LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS AT URBANA-CHAMPAIGN 871 C7o.X.Ee 1865 FRAGILE PLEASE HANDLE WITH CARE The flaps, wrap, or container is for preservation of the contents. ♦ CAREFULLY OPEN FLAPS TO USE MATERIALS. ♦ PLEASE HANDLE MATERIALS WITH CARE TO MINIMIZE DAMAGE. ♦ CLOSE FLAPS CAREFULLY AFTER USE. + PLEASE RETURN THIS ITEM TO THE ATTENDANT FROM WHICH IT WAS BORROWED. PLEASE DO NOT RETURN THIS ITEM VIA A BOOKDROP Conservation Department, University of Illinois Library C]G/1992 LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS AT URBANA-CHAMPAIGN 871 C7o.X.Ee 1865 Return this book on or before the Latest Date stamped below. University of Illinois Library m - 3 Wk jam 1 4 |9 Hull 1 WM fe 1958 -7 mi ftfrr NOL -4 1969 MAY 0 5 IS92 NOV 0 8 1992 301385 L161 — 1141 ) EOHN'S CLASSICAL LIBEART. CICERO'S THREE BOOKS OF OFFICES, AND OTHER MORAL WORKS. CICERO'S THBEE BOOKS OF OFFICES, OR MORAL DUTIES ALSO HIS CATO MAJOK, AN ESSAY ON OLD AGE ; L^LIUS AN ESSAY ON FRIENDSHIP; PARADOXES; SCIPIO'S DREAM; AND LETTER TO QUINTUS ON THE DUTIES OP A MAGISTRATE. f itoallg toslakir, MOTH NOTES, DE SI GNED TO EXHI BIT A COMPARATIVE VIEW 0 P THE OPINIONS OF CIOEEO, AND THOSE OP MODERN MORALISTS AND ETHICAL PHILOSOPHERS. BY CYEUS E. EDMONDS. LONDON: 3ELL & DALDY, YORK STREET, COVENT GARDEN AND 186 FLEET STREET. 1865. C7*X.F>PREFACE Ifcf The present volume comprises the most popular loral treatises of Cicero. In preparing an edition iapted to the wants of the student, the editor has idressed himself to two principal objects. The first, ) produce a close and faithful translation, avoiding ri the one hand, the freedom of Melmoth's elegant araphrase, and on the other, the crudeness and inac- iracy of the so called literal translation of Cockman ; le second, to present the opinions of modern mo- dists, chiefly of our own country, in juxtaposition ith those of Cicero, that the reader may be enabled ( ) estimate the changes which have passed over the uman mind in relation to t'hese subjects, and per- >ive how far these changes have been occasioned by le promulgation of the Christian religion. A subsidiary design has been to show, by parallel pas- iges, to what extent the writings of modern moralists we been tinctured with the thoughts of the Roman bilosopher; and to point out particular instances in hich their arguments and illustrations are identical. In briefly sketching the subjects of the following •eatises, we shall for the most part adopt the observa- ons of Dunlop, in his " History of Eoman Literature." ( he first, and most important treatise, is The Offices, or three books of € Moral Duties.' >f these the first two are supposed to be chiefly derived •om a lost work of Panaetius, a Greek philosopher, who 3sided at Eome in the second century before Christ, n the first book he treats of what is virtuous in itself, nd shows in what manner our duties are founded in norality and virtue, in the right perception of truth, ustice, fortitude, and decorum, which four qualities are •eferred to as the constituent parts of virtue, and the sources from which all our duties are derived. In the second book, the author enlarges on those duties which relate to utility, the improvement of life, and the means I : 5"/ i O IV PREFACE. of attaining wealth and power. This division of the work relates principally to political advancement, and the honourable means of gaining popularity, among which are enumerated generosity, courtesy, and elo- quence. Thus far Cicero had, in all probability, closely followed the steps of Pansetius. Garve, m his commen- tary on Moral Duties, remarks that, when Cicero comes to the more subtle and philosophic parts of his subject, he evidently translates from the Greek, and that he has not always found words in his own language to express the nicer distinctions of the Greek schools. The work or Pana>tius, however, was left imperfect, and did not com- prise the third part of the subject, namely, the choice and distinction to be made when virtue and utility were opposed to each other. On this topic, accordingly, Cicero, in the third book, was left to his own resources; The discussion, of course, relates only to the subordinate duties, as the true and undoubted honestum can never be put in competition with private advantage, or be violated for its sake. As to the minor duties the great maxim inculcated is, that nothing should be accounted useful or profitable but what is strictly virtuous ; and that, in fact, there ought to be no separation ot the principles of virtue and utility. Cicero enters into some discussion however, and lays down certain rules to enable us to form a just estimate of both in cases ot doubt, where seeming utility comes into competition with virtue. , . , The author has addressed the work to his son, and has represented it as written for his instruction. it is," says Kelsall, "the noblest present ever made by a parent to a child." Cicero declares that he intended to treat in it of all the duties, but it is generally con- sidered to have been chiefly drawn up as a manual of political morality, and as a guide ^ young Romans of his son's age and rank, which might enable them to attain political eminence, and tread with innocence and safety « the slippery steeps of power. The Dialogue on Friendship is addressed with PREFACE. peculiar propriety to Atticus, who, as Cicero tells him in his dedication, cannot fail to discover his own portraH n the delineation of a perfect friend. Here, as IhZhere dllCue Thf JUdiCi ° USly SC i eCted the Pe-ons" £ a f£ i. i 7 Were men of eminence in the state and th 0Ugh deceased, the Eomans had such venerattn for their ancestors, that they would listen S lie utmost interest even to the imaginarv convers ion of a Scasvo a or a Ladius. The memorable and hereditary friendship which subsisted between Laelius and the re^ e LnTe P1 %' friCanU % rendered the ^mer a sufc l?tn? P '' i, To . su PP° rt a conversation on this de- Jghtful topic, Fanmus the historian, and Mucins Sal vok the augur, both sons-in-law of La3lius, are supposed to pay a visit to their father immediately after the Sud- den ^and suspicious death of Scipio Africanus TW 7 cent loss which L.lius had thu P S ££^lJ£t>* eulogy on the inimitable virtues of the departed hem 3L %L v Td si b°e n e on th f true natu - earWouth ht l S °- ^ conne cted. Cicero, in eariy> youth, had been introduced, by his father to toons which he thus enjoyed an opportunit^f hearing stance at thf 7 ^ Sc ^ oh rel ^d the sufe no reader can wood«r^ftlS T bm '^V^Tl and v i PREFACE. the infirmities of old age, but even rendered that por tion of existence agreeable. In consequence ot the years to which Cicero had attained at the time of its composition, and the circumstances in which he was then placed, it must indeed have been composed with peculiar interest and feeling. | It was written by him when he was sixty-three, and is addressed to his friend Atticus (who had nearly reached the same age), with a view of rendering their accumulating burdens as lio-ht as possible. In order to give his precepts the greater force, he represents them as delivered by the ilder Cato, in the eighty-fourth year of a vigorous and useful old age, on the occasion of Lsehus and the younger Scipio expressing their admiration at the wonderful ease with which he still bore the weight of years. This affords the author an opportunity of entering into a full explanation of his ideas on the subject, his great object beinou mi | others Theophrastus. How far have t ; d both . must determine; certain it is_ J™ * ™; at ^ t & fore nsic % Ve^g -Mff^e to write .o « = duties of mankind; tor there can utt h th you public or private ^ffiurs aW o at borne J ^ disgrace, of life. rJiUosoohers ; for where CHAP. II. J cicero's offices. 3 schools which pervert all duty by the ultimate objects of good and evil which they propose. For if a man should lay down as the chief good, that which has no connexion with virtue, and measure it by his own interests, and not according to its moral merit ; if such a man shall act con- sistently with his own principles, and is not sometimes influ- enced by the goodness of his heart, he can cultivate neither friendship, justice, nor generosity. In truth, it is impossible lor the man to be brave who shall pronounce pain to be the greatest evil, or temperate who shall propose pleasure as the highest good.* * Cicero thus enters briefly but definitely into the most vexed, and vet the most fundamental, question of ethics : What is that which constitutes human conduct morally right or wrong? In doing so, he plainly avows his own conviction that this great distinction is not dependent upon the mere expediency or inexpediency of the supposed conduct. The manv eminent moral philosophers of modern times, and especially of our own country, may be comprehensively divided into the two classes of those who maintain, and those who oppose, the principle thus enunciated by Cicero A very condensed view of the leading philosophers of these schools will not be uninstructive. The most celebrated of the earlier opponents of the principle laid down by Cicero was Hobbes, of Malmesbury, who flourished in the 1 7th century His system takes no account of moral emotions whatever. He makes pure selfishness the motive and end of all mora] actions, and makes religion and morals alike to consist in passive conformity to the dogmas and laws of the reigning sovereign. m Perhaps the best reply to this latter notion was given by Cicero himself m his treatise, " De Legibus:"-" The impulse," he says, « which directs to right conduct, and deters from crime, is not only older than the a^es of nations and cities, but coeval with that Divine Being who sees and°rules both heaven and earth. Nor did Tarquin less violate that eternal law though in his reign there might have been no written law at Rome against such violence ; for the principle that impels us to right conduct, and warns us against guilt, springs out of the nature of things. It did not begin to be law when it was first written but when it originated, and it is coeval with the Uivme Mind itselt. The most noted contemporary opponents of these views were Cud worth ana Ur Clarke; the sum of whose moral doctrine is thus stated in Mac- kintosh s < Progress of Ethical Philosophy:"-" Man can conceive nothing without, at the same time, conceiving its relations to other things. He must ascribe the same law of perception to every being to whom he ascribes thought. He cannot, therefore, doubt that all the relations of all things to all must have always been present to the Eternal Mind. The relations in snh,k e / 1Se Ti re et f ? ] > !j 0 T ever recent the things may be between whom their subsist. The whole of these relations constitute truth; the knowledge of them is omniscience These eternal different relations of things invofve a consequent eternal fitness or unfitness in the application of things one to B 2 4 CICERO'S OFFICES. [BOOK I. Though these truths are so self-evident that they require no philosophical discussion, yet they have been' treated by me elsewhere. I say, therefore, that if these schools are a ™ther with a regard to which the will of God always chooses, and which ought likewis ^ to determine the wills of all subordinate rational being,. Tb«e eternal d tferences make it fit and reasonable for the creatures so , to L they cause it to be their duty, or lay an obligation on them so to do Ltaratefrom the will of God, and antecedent to any prospect of advantage ° r TMs ar S d vstem professes to base all morals upon pure reason, as applied to rlmedvTo prese ve life, winch is another relation between two things. AUm^h^^ktloodorbadend by good or bad means, must alike fonform their conduct to some relation between their actions as means, and tZ> oWect as an end. All the relations of inanimate things to each other are undoubted" obLved as much by the criminal as by the man of ™\ ue \ ci^-Ynirv a little later, made a considerable advance in ethical Lord Shaftesbury, a little laier, ui of *$T*Li "VvT'oZ the to our individu/welfare; V0 Maiebra n nche places all virtue in « the love" of the universal order jit eternali™ed P in the Divine reason, where every created reason contem- *X metaphysician of America, designated by Robert Hall, «W> ST power t t^Sex^nstitution of man, and makes its d ct,tes *e ^^^HSc2So^p~^ w^sho^^ carries its own authority with it, that CHAP. IT.] CICERO S OFFICES. 5 self-consistent, they can say nothing of the moral duties. Neither can any firm, permanent, or natural rules of duty be laid down, but by those who esteem virtue to be solely, it is our natural guide— the guide assigned us by the Author of our nature. It, therefore, belongs to our condition of being. It is our duty to walk in that path, and to follow this guide, without looking about to see whether we may not possibly forsake them with impunity.'' — " Butler's Sermons " Serm. 3. ' With David Hume, who was contemporary with Butler, L he principle against which Cicero protests assumes a systematic character. The doc- trine of the utility of actions, as that which constitutes them virtuous, was set forth with the whole force of his genius and eloquence. How far Dr. Paley acquiesces in the principles of Hume, and how far, on the other hand he may seem to have been a disciple of Butler, will be seen by two brief pass- ages in his « Moral and Political Philosophy." A comparison of the two and especially a consideration of his attribution of an abstract moral cha- racter to actions, will reveal the grand defects of Paley's ethical system lhe most masterly refutation of that system that ever appeared is to be found m the ethical work of Jonathan Dymond, in which an irrefragable superstruc- ture of practical morals is built, chiefly on the foundation of Dr. Butle . The former of the passages referred to is as follows:—" We conclude that God wills and wishes the happiness of his creatures; and this conclusion being once established, we are at liberty to go on with the rule buUt upon it, namely, < that the method of coming at the will of God, concerning any action, by the light of nature, is to inquire into the tendency of that action to promote or diminish the general happiness/ So, then, actions are to be estimated by their tendency. Whatever is expedient is right. It is the utility of any moral rule alone which constitutes the obligation of it." The second is as follows:— " Actions, in the abstract, are right or wrong accord- ing to their tendency; the agent is virtuous or vicious according to his design."—" Paley's Moral Philosophy," book 1, chaps. 5 and 6. A still later philosopher, Jeremy Bentham, however, is the great apostle of the principle of expediency as the foundation of ethics. His theory, also, as to the basis of moral obligation, may be learned by two characteristic passages:—" Nature has placed mankind under the govern- ance of two sovereign masters, pain and pleasure. It is for them alone to point out what we ought to do, as well as to determine what we shall do On the one hand, the standard of right and wrong; on the other, the chain ot causes and effects are fastened to their throne."—" Bentham's Introd of Morals/' vol. 1, c. 1. And again:— "But is it never, then, from anv other consideration than that of utility that we derive our notions of rio-ht and wrong? I do not know; I do not care. Whether moral sentiment can be originally conceived from any other sense than a view of utilitv is one question: Whether, upon examination and reflection, it can, in point ot tact, be persisted m and justified on any other ground, by a person re- flecting within, is another. Both are questions of speculation; it matters not, comparatively, how they are decided."— Id. vol. 1, c. 2. In conclusion, the two most enlightened philosophers of modern times, Dugald Stewart and Dr. Thomas Brown, have returned to the principle 6 CICERO'S OFFICES. L B00K J ' or by those who deem it to be chiefly, desirable for its own sake The teaching of duties, therefore, is the peculiar study of the Stoics, of the Academics, and the Peripatetics ; because ?he sentiments of Aristo, Pyrrho, and Herillus have been ong exploded. Yet even those professors would have been entitled to have treated upon the duties of men had they left us any distinction of things, so that there might have been a path open to the discovery of duty. We shall, t^efor e upon this occasion, and in this inquiry chiefly Stoics not ns their expositors, but by drawing as usual from their sources, at our own option and judgment, so much and in such manner as we please* I therefore think proper as my entire argument is on moral obligation to define what a duty is, a definition which I am surprised has been omitted thus simply laid down by Cicero, in repudiation of the Epicurean theory, that eSiencv or its tendency to produce happiness, is the moral en- erionT tS, and have supported it by an unexau.pled arrav . of pro- found and ingenious argument and eloquent An fiSt agent are ^^^^^^t ZJaUesert of the agent- buT^ t to its absolute rectitude which determines T u iS t hi wo'rid'y interests and to the welfare of socie, y Aud it ,s 55tS Be d no n t Veneficent^a name or cyrZl of applause nor exact and ust in commerce for the advantages of trust and credit^ ^hich attend the reputation of true and d«0»« ;for these re- sf^ss r^o^r^ peri 3 have deeper rootsf motives, and instigations, to gl ve them the stamp of virtues."—" Christian Morals," part 1, sec. 10. * C cero though generally adopting the principles of the btoics, still CHAP. 111.] cicero's offices. 7 ' by Panaetius ; because every investigation which is rationally undertaken, concerning any subject, ought to set out with a definition, that it may be understood what is the subject of discussion. III. All questions concerning duty are of two sorts. The firs^ relates to the final good ; the second consists of those rule* which are to regulate the practice of life in all its rela- tions* Examples of the former are as follow: — Whether all duties are perfect in themselves ? Whether one duty is of more importance than another ? together with other ques- tions of the same nature. Now the rules for moral duties relate, indeed, to the final good ; but it is not so perceptible that they do, because they seem chiefly to refer to the regu- lation O: ordinary life, and of them we are to treat in this book. But tlere is another division of duty: for one is called a mean duty, the other a perfect duty. If 1 mistake not, the complete e Finibus), briefly defines ethics, or morality, as the ars vivendi, or doctrina bene vivendi; that is, the art of living wisely. The term ethics is derived from the Greek riSiicr), which, in s unification, is equivalent with the Latin mos, mores, whence the adjectiv j moralis, and the English word morals. Aristotle, in the second book of lis " Ethics," addressed to his son, Niehomachus, savs that ^ moral scienc< received the name of ethics from the word 'e&og, " habit, use, or cus om," since it is from habitual experience, and the routine of customar conduct, that moral dispositions and principles are gradually formed ai i changed. Perhaps the definition of Dr. Thomas Brown cannot be improved : " Ethics is the science which relates to our mutual affections, no simply as phenomena, but as they are virtuous or vicious, right or wrong." 8 cicero's offices. [book i. formance of which a probable reason can be assigned, a mean duty.* . In the opinion, therefore, of Pametius, there is a threefold consideration for determining our resolution; for men doubt whether the thing which falls under their consideration be of itself virtuous or disgraceful, and in this deliberation minds are often distracted into opposite sentiments. ^ They then examine and deliberate whether or not the subject of their consideration conduces to the convenience or enjoyment of life, to the improvement of their estate and wealth, to their interest and power, by which they may profit themselves or their relations ; all which deliberation falls under the category of utility. The third kind of doubtful deliberation is, when an apparent utility seems to clash with mo:al recti- tude ; for when utility hurries us to itself, and virtue, on the other hand, seems to call us back, it happens that the mind is distracted in the choice, and these occasion a double anxiety in deliberation. In this division (although ;;n omission is of the worst consequence in divisions of this kind), two things are omitted ; for we are accustomed to deliberate not only whether a thing be virtuous or shameful k itself, but, of two things that are virtuous, which is the more excellent ? And, in like manner, of two things which are profitable which is the more profitable ? Thus, it is foind that the deliberation, which he considered to be threefold, ought to be distributed into five divisions. We must, therefore, .first treat of what is virtuous in itself, and that unto two heads ; in like manner, of what is profitable ; and ve shall next treat of them comparatively. IV. In the first place, a disposition has bien planted by nature in every species of living creatures to cherish them- selves, their life, and body; to avoid .those tkngs that appear hurtful to them; and to look out for and procure whatever * " It was thus that they (the Stoics) were obliged to invent a double morality: one for mankind at large, from whom was expected no more than the KaOfaov, which seems principally to have amoted acts ot duty, done from inferior or mixed motives; and the other, -Inch they appear to have hoped from their ideal wise man, is KaropOwfia, or perfect observance of rectitude, which consisted only in moral acts, doi 3 for mere reverence for morality, unaided by any feelings; all which (wi hout the exception ot pity) they classed among the enemies of reason am the disturbers ot tne human soul."— Sir J. Mackintosh's " Progress of Et 1 ical Philosophy. chap, iv.] Cicero's offices. is necessary for their living, such as food, shelter, and H like. .Now the desire of union for the purpose of procreating thei|hwn species is common to all animals, as well as a cert^Ji degree of concern about what is procreated. But the Neatest distinction between a man and a brute lies in this hat the latter is impelled only by instinct, and applies itself solely to that object which is present and before it with very little sensibility to what is past or to come;* but * « It seems evident that animals, as well as men, learn many things from experience, and infer that the same events will always follow from the same causes. By ths principle they become acquainted with the more obvjous properties of external objects, and gradually, from their birth, nenTbT^ a kn ? wI ^f the ~ "f "re, water, earth, stones, heights depths, &c, and of the effects which result from their operation. The frZT 6 andlnex Pf ie "<*°f the young are here plainly^ distinguishable from the cunning and sagacity of the old, who have learned by long obser! T dal Ju Wh3t ^ ^ em ' and t0 P Ursue what S™e ease^r pteasure. antal tlT e t ,f Vld6nt fr ° m , the 6ffeCtS 0f disci P line and e «on on bP Z„X, ' y 6 P f pe - a PP llcatlon of awards and punishments, may and Zti^n °f aC f° n ' the m ° St C ° ntrar y t0 their natural ^tincto and propensities. Is it not experience which renders a dog apprehensive of pam when you menace him, or lift up the whip to beat him ? Islt not an^hf f PenenCe ^ h i ch t makes him to his name, and infer from such intend I tZUT ^ y ° U ^ rather than an V «f his fellows, and ^tSisssr pronounce * in a certak ™> and ^ * " In all these eases we may observe, that the animal infers some fact beyond what immediately strikes his Jen** ; and that thk Uerence s SSt obieTtb d ° n PaSt 6XperienCe ' ^ the CTeature -pec^ from the present object the same consequences which it has always found in its observation to result from similar objects. y vJl,^ th0U8h ai ? imalS kam man y P^ 3 of their knowledge from obser- hand 'of N^ 6 3l v T nl ' r tS ° f il Which the y derive fr om the oriS hand of Nature, which much exceed the share of capacity thev nosseS ZZt^ ? CaSl T' andinwhich they improve little or L nm/bylhe longest practice and experience. These we denominate InstTcts and are so apt to admire as something very extraordinary and inexSle by "l the disquisitions of human understanding. But our wonder wffl ™L™ cease or dimmish when we consider that°the experimental reasTlf tse ff wh ch we possess m common with beasts, and on which the Xrfonduct of hfe depends, is nothing but a species of instinct, or mechanical now' that acts in us unknown to ourselves and in if. X; J ^- P. ower > directed by any such relations Z ^AV^^Z^^ objects of our intellectual faculties. Though the ^^0^;^! P f Pe I stil it is an instinct which teaches a man toavoid the fire L mfh t'.f *h!ch teaches a bird, with such exactness, the art of Su ba &n ' Vtf whole economy and order of its nursery "— Hume', % • ' d - he the Human Understanding," sec. 9. ? Enquuy cou< *™°g nd the rfintinrr wiPro CICEKO's OFFICES. [BOOK I W man because endowed with reason, by which he discerns V rnsWuences, looks into the canses of things suck the* progress, and being acquainted, as it were, with prec* ents L compares their* analogies, and adapts and conneef the present with what is to come. It is easy for him to ^rce Se future direction of all his life, and therefore he piepares whatever is necessary for passing through it. Nature likewise, by the same force of reasou, conciliates man to man Tn order to a community both of anguage and of Me above all, it implants in them a strong love for their offspring it impels them to desire that companies and socTet es° should be formed, and that they should mingle in E and that for those reasons, man should take care to provide for the supply of clothing and of food; and that no 5Jy for himself, butfor his wife his chddren, and for all whom he oua;ht to hold dear and to protect. ihis is an rSon wMch arouses the spirit and makes it more strenuous ^distinguishing property of man is to search for and to follow after truth. Therefore, when relaxed from jur Lessary cares and concerns, we then covet to see to hear and to ton somewhat; and we esteem knowledge of things Ser obscure or wonderful to be the -disable means nf living happilv-* From this we understand that truth, IS, and indoor, are most agreeable to the nature rSankind. To this passion ^^ZmedC'na- added a desire to direct; for a mind, well formed by na ture is unwilling to obey any man but him who lays down ; „ its anaTnstruftions Jit, or who, for the 8™g^^ tage, exercises equitable and lawful government. From this . « Nature has made it delightful to man to know, disquieting to him ' fiction. Mind." chap v. J cicero's offices.. 