision of
nature; and let us assure ourselves, that if death is an evil, it is an
eternal evil, for death seems to be the end of a miserable life; but if
death is a misery, there can be no end of that. But why do I mention
Socrates, or Theramenes, men distinguished by the glory of virtue and
wisdom? when a certain Lacedaemomian, whose name is not so much as
known, held death in such contempt, that, when led to it by the ephori,
he bore a cheerful and pleasant countenance; and, when he was asked by
one of his enemies whether he despised the laws of Lycurgus, "On the
contrary," answered he, "I am greatly obliged to him, for he has
amerced me in a fine which I can pay without borrowing, or taking up
money at interest." This was a man worthy of Sparta. And I am almost
persuaded of his innocence because of the greatness of his soul. Our
own city has produced many such. But why should I name generals, and
other men of high rank, when Cato could write that legions have marched
with alacrity to that place from whence they never expected to return?
With no less greatness of soul fell the Lacedaemonians at Thermopylae, on
whom Simonides wrote the following epitaph:

Go, stranger, tell the Spartans, here we lie,
Who to support their laws durst boldly die.[24]

What was it that Leonidas, their general, said to them? "March on with
courage, my Lacedaemonians. To-night, perhaps, we shall sup in the
regions below." This was a brave nation while the laws of Lycurgus were
in force. One of them, when a Persian had said to him in conversation,
"We shall hide the sun from your sight by the number of our arrows and
darts," replied, "We shall fight, then in the shade." Do I talk of
their men? How great was that Lacedaemonian woman, who had sent her son
to battle, and when she heard that he was slain, said, "I bore him for
that purpose, that you might have a man who durst die for his country!"
However, it is a matter of notoriety that the Spartans were bold and
hardy, for the discipline of a republic has great influence.

XLIII. What, then, have we not reason to admire Theodorus the Cyrenean,
a philosopher of no small distinction, who, when Lysimachus threatened
to crucify him, bade him keep those menaces for his courtiers? "To
Theodorus it makes no difference whether he rot in the air or
underground." By which saying of the philosopher I am reminded to say
something of the custom of funerals and sepulture, and of funeral
ceremonies, which is, indeed, not a difficult subject, especially if we
recollect what has been before said about insensibility. The opinion of
Socrates respecting this matter is clearly stated in the book which
treats of his death, of which we have already said so much; for when he
had discussed the immortality of the soul, and when the time of his
dying was approaching rapidly, being asked by Criton how he would be
buried, "I have taken a great deal of pains," saith he, "my friends, to
no purpose, for I have not convinced our Criton that I shall fly from
hence, and leave no part of me behind. Notwithstanding, Criton, if you
can overtake me, wheresoever you get hold of me, bury me as you please:
but believe me, none of you will be able to catch me when I have flown
away from hence." That was excellently said, inasmuch as he allows his
friend to do as he pleased, and yet shows his indifference about
anything of this kind. Diogenes was rougher, though of the same
opinion; but in his character of a Cynic he expressed himself in a
somewhat harsher manner; he ordered himself to be thrown anywhere
without being buried. And when his friends replied, "What! to the birds
and beasts?" "By no means," saith he; "place my staff near me, that I
may drive them away." "How can you do that," they answer, "for you will
not perceive them?" "How am I then injured by being torn by those
animals, if I have no sensation?" Anaxagoras, when he was at the point
of death at Lampsacus, and was asked by his friends, whether, if
anything should happen to him, he would not choose to be carried to
Clazomenae, his country, made this excellent answer, "There is," says
he, "no occasion for that, for all places are at an equal distance from
the infernal regions." There is one thing to be observed with respect
to the whole subject of burial, that it relates to the body, whether
the soul live or die. Now, with regard to the body, it is clear that,
whether the soul live or die, that has no sensation.

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