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Cicero's Tusculan Disputations by Marcus Tullius Cicero

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




I knew my son, when first he drew his breath,
Destined by fate to an untimely death;
And when I sent him to defend the Greeks,
War was his business, not your sportive freaks.

XIV. Therefore, this ruminating beforehand upon future evils which you
see at a distance makes their approach more tolerable; and on this
account what Euripides makes Theseus say is much commended. You will
give me leave to translate them, as is usual with me:

I treasured up what some learn'd sage did tell,
And on my future misery did dwell;
I thought of bitter death, of being drove
Far from my home by exile, and I strove
With every evil to possess my mind,
That, when they came, I the less care might find.[38]

But Euripides says that of himself, which Theseus said he had heard
from some learned man, for the poet had been a pupil of Anaxagoras,
who, as they relate, on hearing of the death of his son, said, "I knew
that my son was mortal;" which speech seems to intimate that such
things afflict those men who have not thought on them before.
Therefore, there is no doubt but that all those things which are
considered evils are the heavier from not being foreseen. Though,
notwithstanding this is not the only circumstance which occasions the
greatest grief, still, as the mind, by foreseeing and preparing for it,
has great power to make all grief the less, a man should at all times
consider all the events that may befall him in this life; and certainly
the excellence and divine nature of wisdom consists in taking a near
view of, and gaining a thorough acquaintance with, all human affairs,
in not being surprised when anything happens, and in thinking, before
the event, that there is nothing but what may come to pass.

Wherefore ev'ry man,
When his affairs go on most swimmingly,
E'en then it most behooves to arm himself
Against the coming storm: loss, danger, exile,
Returning ever, let him look to meet;
His son in fault, wife dead, or daughter sick;
All common accidents, and may have happen'd
That nothing shall seem new or strange. But if
Aught has fall'n out beyond his hopes, all that
Let him account clear gain.[39]

XV. Therefore, as Terence has so well expressed what he borrowed from
philosophy, shall not we, from whose fountains he drew it, say the same
thing in a better manner, and abide by it with more steadiness? Hence
came that steady countenance, which, according to Xantippe, her husband
Socrates always had; so that she said that she never observed any
difference in his looks when he went out and when he came home. Yet the
look of that old Roman, M. Crassus, who, as Lucilius says, never smiled
but once in his lifetime, was not of this kind, but placid and serene,
for so we are told. He, indeed, might well have had the same look at
all times who never changed his mind, from which the countenance
derives its 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 premeditation, they break the force of all approaching evils;
and at the same time I think that those very evils themselves arise
more from opinion than nature, for if they were real, no forecast could
make them lighter. But I shall speak more particularly on these matters
after I have first considered Epicurus's opinion, who thinks that all
people must necessarily be uneasy who believe themselves to be in any
evils, let them be either foreseen and expected, or habitual to them;
for with him evils are not the less by reason of their continuance, nor
the lighter for having been foreseen; and it is folly to ruminate on
evils to come, or such as, perhaps, never may come: every evil is
disagreeable enough when it does come; but he who is constantly
considering that some evil may befall him is loading himself with a
perpetual evil; and even should such evil never light on him, he
voluntarily takes upon himself unnecessary misery, so that he is under
constant uneasiness, whether he actually suffers any evil, or only
thinks of it. But he makes the alleviation of grief depend on two
things--a ceasing to think on evil, and a turning to the contemplation
of pleasure. For he thinks that the mind may possibly be under the
power of reason, and follow her directions: he forbids us, therefore,
to mind trouble, and calls us off from sorrowful reflections; he throws
a mist over our eyes to hinder us from the contemplation of misery.
Having sounded a retreat from this statement, he drives our thoughts on
again, and encourages them to view and engage the whole mind in the
various pleasures with which he thinks the life of a wise man abounds,
either from reflecting on the past, or from the hope of what is to
come. I have said these things in my own way; the Epicureans have
theirs. However, let us examine what they say; how they say it is of
little consequence.