11 proceeds loftiness of mind, and contempt for worldly inte- rest lvJxther is it a mean privilege of nature and reason, that man is the only animal who is sensible of order, of decency, ' and of propriety, both in acting and speaking. In like manner,' no other creature perceives the beauty, the gracefulness, and the harmony of parts, in those objects which are discerned by the sight. An analogous perception to which nature and reason convey from the sight to the mind ; and consider that beauty, regularity, and order in counsels and actions should be still more preserved. She is cautious not to do aught that is indecent or effeminate, or to act or think wantonly in any of our deliberations or deeds. The effect and result of all this produces that honestum which we are now in search of; that virtue which is honourable even without being ennobled ; and of which we may truly say, that even were it praised by none it would be commendable in itself. V. My Son Marcus, you here perceive at least a sketch, and, as it were, the outline of virtue; which, could we perceive her with our eyes,| would, as Plato says, kindle a wonderful love of wisdom. But whatever is virtuous arises from some one of those four divisions : for it consists either in sagacity and the perception of truth ; or in the preservation of human society, by giving to every man his due, and by observing the faith of contracts ; or in the greatness and firmness of an elevated and unsubdued mind ; or in observing order and regularity in all our words and in all our actions, in which consists moderation and temperance. * The same sentiment, with reference to the love of knowledge, is more beautifully expressed by Virgil : " Felix qui potuit rerum cognoscere causas ; Atque metus omnes et inexorabile fatum Subjecit pedibus, strepitumque Acherontis avari." Georg. II. lines 490-492. , + P ur hod } J y W es -1 " This is a fine and a celebrated sentiment of Plato. O+Jff (says he, in his Phedro) i n uv o^vraTrj ru>v Sid. rov awuarog epyerai aurVrjeeuv, i] obs erve with what propriety Cicero applies to virtue what Plato savs of wisdom.'' — Guthrie, 12 .cicero's offices. [i oob L \ Though these four divisions are connected and inter -wov m with one another, yet certain kinds of duties arise from each of them. As, for instance, in that part which I flria* de- scribed, and under which I comprehend sagacity or wisdom consists the search after and discovery of truth ; and this is the characteristic function of that virtue: for the man who is most sagacious in discovering the real truth in any subject, and who can, with the greatest perspicacity and quickness both see and explain the grounds of it, is justly esteemed a man of the greatest understanding and discernment. JJrom hence it follows that truth is, as it were, the subject matter which this faculty handles, and on which it employs itselt. As to the other three virtues, they necessarily consist in acquiring and preserving those things with which the conduct of life is connected, in order to preserve the community and , relations of mankind, and to display that excellence and greatness of soul, which exhibits itself as well in acquiring resources and advantages both for ourselves and for our • friends, as, still more conspicuously, in prop rly disregarding ; them As to order, resolution, moderation, and the like, thev come into that rank of virtues which require not only , an operation of the mind, but a certain degree of personal I activity ; for it is in observing order and moderation in those things which constitute the objects of active life, that we shall preserve virtue and decency. VI Now of the four divisions under which I have ranged the nature and essence of virtue, that which consists in the ; knowledge of truth principally affects the nature of man | For all of us are impelled and carried along to the love ot. knowledge and learning, in which we account it glorious to , excel, but consider every slip, mistake, ignorance, and de- ception in it, to be hurtful and shameful. In this pursuit, which is both natural and virtuous, two faults are to be avoided. The first is, the regarding things which we do not know as if they were understood by us, and thence rashly giving them our assent* And he that wishes, as every man ought to wish, to avoid this error must devote both Z time g and his industry to the study of things The other fault is, that some people bestow too much study and pains * « The highest perfection of human reason is to know that there is an infinity of truth beyond its reach."— Pascal. CHAP. VII.] cicero's offices. 13 upon things that are obscure,* difficult, and even immaterial in themselves. When those faults are avoided, all the pains and care a man bestows upon studies that are virtuous in themselves, and worthy of his knowledge, will be deservedly commended. Thus we have heard how Caius Sulpiciust ex- celled in astronomy, and Sextus Pompeius, to my own know- ledge, in mathematics ; many also in logic, and more in th civil law, all which are arts that serve to investigate truth, in the pursuit of which our duty forbids us to be diverted from transacting our business, because the whole glory of virtue consists in activity. Yet this is often intermitted and frequent are our returns to our studies. Then there i an incessant working of the mind, which, without our takin pains, is sufficient to keep us in the practice of thinking Now, all our thoughts, and every motion of the mind, should be devoted either to the forming of plans for virtuous actions, and such as belong to a good and a happy life, or else to the pursuits of science and knowledge. I have now treated of at least the first source of duty. « VII. Now, as to the other three, the most extensive system , is that by which the mutual society of mankind, and, as it were, the intercourse of life, is preserved. Of this there are two parts: justice, in which virtue displays itself with the most distinguished lustre, and from which men are termed good; and allied to this, beneficence, which may likewise be [ termed benevolence, or liberality. Now, the chief province of justice is, that no person injure another, unless he is pro- * " The emperor Antoninus very finely thanks the gods, that when he applied to the study of philosophy he was taught by Junius Rusticus to avoid this error. . Tbv etg havrbv oirajg eriOvfirjGa (pi\o(TO(j)iag, firj BflTTECTHV ELQ TlVd share f those things that by nature were common ; and it to lows, >t no man can covet another's property without violating 10 laws of human society, t But as has been strikingly said by Plato) we are not born for ourselves alone, and our country claims her share, and our friends their share of us ; and, as the Stoics hold, * "Dictat autem ratio homini (says Grotius de Jure Belli ^^^J ™ 10 6 5^ nihil agendum quod noceatur homini alien, nm id bonum TZo-ea'aU^ w f ins bUDjccu na S uc rhaDters-on property, adduces and without establishing ; property - ; rt :* — » pwperty be f ab ¥ he f;. ft X%;^Vthe country to regulate that division; perty without leavmg V to tb e aw ™ ^ should late Political Philosophy," book 3, chap. 4. CHAP. vni.J CICEKO's OFFICES. 15 all that the earth produces is created for the use of man, ho men are created for the sake of men, that they may mutually do good to one another; in this we ought to take nature for our guide, to throw into the public stock the offices of general utility by a reciprocation of duties ; sometimes by receiving, sometimes by giving, and sometimes to cement human society by arts, by industry, and by our resources. Now the foundation of justice is faithfulness, which is a perseverance and truth in all our declarations and in all our promises. Let us therefore (though some people may think it over nice) imitate the Stoics, who curiously examine whence terms are derived, and consider that the word fides, or faith- fulness, is no other than a performance of what we have promised.* But there are two kinds of injustice; the first is of those who offer an injury, the second of those who have it in their power to avert an injury from those to whom it is offered, and yet do it not. For if a man, prompted either by anger or any sudden perturbation, unjustly assaults another :nan, such a one seems as it were to lay violent hands on )he's ally ; and the man who does not repel or withstand the njury, if he can, is as much to blame as if he deserted the 3ause of his parents, his friends, or his country. Those wrongs, however, which are inflicted for the v^ery % Hirpose of doing an injury, often proceed from fear ; as for nstonce, when a man who is contriving to injure another is ifraid, unless he executes what he is meditating, that he may limself sustain some disadvantage ; but the great incentive ;o doing wrong is to obtain what one desires, and in this ;rime avarice is the most pervading motive. VIII. Now riches are sought after, both for the necessary )urposes of life and for the enjoyment of pleasure. But in nen of greater minds the coveting of money is with a view 0 power and to the means of giving gratification. As M. Jrassus lately used to declare, that no man who wanted to ave a direction in the government had money enough, unless |y the interest of it he could maintain an army. Mao-- ificent equipages, likewise, and a style of living made up 1 elegance and abundance give delight, and hence the esire for money becomes boundless. Nor indeed is the * Fides, quia fiat quod dictum est. lb CICERO'S OFFICES. [BOOK I mere desire to improve one's private fortune, without injury To another, deserving of hlame ; but injustice must ever be aV But d t*he main cause why most men are led to a forgetful- ness of justice is their falling into a violent ambition after empire, honours, and glory. For what Ennius observes, that « No social bonds, no public faith remains Inviolate f — has a still more extensive application ; for where the object of ambition is of such a nature as that several cannot ob- tL pre-eminence, the contest for it is generally so violent that noS can be more difficult than to preserve the sacred ties of odtty. This was shown lately in the presumption of C ciar who, in order to obtain that direc ion in the fovemment'w nch the wildness of his imagination haj ffiannea ou violated all laws, divine and human , But what t ^ deplorable in this matter is, that the desire after honour, enipS pter, and glory, is generally most _ prevalen in ^ ffi-eatest soul and the most exalted genius, or wmcj reason every crime of that sort is the more carefully to b* Eh proceed from a short, sudden fit, are of slighter moment Than those which are inflicted by forethought and prepara- tion But enough has been said concerning inflicting injury fk Various are the causes of men omitting the defence; of ofherT, orneglecting their duty towards are, either unwilling to encounter enmity, toil, or expense , or, SSpsThCTdo it through negligence, listlessness or lazi, P r? ' thev are so embarrassed in certain studies and ness ; or they _are so to bft ^^ d %^wf^nt5k?S^ fest PlI's observl ti^^es^rtoTlXsophers should be falsified : « Thl • Milton thus expresses a similar idea,— « Fame is the spur which the clear spirit doth raise /'That last infirmity of noble mmd) Km deUghts Jnd live laborious ^."-Lyadas CHAP. IX.] • CICERO'S OFFICES. 17 they are men of integrity, because they are solely engaged in the pursuit of truth, and despise and neglect those con- » siderations which others value, and which mankind are wont to contend for amongst themselves." For, while they abstain from hurting any by the infliction of injury, they indeed assert one species of honesty or justice, but they fail in another ; because, being entangled in the pursuits of learn- ing, they abandon those they ought to protect. Some, therefore, think that they would have no concern with the government unless they were forced to it ; but still, it would be more just that it should be done voluntarily; for an action which is intrinsically right is only morally good in so far as it is voluntary.* There are others who, either from a desire to improve their private fortune, or from some per- sonal resentments, pretend that they mind their own affairs only that they may appear not to do wrong to another. Now such persons are free from one kind of injustice, but fall into another ; because they abandon the fellowship of life by employing in it none of their zeal, none of their labour, none of their abilities. Having thus stated the two kinds of dis- honesty or injustice, and assigned the motives for each kind, and settled previously the considerations by which justice is limited, we shall easily (unless we are extremely selfish) be able to form a judgment of our duty on every occasion. For, to concern ourselves in other people's affairs is a delicate matter. Yet Chremes, a character in Terence, thinks, that there is nothing which has a relation to mankind in which he has not a concern.-j* Meanwhile, because we have the quicker perception and sensation of whatever happens favourably or untowardly to ourselves than to others, which we see as it were at a greater distance, tht * The principle of the spontaneousness and intelligence of all actions being essential to their moral character, seems, if it be admitted, at once fatal to those numerous schemes of ethics, which make the moral character of conduct to depend on its essential utility ;— inasmuch as on the latter showing a morally good action may not only be performed under com- pulsion, but even with the deliberate and sole intention of producing the opposite results, namely, those which are in every aspect the most mischievous. + Heautontimorumenos, Act L, Scene 1 : Homo sum ; humani nihil a me alienum puto. Augustin, who was made bishop of Hippo, a.d. 39.5, mentions the universal applause with which this admirable sentiment was C 18 cicero's offices. [book ti judgment we form of them is very different from what we form of ourselves. Those therefore are wise monitors who teach us to do nothing of which we are doubtful, whether it is honest or unjust ; for whatever is honest manifests itself by its own lustre, but doubt implies the entertainment of injustice. , 1 ^ . X. But occasions frequently happen in which those duties which are most worthy of an honest, and of such as we call a worthy man, are altered and changed to their contraries. For example, to return a deposit, to perform a promise, and other matters that are relative to truth and honesty, some- times alter so, that it is just they should not be observed ; for it is proper to have recourse to those fundamentals of honesty which 1 laid down in the commencement : in the first place, that of injuring no person ; and, secondly, that of being sub- servient to the public good. When these conditions are altered by circumstances, the moral obligation, not being in- variably identical, is similarly altered. A promise, as a paction, may happen to be made, the performance of which may be prejudicial either to the party promising, or to the party to whom the promise is made. For (as we see in the play) had not Neptune performed his promise to Theseus, the latter would not have been bereaved of his son, Hippolytus ; for it is recorded, that of three wishes to be granted him, the third, which he made in a passion, was the death of Hippolytus, which, having been granted, he sunk into the most dreadful distress. Therefore, you are not to perform those promises which may be prejudicial to the party to whom you promise, nor if they may be more hurtful to you than they can be serviceable to him. It is inconsistent with our duty^Jiat the greater obligation should be postponed to the less. tFor instance, suppose you should promise to appear as the Advocate of another person while his cause is depending : now, if your son was to be seized violently ill in the meantime, it would be no breach of duty received in the theatre. He himself has left us an expansion of the same idea in the following words :— _ _ " Omnis homo est omni homini proximus, nec ulla cogitanda est longm- quitas generis ubi est natura communis." " Every man is most closely connected with his every fellow man, nor should any distance of relationship enter into consideration where there is a common nature." CHAP. X.] cicero's offices. 19 in you not to perform what you promise ; the other person would rather depart from his duty if he should complain that he had been abandoned^ Who, then, does not see that a man is not bound by those promises which he makes either when coerced by fear,* or seduced by deceit ? Many such promises are cancelled by the edict of the praetor's court, some by the laws; for very often wrongs arise through a quirk, and through a too artful but fraudulent construction of the law. Hence, " the rigour of law is the rigour of injustice," is a saying that has now passed into a proverb. Many injuries of this kind happen even in state affairs : thus, when a general had con- cluded a truce with his enemy for thirty days, yet ravaged that enemy's territories every night, because the truce was only for so many days, not for the nights. Nor, indeed, if it is true, is the conduct of our countryman, Quintus Fabius Labeo, to be approved of, or whoever he was (for I have the story only by report), who, being appointed an arbiter by the senate to settle a boundary between the people of Nola and those of Naples, counselled each of those people separately to do nothing covetously, and that each ought rather to draw back than advance. Both of them taking this advice, a space of unoccupied ground was left in the middle. He, therefore, adjudged to each people the boundary to which they had confined themselves, and all that was in the middle to the people of Rome. This was not to give judgment but to cheat; wherefore we ought to avoid all chicane of that kind in every transaction.*)* * See conclusion of Note, pp. 1 9, 20. f With these imperfect, and in some respects most faulty, notions touch- ing the obligations of promises, it will be instructive to compare the prin- ciples of modern moralists. The following is a brief digest of these principles as given by Paley (" Moral and Political Philosophy," book 3, chap. 5): — " They who argue from innate moral principles, suppose a sense of the obligation of promises to be one of them ; but without assuming this, or any- thing else, without proof, the obligation to perform promises may be deduced from the necessity of such a conduct to the well-being, or the existence, indeed, of human society. " Men act from expectation. Expectation is, in most cases, determined by the assurances and engagements which are received from others. If no dependence could be placed upon these assurances, it would be impossible to know what judgment to form of many future events, or how to regulate our conduct with respect to them. Confidence, therefore, in promises is , essential to the intercourse of human life; because without it the greatest c 2 20 cicero's offices. [book i. XL Certain duties are also to be observed, even towards those who have wronged you; for there is a mean even in revenge and punishments. Nay, I am not certain whether part of our conduct would proceed upon chance. But there could be no confidence in promises, if men were not obliged to perform them; the obli- gation therefore, to perform promises is essential to the same ends, and in the same degree. Where the terms of promise admit of more senses than one the promise is to be performed ' in that sense in which the promiser apprehended at the time that the promisee received it.'" Dr. Paley sums up his argument in the following words:—" From the account we have given of the obligation of promises, it is evident that this obligation depends upon the expectations which we knowingly and voluntarily excite. Conse- quently, any action or conduct towards another, which we are sensible excites expectations in that other, is as much a promise, and creates as strict an obligation, as the most express assurances." The exceptions which Paley admits to the obligation of promises are the following:—" 1. Promises are not binding where the performance is impossible. 2. Promises are not binding where the performance is unlawful. 3. Promises are not binding where they contradict a former promise. 4. Promises are not binding before acceptance; that is, before notice given to the promisee 5. Pro- mises are not binding which are released by the promisee. And, 6. fcrro- neons promises are not binding in certain cases; as where the error proceeds from the mistake or misrepresentation of the promisee; or, secondly, When the promise is understood by the promisee to proceed upon a certain sup- position, or when the promiser apprehended it to be so understood, and that supposition turns out to be false; then the promise is not binding. It is • only necessarv to cite another passage with reference to extorted promises. It seems obvious here to remark, that in the case of promises, or even de- clarations, unjustly extorted-as by the highwayman or the inquisitor— a doubt may very naturally arise, whether the absence of all right on the part of the extorting party, does not involve a correlative freedom on the part of the victim, to declare the truth, or to fulfil the promise This pomr Dr. Paley leaves (unnecessarily, as I think) undecided. « It has he says, "lono- been controverted amongst moralists, whether promises be binding, which are extorted by violence or fear. The obligation of all promises re- ; suits, we have seen, from the necessity or the use of that confidence which mankind repose in them. The question, therefore, whether these promises are binding, will depend upon this : whether mankind, upon the whole, are benefited by the confidence placed on such promises? A highwayman attacks you, and being disappointed of his booty, threatens or prepares J murder you. You promise, with many solemn asseverations, that if he will snare your life he shall find a purse of money left for him at a place ap- pointed Upon the faith of this promise he forbears from further violence. Now, vour life was saved by the confidence reposed in a promise extorted by fear; and the lives of many others may be saved by the same Inis is a good consequence. On the other hand, confidence m promises like , the* greatlv facilitates the perpetration of robberies; they may be made the m- ^ruments of almost unlimited extortion. This is a bad consequence; and in the question between the importance of these opposite consequences, resides the doubt concerning the obligations of such promises. CHAP. XI.] cicero's offices. 21 it is not sufficient for the person who has injured you to repent of the wrong done, so that he may never be guilty of the like in future, and that others may not be so forward to offend in the same manner.* Now, in government the laws of war are to be most especially observed; for since there are two manners of disputing, one by debating, the other by fighting, though the former characterises men, the latter, brutes, if the former cannot be adopted , recourse must be had to the latter. Wars, therefore, are to be undertaken for this end, that we may live in peace without being injured; but when we obtain the victory, we must preserve those enemies who behaved without cruelty or inhumanity during the war: for example, our forefathers received, even as members of their state, the Tuscans, the iEqui, the Yolscians, the Sabines, and the Hernici, but utterly destroyed Carthage and Nu- mantia. I am unwilling to mention Corinth; but I believe they had some object in it, and particularly they were induced to destroy it, lest the advantages of its situation should invite the inhabitants to make war in future times. In my opinion, we ought always to consult for peace, which should have in it nothing of perfidy. Had my voice been followed on this head, we might still have had some form of government (if not the best), whereas now we have none. And, while we are bound to exercise consideration toward those whom we have conquered by force, so those should be received into our protection who throw themselves upon the honour of our -> * "The insolence and brutality of anger, when we indulge its fury without check or restraint is, of all objects, the most detestable. But we Admire that noble and generous resentment which governs its pursuit of the greatest injuries, not by the rage which they are apt to excite in the breast of the sufferer, but by the indignation which they naturally call forth in that of the impartial spectator ; which allows no word, no gesture, to escape it beyond what this more equitable sentiment would dictate ; which never, even in thought, attempts any greater vengeance, nor desires to inflict any greater punishment, than what every indifferent person would rejoice to see executed." — Smith's " Moral Sentiments," part 1, chap. 5. " The nobleness of pardoning appears, upon many occasions, superior even to the most perfect propriety of resenting. When either proper acknow- ledgments have been made by the offending party, or even without any such acknowledgments, when the public interest requires that the most mortal enemies should unite for the discharge of some important duty, the man who can cast away all animosity, and act with confidence and cordiality towards the person who had most grievously offended him, seems justly to merit our highest admiration. — Id. part 6, section 3. f 22 CICERO S OFFICES. L E00K Ib general, and lay down their arras, even though the battering rams should have struck their walls. In which matter justice was cultivated with so much care among our countrymen, • that it was a custom among our ancestors that they who received under their protection cities, or nations conquered in war, became their patrons. Now, the justice of war was most religiously pointed out by the fecial law of the Romans. From this it may be understood that no war is just unless it is undertaken to reclaim property,* or unless it is solemnly denounced and proclaimed beforehand. Popilius, as general, held a province where Cato's son served in his army. It happened that Popilius thought proper to disband one legion ; he dismissed, at the same time, Cato's son, who was serving in that legion. When, however, through love of a military life, he remained in the army, his father wrote to Popilius, that if he suffered him to continue in the service he should, for a second time bind him by the military oath ; because the obligation of the former having been annulled, he could not lawfully fight with j the enemy. . So very strict was their observance of laws in making war. There is extant a letter of old Cato to his son on J this occasion, in which he writes, "That he heard he had got his discharge from the consul, while he was serving as a soldier in Macedonia, during the war with Perseus. He, | therefore, enjoins him to take care not to enter upon action ; i for he declares that it is not lawful for a man who is not! a soldier to fight with an enemy. M XII. And, indeed, there is another thing that I should 1 observe, that he who ought properly be termed perduellis, that is, a stubborn foe, is called a hostis, and thereby the softness of the appellation lessens the horror of the thing ; ^or j by our ancestors he was called hostis whom we now call a stranger. This the twelve tables demonstrate: as in the! * To reclaim property, £c] " The formal and public declaration of war was an indispensable preliminary to it among the Romans. This decla- ration was either conditional or simple. The conditional was when it was made cum rerum repetitione, which sometimes not only implied satisfaction for property but punishment upon the offender. A simple declaration was without any condition, as when an injury could not be repaired. ; or when, war was first declared by the other party."— See Grotms, lib. 3. chap. &1 Be Jure Belli, ^c— Guthrie. CHAP. XIII. J cicero's offices. 23 words, "a day appointed for the hostis to plead;" and again, "a Roman's right of property, as against a hostis, never terminates." What can exceed the gentleness of this, to call those with whom you were at war by so soft an appellation ? It is true that length of time has affixed a harsher significa- tion to this word, which has now ceased to be applied to the 6tranger, and remains peculiar to him who carries arms against us. Meanwhile, when we fight for empire, and when we seek glory in arms, all those grounds of war which I have already enumerated to be just ones, must absolutely be in force. But wars that are founded upon the glory of con- quest alone, are to be carried on with less rancour; for, as we treat a fellow citizen in a different manner as a foe, than we do as an antagonist; — as with the latter the struggle is for glory and power, as the former for life and reputation; — thus we fought against the Celtiberians and the Cimbrians as against enemies, the question being not who should com- mand but who should exist; but we fought for empire against the Latines, the Sabines, the Samnites, the Cartha- ginians, and Pyrrhus. The Carthaginians, 'tis true, were faithless, and Hannibal was cruel, but the others were better principled. The speech of Pyrrhus about ransoming the captives is a noble one: — In war not crafty, but in battle bold, No wealth I value, and I spurn at gold. Be steel the only metal shall decree The fate of empire, or to you or me. The gen'rous conquest be by courage tried. And all the captives on the Roman side, I swear, by all the gods of open war, As fate their lives, their freedom I will spare. This sentiment is truly noble, and worthy the descendant of the ^acidae. £>*~~*~) XIII. Nay, if even private persons should, induced by circumstances, make a promise to the enemy, even in this fidelity should be observed. Thus Regulus, when he was made a prisoner by the Carthaginians in the first Punic war, being sent to Rome to treat of an exchange of prisoners, he swore that he would return. The first thing he did when he came to Rome was to deliver his opinion in the senate 24 cicero's offices. [book l I that the prisoners should not be restored; and after that, } when he was detained by his relations and friends, he chose to deliver himself up to a cruel death rather than to falsify his word to the enemy. But in the second Punic war, after the battle of Cannae, Hannibal sent ten Romans to Rome, under an oath that they would return to him unless they procured the prisoners to be ransomed ; but the censors disfranchised, as long, as they lived, all of them that were perjured, as well as him who had devised a fraudulent evasion of his oath. For when, by the leave of Hannibal, he had left the camp, he returned soon after, to say that he had forgotten something ; and then again leaving the camp he considered himself free from the obligations of his oath, which he was with regard to the words but not the meaning of them; for in a promise, what you thought, and not what you said, is always to be consi- dered * But our forefathers set us a most eminent example of justice towards an enemy; for when a deserter from Pyrrhus offered to the senate to despatch that prince by poison, the senate and C. Fabricius delivered the traitor up to Pyrrhus. Thus they disapproved of taking off by treachery an enemy who was powerful, and was carrying on against them an aggressive war. Enough has now been said respecting the duties connected with warfare ; but we must bear in mind, that justice is due * As oaths are designed tor the security of the imposer, it is manifest that they must be interpreted and performed in the sense m which the imposer intends them ; otherwise they afford no security to him. And this is the meaning and reason of the rule, " jurare in animum imponentis. — Paley's " Moral and Political Philosophy," book 3, chap. 16. # Against the practice of administering oaths as demoralizing, we may instance two authorities. « The effect," says Dymond, « of instituting oaths is to diminish the practical obligation of simple affirmation. The law says you must speak the truth when you are upon your oath, which is the same thing as to say that it is less harm to violate truth when you are not on your oath. The court sometimes reminds a witness that he is upon oath, which is equivalent to saying, If you were not we should think less of your mendacity. The same lesson is inculcated by the assignation of penalties to nerjury and not to falsehood" "There is," says Godwin, < in his " Political Justice," book 6, c. 5, « no cause of insincerity, prevarication, and falsehood more powerful than the practice of ^"V^, 1 ??* court of justice. All attempts to strengthen the obligations of morality, by fictitious and spurious motives, will, in the sequel, beipundto have no tendency but to relax them." chap, xiv.] cicero's offices. 25 even to the lowest of mankind ; and nothing can be lower than the condition and fortune of a slave. And yet those prescribe wisely who enjoin us to put them upon the same footing as hired labourers, obliging them to do their work, but giving them their dues. Now, as injustice may be done two ways, by force or fraud ; fraud being the property of a fox, force that of a lion ; both are utterly repugnant to society, but fraud is the more detestable. But in the whole system of villainy, none is more capital than that of the men, who, when they most deceive, so manage as that they may seem to be virtuous men. Thus much, then, on the subject of justice. XIV. Let me now, as I proposed, speak of beneficence and liberality, virtues that are the most agreeable to the nature of man, but which involve many precautionary con- siderations. For, in the first place, we are to take care lest our kindness should hurt both those whom it is meant to assist, and others. In the next place, it ought not to exceed our abilities; and it ought to be rendered to each in proportion to his worth. This is the fundamental standar of justice to which all these things should be referred. For they who do kindnesses which prove of disservice to the person they pretend to oblige, should not be esteemed beneficent nor generous, but injurious sycophants. And they who injure one party in order to be liberal to another, ar guilty of the same dishonesty as if they should appropriate to themselves what belongs to another.* Now many, and they especially who are the most ambitious after grandeur and glory, rob one party to enrich another ; and account themselves generous to their friends if they enrich them by whatever means. This is so far from being consistent with, that nothing can be more contrary to, our duty. We should therefore take care to practise that kind of generosity that is serviceable to our friends, but * " Liberality in princes is regarded as a mark of beneficence. But when it occurs that the homely bread of the honest and industrious is often thereby converted into delicious cates for the idle and the prodigal, we soon retract our heedless praises. The regrets of a prince for having lost a dajr were noble and generous, but had he intended to have spent -it in acts 01 generosity to his greedy courtiers, it was better lost than misemployed after that manner."— Hume's " Dissertation on the Passions," section 2. 26 CICERO'S OFFICES. [BOOK L hurtful to none. Upon this principle, when Lucius Sylla and Caius Caesar took property from its just owners and transferred it to strangers, in so doing they ought not to be accounted generous ; for nothing can be generous that is not at the same time just. Our next part of circumspection is, that our generosity never should exceed our abilities. For they who are more generous than their circumstances admit of are, first, guilty in this, that they wrong their relations ; because they bestow upon strangers those means which they might, with greater justice, give or leave to those who are nearest to them. Now a generosity of this kind is generally attended with a lust to ravish and to plunder, in order to be furnished with the means to give away. For it is easy to observe, that most of them are not so much by nature generous, as they are misled by a kind of pride to do a great many things in order that they may seem to be generous ; which things seem to spring not so much from good will as from osten- tation. Now such a simulation is more nearly allied to duplicity than to generosity or virtue. The third head proposed was, that in our generosity we should have regard to merit ; and, consequently, examine both the morals of the party to whom we are generous, and his disposition towards us, together with the general good of society, and how far he may have already contributed to our own interest. Could all those considerations be united, it were the more desirable ; but the object in whom is united the most numerous and the most important of them, ought to have the greatest weight with us. XV. But as we live not with men who are absolutely perfect and completely wise, but with men who have great merit if they possess the outlines of worth, we are, I think, from thence to infer, that no man is to be neglected in whom there appears any indication of virtue ; and that each should be regarded in proportion as he is adorned with the milder virtues of modesty, temperance, and that very justice of which I have so largely treated. For fortitude and greatness of spirit is commonly too violent in a man who is not com- pletely wise and perfect ; but the aforesaid virtues seem to belong more to a good man. Having said thus much of morals ; with regard to the CHAP. XVI.] cicero's offices. 27 kindness which a person expresses for us, our first duty is, to perform the most for him by whom we are most beloved. Now we are to judge of kindness, not like children, by a sort of ardour of affection, but by its stability and constancy. But if its merits are such, that we are not to court but to requite the kindness, the greater ought our care to be ; for there is no duty more indispensable than that of returning a kind- ness. Now if, as Hesiod enjoins, we ought, if it is in our power, to repay what we have received for mere use with interest, how ought we to act when called upon by kindness ? Are we not to imitate those fertile fields which yield far more than they have received ? For, if we readily oblige those who we are in hopes will serve us, how ought we to behave towards those who have served us already ? For as generosity is of two kinds, the one conferring a favour, the other repaying it, whether we confer it or not is at our own option, but the not repaying it is not allowable in a good man, provided he can do so without injury to any. Now there are distinctions to be made as to the benefits received ; and it is clear that the greatest return is due in each case to the greatest obligation. Meanwhile, we are above all things to consider the spirit, the zeal, and the meaning with which j a favour is conferred. For many confer numerous favours with a sort of recklessness, without any judgment or prin- ciple, upon all mankind promiscuously, or influenced by sudden perturbation of mind, as if by a hurricane : such favours are not to be esteemed so highly as those which result from judgment, consideration, and consistency. But in conferring j or requiting kindness, the chief rule of our duty ought to be, if all other circumstances are equal, to confer most upon the ( man who stands in greatest need of assistance. The reverse of this is practised by the generality, who direct their greatest services to the man from whom they hope the most, though he may stand in no need of them. XVI. Now society and alliances amongst men would be best preserved if the greatest kindness should be manifested where there is the nearest relation. But we ought to go higher, if we are to investigate the natural principles of intercourse and community amongst men. The first is, that which is perceived in the society of the whole human race, and of this the bond is speech and reason, which by 28 cicero's offices. |_book 1 teaching, learning, communicating, debating, and judging, conciliate men together, and bind them into a kind ot natural society. There is nothing in which we differ more from the nature of brutes than in this ; for we very often allow them to have courage, as for instance, horses and lions ; but we never admit that they possess justice, equity, and goodness ; because they are void of reason and speech. Now this is the kind of society that is most extensive with mankind amongst themselves, and it goes through all ; for here a community of all things that nature has produced for the common use of mankind is preserved, so as that they may be possessed in the manner prescribed by laws and civil statutes: of which laws themselves some are to be observed in accordance with the Greek proverb, " that all things amongst friends are to be in common." Now this community consists of things which are of that nature which, though placed by Ennius under one head, may be applied to many. " He (says that author) who kindly shows the bewildered traveller the right road, does as it were light his lamp by his own ; which affords none the less light to himself after it has lighted the other." By this single example he sufficiently enjoins on us to perform, even to a stranger, all the service we can do without detriment to ourselves. Of which service the following are common illustrations : " That we are to debar no man from the running stream ;" " That we are to suffer any who desire it to kindle fire at our fire ;" " That we are to give faithful counsel to a person who is in doubt :" all which are particulars that are serviceable to the receiver without being detrimental to the bestower. We are therefore to practise them, and be constantly contributing somewhat to the common good. As the means, however, of each par- ticular person are very confined and the numbers of the indigent are boundless, our distributive generosity ought still to be bounded by the principle of Ennius,— "it nevertheless gives light to one's self,"— that we may still be possessed of the means to be generous to our friends. XVII. Now the degrees of human society are many. For, to quit the foregoing unbounded kind, there is one more confined, which consists of men of the same race, nation, and language, by which people are more intimately connected CHAP. XVII. | cicero's offices. 29 among themselves. A more contracted society than that consists of men inhabiting the same city; for many things are in common among fellow citizens, such as their forum, their temples, their porticoes, their streets, their laws, their rites, their courts of justice, their trials, not to mention their customs, and intimacies, with a great number of particular dealings and intercourses of numbers with numbers. There is a still more contracted degree of society, which is that of relatives ; and this closes, in a narrow point, the unbounded general association of the human race. For, as it is a common natural principle among all animated beings that they have a desire to propagate their own species, the first principle of society consists in the marriage tie, the next in children, the next in a family within one roof, where everything is in common. This society gives rise to the city, and is, as it were, the nursery of the commonwealth.^ Next follows the connexion of brotherhood, next that of cousins, in their different degrees; and, when they grow too numerous to be contained under one roof, they are trans- planted to different dwellings, as it were to so many colonies. Then follow marriages and alliances, whence spring more numerous relationships. The descendants, by this propa- gation, form the origin of commonwealths; but the ties and affections of blood bind mankind by affection.* For there is something very powerful in having the monu- * " Families are so many centres of attraction, which preserve mankind from being scattered and dissipated by the repulsive powers of selfishness. The order of nature is evermore from particulars to generals. As in the operations of intellect we proceed from the contemplation of individuals to the formation of general abstractions, so in the development of the passions, in like manner we advance from private to public affections ; from the love of parents, brothers, and sisters, to those more expanded regards which embrace the immense society of human kind."— Robert Hall's "Sermon on Modern Infidelity." In apparent opposition to this view stands the theory of President Edwards, which was afterwards extensively adopted in an aggravated form. " True virtue, according to him, (says Sir James Mackintosh, " Progress of Ethical Philosophy,") consists m benevolence, or love to being 6 in general,' which he afterwards limits to ' intelligent being,' though sentient would have involved a more reasonable limitation. This good will is felt towards a particular being, first in proportion to his degree of existence, (' for,' says he, 6 that which is great has more existence, and is farther from nothing than that which is little,') and secondly, in proportion to the degree in which that particular being feels benevolence to others." Perhaps the ablest refutation of these 30 CICERO'S OFFICES. [book & ments of our ancestors the same, in practising the same religious rites, and in having the same places of interment. But amongst all the degrees of society, none is more excel- principles in a brief compass is found in the following note by the Rev. Robert Hall in the Sermon above quoted. "It is somewhat singular that many of the fashionable infidels Have hit upon a definition of virtue which perfectly coincides with that of certain metaphysical divines in America, first invented and defended by that most acute reasoner, Jonathan Edwards. They both place virtue exclusively in a passion for the general good ; or, as Mr. Edwards expresses it, love to being in general; so that our love is always to be proportioned to the magnitude of its object in the scale of being : which is liable to the objections I have already stated, as well as to many others which the limits of this note will not permit me to enumerate. Let it suffice to remark, (1.) That virtue, on these principles, is an utter impossibility : for the system of being, comprehending the great Supreme, is infinite: and, therefore, to maintain the proper proportion, the force of particular attach- ment must be infinitely less than the passion for the general good ; but the limits of the human mind are not capable of any emotion so infinitely different in degree. (2.) Since our views of the extent of the universe are capable of perpetual enlargement, admitting the sum of existence is ever the same, we must return back at each step to diminish the strength of particular affections, or they will become disproportionate, and conse- quently, on these principles," vicious ; so that the balance must be con- tinually fluctuating, by the weights being taken out of one scale and put into the other. (3.) If virtue consist exclusively in love to being in general, or attachment to the general good, the particular affections are, to every purpose of virtue, useless, and even pernicious ; for their immediate, nay, their necessary tendency is to attract to their objects a proportion of attention which far exceeds their comparative value in the general scale. To allege that the general good is promoted by them, will be of no advantage to the defence of this system, but the contrary, by confessing that a greater sum of happiness is attained by a deviation from, than an adherence to, its principles ; unless its advocates mean by the love of being in general the same thing as the private affections, which is to confound all the distinctions of language, as well as all the operations of mind. Let it be remembered, we have no dispute respecting what is the ultimate end of virtue, which is allowed on both sides to be the greatest sum of happiness in the universe. The question is merely, what is virtue itself? or, in other words, what are the means appointed for the attainment of that end % . u There is little doubt, from some parts of Mr. Godwin's work, entitled, c Political Justice/ as well as from his early habits of reading, that he was indebted to Mr. Edwards for his principal arguments against the private affections ; though, with a daring consistency, he has pursued his principles to an extreme from which that most excellent man would have revolted with horror. The fundamental error of the whole system arose, as I conceive, from a mistaken pursuit of simplicity : from a wish to construct a moral system, without leaving sufficient scope for the infinite variety of moral phenomena and mental combination ; in consequence of which its CHAP. XVII.] CICERO S OFFICES. lent, none more stable, than when worthy men, through a similarity of manners, are intimately connected together; for, as I have often said, even when we discern the honestum in another it touches us, and makes us friends to the man in whom it resides. Now, though virtue of every kind attracts and charms us to the love of those who possess it, yet that love is strongest that is effected by justice and generosity. For nothing is more lovely, nothing is more binding, than a similarity of good dispositions;* because amongst those whose pursuits and pleasures are the same, every man is pleased as much with another as he is with himself, and that is effected which Pythagoras chiefly contemplates in friendship, "that many become one." A strong community is likewise effected by good offices mutually conferred and received; and, provided these be reciprocal and agreeable, those amongst whom they happen are bound together in close association. advocates were induced to place virtue exclusively in some one disposition of mind : and, since the passion for the general good is undeniably the noblest and most extensive of all others, when it was once resolved to place virtue in any one thing, there remained little room to hesitate which should be preferred. It might have been worth while to reflect, that in the natural world there are two kinds of attraction ; one, which holds the several parts of individual bodies in contact ; another, which maintains the union of bodies themselves with the general system : and that, though the union in the former case is much more intimate than in the latter, each is equally essential to the order of the world. Similar to this is the relation which the public and private affections bear to each other, and their use in the moral system. * << Friendship, founded on the principles of worldly morality, recognised by virtuous heathens, such as that which subsisted between Atticus and Cicero — which the last of these illustrious men has rendered immortal — is fitted to survive through all the vicissitudes of life ; but it belongs only to a union founded on religion, to continue through an endless duration. The former of these stood the shock of conflicting opinions, and of a revolution that shook the world; the latter is destined to survive when the heavens are no more, and to spring fresh from the ashes of the universe. The former possessed all the stability which is possible to sublunary things ; the latter partakes of the eternity* of God. Friendship, founded on worldly principles, is natural, and, though composed of the best elements of nature, is not exempt from its mutability and frailty ; the latter is spiritual, and, therefore, unchanging and imperishable. The friendship which is founded on kindred tastes and congenial habits, apart from piety, is permitted by the benignity of Providence to embellish a world, which, with all its magni- ficence and beauty, will shortly pass away ; that which has religion for its basis, will ere long be transplanted, in order to adorn the paradise of God." —Robert Hall's " Sermon on the death of Dr. Ryland." cicero's offices. [book i. But when you view everything with reason and reflection, of all connections none is more weighty, none is more dear, than that between every individual and his country. Our parents are dear to us; our children, our kinsmen, our friends, are dear to us; but our country comprehends alone all the endearments of us all. For which what good man would hesitate to die if he could do her service ? The more execrably unnatural, therefore, are they who wound their country by every species of guilt, and who are now, and have been, employed in her utter destruction. But were a computation or comparison set up, of those objects to which our chief duty should be paid, the principal are our country and our parents, by whose services we are laid under the strongest obligations; the next are our children and entire family, who depend upon us alone, without having any other refuge; the next our agreeable kinsmen, who generally share our fortune in common. The necessary supports of life, therefore, are due chiefly to those I have already mentioned ; but the mutual intercourses of life, counsels, discourses, ex- hortations, consultations, and even sometimes reproofs, flourish chiefly in friendships, and those friendships are the most agreeable that are cemented by a similarity of manners. XVIII. But in performing all those duties we are care- fully to consider what is most necessary to each, and what every one of them could or could not attain even without us. Thus the relative claims of relationship and of circumstances will not always be identical. Some duties are owing to some more than to others. For instance, you are sooner to help your neighbour to house his corn, than your brother or your friend; but if a cause be on trial, you are to take part with your kinsman, or your friend, rather than with your neigh- bour. These considerations, therefore, and the like, ought to be carefully observed in every duty; and custom and practice should be attained, that we may be able to be correct assessors of our duties, and, by adding or subtracting, to strike the ba'tace, by which we may see the proportion to which every party is entitled. But as neither physicians, nor generals, nor orators, how- ever perfect they may be in the theory of their art, can evei perform anything that is highly praiseworthy, without expe- rience and practice, so rules have indeed been laid down for' the CHAP. XIX. ! CICERO S OFFICES. 33 observation of duties, as I myself am doing; but the import- ance of the matter demands experience and practice. I have now, I think, sufficiently treated of the manner in which the honestum, which gives the fitness to our duties, arises from those matters that come within the rights of human society. It must be understood, however, at the same time, that when the four springs from which virtue and honesty arise are laid open, that which is done with a lofty spirit, and one which scorns ordinary interests, appears the most noble. Therefore the most natural of all reproaches is somewhat of the following kind: — Young men, ye carry but the souls of women; That woman of a man. Or somewhat of the following kind: — Salmacis, give me spoils without toil or danger. On the other hand, in our praises, I know not how it is, but actions performed with magnanimity, with fortitude, and virtue, we eulogize in a loftier style. From hence Marathon, Salamis, Plataea, Thermopylae, Leuctra, have become the field of rhetoricians; and amongst ourselves, Codes, the Decii, the two Scipios, Cneius and Publius, Marcus Marcellus, and a great many others. Indeed, the Roman people in general are distinguished above all by elevation of spirit; and their fondness for military glory is shown by the fact that we generally see their statues dressed in warlike habits. XIX. But that magnanimity which is discovered in toils and dangers, if it be devoid of justice, and contend not for the public good, but for selfish interest, is blameable ; for, so far from being a mark of virtue, it is rather that of a barbarity which is repulsive to all humanity. By the Stoics, therefore, fortitude is rightly defined, when they call it "valour fighting on the side of justice." No man, there- fore, who has acquired the reputation of fortitude, attained his glory by deceit and malice; for nothing that is devoid of justice can be a virtue. It is, therefore, finely said by Plato, that not only the h knowledge that is apart from justice deserves the appellation of cunning rather than wisdom, but also a mind that is ready to encounter danger, if it is animated by private interest, and D 34 CICERO'S OFFICES. [BOOK not public utility, deserves the character of audaciousness rather than of fortitude. We, therefore, require that all men of courage and magnanimity should be at the same time men of virtue and of simplicity, lovers of truth, and by no means deceitful; for these qualities are the main glory of JU But there is one painful consideration, that obstinacy, and an undue ambition for power, naturally spring up from this elevation and greatness of spirit; for, as Plato tells us, the entire character of the Lacedemonians was inflamed witli the desire of conquest. Thus the man who is most distin- guished by his magnanimity, is most desirous of bemgthe feading, or rather the only potentate of all. Now it is a difficult matter, when you desire to be superior to all others, to preserve that equability which is the characteristic 01 justice. Hence it is that such men will not suffer themselves to be thwarted in a debate, nor by any public and lawful authority; and in public matters they are commonly guilty of corruption and faction, in order to grasp at as great power as possible; and they choose to be superior by means of force, rather than equals by justice. But the more diffi- cult the matter is, it is the more glorious; for there is no conjuncture which ought to be unconnected with justice. _ They, therefore, who oppose, not they who commit, in- justice are to be deemed brave and magnanimous. Now- genuine and well-considered magnammity judges that the honestum, winch is nature's chief aim consists in realities and not in mere glory, and rather chooses to be than to seem pre-eminent: for the man who is swayed by the pre- judices of an ignorant rabble is not to be reckoned among the great; but the man of a spirit the most elevated, through the desire of glory, is the most easily impelled into acts of injustice. This is, indeed, a slippery situation; for scarcely can there be found a man who, after enduring trials and encountering dangers, does not pant for popularity as the reward of his exploits.