XVI. In the first place, they are wrong in forbidding men to
premeditate on futurity and blaming their wish to do so; for there is
nothing that breaks the edge of grief and lightens it more than
considering, during one's whole life, that there is nothing which it is
impossible should happen, or than, considering what human nature is, on
what conditions life was given, and how we may comply with them. The
effect of which is that we are always grieving, but that we never do
so; for whoever reflects on the nature of things, the various turns of
life, and the weakness of human nature, grieves, indeed, at that
reflection; but while so grieving he is, above all other times,
behaving as a wise man, for he gains these two things by it: one, that
while he is considering the state of human nature he is performing the
especial duties of philosophy, and is provided with a triple medicine
against adversity--in the first place, because he has long reflected
that such things might befall him, and this reflection by itself
contributes much towards lessening and weakening all misfortunes; and,
secondly, because he is persuaded that we should bear all the accidents
which can happen to man with the feelings and spirit of a man; and,
lastly, because he considers that what is blamable is the only evil.
But it is not your fault that something has happened to you which it
was impossible for man to avoid. For that withdrawing of our thoughts
which he recommends when he calls us off from contemplating our
misfortunes is an imaginary action; for it is not in our power to
dissemble or to forget those evils which lie heavy on us; they tear,
vex, and sting us--they burn us up, and leave no breathing time. And do
you order us to forget them (for such forgetfulness is contrary to
nature), and at the same time deprive us of the only assistance which
nature affords, the being accustomed to them? For that, though it is
but a slow medicine (I mean that which is brought by lapse of time), is
still a very effectual one. You order me to employ my thoughts on
something good, and forget my misfortunes. You would say something
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 sad? Why do you faint, and yield to fortune, which,
perhaps, may have power to harass and disturb you, but should not quite
unman you? There is great power in the virtues; rouse them, if they
chance to droop. Take fortitude for your guide, which will give you
such spirits that you will despise everything that can befall man, and
look on it as a trifle. Add to this temperance, which is moderation,
and which was just now called frugality, which will not suffer you to
do anything base or bad--for what is worse or baser than an effeminate
man? Not even justice will suffer you to act in this manner, though she
seems to have the least weight in this affair; but still,
notwithstanding, even she will inform you that you are doubly unjust
when you both require what does not belong to you, inasmuch as though
you who have been born mortal demand to be placed in the condition of
the immortals, and at the same time you take it much to heart that you
are to restore what was lent you. What answer will you make to
prudence, who informs you that she is a virtue sufficient of herself
both to teach you a good life and also to secure you a happy one? And,
indeed, if she were fettered by external circumstances, and dependent
on others, and if she did not originate in herself and return to
herself, and also embrace everything in herself, so as to seek no
adventitious aid from any quarter, I cannot imagine why she should
appear deserving of such lofty panegyrics, or of being sought after
with such excessive eagerness. Now, Epicurus, if you call me back to
such goods as these, I will obey you, and follow you, and use you as my
guide, and even forget, as you order me, all my misfortunes; and I will
do this the more readily from a persuasion that they are not to be
ranked among evils at all. But you are for bringing my thoughts over to
pleasure. What pleasures? Pleasures of the body, I imagine, or such as
are recollected or imagined on account of the body. Is this all? Do I
explain your opinion rightly? for your disciples are used to deny that
we understand at all what Epicurus means. This is what he says, and
what that subtle fellow, old Zeno, who is one of the sharpest of them,
used, when I was attending lectures at Athens, to enforce and talk so
loudly of; saying that he alone was happy who could enjoy present
pleasure, and who was at the same time persuaded that he should enjoy
it without pain, either during the whole or the greatest part of his
life; or if, should any pain interfere, if it was very sharp, then it
must be short; should it be of longer continuance, it would have more
of what was sweet than bitter in it; that whosoever reflected on these
things would be happy, especially if satisfied with the good things
which he had already enjoyed, and if he were without fear of death or
of the Gods.

XVIII. You have here a representation of a happy life according to
Epicurus, in the words of Zeno, so that there is no room for
contradiction in any point. What, then? Can the proposing and thinking
of such a life make Thyestes's grief the less, or AEetes's, of whom I
spoke above, or Telamon's, who was driven from his country to penury
and banishment? in wonder at whom men exclaimed thus:

Is this the man surpassing glory raised?
Is this that Telamon so highly praised
By wondering Greece, at whose sight, like the sun,
All others with diminish'd lustre shone?