* * « It must be strongly impressed upon our minds," says Dr. Johnson « that virtue is not to be pursued as one of the means to fame, but feme h be adopted a S the only recompence which mortals can bestow on yutue- to be accepted with complacence, but not sought with eagerness, lhe : tru sanction which is to be drawn from the consciousness that we shall shar. CHAP. XX.J CICERO S OFFICES. 35 XX. A spirit altogether brave and elevated is chiefly dis- cernible by two characters. The first consists in a low estimate of mere outward circumstances, since it is convinced that a man ought to admire, desire, or court nothing but what is virtuous and becoming; and that he ought to succumb to no man, nor to any perturbation either of spirit or fortune.* The other thing is, that possessed of such a spirit as I have just mentioned, you should perform actions which are great and of the greatest utility, but extremely arduous, full of difficulties and danger both to life and the many things which pertain to life. In the latter of those two characters consist all the glory, the majesty, and, I add, the utility; but the causes and the efficient means that form great men is in the former, which contains the principles that elevate the soul, and gives it a contempt for temporary considerations. Now, this very excel- lence consists in two particulars: you are to deem that only to be good that is virtuous ; and that you be free from all mental irregularity. For we are to look upon it as the character of a noble and an elevated soul, to slight all those considerations , that the generality of mankind account great and glorious, ! and to despise them, upon firm and durable principles; while strength of mind, and greatness of resolution, are discerned in bearing those calamities which, in the course of man's life, are many and various, so as not to be driven from your na- tural disposition, nor from the dignity of a wise man: for it is not consistent that he who is not subdued by fear should be subjugated by passion ; nor that he who has shown him- self invincible by toil, should be conquered by pleasure, f Wherefore, we ought to watch and avoid the love of money : the attention of future times, must arise from the hope that with our name our virtues will be propagated, and that those whom we cannot benefit in our lives may receive instruction from our examples, and incitement from our renown." — Rambler. * " It is the business of moralists to detect the frauds of fortune, and to show that she imposes upon the careless eye by a quick succession of shadows, which will sink to nothing in the gripe; that she disguises life in extrinsic ornaments, which serve only for show, and are laid aside in the hours of solitude and of pleasure; and that^vhen greatness aspires either to felicity or to wisdom, it shakes off those distinctions which dazzle the gazer and awe the suppliant." — Dr. Johnson. t "Be not a Hercules fur ens abroad, and a poltroon within thyself. To chase our enemies out of the field, and be led captive by our vices; to bea* D 2 36 CICEKO's OFFICES. [BOOK for nothing so truly characterizes a narrow, grove lmg dispo- sition as to love riches;* and nothing is more noble and more exalted than to despise riches if you have them not and it you have them, to employ them in beneficence and hbe- ^ An inordinate passion for glory, as I have already ob- served, is likewise to be guarded against; for it deprives us of liberty, the only prize for which men of elevated senti- ments ought to contend. Power is so far from being desiraUe in itself, that it sometimes ought to be refused, and some- times to be resigned. We should likewise be free from all disorders of the mind, from all violent passion and tear, as well as languor, voluptuousness, and anger, that we may possess that tranquillity and security which confer alike consistency and dignity. Now, many there are, and have been, who, courting that tranquillity which I have mentioned here have withdrawn themselves from public affairs and taken refuge in retirement. Amongst these, some of the noblest and most leading of our philosophers ;J and some persons of strict and grave dispositions, were unable to bear with the manners either of the people or their rulers; and some have lived in the country, amusing themselves with the. management of their private affairs Their aim was the same as that of the powerful, that they might enjoy their liberty, without wanting anything or obeying any person^ for the essence of liberty is to live just as you please. putable dotage of avarice to that subterraneous idol and got of the earth. -| ceitehow Seatly the best historians and poets amongst the Romans were hXbted S and the foregoing chapter, which have served as a common, place for their finest sentiments." <=„„-,+,« Plato Arid- $ Such as Pythagoras, Democritus, Anaxagoras, Socrates, Fiato, Aru- totle, Zeno, Epicurus, &c. chap xxi.] cicero's offices. 37 XXI. Therefore, as the object of those who are ambitious for power, and of those who court retirement, and whom I have just now described, is the same, the former imagine they can attain it if they are possessed of great resources, and the latter, if they can be contented with their own, and with little. In this matter, the sentiments of neither are to be absolutely rejected. But a life of retirement is more easy, more safe, less tiresome, and less troublesome than any other; while the life of those who apply themselves to the affairs of government, and to the management of a state, is more beneficial to mankind, and more conducive to glory and renown. Allowances, therefore, are to be made for those who having no management in public matters, with an excellent genius, give themselves up to learning; and to those who being hindered by feebleness of health, or for some very weighty reason, retire from affairs of government, and leave to others the power and the honour of the administration: but when men, who have no such excuses, say that they despise that power and those offices which most admire, such men are so far from deserving praise that they incur censure. It is difficult to condemn their judgment in despising and under- valuing popularity; but then they seem to dread the toils and troubles of affronts and repulses as involving ignominy and infamy. For some there are who, in opposite matters, are very inconsistent with themselves; they spurn most rigidly at pleasure, but they droop in pain; they despise glory, but sink under unpopularity; and that, too, with no little inconsistency. But the men who inherit from nature appliances for government ought, laying aside all excuses, to undertake the discharge of all public offices and the management of state affairs; for neither can a state be governed, nor can magna- nimity display itself, by any other means. I am not, however, sure whether those who undertake the management of public affairs ought not to be equally distinguished by magnanimity us philosophers, if not more so, and impressed with a con- tempt of common affairs and to possess that tranquillity, 5 that calm of mind, I have so much recommended; I mean, if they wish to live without anxiety, with dignity and consistency. 38 cicero's offices. [book i. This may be the more easily practised by philosophers, because in their lives there is less exposed for fortune to strike at; because their necessities are more contracted; and because, if anything adverse should happen, they cannot fall so heavily. It is not, therefore, without reason, that in the mind of those who undertake the management of public affairs, more violent passions are excited, and mightier mat- ters are to be attempted, than by those who are retired; they, therefore, ought to possess greater elevation of spirit, and freedom from disquiets. But, whoever enters upon public life ought to take care that the question, how far the measure is virtuous, be not his sole consideration, but also how far he may have the means of carrying it into execution. In this he is chiefly to take care that through indolence he do not meanly despond, nor through eagerness too much pre- sume. Thus, in all affairs, before you undertake them, a diligent preparation should be entered into. XXII. But, since most persons are of opinion that the achievements of war are more glorious than civil affairs, this judgment needs to be restricted: for many, as generally is the case with high minxis and enterprising spirits, espe- cially if they are adapted to military life and are fond of warlike achievements, have often sought opportunities of war from their fondness for glory; but if we are willing to judge truly, many are the civil employments of greater im- portance, and of more renown, than the military. ^ For though Themistocles is justly praised— his name is now more illustrious than that of Solon, and his glorious victory at Salamis is mentioned preferably to the policy of Solon, by which he first confirmed the power of the Areopagus —the one should not be considered more illustrious than the other; for the one availed his country only for once— the other is lastingly advantageous; because by it the laws of the Athenians, and the institutions of their ancestors, are preserved. Now, Themistocles could not have stated any respect in which he benefited the Areopagus, but the former might with truth declare that Themistocles had been advan- taged by him; for the war was carried on by the counsels of that senate which was constituted by Solon. We may make the same observation with regard to Pausanias and Lysander amongst the Lacedemonians ; for all chap, xxii.] cicero's offices. 39 the addition of empire which their conquests are supposed to have brought to their country is not to be compared to the laws and economy of Lycurgus ; for indeed, owing to these very causes they had armies more subordinate and courageous. In my eyes, Marcus Scaurus (who flourished when I was but a boy) was not inferior to Caius Marius ; nor, after I came to have a concern in the government, Quintus Catulus to Cneius Pompey. An army abroad is but of small service unless there be a wise administration at home. Nor did that good man and great general, Africanus, perform a more important service to his country when he razed Numantia, than did that private citizen, P. Nasica, when at the same period he killed Tiberius Gracchus. An action which it is true was not merely of a civil nature ; for it approaches to a military character, as being the result of force and courage ; but it was an action performed without an army, and from political considerations. That state described by the following line is best for a country, for which I understand that I am abused by the wicked and malicious : Arms to the gown, and laurels yield to lore.* For, not to mention other persons, when I was at the helm of government did not "arms yield to the gown?" For never did our country know a time of more threatening danger or more profound tranquillity; so quickly, through my counsel and my diligence, did the arms of our most pro- fligate fellow citizens drop of themselves out of their hands. What so great exploit as this was ever performed in wai, or what triumph can be compared with it ? The inheritance of my glory and the imitation of my actions are to descend to you, my son Marcus, therefore it is allowable for me to boast in writing to you. It is, how- ever, certain that Pompey, who was possessed of much military glory, paid this tribute to me, in the hearing of many, that in vain would he have returned to his third * Orig. Cedant arma togce, concedat laurea lingua. The author is here speaking of his conduct in suppressing Catiline- s conspiracy. 40 cicero's offices. [book i. triumph, had not my public services preserved the place in which he was to celebrate it. The examples of civil courage are therefore no less meritorious than those of mili- tary ; and they require a greater share of zeal and labour than the latter. XXIII. Now all that excellence which springs from a lofty and noble nature is altogether produced by the mental and not by the corporeal powers * Meanwhile, the body ought to be kept in such action and order, as that it may be always ready to obey the dictates of reason and wisdom, in carrying them into execution, and in persevering under hardships. But with regard to that honestum we are treating of, it consists wholly in the thoughtful application of the mind ; by which the "civilians who preside over public affairs are equally serviceable to their country as they who wage wars. For it often happens that by such counsels wars are either not entered into, or they are brought to a termination ; sometimes they are even undertaken, as the third Punic war was by the advice of Marcus Cato, whose authority was powerful, even after he was dead. * " As a previous observation, it is beyond all doubt that very much depends on the constitution of the body. It would be for physiologists to explain, if it were explicable, the manner in which corporeal organization affects the mind. I only assume it as a fact, that there is in the material construction of some persons, much more than of others, some quality which augments, if it do not create, both the stability of their resolution and the energy of their active tendencies. There is something that, like the ligatures which one class of the Olympic combatants bound on their hands and wrists, braces round, if I may so describe it, and compresses the powers of the mind, giving them a steady forcible spring and reaction, which they would presently lose if they could be transferred into a consti- tution of soft, yielding, treacherous debility. The action of strong character seems to demand something firm in its material basis, as massive engines require, for their weight and for their working, to be fixed on a solid foun- dation. Accordingly, I believe it would be found that a majority of the persons most remarkable for decisive character have possessed great consti- tutional physical firmness. I do not mean an exemption from disease and pain, nor any certain measure of mechanical strength, but a tone of vigour, the opposite to lassitude, and adapted to great exertion and endurance. This is clearly evinced in respect to many of them, by the prodigious labours and deprivations which they have borne in prosecuting then- designs. The physical nature has seemed a proud ally of the moral one, and, with a hardness that would never shrink, has sustained the energy that could never remit. ,, --Foster's Essays " On Decision of Character," Letter 2. CHAP. XXIII.] cicero's offices. 41 Wisdom in determining is therefore preferable to courage in fighting ; but in this we are to take care that we are not swayed by an aversion to fighting rather than by a consideration of "expediency.* Now in engaging in war we ought to make it appear that we have no other view but peace. But the character of a brave and resolute man is not to be ruffled with adversity, and not to be in such confusion as to quit his post, as we say, but to preserve a presence of mind, and the exercise of reason, without departing from his purpose. And while this is the charac- teristic of a lofty spirit, so this also is that of a powerful intellect, namely, to anticipate futurity in thought, and to conclude beforehand what may happen on either side, and, upon that, what measures to pursue, and never be surprised so as to say, "I had not thought of that." Such are the operations of a genius, capacious and elevated ; of such a one as relies on its own prudence and counsel ;f but to rush * See Paley's broad statement, that expediency is the fundamental test of all morality. — Book 2, chap. 6. f The rarity of self-reliance, notwithstanding the commonness of the weakness that simulates it, is thus strikingly shown by the great essayist above quoted: — " The first prominent mental characteristic of the person whom I describe, is a complete confidence in his own judgment. It will, perhaps, be said that this is not so uncommon a qualification. I however think it is uncommon. It is, indeed, obvious enough that almost all men have a nattering estimate of their own understanding, and that as long as this un- derstanding has no harder task than to form opinions which are not to be tried in action, they have a most self-complacent assurance of being right. This assurance extends to the judgments which they pass on the proceed- ings of others. But let them be brought into the necessity of adopting actual measures in an untried situation, where, unassisted by any previous example or practice, they are reduced to depend on the bare resources^ of judgment alone, and you will see in many cases this confidence of opinion vanish away. The mind seems all at once placed in a misty vacuity, where it reaches round on all sides, but can find nothing to take hold of. Or if not lost in vacuity, it is overwhelmed in confusion ; and feels as if its faculties were annihilated in the attempt to think of schemes and calcu- lations among the possibilities, chances, and hazards which overspread a wide untrodden field ; and this conscious imbecility becomes severe distress, when it is believed that consequences, of serious or unknown good or evil, are depending on the decisions which are to be formed amidst so much uncertainty. The thought painfully recurs at each step and turn, I may by chance be right, but it is fully as probable I am wrong. It is. like the case of a rustic walking in London, who, having no certain direction through the vast confusion of streets to the place where he wishes to be, advances, and hesitates, and turns, and inquires, and becomes, at each corner, still more 42 cicero's offices. [book i precipitately into the field, and to encounter an enemy with mere physical force has somewhat in it that is barbarous and brutal. When the occasion, however, and its necessity compel it, we should resist with force, and prefer death to slavery or dishonour. XXIY. But with regard to overthrowing and plundering of cities, great consideration is required that nothing be done rashly, nothing cruelly.* And this is the part of a great man, after he has maturely weighed all circumstances, to punish the guilty, to spare the many ; and in every state of fortune not to depart from an upright, virtuous conduct. For, as you find (as I have already observed) men who prefer military to civil duties, so will you find many of that cast who look upon dangerous and violent resolutions to be more splendid and more dignified than calm and digested measures. We should never so entirely avoid danger as to appear irresolute and cowardly ; but, at the same time, we should inextricably perplexed. A man in this situation feels he shall be very unfortunate if he cannot accomplish more than he can understand. Ts not this frequently, when brought to the practical test, the state of a mind not disposed in general to undervalue its own judgment V* — Foster's Essay " On Decision of Character," Letter 2. * "If," says Paley, "the cause and end of war be justifiable, all the means that appear necessary to the end are justifiable also. This is the principle which defends those extremities to which the violence of war usually proceeds; for, since war is a contest by force between parties who acknowledge no common superior, and since it includes not in its idea the supposition of any convention which should place limits to the operations oi force, it has naturally no boundary but that in which force terminates — the destruction of the life against which the force is directed. Let it be ob- served, however, that the licence of war authorizes no acts of hostility but what are necessary or conducive to the end and object of the war. Gra- tuitous barbarities borrow no excuse from this plea : of which kind is every cruelty and every insult that serves only to exasperate the sufferings, or to incense the hatred, of an enemy, without weakening his strength, or in any manner tending to procure his submission; such as the slaughter of captives, the subjecting of them to indignities or torture, the violation of women, the profanation of temples, the demolition of public buildings, libraries, statues, and in general the destruction or defacing of works that conduce nothing to annoyance or defence. These enormities are prohibited not only by the practice of civilized nations, but by the law of nature itself, as having no proper tendency to accelerate the termination, or accomplish the object of the war, and as containing that which in peace and war is equally unjus- tifiable—ultimate and gratuitous mischief." — "Moral and Political Phi- losophy," book 6, chap. 12. CHAP. XXIV. j cicero's offices. 43 avoid unnecessarily exposing ourselves to danger, than which nothing can be more foolish. In encountering dangers, therefore, we are to imitate the practice of the physicians who apply to gentle illnesses gentle medicines, but are forced to apply more desperate and more doubtful cures to more dangerous diseases. It is the part of a madman to wish for an adverse tempest in a calm, but of a wise man to find relief against the tempest by what- ever means ; and the rather if one incurs more advantage by accomplishing the matter than disadvantage by keeping it in suspense. Now the conducting of enterprises is dangerous sometimes to the undertakers, and sometimes to the state ; and hence some are in danger of losing their lives, some their reputation, and some their popularity. But we ought to be more forward to expose our own persons than the general interests to danger, and to be more ready to fight for honour and reputation than for other advantages. Though many have been known cheerfully to venture not only their money but their lives for the public ; yet those very men have refused to suffer the smallest loss of glory even at the request of their country. For instance, Calli- cratidas, who, after performing many gallant actions at the head of the Lacedemonian armies, during the Peloponesian war, at last threw everything into confusion by refusing to obey the directions of those who were for removing the fleet from Arginusse, and not for fighting the Athenians ; to whom his answer was, that if the Lacedemonians lost that fleet they could fit out another, but that he could not turn his back without dishonour to himself. 'Tis true, the blow that followed upon this was not very severe to the Lacedemonians ; but it was a deadly one, when, from a fear of public odium, Oleombrotus fought with Epamonidas, and the power of the Lacedemonians perished. How preferable was the conduct of Quintus Maximus, of whom Ennius says : — " The man* who saved his country by delay, No tales could move him, and no envy sway; And thus the laurels on his honoured brow, In age shall nourish, and with time shall grow." * The verses quoted here by Ennius seem to have been in high repu- tation with the Romans; for Virgil has borrowed the first of them, and applied it, as our author does, to the conduct of Fabius Maximus against Hannibal, 44 cicero's offices. [book i. This is a species of fault which ought also to be avoided in civil matters ; for there are some men who, from a dread of unpopularity, dare not express their opinions however excellent they may be. XXV. All who hope to rise in a state ought strictly to observe two rules of Plato. The first is, that they so keep in view the advantage of their fellow citizens as to have reference to it in whatever they do, regardless of their indi- vidual interest.* The second is, that their cares be applied to the whole of the state, lest while they are cherishing one part they abandon the others. For the administration of government, like a guardianship, ought to be directed to the good of those who confer, and not of those who receive the trust, f Now, they who consult the interests of one part of * " Political power is rightly exercised only when it subserves the welfare of the community. The community, which has the right to withhold power, delegates it of course for its own advantage. If in any case its advantage is not consulted, then the object for which it was delegated is frustrated ; or, in simple words, the measure which does not promote the public welfare is not right. It matters nothing whether the community have delegated specifically so much power for such and such purposes ; the power, being possessed, entails the obligation. Whether a sovereign derives absolute authority by inheritance, or whether a president is entrusted with limited authority for a year, the principles of their duty are the same. The obligation to employ it only for the public good, is just as real and iust as great in one case as in the other. The Russian and the Turk have the same right to require that the power of their rulers shall be so employed as the Englishman or American. They may not be able to assert this right, but that does not affect its existence, nor the ruler's duty, nor his responsibility to that Almighty Being before whom he must give an account of his stewardship. These reasonings, if they needed confirmation, derive it from the fact that the Deity imperatively requires us, according to our opportunities to do good to man." — Dymond's Essay 3, cap. 2. f " Political power (says Dymond) is rightly possessed only when it is possessed by the consent of the community." — Ibid. The doctrine of the essential sovereignty of the people, and the delegated power of all governors is thus laid down by Milton. " It is thus manifest that the power of kings and magistrates is nothing else but what is only derivative, transferred, and committed to them in trust from the people to the common good of them all, in whom the power yet remains funda- mentally, and cannot be taken from them without a violation of their natural birthright ; and from hence Aristotle, and the best of political writers, have defined a king, ' him who governs to the good and profit of his people, and not for his own ends.'" — Milton's " Tenure of Kings and Magistrates." And again : " It follows that since the king or magistrate holds his authority of the people, both originally and naturally, for their good in the first place, and not his own, then may the people, as oft as they shall judge it for the CHAP. XXV.] cicero's offices. 45 a community and neglect another, introduce into the state the greatest of all evils, sedition and discord. From this partiality some seem to court the people, some each great man, but few the whole. Hence the great discords amongst the Athenians, and in our government not only seditions but the most destructive wars, which every worthy and brave citizen who deserves to rise in the state will avoid and de- test : he will give himself entirely up to the service of his country, without regard to riches or to power, and he will watch over the whole so as to consult the good of all. He will even be far from bringing any man into hatred or disgrace, by ill-grounded charges, and he will so closely attach himself to the rules of justice and virtue, that how- ever he may give offence he will preserve them, and incur death itself rather than swerve from the principles I have laid down. Of all evils, ambition and the disputes for public posts are the most deplorable. Plato, likewise, on this subject, says very admirably, " that they who dispute for the management of a state resemble mariners wrangling about who should direct the helm." He then lays down as a rule that we ought to look upon those as our enemies who take arms against the public, and not those who want to have public affairs directed by their judgment. For instance, Publius Africanus and Quintus Metellus differed in opinion, but without animosity. Nor, indeed, are those to be listened to who consider that we ought to cherish a bitter resentment against our enemies, and that this is characteristic of a high-minded and brave man; for nothing is more noble, nothing more worthy of a great and a good man, than placability and moderation.* best, either choose him or reject him, retain him or depose him, though no tyrant, merely by the liberty and right of free-born men to be governed as seems to them best. This, though it cannot but stand with plain reason, shall be made good also by scripture : ( When thou art come into the land which the Lord thy God giveth thee, and shalt say, I will set a king over me, like as all the nations about me.' — Deut. xvii. 14. These words confirm us that the right of choosing, yea of changing their own government, is by the grant of God himself in the people." — Ibid. * It is impossible not to remark how far the popular standard of duty, and the modern Laws of honour, fall below this high and almost Christian morality of Cicero. 46 cicero's offices. [book i Nay, amidst free nations and equality of rights, an equability and loftiness of temper is necessary, to prevent our falling into an idle, disagreeable peevishness, when we are irritated by persons approaching us unseasonably, or preferring to us unreasonable requests. Yet this politeness and moderation ought to be so tempered, that for the sake of the interests of the state severity should be employed, otherwise public business could not be carried on. Meanwhile, all reprimands and punishments ought to be inflicted without abuse, without regard to the party so punishing or reprimanding, but to the good of the state. We ought, likewise, to take care that the punishment be proportioned to the offence,* and that some be not punished for doing things for which others are not so much as called to account. Above all things, in punishing we ought to guard against passion ; for the man who is to pronounce a sentence of punishment in a passion, never can preserve that mean between what is too much and too little, which is so justly recommended by the Peripatetics, did they not too much commend the passion of anger, by asserting it to be a useful property of our nature. For my part, I think that it .ought to be checked under all circumstances ;f and it were to be wished that they who preside in government were like * " A slight perusal of the laws by which the measures of vindictive and coercive justice are established, will discover so many disproportions between crimes and punishments, such capricious distinctions of guilt, and such con- fusion of remissness and severity, as can scarcely be believed to have been produced by public wisdom, sincerely and calmly studious of public happiness." — Dr. Johnson. f " Be ye angry, and sin not ;" therefore, all anger is not sinful ; I suppose because some degree of it, and upon some occasions, is inevitable. It becomes sinful, or contradicts, however, the rule of scripture, when it is conceived upon slight and inadequate provocation, and when it continues long." — Paley's " Moral and Political Philosophy," book 3, chap. 7. " From anger in its full import, protracted into malevolence, and exerted in revenge, arise, indeed, many of the evils to which the life of man is exposed. By anger operating upon power are produced the subversion oi cities, the desolation of countries, the massacre of nations, and all those dreadful and astonishing calamities which fill the histories of the world, and which could not be read at any distant point of time, when the passions stand neutral, and every motive and principle are left to its natural force, without some doubt of the truth of the relation, did we not see the same causes still tending to the same effects, and only acting with less vigour foi want of the same concurrent opportunities." — Dr. Johnson. CHAF. XXVI.J CICEKO's OFFICES. 47 the laws, which in punishing are not directed by resentments but by equity. XXVI. Now, during -our prosperity, and while things flow agreeably to our desire, we ought with great care to avoid pride and arrogance ; for, as it discovers weakness not to bear adversity with equanimity, so also with prosperity. That equanimity in every condition of life is a noble attri- bute, and that uniform expression of countenance and appear- ance which we find recorded of Socrates, and also of Caius Laelius. Though Philip of Macedon was excelled by his son in his achievements and his renown, yet I find him superior to him in politeness and goodness of nature ; the one, there- fore, always appeared great, while the other often became detestable. So that they appear to teach rightly, who admo- nish us that the more advanced we are in our fortune the more affable ought we to be in our behaviour. Panastius tells us his scholar and friend, Africanus, used to say, that as horses, grown unruly by being in frequent engagements, are delivered over to be tamed by horse-breakers, thus men, who grow riotous and self-sufficient by prosperity, ought, as it were, to be exercised in the traverse of reason and phi- losophy, that they may learn the inconstancy of human affairs and the uncertainty of fortune. In the time of our greatest prosperity we should also have the greatest recourse to the advice of our friends, and greater authority should be conceded to them than before. At such a time we are to take care not to lend our ears to flatterers, or to suffer ourselves to be imposed upon by adulation, by which it is easy to be misled : for we then think ourselves such as may be justly praised, an opinion that gives rise to a thousand errors in conduct; because, when men are once blown up with idle conceits, they are exposed to igno- minious ridicule and led into the greatest mistakes. So much for this subject. One thing you are to understand, that they who regulate public affairs perform the greatest exploits, and such as require the highest style of mind, because their business is most extensive and concerns the greatest number. Yet there are, and have been, many men of great capacities, who in private life have planned out or attempted mighty matters, and yet have confined themselves to the limits of their own 48 CICERO'S OFFICES. [book SI affairs ; or, being thrown into a middle state, between phi- losophers and those who govern the state, have amused themselves with the management of their private fortune, without swelling it by all manner of means, not debarring their friends from the benefit of it, but rather, when occasion calls upon them, sharing it both with their friends and their country. This should be originally acquired with honesty, without any scandalous or oppressive practices ; it should then be made serviceable to as many as possible, provided they be worthy ; it should next be augmented by prudence, by industry, and frugality, without serving the purposes of pleasure and luxury rather than of generosity and humanity. The man who observes those rules may live with magni- ficence, with dignity, and with spirit, yet with simplicity and honour, and agreeably to (the economy of) human life. XXVII. The next thing is, to treat of that remaining part of virtue in which consist chastity and those (as we may term them) ornaments of life, temperance, moderation, and all that allays the perturbations of the mind. Under this head is comprehended what in Latin we may call decorum (or the graceful), for the Greeks term it the Tgtvov. Now, its quality is such that it is indiscernible from the honestum ; for what- ever is graceful is virtuous, and whatever is virtuous is graceful. But it is more easy to conceive than to express the differ- ence between what is virtuous and what is graceful (or between the honestum and the decorum;) for whatever is graceful appears such, when virtue is its antecedent. What is graceful, therefore, appears not only in that division of virtue which is here treated of, but in the three foregoing ones ; for it is graceful in a man to think and to speak with propriety, to act with deliberation, and in every occurrence of life to find out and persevere in the truth. On the other hand, to be imposed upon, to mistake, to faulter, and to be deceived, is as ungraceful as to rave or to be insane. Thus, whatever is just is graceful ; whatever is unjust is as un- graceful as it is criminal. The same principle applies to courage ; for every manly and magnanimous action is worthy of a man and graceful; the reverse, as being unworthy, is ungraceful. This, therefore, which I call gracefulness, is a universal CHAP. XXVIII.] cicero's offices. 49 property of virtue, and a property that is self-evident, and not discerned by any profundity of reasoning ; for there is a certain gracefulness that is implied in every virtue, and which may exist distinctly from virtue, rather in thought than in fact : as grace and beauty of person, for example, cannot be separated from health, so the whole of that grace- fulness which I here speak of is blended with virtue, but may exist separately in the mind and in idea. Now, the definition of this is twofold : for there is a genera] gracefulness that is the property of all virtue, and that in eludes another, which is fitted to the particular divisions ol virtue. The former is commonly defined to be that grace- fulness that is conformable to that excellence of man, in which he differs from other sentient beings ; but the special, which is comprised under the general, is defined to be a gracefulness so adapted to nature as to exhibit propriety and sweetness under a certain elegant appearance. XXVIII. We may perceive that these things are so understood from that gracefulness which is aimed at by the poets, and of which elsewhere more is wont to be said ; for we say that the poets observe that gracefulness to be when a person speaks and acts in that manner which is most becoming his character. Thus if ^Eacus or Minos should say:— Let them hate me, so they fear me ; Or— The father's belly is his children's grave, it would seem unsuitable, because we know them to have been just persons; but when said by an Atreus, they are received with applause, because the speech is worthy of the character. Now, poets will form their judgment of what is becoming in each individual according to his character ; but nature herself has stamped on us a character in excellence greatly surpassing the rest of the animal creation. ; Poets, therefore, in their vast variety of characters, con- sider what is proper and what is becoming, even in the vicious: but as nature herself has cast to us our parts in constancy, moderation, temperance, and modesty; as she, at the same time, instructs us not to be unmindful how we should £ 50 cicero's offices. [book i behave to mankind, the effect is, that the extent both of thai gracefulness which is the general property of all virtue, and of that particular gracefulness that is adapted to every species of it, is discovered. For as personal beauty, by the sym- metrical disposition of the limbs, attracts our attention and pleases the eye, by the harmony and elegance with which each part corresponds to another, so that gracefulness which manifests itself in life, attracts the approbation of those among whom we live, by the order, consistency, and modesty of all our words and deeds. There is, therefore, a degree of respect due from us, suited to every man's character, from the best to the worst : for it it is not only arrogant, but it is profligate, for a man to disre- gard the world's opinion of himself ; but, in our estimate of human life, we are to make a difference between justice and- moral susceptibility.* The dictate of justice is to do no * Justice and moral susceptibility.'] Orig. Justiciam et verecundiam,: This is a very fine passage, and deserves to be explained. Verecundia is com- monly translated bashtiilness or modesty ; but in the sense of our author here, neither of those two words will do ; nor am I sure that the word decency,, or any word in the English tongue, Comes fully up to his meaning, which,; is, an inborn reverence for what is right, and which supplies the place of,, and sometimes controls, the law. Many actions may be agreeable to law, and yet disagreeable to this inborn principle. The tragedian Seneca has distinguished them very finely. He brings in Pyrrhus, saying, Pyr, Lex nulla cap to parcit aut pom am impedit. To this Agamemnon replies, Ag. Quod non vetat lex, hoc vetat fieri pudor. Pyr. " No law exempts a captive from the sword." Ag. " Where the law does not, moral duties bind." Our author inculcates the same principle in many other parts of his works y and it was afterwards admitted by Justinian into his Institutes. " Fide com-' missa appellata sunt, quia nullo vinculo juris, sed tantum pudore eorum qui rogabantur, continebantur." " Deeds of trust were so called, because the party entrusted was not obligated by law, but by conscience or morality." Ovid has a very noble sentiment, which he seems to have taken from our author and from Plato. Nondum justiciam facinus mortale fugarat, Ultima de superis ilia reliquit humum ; Proque metu, populum, sine vi, pudor ipse regebat. " Nor justice yet had fled from human crimes, Of all their godheads she the last remained ; For awful conscience, in those happy times, Ruled without fear, and without force restrained." CHAP. XXVIII.] CICERO S OFFICES. wrong; that of moral susceptibility is to give no offence to mankind, and in this the force of the graceful is most per- [ceptible. By these explanations I conceive that what we imean by the graceful and becoming may be understood. ! Now the duty resulting from this has a primary tendency to an agreement with and conservation of our nature ; and if we follow it as a guide we never shall err, but shall attain Verecundia or pudor, therefore, is properly an inward abhorrence of moral turpitude, through which the conscience is awed, and may be said to ^blush. Plato, and from him Plutarch, makes justice and this verecundia to be inseparable companions. " God (says the former) being afraid lest the human race should entirely perish upon earth, gave to mankind jus- tice and moral susceptibility, those ornaments of states and the bonds of (society." ! It is on the possession of this moral susceptibility, anterior to and inde- pendent of human laws, that Bishop Butler founds his ethical system. iThus he says of man, that " from his make, constitution, or nature, he is, iin the strictest and most proper sense, a law to himself ; " that " he hath 'the rule of right within," and that "what is wanting is only that he honestly attend to it ;" and, in enforcing the authority of this natural [monitor, ** your obligation to obey this law is its being the law of your jnature. That your conscience approves of and attests to such a course of jaction is itself alone an obligation. Conscience does not only offer itself to show us the way we should walk in, but it likewise carries its own authority with it, that it is our natural guide— the guide assigned us by the Author of Four nature. It, therefore, belongs to our condition of being; it is our duty to walk in that path, and to follow this guide, without looking about to see [whether we may not possibly forsake them with impunity." It is with a [like reference that Lord Bacon says : — " The light of nature not only \shines upon the human mind through the medium of a rational faculty, but by an internal instinct, according to the law of conscience, which is a pparkle of the purity of man's first estate." But a parallel passage from the pen of Cicero Jiimself, affords a still fuller and loftier enunciation of ithis principle: — " There is, indeed, one true and original law, conformable |to reason and to nature, diffused over all, invariable, eternal, which calls to !the fulfilment of duty and to abstinence from injustice, and which calls !|with that irresistible voice which is felt in all its authority wherever it is heard. This law cannot be abolished or curtailed, nor affected in its sanc- utions by any law of man. A whole senate, a whole people, cannot dispense i from its paramount obligation. It requires no commentator to render it 'distinctly intelligible, nor is it different at Rome, and at Athens, at the pre- sent, and in ages to come; but in all times and in all nations, it is, and ha3 been, and will be, one and everlasting— one as that God, its great Author md promulgator, who is the common sovereign of all mankind, is himself pne. No man can disobey it without flying, as it were, from his own bosom ind repudiating his nature, and in this very act will inflict on himself the ! severest of retributions, even though he escape what is commonly regarded ^ punishment." E 2 52 cicero's offices. [book I to that natural excellence which consists in acuteness and J sagacity, to that which is best adapted to human society, and to that which is energetic and manly.* But the chief force of the graceful lies in that suitableness of which I am now treating. For not only those emotions of a physical kind, but still more those of the mind are to be approved as they are conformable to nature. For the nature and powers of the mind are two-fold ; one consists in appetite, by the Greeks called ogpri, (i. e. impulse) which hurries man hither and thither ; the other in reason, which teaches and explains what we are to do, and what we are to avoid. The result is, that reason should direct and appetite obey. XXIX. Now every human action ought to be free from precipitancy and negligence, nor indeed ought we to do anything for which we cannot give a justifiable reason. This indeed almost amounts to a definition of duty. Now we; must manage so as to keep the appetites subservient to; reason, that they may neither outstrip it, nor fall behind- through sloth and cowardice. Let them be ever composed and free from all perturbation of spirit ; and thus entire; consistency and moderation will display themselves. For those appetites that are too vagrant and rampant as it were, e ther through desire or aversion, are not sufficiently under the command of reason ; s.ch, I say, undoubtedly transgress bounds and moderation. Foi they abandon and disclaim that subordination to reason, to which by the law of nature they are subjected, and theieby not only the mind but the body is thrown into disturbance. Let any one observe thej very looks of men who are in a rage, of those who^ are^ agitated by desire or fear, or who exult in an excess of joy I all whose countenances, voices, motions, and attitudes, are? changed. But to return to my description of duty. From these par- ticulars we learn that all our appetites ought to be contracted and mitigated ; that all our attention and diligence ought to be awake, so that we do nothing in a rash, random, thought- less, and inconsiderate manner. For nature has not formed us to sport and merriment, but rather to seriousness, and studies that are important and sublime. Sport and merriment * In other words, to wisdom, justice, and fortitude. CHAP. XXX.] CICERO'S OFFICES. 53 are not always disallowable : but we are to use them as we do sleep and other kinds of repose, when we have despatched our weighty and important affairs. Nay, our very manner of joking should be neither wanton nor indecent, but genteel and good-humoured. For as we indulge boys not in an unlimited licence of sport, but only in that which is not inconsistent with virtuous conduct, so in our very jokes there should appear some gleam of a virtuous nature. The manner of joking is reduceable under two denomina- tions ; — one that is ill-bred, insolent, profligate, and obscene ; another that is elegant, polite, witty, and good-humoured. We have abundance of this last, not only in our Plautus, and the authors of the old Greek comedy, but in the writings of the Socratic philosophers. Many collections have likewise been made by various writers, of humorous sayings, such as that made by Cato, and called his Apopthegms. The dis- tinction, therefore, between a genteel and an ill-mannered joke is a very ready one. The former, if seasonably made, and when the attention is relaxed, is worthy of a virtuous man ; the other, if it exhibit immorality in its subject, or obscenity in the expression, is unworthy even of a man. There is likewise a certain limit to be observed, even in our amusements, that we do not give up everything to amusement, and that, after being elevated by pleasure, we 'do not sink into some immorality. Our Campus Martins, 'and the sport of hunting, supply creditable examples of | amusement. XXX. But in all our disquisitions concerning the nature of a duty, it is material that we keep in our eye the great excellence of man's nature above that of the brutes and all other creatures. They are insensible to everything but pleasure, and are hurried to it by every impulse. Whereas the mind of man is nourished by study and reflection, and, , being charmed by the pleasure of seeing and hearing, it is ever either inquiring or acting. But if there is a man who I has a small bias to pleasure, provided he is not of the brut e kind (for there are some who are men only in name) ; but, I |say, if he is more high-minded even in a small degree, though he may be smitten with pleasure, he yet, through a principle of shame, hides and disguises his inclination for it. From this we are to conclude that mere corporeal pleasure 54 cicero's offices. [book 1 is unworthy the excellency of man's nature ; and that it ought therefore to be despised and rejected ; but that if a man shall have any delight in pleasure, he ought to be extremely observant of limits in its indulgence. Therefore, the nourish- ment and dress of our bodies should be with a view not to our pleasure, but to our health and our strength ; and should we examine the excellency and dignity of our nature, we should then be made sensible how shameful it is to melt away in pleasure, and to live in voluptuousness and effemi- nacy ; and how noble it is to live with abstinence, with modesty, with strictness, and sobriety. We are likewise to observe, that nature has, as it were, endowed us with two characters. The first is in common to all mankind, because all of us partake in that excellency of reason, which places us above the brutes ; from which is derived all that is virtuous, all that is graceful, and by which we trace our connections with our several duties. The other character is peculiar to individuals. For, as there are great dissimilarities in our persons — some for instance are swift in running, others strong in wrestling ; and in style of beauty some have a dignity, and others a sweetness of aspect — so are there still greater varieties in our minds. Lucius Crassus and Lucius Philippus had a great deal of wit ; but in Caius Caesar, the son of Lucius, it was greater in degree, and more elaborate. In their contemporaries, Marcus Scaurus, and young Marcus Drusus, there was a ; remarkable seriousness ; in Caius Laalius great hilarity ; but | in his friend Scipio greater ambition, and a graver style of t life. As to the Greeks, we are told of Socrates that he was j agreeable and witty ; his conversation jocose, and in all his a discourse a feigner of opinions whom the Greeks called • £/gwv. On the other hand, Pythagoras and Pericles, without ' any gaiety, attained the highest authority. Amongst the Carthaginian generals, Hannibal, we learn, was crafty, and Quintus Maximus amongst our own generals was apt at con- cealment, secrecy, dissimulation, plotting, and anticipating the designs of enemies. In this class the Greeks rank Themis- tocles, and Iason of Pherae, above all others ; and place among the very first, that cunning and artful device of Solon, when,ffl to secure his own life, and that he might be of greater service to his country, he counterfeited madness. In opposition to CHAP. XXXI.] CICEHO 6 OFFICES. 55 those characters, the tempers of many others are plain and open. Lovers of truth and haters of deceit, they think that nothing should be done by stealth, nothing by stratagem ; while others care not what they suffer themselves, or whom they stoop to, provided they accomplish their ends ; as we have seen Sylla and Marcus Crassus. In which class Lysander the Lacedemonian, we are told, had the greatest art and per- severance, and that Callicratides, who succeeded to Lysander in the command of the fleet, was the reverse. We have known some others, who though very powerful in conversation, always make themselves appear undistinguished individuals among many ; such were the Catuli, father and son, and Quintus Mucius Mancia. I have heard from men older than myself, that Publius Scipio Nasica was of the same cast, but that his father, the same who punished the pernicious designs of Tiberius Gracchus, was void of all politeness in conver- sation : and the same of Xenocrates, the most austere of philosophers, and from that very circumstance a distinguished and celebrated man. Innumerable, but far from being blame- able, are the other differences in the natures and manners of men. XXXI. Every man, however, ought carefully to follow out his peculiar character, provided it is only peculiar, and not vicious, that he may the more easily attain that grace- fulness of which we are inquiring. For we ought to manage so as never to counteract the general system of nature ; but having taken care of that, we are to follow our natural bias ; insomuch, that though other studies may be of greater weight and excellence, yet we are to regulate our pursuits by the disposition of our nature. It is to no purpose to thwart nature, or to aim at what you cannot attain. We therefore may have a still clearer conception of the graceful I am recommending, from this consideration, that nothing is grace- ful that goes (as the saying is) against the grain, that is, in contradiction and opposition to nature. If anything at all is graceful, nothing surely is more so than a uniformity through the course of all your life, as well as through every particular action of it ; and you never can preserve this uniformity, if, aping another man's nature, you forsake your own. For as we ought to converse in the language we are best acquainted with, for fear of 56 cicero's offices. Ebook i. making ourselves justly ridiculous, as those do who cram in Greek expressions ; so there ought to be no incongruity in our actions, and none in all the tenor of our lives.