Now, should any one, as the same author says, find his spirits sink
with the loss of his fortune, he must apply to those grave philosophers
of antiquity for relief, and not to these voluptuaries: for what great
abundance of good do they promise? Suppose that we allow that to be
without pain is the chief good? Yet that is not called pleasure. But it
is not necessary at present to go through the whole: the question is,
to what point are we to advance in order to abate our grief? Grant that
to be in pain is the greatest evil: whosoever, then, has proceeded so
far as not to be in pain, is he, therefore, in immediate possession of
the greatest good? Why, Epicurus, do we use any evasions, and not allow
in our own words the same feeling to be pleasure which you are used to
boast of with such assurance? Are these your words or not? This is what
you say in that book which contains all the doctrine of your school;
for I will perform on this occasion the office of a translator, lest
any one should imagine that I am inventing anything. Thus you speak:
"Nor can I form any notion of the chief good, abstracted from those
pleasures which are perceived by taste, or from what depends on hearing
music, or abstracted from ideas raised by external objects visible to
the eye, or by agreeable motions, or from those other pleasures which
are perceived by the whole man by means of any of his senses; nor can
it possibly be said that the pleasures of the mind are excited only by
what is good, for I have perceived men's minds to be pleased with the
hopes of enjoying those things which I mentioned above, and with the
idea that it should enjoy them without any interruption from pain." And
these are his exact words, so that any one may understand what were the
pleasures with which Epicurus was acquainted. Then he speaks thus, a
little lower down: "I have often inquired of those who have been called
wise men what would be the remaining good if they should exclude from
consideration all these pleasures, unless they meant to give us nothing
but words. I could never learn anything from them; and unless they
choose that all virtue and wisdom should vanish and come to nothing,
they must say with me that the only road to happiness lies through
those pleasures which I mentioned above." What follows is much the
same, and his whole book on the chief good everywhere abounds with the
same opinions. Will you, then, invite Telamon to this kind of life to
ease his grief? And should you observe any one of your friends under
affliction, would you rather prescribe him a sturgeon than a treatise
of Socrates? or advise him to listen to the music of a water organ
rather than to Plato? or lay before him the beauty and variety of some
garden, put a nosegay to his nose, burn perfumes before him, and bid
him crown himself with a garland of roses and woodbines? Should you add
one thing more, you would certainly wipe out all his grief.

XIX. Epicurus must admit these arguments, or he must take out of his
book what I just now said was a literal translation; or, rather, he
must destroy his whole book, for it is crammed full of pleasures. We
must inquire, then, how we can ease him of his grief who speaks in this
manner:

My present state proceeds from fortune's stings;
By birth I boast of a descent from kings;
Hence may you see from what a noble height
I'm 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
sentiment 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's left t' appease the Gods.

You know what should follow, and particularly this:

Of father, country, and of friends bereft,
Not one of all these sumptuous temples left;
Which, while 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 does 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 in the subject, as well
as in 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 here with some pleasant liquor,
and provide her something to eat? Are these the good things which
remove the most afflicting grief? For you but just now said you knew of
no other good. I should agree with Epicurus that we ought to be called
off from grief to contemplate good things, if we could only agree upon
what was good.

XX. It may be said, What! do you imagine Epicurus really meant this,
and that he maintained anything so sensual? Indeed I do not imagine so,
for I am sensible that he has uttered many excellent things and
sentiments, and delivered maxims of great weight. Therefore, as I said
before, I am speaking of his acuteness, not of his morals. Though he
should hold those pleasures in contempt which he just now commended,
yet I must remember wherein he places the chief good. For he was not
contented with barely saying this, but he has explained what he meant:
he says that taste, and embraces, and sports, and music, and those
forms which affect the eyes with pleasure, are the chief good. Have I
invented this? have I misrepresented him? I should be glad to be
confuted; for what am I endeavoring at but to clear up truth in every
question? Well, but the same man says that pleasure is at its height
where pain ceases, and that to be free from all pain is the very
greatest pleasure. Here are three very great mistakes in a very few
words. One is, that he contradicts himself; for, but just now, he could
not imagine anything good unless the senses were in a manner tickled
with some pleasure; but now he says that to be free from pain is the
highest pleasure. Can any one contradict himself more? The next mistake
is, that where there is naturally a threefold division--the first, to
be pleased; next, to be in pain; the last, to be affected neither by
pleasure nor pain--he imagines the first and the last to be the same,
and makes no difference between pleasure and a cessation of pain. The
last mistake he falls into in common with some others, which is this:
that as virtue is the most desirable thing, and as philosophy has been
investigated with a view to the attainment of it, he has separated the
chief good from virtue. But he commends virtue, and that frequently;
and indeed C. Gracchus, when he had made the largest distributions of
the public money, and had exhausted the treasury, nevertheless spoke
much of defending the treasury. What signifies what men say when we see
what they do? That Piso, who was surnamed Frugal, had always harangued
against the law that was proposed for distributing the corn; but when
it had passed, though a man of consular dignity, he came to receive the
corn. Gracchus observed Piso standing in the court, and asked him, in
the hearing of the people, how it was consistent for him to take corn
by a law he had himself opposed. "It was," said he, "against your
distributing my goods to every man as you thought proper; but, as you
do so, I claim my share." Did not this grave and wise man sufficiently
show that the public revenue was dissipated by the Sempronian law? Read
Gracchus's speeches, and you will pronounce him the advocate of the
treasury. Epicurus denies that any one can live pleasantly who does not
lead a life of virtue; he denies that fortune has any power over a wise
man; he prefers a spare diet to great plenty, and maintains that a wise
man is 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 his pain? I maintain, therefore, the
impropriety of language which that man uses, when talking of virtue,
who would measure every great evil by pain.