* Now so powerful is this difference of natures, that it may be the duty of one man to put himself to death, and yet not of another, though in the same predicament. For was the predicament of Marcus Cato different from that of those who surrendered themselves to Caesar in Africa? Yet it had been perhaps blameable in the latter, had they put them- selves to death, because their lives were less severe, and their moral natures more pliable. But it became Cato, who had by perpetual perseverance strengthened that inflexibility which nature had given him, and had never departed from the purpose and resolution he had once formed, to die rather than to look upon the face of a tyrant .f * " Decency, or a proper regard to age, sex, character, and station in the 1 world, may be ranked among the qualities which are immediately agreeable : to others, and which by that means acquire praise and approbation. An ; effeminate behaviour in a man, a rough manner in a woman, these are ugly because unsuitable to each character, and different from the qualities which 1 we expect in the sexes. It is as if a tragedy abounded in comic beauties, i or a comedy in tragic. The disproportions hurt the eye, and convey a dis- > agreeable sentiment to the spectators, the source of blame and disappro- j bation. This is that indecorum which is explained so much at large by • Cicero in his Offices." — Humes " Principles of Morals," sec. 8. f The guilt of suicide has been palliated by Godwin, and utterly denied * by Hume. The following remarks emanated from a sounder moralist than either : — " The lesson which the self- destroyer teaches to his connections, of sinking ; in despair under the evils of life, is one of the most pernicious which a man can bequeath. The power of the example is also great. Every act of '\ suicide tacitly conveys the sanction of one more judgment in its favour ; a frequency of repetition diminishes the sensation of abhorrence, and makes < succeeding sufferers resort to it with less reluctance." " Besides which \ general reasons, says Dr. Paley, (' Moral and Political Philosophy,' b. 4, c. 3,) each case will be aggravated by its own proper and particular conse- quences ; by the duties that are deserted ; by the claims that are defrauded ; by the loss, affliction, or disgrace, which our death, or the manner of it, causes our family, kindred, or friends, by the occasion we give to many to suspect the sincerity of our moral and religious professions, and together with ours those of all others :" and lastly by the scandal which we bring upon religion itself, by declaring practically that it is not able to support man under the calamities of life. Some men say that the New Testament contains no prohibition of suicide. If this were true it would avail nothing, because tnere are many things which it does not forbid, but which every one knows to be wicked. But in reality it does forbid it. Every exhortation CHAP. XXXI."] CICERO'S OFFICES. 57 How various were those sufferings of Ulysses, in his long continued wanderings, when he became the slave of women (if you consider Circe and Calypso as such) : and in all he said he sought to be complaisant and agreeable to every body, nay, put up with abuses from slaves and handmaidens at home, that he might at length compass what he desired; but with the spirit with which he is represented, Ajax would have preferred a thousand deaths to suffering such indig- nities. In the contemplation of which each ought to consider what is peculiar to himself, and to regulate those peculiari- ties, without making any experiments how another man's become them ; for that manner which is most peculiarly a man's own always becomes him best. Every man ought, therefore, to study his own genius, so as to become an impartial judge of his own good and bad qualities, otherwise the players will discover better sense than we; for they don't choose for themselves those parts that are the most excellent, but those which are best adapted to them. Those who rely on their voices choose the part of Epigonas or Medus ; the best actors that of Menalippa or Clytemnestra. Rupilius, who I remember, always selected that of Antiopa; Esopus seldom chose that of Ajax. Shall a player, then, observe this upon the stage, and shall a wise man not observe it in the conduct of life ? Let us, there- fore, most earnestly apply to those parts for which we are best fitted; but should necessity degrade us into characters unsuitable to our genius, let us employ all our care, attention, which it gives to be patient, every encouragement to trust in God, every consideration which it urges as a support under affliction and distress, is a virtual prohibition of suicide ; because if a man commits suicide he rejects every such advice and encouragement, and disregards every such motive. " To him who believes either in revealed or natural religion, there is a certain folly in the commission of suicide; for from what does he fly ? from his present sufferings, whilst death, for aught that he has reason to expect, or at any rate for aught that he knows, may only be the portal to sufferings naore intense. Natural religion, I think, gives no countenance to the suppo- sition that suicide can be approved by the Deity, because it proceeds upon the belief that, in another state of existence, he will compensate good men for the sufferings of the present. At the best, and under either religion, it is a desperate stake. He that commits murder may repent, and, we hope be forgiven ; but he that destroys himself, whilst he incurs a load of guilt, cuts off by the act the power of repentance." — Dymond's Essays, Essay ii. chap. 16. 58 cicero's offices. [book i. and industry, in endeavouring to perform them, if not with propriety, with as little impropriety as possible : nor should we strive so much to attain excellencies which have not been conferred on us, as to avoid defects. XXXII. To the two characters above described is added a third, which either accident or occasion imposes on us; and even a fourth, which we accommodate to ourselves by our own judgment and choice. Now kingdoms, governments, honours, dignities, riches, interest, and whatever are the qualities contrary to them, happen through accident, and are directed by occasions ; but what part we ourselves should wish to act, originates from our own will. Some, therefore, apply to philosophy, some to the civil law, and some to elo- quence ; and of the virtues themselves some endeavour to shine in one, and some in another. Men generally are ambitious of distinguishing themselves in that kind of excellence in which their fathers or their an- cestors were most famous : for instance, Quintus, the son of Publius Mucius, in the civil law; Africanus, the son of Paulus, in the art of war. Some, however, increase, by merits of their own, that glory which they have received from their fathers; for the same Africanus crowned his military glory with the practice of eloquence. In like manner, Tirno- theus, the son of Conon, who equalled his father in the duties of the field, but added to them the glory of genius and learning. Sometimes, however, it happens that men, laying aside the imitation of their ancestors, follow a purpose of their own; and this is most commonly the case with such men who, though descended from obscure ancestors, purpose to them- selves great aims. In our search, then, after what is graceful, all those parti- culars ought to be embraced in our contemplation and study. In the first place, we are to determine who and what manner of men we are to be, and what mode of life we are to adopt — a consideration which is the most difficult of all; for, in our early youth, when there is the greatest weakness of judgment, every one chooses to himself that kind of life which he has most fancied. He, therefore, is trepanned into some fixed and settled course of living before he is capable to judge what is the most proper.* * « I have often thought those happy that have been fixed, from the first chap, xxxiii.] cicero's offices. 59 For the Hercules of Prodicus, as we learn from Xenophon, in his early puberty (an age appointed by nature for every man's choosing his scheme of life) is said to have gone into a j solitude, and there sitting down, to have deliberated within himself much, and for a long time, whether of two paths that he saw before him it was better to enter on, the one of pleasure, the other of virtue. This might, indeed, happen to a Jove- begotten Hercules; but not so with us, who imitate those - whom we have an opinion of, and are thereby drawn into their pursuits and purposes : for generally, prepossessed by the principles of our parents, we are drawn away to their customs and habits. Others, swayed by the judgment of the multitude, are passionately fond of those things which , seem best to the majority. A few, however, either through | some good fortune, or a certain excellency of nature, or through the training of their parents, pursue the right path of life. I XXXIII. The rarest class is composed of those who, j endowed with an exalted genius, or with excellent educa- » tion and learning, or possessing both, have had scope enough for deliberating as to what course of life they would be i most willing to adopt. Every design, in such a delibera- > tion, ought to be referred to the natural powers of the indi- i vidual ; for since, as I said before, we discover this propriety i in every act which is performed, by reference to the qualities J with which a man is born, so, in fixing the plan of our future life, we ought to be still much more careful in that respect, that we may be consistent throughout the duration of life ij with ourselves, and not deficient in any one duty. But because nature in this possesses the chief power, and dawn of thought, in a determination to some state of life, by the choice of one whose authority may preclude caprice, and whose influence may pre- judice them in favour of his opinion. The general precept of consulting the genius is of little use, unless we are told how the genius can be known. If it is to be discovered only by experiment, life will be lost before the re- solution can be fixed ; if any other indications are to be found, they may, perhaps, be very early discerned. At least, if to miscarry in an attempt be a proof of having mistaken the direction of the genius, men appear not less frequently deceived with regard to themselves than to others ; and there- fore no one has much reason to complain that his life was planned out by his friends, or to be confident that he should have had either more honour or happiness, by being abandoned to the chance of his own fancy." — Dr Johnson's " Rambler," No. 19. 60 CICERO'S OFFICES. [book I. fortune the next, we ought to pay regard to both in fixing our scheme of life; but chiefly to nature, as she is much more firm and constant, insomuch that the struggle, some- times between nature and fortune, seems to be between a mortal and an immortal being. The man, therefore, who adapts his whole system of living to his undepraved nature, let him maintain his constancy ; for that, above all things, becomes a man, provided he come not to learn that he has been mistaken in his choice of a mode of life. Should that occur, as it possibly may, a change must be made in all his habits and purposes which, if circumstances shall be favourable, we shall more easily and readily effect; but, should it happen otherwise, it must be done slowly and gradually. Thus, men of sense think it more suitable that friendships which are disagreeable or not approved should be gradually detached, rather than suddenly cut off. Still, upon altering our scheme of life, we ought to take the utmost care to make it appear that we have done it upon good grounds. But if, as I said above, we are to imitate our ancestors, this should be first excepted that their bad qualities must not be imitated. In the next place, if nature does not qualify us to imitate them in some things, we are not to attempt it: for instance, the son of the elder African us, who adopted the younger son of Paulus, could not, from infirmity of health, resemble his father so much as his father did his grand- father. If, therefore, a man is unable to defend causes, to entertain the people by haranguing, or to wage war, yet still he ought to do what is in his power; he ought to practise justice, honour, generosity, modesty, and temperance, that what is wanting may be the less required of him. Now, the best inheritance a parent can leave a child-— more excellent than any patrimony — is the glory of his virtue and his deeds; to bring disgrace on which ought to be regarded as wicked and monstrous. XXXIV. And as the same moral duties are not suited to the different periods of life, some belonging to the young, others to the old, we must likewise say somewhat on this distinc- tion. It is the duty of a young man to reverence his elders, and amongst them to select the best and the worthiest, on whose advice and authority to rely. For the inexperience of youth ought to be instructed and conducted by the wisdom CHAP. XX XIV. J cicero's offices. Gl of the ao-ed. Above all things, the young man ought to be restrained from lawless desires, and exercised in endurance and labour both of body and mind, that by persevering in them, he may be efficient in the duties both of war and peace. Nay/ when they even unbend their minds and give them- selves up to mirth, they ought to avoide intemperance, and never lose sight of morality ; and this will be the more easy if even upon such occasions they desire that their elders should be associated w T ith them.* As to old men, their bodily labours seem to require diminu- tion, but the exercises of their mind ought even to be increased. Their care should be to assist their friends, the youth, and above all their country, to the utmost of their ability by their advice and experience. Now there is nothing that old age ought more carefully to guard against, than giving itself up tolistlessness and indolence. As to luxury, though it is shameful in every stage of life , in old age it is detestable ; but if to that is added intemperance in lawless desires, the evil is doubled; because old age itself thereby incurs dis- grace ; and makes the excesses of the young more shameless.f Neither is it foreign to my purpose to touch upon the duties of magistrates, of private citizens, and of strangers. It is then the peculiar duty of a magistrate to bear in mind that he represents the state, and that he ought, therefore, to maintain its dignity and glory, to preserve its constitution, to act by its laws, and to remember that these things are * So Dr. South describes jov as exhibited by Adam in the state of inno- cence in the most remarkable of his productions, the sermon entitled « Man created in God's image." " It was <^ays he) refreshing, but com- posed, like the gaiety of youth tempered with the gravity of age, or the mirth of a festival managed with the silence of contemplation. lne couise here prescribed was adopted in the institutions of Lycurgus, and recommended by Plato. t " It may very reasonably be suspected that the old draw upon them- selves the greatest parts of those insults which they so much lament, and that age is rarely despised but when it is contemptible. If men imagine that excessive debauchery can be made reverend by time, that knowledge is the consequence of long life, however idly and thoughtlessly employed, that priority of birth will supply the want of steadiness or honesty can it raise much wonder that their hopes are disappointed, and that they see their posteritv rather willing to trust their own eyes m their progress into life, than enlist themselves under guides who have lost their way I — Dr. Johnson. 62 CICERO'S OFFICES. [BOOK 1. committed to his fidelity.* As to a private man and citi- zen, his duty is to live upon a just and equal footing with his fellow citizens, neither subordinate and subservient nor domineering. In his sentiments of the public to be always for peaceful and virtuous measures ; for such we are ac- customed to imagine and describe a virtuous citizen. Now the duty of a stranger and an alien is, to mind no- thing but his own business, not to intermeddle with another, and least of all to be curious about the affairs of a foreign government. Thus we shall generally succeed in the prac- tice of the moral duties, when we inquire after what is most becoming and best fitted to persons, occasions, and ages ; and nothing is more becoming than in all our actions and in all j&ur deliberations to preserve consistency. JC XXXV. But, because the graceful or becoming character we treat of appears in all our words and actions, nay, in every motion and disposition of our person, and consists of three particulars, beauty, regularity, and appointment suited to action (ideas which indeed are difficult to be expressed, but it is sufficient if they are understood) ; and as in these three heads is comprehended our care to be approved by those amongst whom and with whom we live, on thein also a few observations must be made. In the first place nature seems to have paid a great regard lo the form of our bodies, by ex- posing to the sight all that part of our figure that has a beauti- ■ ful appearance, while she has covered and concealed those parts I which were given for the necessities of nature, and which I, would have been offensive and disagreeable to the sight. This careful contrivance of nature has been imitated by the modesty of mankind ; for all men in their senses conceal from the eye the parts which nature has hid ; and they take * Respecting the ultimate possession of political power by the governed, and the consequently delegated power of rulers, we have the following striking passage in Hall's Liberty of the Press. " With the enemies of freedom it is a usual artifice to represent the sovereignty of the people as a licence to anarchy and disorder. But the tracing of civil power to that source will not diminish our obligation to obey; it only explains its reasons, and settles it on clear determinate principles. It turns blind submission into rational obedience, tempers the passion for liberty with the love of order, and places mankind in a happy medium, between the extremes of anarchy on the one side, and oppression on the other. It is the polar star that will conduct us safe over the ocean of political debate and specu- lation, the law of laws, the legislator of legislators." XXXVI.] cicero's offices. 63 care that they should discharge as privately as possible even the necessities of nature. And those parts which serve those necessities, and the necessities themselves, are not called by their real names; because that which is not shameful if privately performed, it is still obscene to describe. There- fore neither the public commission of those things, nor the obscene expression of them, is free from immodesty. Neither are we to regard the Cynics or the Stoics, who are next to Cynics, who abuse and ridicule us for deeming things that are not shameful in their own nature, to become vicious through names and expressions. Now, we give everything that is disgraceful in its own nature its proper term. Theft, fraud, adultery, are disgraceful in their own nature, but not obscene in the expression. The act of be- getting children is virtuous, but the expression obscene. Thus, a great many arguments to the same purpose are maintained by these philosophers in subversion of delicacy. Let us, for our parts, follow nature, and avoid whatever h offensive to the eyes or ears ; let us aim at the graceful or becoming, whether we stand or walk, whether we sit or lie down, in every motion of our features, our eyes, or our hands. In those matters two things are chiefly to be avoided ; that there be nothing effeminate and foppish, nor any thing coarse and clownish. Neither are we to admit, that those considerations are proper for actors and orators, but not binding upon us. The manners at least of the actors, from the morality of our ancestors, are so decent that none of them appear upon the stage without an under-covering ; being afraid lest if by any accident certain parts of the body should be exposed, they should make an indecent appearance. According to our customs, sons grown up to manhood do not bathe along with their fathers, nor sons-in-law with their fathers-in-law. Modesty of this kind, therefore, is to be cherished, especially as nature herself is our instructor and guide. XXXVI. Now as beauty is of two kinds, one that consists in loveliness, and the other in dignity ; loveliness we should regard as the characteristic of women, dignity of men : therefore, let a man remove from his person every ornament that is unbecoming a man, and let him take the same care of 64 ClCElto's OFFICES. [book L every similar fault with regard to his gesture or motion. For very often the movements learned in the Palaestra are offen- sive, and not a few impertinent gestures among the players are productive of disgust, while in both whatever is unaffected and simple is received with applause. Now, comeliness in the person is preserved by the freshness of the complexion, and that freshness by the exercises of the body. To this we are to add, a neatness that is neither troublesome nor too much studied, but which just avoids all clownish, ill-bred sloven- ness. The same rules are to be observed with regard to ornaments of dress, in which, as in all other matters, a mean is preferable. We must likewise avoid a drawling solemn pace in walk- ing, so as to seem like bearers in a procession ; and likewise in matters that require despatch, quick, hurried motions ; which, when they occur, occasion a shortness of breathing, an alteration in the looks, and a convulsion in the features, all which strongly indicate an inconstant character. But still greater should be our care that the movements of our mind never depart from nature ; in which we shall succeed if we guard against falling into any flurry and disorder of spirit, and keep our faculties intent on the preservation of propriety. Now the motions of the mind are of two kinds, the one of reflection and the other of appetite. Reflection chiefly applies itself in the search of truth. Appetite prompts us to action. We are therefore to take care to employ our reflection upon the best subjects, and to render our appetite obedient to our reason. XXXVII. And since the influence of speech is very great and that of two kinds, — one proper for disputing, the other for discoursing, — the former should be employed in plead- ings at trials, in assemblies of the people, and meetings of the senate; the latter in social circles, disquisitions, the meetings of our friends, and should likewise attend upon entertainments. Rhetoricians lay down rules for disputing, but none for dis- coursing, though I am not sure but that likewise may be done. Masters are to be found in ail pursuits in which there are learners, and all places are filled with crowds of rhetori- cians ; but there are none who study this, and yet all the rules that are laid down for words and sentiments (in debate) are likewise applicable to conversation. chap, xxxvii.] cicero's offices. bo But, as we have a voice as the organ of speech, we ought to aim at two properties in it : first that it be clear, and secondly that it be agreeable ; both are unquestionably to be sought from nature ; and yet practice may improve the one, and imitating those who speak nervously and distinctly, the other. There was, in the Catuli, nothing by which you could conclude them possessed of any exquisite judgment in language, though learned to be sure they were ; and so have others been. But the Catuli were thought to excel in the Latin tongue ; their pronunciation was harmonious, their words were neither mouthed nor minced ; so that their ex- pression was distinct, without being unpleasant ; while their voice, without strain, was neither faint nor shrill. The manner of Lucius Crassus was more flowing, and equally elegant ; though the opinion concerning the Catuli, as good speakers, was not less. But Caesar, brother to the elder Catulus, exceeded all in wit and humour; insomuch that even in the forensic style of speaking, he with his conversational manner surpassed the energetic eloquence of others. There- fore, in all those matters, we must labour diligently if we would discover what is the point of propriety in every instance. Let our common discourse therefore (and this is the great excellence of the followers of Socrates) be smooth and good- humoured, without the least arrogance. Let there be plea- santry in it. Nor let any one speaker exclude all others as if he were entering on a province of his own, but consider that in conversation, as in other things, alternate participa- tion is but fair.* But more especially let him consider on what subjects he should speak. If serious, let him use gra- vity ; if merry, good-humour. But a man ought to take the * " As the mutual shocks in society and the oppositions of interest and self-love, have constrained mankind to establish the laws of justice, in order to preserve the advantages of mutual assistance and protection; in like manner, the eternal contrarieties in company of men's pride and self-con- ceit, have introduced the rules of good manners or politeness, in order to facilitate the intercourse of minds and an undisturbed commerce and con- versation. Among well-bred people, a mutual deference is affected, contempt of others disguised, authority concealed, attention given to each in his time, and an easy stream of conversation maintained, without vehemence, without interruption, without eagerness for victory, and without any airs of superi- ority. These attentions and regards are immediately agreeable to others, abstracted from any consideration of utility or beneficial tendencies ; they F 66 cicero's offices. [book i. i greatest care that his discourse betray no defect in his mo- rals ; and this generally is the case when for the sake of de- traction we eagerly speak of the absent in a malicious, ridi- culous, harsh, bitter, and contemptuous manner. Now conversation generally turns upon private concerns, or politics, or the pursuits of art and learning. We are, therefore, to study, whenever our conversation begins to ramble to other subjects, to recall it : and whatever subjects may present themselves (for we are not all pleased with the same subjects and that similarly and at all times) we should observe how far our conversation maintains its interest ; and as there was a reason for beginning so there should be a limit at which to conclude. XXXVIII. But as we are very propely enjoined, in all the course of our life, to avoid all fits of passion, that is, ex-' cessive emotions of the mind uncontrolled by reason ; in like manner, our conversation ought to be free from all such emo- tions ; so that neither resentment manifest itself^ nor undue, desire, nor slovenness, nor indolence, nor any thing of that kind ; and, above all things, we should endeavour to indicate, both esteem and love for those we converse with. Re-' proaches may sometimes be necessary, in which we may per-' haps be obliged to employ a higher strain of voice and a. harsher turn of language. Even in that case, we ought only to seem to do these things in anger ; but as, in the cases of cautery and amputations, so with this kind of correction we^ should have recourse to it seldom and unwillingly ; and in-; deed, never but when no other remedy can be discovered I but still, let all passion be avoided ; for with that nothing} can be done with rectitude, nothing with discretion. In general it is allowable to adopt a mild style of rebuke,* combining it with seriousness, so that severity may be indi- cated but abusive language avoided. Nay, even what of bitterness there is in the reproach should be shown to have conciliate affection, promote esteem, and extremely enhance the merit of the person who regulates his behaviour by them. <♦ In conversation, the lively spirit of dialogue is agreeable even to those who desire not to have any share in the discourse. Hence the relater of long stories, or the pompous declaimer is very little approved ot. But most men desire likewise their time in the conversation, and regard with a very evil eye that loquacity which deprives them of a right they are naturally •« zealous of."— Hume's " Principles of Morals/' section vm. cnAr. xxxix.] cicero's offices. 67 been adopted for the sake of the party reproved. Now, it is advisable, even in those disputes which take place with our bitterest enemies, if we hear any that is insulting to ourselves to maintain our equanimity, and repress passion ; for what- ever is done under such excitement can never be either con- sistently performed, or approved of by those who are present.* It is likewise indecent for a man to be loud in his own praise (and the more so if it be false), and so to imitate the swagger- ing soldier (in the play) amidst the derision of the auditors. XXXIX. Now, as I touch, at least wish to touch, upon every matter of duty, I shall likewise treat of the kind of I house which I think suited to a man of high rank and office ; the end of this being utility, to it the design of the building must be adapted, but still regard must be paid to magni- ficence and elegance. We learn that it was to the honour of iCneius Octavius, the first of that family who was raised to the consulship, that he built upon the Palatine, a house of a Inoble and majestic appearance, which, as it was visited as a spectacle by the common people, was supposed to have voted its proprietor, though but a new man, into the consulship. Scaurus demolished this house, and took the ground into his own palace. But though the one first brought a consulship mto his family, yet the other, though the son of a man of the greatest rank and distinction, carried into this, his enlarged palace, not only repulse but disgrace, nay ruin. * "The command of anger appears, upon many occasions, not less ge- nerous and noble than that of fear. The proper expression of just indig- nation composes many of the most splendid and admired passages both of indent and modern eloquence. The Phillippics of Demosthenes, the ^atilinnarians of Cicero derive their whole beauty from the noble propriety vith which this passion is expressed. But this just indignation is nothing jut anger restrained and properly attempered to what the impatient spec- ator can enter into. The blustering and noisy passion which goes beyond his is always odious and offensive, and interests us, not for the angry man mt the man with whom he is angry. The nobleness of pardoning appears, lpon many occasions, superior even to the most perfect proprietv of resent- ng, when either proper acknowledgements have been made by the offending >arty, or, even without any such acknowledgments, when the public m- erest requires that the most mortal enemies should unite for the discharge )f some important duty. The man who can cast away all animosity, and act nth confidence and cordiality towards the person who had most grievously >ffended him, seems justly to merit our highest admiration.— Smith's "Moral sentiments/' part vi. section iii. F 2 68 CICEKO'S OFFICES. [BOOK 1 For dignity should be adorned by a palace, but not be wholly sought from it : — the house ought to be ennobled by the master, and not the master by the house. And, as in other matters a man should have regard to others and not to his own concerns alone, so in the house of a man of rank, who is to entertain a great many guests and to admit a multitude of all denominations, attention should be paid to spaciousness; but a great house often reflects discredit upon its master, if there is solitude in it, especially if, under a former proprietor, it has been accustomed to be well filled. It is a mortifying thing when passengers exclaim, "Ah! ancient dwelling! by how degenerate a master art thou occupied!" which may well be said at the present time of a great many houses. But you are to take care, especially if you build for yourself, not to go beyond bounds in grandeur and costliness. Even the example of an excess of this kind does much mischief. For most people, particularly in this respect, studiously imitate, the example of their leaders. For instance, who imitates the virtue of the excellent Lucius Lucullus ? But how many ; there are who have imitated the magnificence of his villas. To which certainly a bound ought to be set, and it reduced to moderation, and the same spirit of moderation ought to be extended to all the practice and economy of life. But of this enough. Now in undertaking every action we are to regard three things. First, that appetite be subservient to reason, than , which there is no condition better fitted for preserving the moral duties. We are, secondly, to examine how important \ the object in which we desire to accomplish, that our atten^ tion or labour may be neither more nor less than the occasion requires. Thirdly, we are to take care that every thing that comes under the head of magnificence and dignity should' be well regulated. Now, the best regulation is, to observe that same graceful propriety which I have recommended, and to go no further. But of those three heads, the most excellent is, that of making our appetites subservient to our reason. XL. I am now to speak concerning the order and the timing of things. In this science is comprehended what the Greek call shrotfya, not that which we Romans call mode- ration, an expression that implies keeping within bounds ; whereas that is evrafya, in which the preservation of order is CHAP. XL.] cicero's offices. 69 involved. This duty, which we will denominate moderation, is defined by the Stoics as those things which are either said or done in their appropriate places of ranging. Therefore, the signification of order and of arrangement seems to be the same. For they define order to be the disposing of things into fitting and convenient places. Now they tell us that the appropriate place of an action is the oppor- tunity of doing it. The proper opportunity for action being called by the Greeks swapta, and by the Latins, occasio, or occasion. Thus, as I have already observed, that modestia which we have thus explained, is the knowledge of acting according to the fitness of a conjecture. But prudence, of which we have treated in the beginning of this book, may admit of the same definition. Under this head, however, I speak of moderation and temperance, and the like virtues. Therefore, the considerations which belong to prudence have been treated in their proper place. But at present I am to treat of those virtues I have been so long speaking of, which relate to morality, and the approbation of those with whom we «live. Such then should be the regularity of all our actions, that in the economy of life, as in a connected discourse, all things may agree and correspond. For it would be unbecoming and highly blameable, should we, when upon a serious { subject, introduce the language of the jovial or the effemi- nate. When Pericles had for his colleague in the prastor- 1 ship Sophocles the poet, and as they were discoursing upon | their joint official duty, a beautiful boy by chance passed by, : Sophocles exclaimed, "What a charming boy, Pericles !" but Pericles very properly told him, " A magistrate ought to keep not only his hands, but his eyes under restraint." Now Sophocles, had he said the same thing at a trial of athletic performers would not have been liable to this just reprimand, such importance there is in the time and place. So too, a man, who is going to plead a cause, if on a journey or in a walk he should muse or appear to himself more thoughtful than ordinary, he is not blamed : but should he do this at an entertainment, he would seem ill-bred for not dis- tinguishing times. But those actions that are in wide discrepancy with good- breeding, such, for instance, as singing in the forum, or 70 CICERO'S OFFICES. [BOOK I. any such absurdity, are so easily discernible, that they re- quire no great degree of reprehension or advice. But faults that seem to be inconsiderable, and such as are descernible only by a few, are to be more carefully avoided. As in lutes or pipes, however little they be out of tune, it is per- ceived by a practised ear ; so in life we are to guard against all discrepancy, and the rather as the harmony of morals is greater and much more valuable than that of sounds. XLI. Thus, as the ear is sensible of the smallest discord in musical instruments, so we, if we desire to be accurate and attentive observers of faults, may make great discoveries from very trifling circumstances. The cast of the eye, the bending or unbending of the brow, an air of dejection or cheerfulness, laughter, the tone' of words, silence, the raising or falling of the voice, and the like circumstances, we may easily form a judgment which of them are in their pro- per state, and which of them are in discord with duty and nature. Now in this case, it is advisable to judge from others, of the condition and properties of every one of those, so that we ourselves may avoid those things that are unbecoming in others. For it happens, I know not how, that we perceive what is defective more readily in others than we do in ourselves. Therefore, when masters mimic the faults of boys that they may amend them, those boys are most easily corrected. Neither is it improper, in order to fix our choice in matters which involve a doubt, if we apply to men of learning and also of experience, and learn what they think of the several kinds of duty ; for the greatest part of such men are usually led to that conclusion to which nature herself directs ; and in these cases, we are to examine not only what a man says, but what he thinks, and upon what grounds he thinks it. For as painters, statuaries, and even poets, want to have their works canvassed by the public in order to correct any thing that is generally condemned, and examine both by themselves and with others where the defect lies ; thus we ought to make use of the judgment of others to do, and not to do, to alter and correct, a great many things. As to actions resulting from the customs or civil institu* tions of a people, no precepts can be laid down ; for those very institutions are precepts in themselves. Nor ought men CHAP. ^LI.] cicero's offices. 71 to be under the mistake to imagine that if Socrates or Aristippus acted or spoke in opposition to the manners and civil constitutions of their country, they themselves have a similar licence.* For this was a right they acquired by their * There are two things in this passage which must excite surprise ; the first, that Cicero should regard those actions as immoral in the generality of society which he justifies in the case of two individuals on the sole ground of their intellectual pre-eminence. For this must be the sole ground of the distinction ; inasmuch as, if a moral superiority be admitted as a justifying consideration in the case of Socrates, it can scarcely be denied to any other individual who might be led to the adoption of a similar course. The second is, that the customs and institutions of a country should be invested by Cicero with the powers of moral obligation ; nor, considering the general tenor of Cicero's ethics, is this the less surprising, from the fact that in modern times the same principle was carried by Hobbes to a far greater extent. " According to him," says Sir James Mackintosh, "the perfect state of a comminity is where law prescribes the religion and morality of the people, and where the will of an absolute sovereign is the sole fountain of law.'* The insufficiency both of the law of the land, and of that conventional in- fluence which in modern times has been designated the law of honour as a code of morality is admirably shown by Paley in the following passage : — " The Law of Honour is a system of rules constructed by people of fashion, and calculated to facilitate their intercourse with one another ; and for no ether purpose. Consequently, nothing is adverted to by the law of honour, but what tends to incommode this intercourse. Hence this law only prescribes and regulates the duties betwixt equals ; omitting such as relate tc the Supreme Being, as well as those which we owe to our inferiors. For which reason, profaneness, neglect of public worship or private devo- tion, cruelty to servants, rigorous treatment of tenants or other dependents, want of charity to the poor, injuries done to tradesmen by insolvency or delay of payment, with numberless examples of the same kind, are ac- counted no breaches of honour ; because a man is not a less agreeable com- panion for these vices, nor the worse to deal with in those concerns which are usually transacted between one gentleman and another. Again ; the law of honour, being constituted by men occupied in the pursuit of plea- sure, and for the mutual conveniency of such men, will be found, as might be expected from the character and design of the law-makers, to be, in most instances, favourable to the licentious indulgence of the natural passions. Thus it allows of fornication, adultery, drunkenness, prodigality, duelling, and of revenge in the extreme; and lays no stress upon the virtues opposite to thesd. " That part of mankind, who are beneath the law of honour, often make the Lav of the Land their rule of life; that is, they are satisfied with them- selves, so long as they do or omit nothing, for the doing or omitting of which the law can punish them. Whereas every system of human laws, considered as a rule of life, labours under the two following defects : — 1. Human laws omit many duties, as not objects of compulsion; such as piety to God, bounty to the poor, forgiveness of injuries, education of children, gratitude to bene- t factor?. The law never speaks but to command, nor commands but where 72 CICERO'S OFFICES. [BOOK great and superhuman endowments. But as to the whole | Sstem of the Cynics; we are absolutely to reject it because 1 h t inconsistent with moral susceptibility without which 1 nothing can be honest, nothing can be virtuous. Now it is our duty to esteem and to honour, in the same I manner as if they were dignified with titles or vested with I Tmmand, those men whose lives have been conspicuous for ] grSTand glorious actions, who feel rightly towards the state and deserve well or have deserved well of their country. 1 We are likewise to have a great regard for old age to pay a deference to magistrates; to distinguish between (what we , owTto)afellowcitizenandaforeigner,andtoconsiderwhether that foreigner comes in a public or a private capacity In short, not to dwell on particulars, we ought to regard to cultivate, and to promote the good will and the soc.al welfare ° f XLIL n Now with regard to what arts and means of ac- quiring wealth are to be regarded as worthy and what dis- . Jeputable, we have been taught as follows. In the those sources of emolument are condemned that incur the public hatred ; such as those of tax-gatherers and usurers. We are likewise to account as ungenteel and mean the gains of all hired workmen, whose source of profit is not their art but their labour ; for their very wages are the consideration of their servitude. We are likewise to despise all who retail from merchants goods for prompt sale ; for they never can suc- ceed unless they He most abominably. Now nothing is Sore disgraceful than insincerity. All mechanical labourers are bv their profession mean. For a workshop can contain • nothing befitting a gentleman. Least of al are *o»t^e. to be approved that serve the purposes of sensuality, such as (to speak after Terence) fishmongers, butchers, cooks pastry-cooks, and fishermen ; to whom we shall add, £ you * can compel , <%^*Z^^^£^ S voluntary, are left .out . of ^^^"^pe^It, 0 l, which is the same being defined by any prey ous ( ^3' on - j k which the qua hfications CHAP. XLHI.] CICEEO'S OFFICES. 73 please, perfumers, dancers, and the whole tribe of games- ters.* But those professions that involve a higher degree of in- telligence or a greater amount of utility, such as medicine, architecture, the teaching the liberal arts, are honourable in those to whose rank in life they are suited. As to merchandizing, if on a small scale it is mean ; but if it is extensive and rich, bring numerous commodities from all parts of the world, and giving bread to numbers without fraud, it is not so despicable. But if a merchant, satiated, or rather satisfied with his profits, as he sometimes used i to leave the open sea and make the harbour, shall from i the harbour step into an estate and lands ; such a man seems most justly deserving of praise. For of all gainful profes- sions, nothing is better, nothing more pleasing, nothing more delightful, nothing better becomes a well-bred man than agriculture. But as I have handled that subject at large in my Cato Major, you can draw from thence all that falls under this head. XLIIL I have I think sufficiently explained in what manner the duties are derived from the consituent parts of virtue. Now it often may happen that an emulation and a contest may arise amongst things that are in themselves virtuous ; — of two virtuous actions which is preferable. A division that Pansetius has overlooked. For as all virtue is the result of four qualities, prudence, justice, magnanimity and moderation ; so in the choice of a duty, those qualities must necessarily come in competition with one another. I am therefore of opinion that the duties arising from thb social relations are more agreeable to nature than those that * There is perhaps no passage in this work more short-sighted and ridi- culous than the above, and none which more clearly indicates the practical fallaciousness of all systems of morals framed in ignorance of those views of human nature which are derived from Christianity alone. To stigmatize as morally base those occupations which are necessary to the comfort of society, is to maintain the very opposite of his owk fundamental principle, by affirm- ing that immorality and not morality is nect^sary to the happiness of man- kind. Indeed the attribution of any moral character to mere industrial pursuits, is an absurdity which Cicero would probably not have incurred had he lived but a few years later, and become acquaint d as he might, without leaving Rome, with those fishermen and that tent-.uaker "of whom the world was not worthy," and through them with that Veing in whose sight, 1 amidst all the irregularities of time, " the rich and the ptor meet together." 74 cicero's offices. [book i. are merely notional. This may be confirmed from the fol- lowing argument. Supposing that this kind of life should befaH°a wise man, that in an affluence of all things he might be able with great leisure to contemplate and attend to every object that is worthy his knowledge ; yet if his condition be so solitary as to have no company with mankind, he would prefer death to it. Of all virtues, the most leading is that wisdom which the Greeks call crop/a, for by that sagacity which they term (ppovr) — not peculiar to the wise alone, but common to every de- scription of men. By these, therefore, all are moved in whom there is a natural disposition towards virtue. Nor, indeed, when the two Decii or the two Scipios are comme- morated as brave men, or when Fabricius and Aristides are called just, is either an example of fortitude looked for from the former, or of justice from the latter, as from wise men. For neither of these was wise in such a sense as we wish the term wise man to be understood. Nor were these who were esteemed and named wise, Marcus Cato and Caius Laelius, wise men ; nor were even those famous seven,*)" but from the frequent performance of mean duties they bore some simili- tude and appearance of wise men. Wherefore, it is neither right to compare that which is truly virtuous with what is repugnant to utility, nor should that which we commonly call virtuous, which is cultivated by those who wish to be esteemed good men, ever be compared with profits. And that virtue which falls within our comprehension is as much to be maintained and preserved by us, as that which is properly called, and which truly is virtue, is by the wise. For otherwise, whatever advancement is made towards vir- tue, it cannot be maintained. But these remarks are made * The Stoics. t The seven wise men of Greece. 120 CICEKO'S OFFICES. [book ni. regarding those who are considered good men, on account of their observance of duties ; but those who measure all things by profit and advantage, and who do not consider that those things are outweighed by virtue, are accustomed, in deliberating, to compare virtue with that which they think profitable ; good men are not so accustomed. There- fore, I think that Panaetius, when he said that men were accustomed to deliberate on this comparison, meant this very thing which he expressed, — only that it was their cus- tom, not that it was also their duty. For not only to think more of what seems profitable than what is virtuous, but even to compare them one with the other, and to hesitate between them, is most shameful. What is it, then, that is accustomed at times to raise a doubt, and seems necessary to be considered ? I believe, whenever a doubt arises, it is what the character of that action may be about which one is considering. For oftentimes it happens, that what is accustomed to be generally considered disreputable, may be found not to be disreputable. For the sake of ex- ample, let a case be supposed which has a wide applica- tion. What can be greater wickedness than to slay not only a man, but even an intimate friend ? Has he then in- volved himself in guilt, who slays a tyrant, however inti- mate ? He does not appear so to the Roman people at least, who of all great exploits deem that the most honourable.* * Tyrannicide, or the assassination of usurpers and oppressive princes, was highly extolled in ancient times, because it both freed mankind from many of these monsters, and seemed to keep the others in awe whom the sword or poniard could not reach. But history and experience having since convinced us that this practice increases the jealousy and cruelty of princes, a Timoleon and a Brutus, though treated with indulgence on account otj the prejudices of their times, are now considered as very improper models for imitation." — Hume's u Dissertation on the Passions/' " The arguments in favour of tyranmciue are ouilt upon a very obvious principle. « Justice ought universally to be administered. Crimes of an inferior description are restrained, or pretended to be restrained, by the ordi- nary operations of jurisprudence. But criminals, by whom the welfare of the whole is attacked, and who overturn the liberties of mankind, are out o$ the reach of this restraint. If justice be partially administered in subordi- nate cases, and the rich man be able to oppress the poor with impunity, it] must be admitted that a few examples of this sort are insufficient to autho- rize the last appeal of human beings ; but no man will deny that the case of the usurper and the despot is of the most atrocious nature. In this in- stance, all the provisions of civil policy being superseded, and justice poi- < CHAP. IV.] cicero's offices. 121 Has expediency, then, overcome virtue ? Nay, rather, expe- diency has followed virtue. Therefore, that we may be able to decide without any mistake, if ever that which we call expediency (utile) shall appear to be at variance with that which we understand to be virtuous (honestum), a certain rule ought to be established, which if we will fol- low in comparing such cases, we shall never fail in our duty. But this rule will be one conformable to the reason- ing and discipline of the Stoics chiefly, which, indeed, we are following in these books, because, though both by the ancient Academicians and by your Peripatetics, who for- merly were the same sect, things which are virtuous are preferred to those which seem expedient ; nevertheless, those subjects are more nobly treated of by those * to whom whatever is virtuous seems also expedient, and nothing ex- pedient which is not virtuous, than by those according to soned at the source, every man is left to execute for himself the decrees of immutable equity.' It may, however, be doubted, whether the destruction of a tyrant be, in any respect, a case of exception from the rules proper to be observed upon ordinary occasions. The tyrant has, indeed, no particular security annexed to his person, and may be killed with as little scruple as any other man, when the object is that of repelling personal assault. In all* other cases, the extirpation of the offender by self-appointed authority, does not appear to be the appropriate mode of counteracting injustice. For, first, either the nation, whose tyrant you would destroy, is ripe for the as- sertion and maintenance of its liberty, or it is not. If it be, the tyrant ( ought to be deposed wjth every appearance of publicity. Nothing can be : more improper, than for an affair, interesting to the general weal, to be con- ducted as if it were an act of darkness and shame. It is an ill lesson we ! read to mankind, when a proceeding, built upon the broad basis of general justice, is permitted to shrink from public scrutiny. The pistol and the dagger may as easily be made the auxiliaries of vice as of virtue. To pro- scribe all violence, and neglect no means of information and impartiality, is the most effectual security we can have for an issue conformable to reason and truth. If, on the other hand, the nation be not ripe for a state of free- dom, the man who assumes to himself the right of interposing violence, may indeed show the fervour of his conception, and gain a certain noto- riety ; but he will not fail to be the author of new calamities to his coun- try. The consequences of tyrannicide are well known. If the attempt prove abortive, it renders the tyrant ten times more bloody, ferocious, and cruel than before. If it succeed, and the tyranny be restored, it produces the same effect upon his successors. In the climate of despotism some so- litary virtues may spring up ; but in the midst of plots and conspiracies, there is neither truth, nor confidence, nor love, nor humanity." — Godwin's * Political Justice," book iv. chap. iv. * The Stoics. 122 cicero's offices. [book in. whom that may be virtuous which is not expedient, and that expedient which is not virtuous. But to us, our Academic sect gives this great licence, that we, whatever may seem most probable, by our privilege are at liberty to maintain. But I return to my rule. V. To take away wrongfully, then, from another, and for one man to advance his own interest by the disadvantage of another man, is more contrary to nature than death, than poverty, than pain, than any other evils which can befall either our bodies or external circumstances. For, in the first place, it destroys human intercourse and society ; for if we will be so disposed that each for his own gain shall despoil or offer violence to another, the inevitable conse- quence is, that the society of the human race, which is most consistent with nature, will be broken asunder. As, supposing each member of the body was so disposed as to think it could be well if it should draw to itself the health of the adjacent member, it is inevitable that the whole body would be debilitated and would perish ; so if each of us should seize for himself the interests of another, and wrest whatever he could from each for the sake of his own emolument, the necessary consequence is, that human society and community would be overturned. It is indeed allowed, nature not opposing, that each should rather acquire for himself than for another, whatever pertains to the enjoyment of life ; but nature does not allow this, that by the spoliation of others we should increase our own means, resources, and opulence. Nor indeed is this forbid- den by nature alone — that is, by the law of nations — but it is also in the same manner enacted by the municipal laws of countries, by which government is supported in individual states, that it should not be lawful to injure another man for the sake of one's own advantage.* For this the laws look to, this they require, that the union of the citizens should be unimpaired ; those who are for severing it they coerce by death, by banishment, by imprisonment, by fine. But what declares this much more is our natural reason, which is a law divine and human, which he who is willing to obey, (and all will obey it who are willing to live according to * '* La plus sublime vertu est negative ; elle nous instruit de ne jamais faire du mai a personnel' — Rousseau. CHAP. V.J cicero's offices. 123 nature) never will suffer himself to covet what is another person's, and to assume to himself that which he shall have wrongfully taken from another.