XXI. And indeed the Epicureans, those best of men--for there is no
order of men more innocent--complain that I take great pains to inveigh
against Epicurus. We are rivals, I suppose, for some honor or
distinction. I place the chief good in the mind, he in the body; I in
virtue, he in pleasure; and the Epicureans are up in arms, and implore
the assistance of their neighbors, and many are ready to fly to their
aid. But as for my part, I declare that I am very indifferent about the
matter, and that I consider the whole discussion which they are so
anxious about at an end. For what! is the contention about the Punic
war? on which very subject, though M. Cato and L. Lentulus were of
different opinions, still there was no difference between them. But
these men behave with too much heat, especially as the opinions which
they would uphold are no very spirited ones, and such as they dare not
plead for either in the senate or before the assembly of the people, or
before the army or the censors. But, however, I will argue with them
another time, and with such a disposition that no quarrel shall arise
between us; for I shall be ready to yield to their opinions when
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, never does anything except what is expedient,
and views all things with exclusive reference to his own advantage, as
such things are not very commendable, they should confine them to their
own breasts, and leave off talking with that parade of them.

XXII. What remains is the opinion of the Cyrenaics, who think that men
grieve when anything happens unexpectedly. And that is indeed, as I
said before, a great aggravation of a misfortune; and I know that it
appeared so to Chrysippus--"Whatever falls out unexpected is so much
the heavier." But the whole question does not turn on this; though the
sudden approach of an enemy sometimes occasions more confusion than it
would if you had expected him, and a sudden storm at sea throws the
sailors into a greater fright than one which they have foreseen; and it
is the same in many other cases. But when you carefully consider the
nature of what was expected, you will find nothing more than that all
things which come on a sudden appear greater; and this upon two
accounts: first of all, because you have not time to consider how great
the accident is; and, secondly, because you are probably persuaded that
you could have guarded against it had you foreseen if, and therefore
the misfortune, having been seemingly encountered by your own fault,
makes your grief the greater. That it is so, time evinces; which, as it
advances, brings with it so much mitigation that though the same
misfortunes continue, the grief not only becomes the less, but in some
cases is entirely removed. Many Carthaginians were slaves at Rome, and
many 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 themselves, for by their
countenances, and speech, and other gestures you might have taken them
for Argives or Sicyonians. And I myself was more concerned at the
ruined walls of Corinth than the Corinthians themselves were, whose
minds by frequent reflection and time had become callous to such
sights. I have read a book of Clitomachus, which he sent to his
fellow-citizens who were prisoners, to comfort them after the
destruction of Carthage. There is in it a treatise written by
Carneades, which, as Clitomachus says, he had inserted into his book;
the subject was, "That it appeared probable that a wise man would
grieve at the state of subjection of his country," and all the
arguments which Carneades used against this proposition are set down in
the book. There the philosopher applies such a strong medicine to a
fresh grief as would be quite unnecessary in one of any continuance;
nor, if this very book had been sent to the captives some years after,
would it have found any wounds to cure, but only scars; for grief, by a
gentle progress and slow degrees, wears away imperceptibly. Not that
the circumstances which gave rise to it are altered, or can be, but
that custom teaches what reason should--that those things which before
seemed to be of some consequence are of no such great importance, after
all.

XXIII. It may be said, What occasion is there to apply to reason, or to
any sort of consolation such as we generally make use of, to mitigate
the grief of the afflicted? For we have this argument always at hand,
that nothing ought to appear unexpected. But how will any one be
enabled to bear his misfortunes the better by knowing that it is
unavoidable that such things should happen to man? Saying this
subtracts nothing from the sum of the grief: it only asserts that
nothing has fallen out but what might have been anticipated; and yet
this manner of speaking has some little consolation in it, though I
apprehend not a great deal. 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 whatever happens does not appear the greater
on that account. No, it is the fact of its having happened lately, and
not of its having befallen us unexpectedly, that makes it seem the
greater. There are two ways, then, of discerning the truth, not only of
things that seem evil, but of those that have the appearance of good.
For we either inquire into the nature of the thing, of what
description, and magnitude, and importance it is--as sometimes with
regard to poverty, the burden of which we may lighten when by our
disputations we show how few things nature requires, and of what a
trifling kind they are--or, without any subtle arguing, we refer them
to examples, as here we instance a Socrates, there a Diogenes, and then
again that line in Caecilius,

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