* For loftiness and greatness of mind, and likewise community of feeling, justice, and libe- rality, are much more in accordance with nature, than plea- sure, than life, than riches — which things, even to contemn and count as nothing in comparison with the common good, is the part of a great and lofty soul. Therefore, to take away wrongfully from another for the sake of one's own advan- tage, is more contrary to nature than death, than pain, than other considerations of the same kind. And likewise, to undergo the greatest labours and inquietudes for the sake, if it were possible, of preserving or assisting all nations — imitating that Hercules whom the report of men, mindful of his benefits, has placed in the council of the gods f — is more in accordance with nature than to live in solitude, not only without any inquietudes, but even amidst the greatest plea- sures, abounding in all manner of wealth, though you should also excel in beauty and strength. Wherefore, every man of the best and most noble disposition much prefers that life to this. From whence it is evinced, that man, obeying nature, cannot injure men. In the next place, he who injures another that he may himself attain some advantage, either thinks that he is doing nothing contrary to nature, or thinks that death, poverty, pain, the loss of children, of kindred, and of friends, are more to be avoided than doing * " The word natural is commonly taken in so many senses, and is of so loose a signification, that it seems vain to dispute whether justice be natural or not. If self-love, if benevolence, be natural to man — if reason and fore- thought be also natural — then may the same epithet be applied to justice, order, fidelity, property, society. Men's inclination, their necessities, lead them to combine ; their understanding and experience tell them that this combination is impossible, where each governs himself by no rule, and pays no regard to the possessions of others : and from these passions and reflec- tions conjoined, as soon as we observe like passions and reflections in others, the sentiment of justice, throughout all ages, has infallibly and certainly had place in some degree or other, in every individual of the human species. In so sagacious an animal, what necessarily arises from the exertion of his intellectual faculties, may justly be esteemed natural."— Hume's " Principles of Morals. 1 " Appendix III. + Horace adopts the same illustration in the following passage : (i Dignum laude virum Musa vetat mori : Ccelo Musa beat. Sic Jovis interest Optatis epulis impiger Hercules." Lib. iv. Carm. 8, ver. 28—30. 124 cicero's offices. |_book III. injury to another. If he thinks that nothing is done con- trary to nature by injuring men, what use is there in dis- puting with him who would altogether take away from man what is human ? But if he thinks that indeed is to be shunned, but that those things, death, poverty, pain, are much worse, he errs in this, that he thinks any defect, either of body or fortune, more grievous than the defects of the mind. VL One thing, therefore, ought to be aimed at by all men ; that the interest of each individually, and of all collectively, should be the same; for if each should grasp at his individual interest, all human society will be dissolved. And also, if nature enjoins this, that a man should desire to consult the in- terest of a man, whoever he is, for the very reason that he is man, it necessarily follows that, as the nature, so the interest, of all mankind, is a common one. If that be so, we are all included under one and the same law of nature ; and if this too be true, we are certainly prohibited by the law of nature from injuring another. But the first is true ; therefore, the last is true. For that which some say, that they would take nothing wrongfully, for the sake of their own advantage, from a parent or brother, but that the case is different with other citizens, is indeed absurd. These establish the prin- ciple that they have nothing in the way of right, no society with their fellow citizens, for the sake of the common interest — an opinion which tears asunder the whole social compact. They, again, who say that a regard ought to be had to fellow citizens, but deny that it ought to foreigners, break up the common society of the human race, which, being withdrawn, beneficence, liberality, goodness, justice, are utterly abolished. But they who tear up these things should be judged impious, even towards the immortal gods ; for they overturn the society established by them among men, the closest bond of which society is, the consideration that it is more contrary to nature that man, for the sake of his own gain, should wrongfully take from man, than that he should en- dure all such disadvantages, either external or in the person, or even in the mind itself, as are not the effects of injustice. For that one virtue, justice, is the mistress and queen of all virtues.* * " There is no virtue so truly great and godlike as justice ; most of the other virtues are the virtues of created beings, or accommodated to our nature, as we are men. Justice is that which is practised by God himself, and to be practised in its perfection by none but him. Omniscience and CHAP. VI. ] cicero's offices. 125 Some person will perhaps say — should not the wise man, then, if himself famished with hunger, wrest food from another, some good-for-nothing fellow ? By no means ; for my life is not more useful to me, than such a disposition of mind that I would do violence to no man for the sake of my own advantage. What ! If a worthy man could despoil Phalaris, a cruel and outrageous tyrant, of his gar- ments, that he might not himself perish with cold, should he not do it ? These points are very easy to decide. For if you will wrongfully take away anything from a good-for- nothing man for the sake of your own interest, you will act unsociably and contrary to the law of nature. But if you be one who can bring much advantage to the state, and to human society if you remain in life, it may not deserve to be reprehended should you wrongfully take anything upon that account from another. But if that be not the case, it is rather the duty of each to bear his own misfortune, than wrongfully to take from the comforts of another. Disease, then, or poverty, or anything of this sort, is not more con- trary to nature than is the wrongful taking or coveting what is another's. But the desertion of the common interest is contrary to nature, for it is unjust. Therefore, the very law of nature which preserves and governs the interest of men, omnipotence are requisite for the full exertion of it ; the one to discover every degree of* uprightness or iniquity in thoughts, words, and actions ; the other to measure out and impart suitable rewards and punishments. "As to be perfectly just is an attribute in the divine nature, to be so to the utmost of our abilities is the glory of a man. Such a one who has the public administration in his hands, acts like the representative of his Maker, in recompensing the virtuous and punishing the offender. By the extir- pating of a criminal he averts the judgments of Heaven when ready to fall upon an impious people ; or, as my friend Cato expresses it much better in a sentiment conformable to his character : — * 'When by just vengeance impious mortals perish, The gods behold their punishment with pleasure, And lay th 5 uplifted thunderbolt aside/ When a nation loses its regard to justice ; when they do not look upon it as something venerable, holy, and inviolable ; when any of them dare pre- sume to lessen affront, or verify those who have the distribution of it in their hands ; when a judge is capable of being influenced by any thing but law, or a cause may be recommended by any thing that is foreign to its own merits, we may venture to pronounce that such a nation is hastening to its ruin." — Guardian, No. 99. 126 cicero's offices. [book m. decrees undoubtedly that things necessary for living should be transferred from an inert and useless fellow to a wise, good, and brave man, who, if he should perish, would largely take away from the common good ; provided he do this* in such a manner, that he do not, through thinking well of himself, and loving himself, make this an excuse for com- mitting injustice. Thus will he always discharge his duty, advancing the interests of mankind, and that human so- ciety of which I so often make mention.*)" Now, as to what relates to Phalaris, the decision is very easy ; for we have no society with tyrants, but rather the widest separation from them ; nor is it contrary to nature to despoil, if you can, him * That is, provided he transfer to himself the necessaries of life from a worthless person. f "In a loose and general view," says Godwin, " I and my neighbour are both of as men ; and of consequence entitled to equal attention. But, in reality, it is probable that one of us is a being of more worth and im- portance than the other. A man is of more worth than a beast, because, being possessed of higher faculties, he is capable of a more refined and genuine happiness. In the same manner the illustrious Archbishop of Cambray was of more worth than his valet, and there are few of us that would hesitate to pronounce, if his palace were in flames, and the life of only one of them could be preserved, which of the two ought to be pre- ferred. But there is another ground of preference, besides the private con- sideration of one of them being farther removed from the state of a mere , animal. We are not connected with one or two percipient beings, but with a society, a nation, and in some sense with the whole family of mankind. Of consequence that life ought to be preferred which will be most con- J ducive to the general good. In saving the life of Fenelon, suppose at that moment he conceived the project of his immortal Telemachus, I should ! have been promoting the benefit of thousands who have been cured by the perusal of that work of some error, vice, and consequent unhappiness. I Nay, my benefit would extend further than this; for every individual thus j cured, has become a better member of society, and has contributed m his j turn to the happiness, information, and improvement of others. Suppose j I had been myself the valet, I ought to have chosen to die rather than > Fenelon should have died; the life of Fenelon was really preferable to that \ of the valet. But understanding is the faculty that perceives the truth of j this and similar propositions, and justice is the principle that regulates my conduct accordingly. It would have been just in the valet to have pre- ,| ferred the archbishop to himself; to have done otherwise would have been a breach of justice. Suppose the valet had been my brother, my father, or < my benefactor, this would not alter the truth of the proposition. The life of Fenelon would still be more valuable than that of the valet; and justice, pure and unadulterated justice, would still have preferred that which was most valuable. Justice would have taught me to save the life of Fenelon at the expense of the other."— Political Justice, book & chap, iu CHAP. VII.] Cicero's offices. 127 whom it is a virtue to slay — and this pestilential and impions class ought to be entirely exterminated from the community of mankind. For as certain limbs are amputated, both if they themselves have begun to be destitute of blood, and, as it were, of life, and if they injure the other parts of the body, so the brutality and ferocity of a beast in the figure of a man, ought to be cut off from the common body, as it were, of humanity. Of this sort are all those questions in which our duty is sought out of the circumstances of the case. VII. In this manner, then, I think Panastius would have pursued these subjects, had not some accident or occupation interrupted his design ; for which same deliberations there are in his former books rules sufficiently numerous, by which it can be perceived what ought to be avoided on account of its baseness, and what therefore need not be avoided, because it is not at all base. But since I am putting, as it were, the top upon a work incomplete, yet nearly finished, as it is the custom of geometers not to demonstrate everything, but to require that some postulates be granted to them, that they may more readily explain what they intend, so I ask of you, my Cicero, that you grant me, if you can, that nothing except what is virtuous is worthy to be sought for its own sake. But if this be not allowed you by Cratippus,* still you will at least grant that what is virtuous is most worthy to be sought for its own sake. Whichever of the two you please is sufficient for me, and sometimes the one, sometimes the other, seems the more probable; nor does anything else seem probable.f And in the first place, Panastius is to be defended in this, that he did not say that the really expedient could ever be opposed to the virtuous (for it was not permitted to him J to say so), but only those things which seemed expedient. But * Cratippus, as a Peripatetic, held that virtue was not the only good, but that other things, such as health, &c. were good, and therefore to be sought for their own sakes, though in a less degree than virtue ; or, in other words, the Peripatetics admitted natural as well as moral good— the Stoics did not. t That is to say, he does not admit the probability of the correctness of such as Epicurus, or Hieronymus, &c. who held that pleasure, the absence of pain, &c. were worth seeking on their own account £ Because he was a Stoic. 128 cicero's offices. [book III. he often bears testimony that nothing is expedient which is not likewise virtuous — nothing virtuous which is not likewise expedient ; and he denies that any greater mischief has ever attacked the race of men than the opinion of those persons who would separate these things. It was not, therefore, in order that we should prefer the expedient to the virtuous, but in order that we should decide between them without error, if ever they should come in collision, that he intro- duced that opposition which seemed to have, not which has, existence. This part, therefore, thus abandoned, I will com- plete with no help, but, as it is said, with my own forces For there has not, since the time of Panaetius, been anything delivered upon this subject, of all the works which have come to my hands, that meets my approbation. VIII. When, therefore, any appearance of expediency is presented to you, you are necessarily affected by it ; but if, when you direct your attention to it, you see moral turpitude attached to that which offers the appearance of expediency, then you are under an obligation not to abandon expediency, but to understand that there cannot be real expediency where there is moral turpitude ; because, since nothing is so contrary to nature as moral turpitude (for nature desires the upright, the suitable, and the consistent, and rejects the reverse), and nothing is so agreeable to nature as expe- diency, surely expediency and turpitude cannot co-exist in the same subject. And again, since we are born for virtue, and this either is the only thing to be desired, as it appeared to Zeno, or is at least to be considered weightier in its entire importance than all other things, as is the opinion of Aristotle, it is the necessary consequence, that whatever is virtuous either is the only, or it is the highest good ; but whatever is good is certainly useful — therefore, whatever is virtuous is useful.* Wherefore, it is an error * The following parallel passage will not only show how nearly the ethics of Cicero approach to those of a Christian philosopher, but will also suggest the reason why they are not entirely coincident. "It is sufficiently evident," says Dymond, upon the principles which have hitherto been advanced, " that considerations of utility are only so far obligatory, as they are in accordance with the moral law. Pursuing, however, the method which has been adopted in the two last chapters, it may be observed that this subserviency to the Divine will, appears to be required by the written revelation. . That habitual preference of futurity to the present time which t CHAP. IX.] Cicero's offices. J 29 of bad men, which, when it grasps at something which seems useful, separates it immediately from virtue. Hence spring stilettos, hence poisons, hence forgery of wills, hence thefts, embezzlements, hence robberies and extortions from allies and fellow citizens, hence the intolerable oppressions of ex- cessive opulence — hence, in fine, even in free states, the lust of sway, than which nothing darker or fouler can be con- ceived. For men view the profits of transactions with false judgment, but they do not see the punishment— I do not say of the laws, which they often break through, but of .moral turpitude itself, which is most severe. Wherefore, this class of sceptics should be put out of our consider- ation (as being altogether wicked and impious), who hesitate whether they should follow that which they see is virtuous, or knowingly contaminate themselves with wicked- ness. For the guilty deed exists in the very hesitation, even though they shall not have carried it out. Therefore, such matters should not be at all deliberated about, in which the very deliberation is criminal ; and also from every delibera- tion the hope and idea of secrecy and concealment ought to be removed. For we ought to be sufficiently convinced, if we have made any proficiency in philosophy, that even though we could conceal any transaction from all gods and men, yet that nothing avaricious should be done, nothing unjust, nothing licentious, nothing incontinent. IX. To this purpose Plato introduces that celebrated Gyges, who, when the earth had opened, in consequence of Scripture exhibits, indicates that our interests here should be held in subordination to our interests hereafter ; and as these higher interests are to be consulted bp the means which revelation prescribes, it is manifest that those means are to be pursued, whatever we may suppose to be their effects upon the present welfare of ourselves or of other men. e If in this life only we have hope in God, then are we of all men most miserable/ And why did they thus sacrifice expediency? Because the communicated will of God required that course of life by which human interests were ap- parently sacrificed. It will be perceived that these considerations result from the truth (too little regarded in talking of 6 expediency* and ' general benevolence'), that utility as respects mankind cannot be properly con- sulted without taking into account our interests in futurity. ' Let us eat and drink, for to-morrow we die,' is a maxim of which all would approve if we had no concerns with another life. That which might be very ex- pedient if death were annihilation, may be very inexpedient now. " — Essay on Morality, Essay I. chap. III. K 130 cicero's offices. [book iil certain heavy showers, descended into that chasm, and, as tradition goes, beheld a brazen horse, in whose side was a door, on opening which he beheld the body of a dead man of extraordinary size, and a gold ring upon his finger, which when he had drawn off, he himself put it on, and then betook himself to the assembly of the shepherds (for he was the king's shepherd). There, when he turned the stone of this ring to the palm of his hand, he was visible to no person, but himself saw everything ; and when he had turned the ring into its proper place, he again became visible. Having em- ployed, then, this convenience of the ring, he committed adultery with the queen, and, with her assistance, slew the king, his master, and got rid of those whom he consi dered likely to oppose him. Nor could any one discover him in these crimes. So with the assistance of the ring he suddenly sprang up to be king of Lydia. Now, if a wise man had this ring itself, he would think that he was no more at liberty to commit crime than if he had it not. For virtue, not secrecy, is sought by good men. And here some philosophers, and they indeed by no means unworthy men, but not very, acute, say that the story told by Plato is false and fabulous, just as if he indeed maintained either that it had happened or could have happened. The import of this ring and of thitf example is this— if nobody were to know, nobody even tO' suspect that you were doing anything for the sake of riches,^ power, domination, lust— if it would be for ever unknown tq gods and men, would you do it ? They deny that the case, is possible. But though indeed it be possible, I only inquire what they would do if that were possible which they deny- to be so. They argue very stupidly, for they simply deny, that it is possible, and they persist in that answer. They do not perceive what is the force of that expression, "if it were possible." For when we ask what they would do if thejj possibly could conceal, we are not asking whether they realty could conceal ; but we are putting them, as it were, to the; torture, that if they answer that they would do, if impunity were offered, what it was their interest to do, they must confess that they are wicked ; if they deny that they would do so, they must admit that all base actions are to be shunned on their own account. But now let us return to our subject X. Many cases frequently occur, which disturb our mmdi chap, xi.] cicero's offices. 131 • by the appearance of expediency. Not when this is the subject of deliberation, whether virtue should be deserted on account of the magnitude of the profit (for on this, indeed, it is dishonest to deliberate), but this, whether or no that which seems profitable can be done without baseness. When Brutus deposed his colleague, Collatinus, from his command, he might seem to be acting with injustice ; for Collatinus had been the associate and assistant in the councils of Brutus in expelling the kings. But when the rulers had taken this counsel, that the kindred of Superbus, and the name of the Tarquinii, and the memory of royalty were to be rooted out ; that which was useful, namely, to consult for his country, was so virtuous that it ought to have pleased even Collatinus himself. Therefore the expediency of the measure prevailed with Brutus on account of its rectitude, without which expediency could not have even existed. But it was otherwise in that king who founded the city ; for the appear- ance of expediency influenced his mind, since, when it seemed to him more profitable to reign alone than with another, he slew his brother. He disregarded both affection and humanity, that he might obtain that which seemed useful, but was not! And yet he set up the excuse about the wall — a pretence of virtue neither probable nor very suitable : therefore, with all due respect to Quirinus or Romulus,* I would say that he committed a crime. I Yet our own interests should not be neglected by us, nor given up to others when we ourselves want them; but each should serve his own interest, as far as it can be done with- out injustice to another : — Chrysippus has judiciously made this remak like many others': — " He, who runs a race, ought to make exertions, and struggle as much as he can to be victor ; but he ought by no means to trip up or push with his hand the person with whom he is contesting. Thus in life it is not unjust that each should seek for himself what may pertain to his advantage— it is not just that he should take from another." But our duties are principally confused in cases of friend- ship ; for both not to bestow on them what you justly may, and to bestow what is not just, are contrary to duty. But the rule regarding this entire subject is short and easy. For * Romulus, when deified, was called Quirinus. K 2 132 CICERO S OFFICES. [BOOK III. p those things which seem useful — honours, riches, pleasures, and other things of the same kind — should never be preferred to friendship. But, on the other hand, for the sake of a friend a good man will neither act against the state, nor against his oath and good faith — not even if he shall be judge in the case of his friend — for he lays aside the character of a friend when he puts on that of a judge. So much he will concede to friendship that he had rather the cause of his friend were just, and that he would accommo- date him as to the time of pleading his cause as far as the laws permit. But when he must pronounce sentence on his oath, he will remember that he has called the divinity as witness— that is, as I conceive, his own conscience, than, which the deity himself has given nothing more divine to man. Therefore we have received from our ancestors a noble custom, if we would retain it, of entreating the judge for what he can do with safe conscience. This entreaty has reference to those things which, as I mentioned a little while ago, could be granted with propriety by a judge to his friend. For if all things were to be done which friends would wishJ such intimacies cannot be considered friendships, but rather conspiracies. But I am speaking of common friend- ships ; for there could be no such thing as that among wise] and perfect men. They tell us that Damon and Phintias, the Pythagoreans, felt such affection for each other, that! when Dionysius, the tyrant, had appointed a day for the, execution of one of them, and he who had been condemnedj to death had entreated a few days for himself, for the purpose] of commending his family to the care of his friends, the] other became security to have him forthcoming, so that if hej had not returned, it would have been necessary for himself j to die in his place. When he returned upon the day, the,j tyrant having admired their faith, entreated that they would ' admit him as a third to their friendship. When, therefore, that which seems useful in friendship m compared with that which is virtuous, let the appearance of| expediency be disregarded, let virtue prevail. Moreover, when in friendship, things which are not virtuous shall be] required of us, religion and good faith should be preferred to friendship. Thus that distinction of duty which we are seeking will be preserved. XI. But it is in state affairs that men most frequently . CHAP. XI.] cicero's offices. 133 commit crimes under the pretext of expediency — as did our countrymen in the demolition of Corinth : the Athenians still more harshly, since they decreed that the thumbs of the -ZEgi- netans, who were skilful in naval matters, should be cut off. This seemed expedient ; for ^ZEgina, on account of its proxi- mity, was too formidable to the Piraeus. But nothing which is cruel can be expedient ; for cruelty is most revolting to the nature of mankind, which we ought to follow. Those, too, do wrong who prohibit foreigners to inhabit their cities, and banish them, as Pennus did among our ancestors, and Papius did lately. For it is proper not to permit him to be as a citizen who is not a citizen — a law which the wisest of consuls, Crassus and Scaevola, introduced : but to prohibit foreigners from dwelling in a city is certainly inhuman. Those are noble actions in which the appearance of public expediency is treated with contempt in comparison with virtue. Our state is full of examples, as well frequently on other occasions as especially in the second Punic war, when she, having suffered the disaster at Cannae, exhibited greater spirit than ever she did in her prosperity — no indication of fear, no mention of peace. So great is the power of virtue, that it throws the sem- blance of expediency into the shade. When the Athenians could by no means withstand the attack of the Persians, and determined that, having abandoned their city, and deposited their wives and children at Troezene, they should embark in their vessels, and with their fleet protect the liberties of Greece, they stoned one Cyrsilus, who was persuading them to remain in the city, and to receive Xerxes : though he seemed to pursue expediency ; but it was unreal, as being opposed to virtue. Themistocles, after the victory in that war which took place with thj Persians, said in the assembly, that he had a plan salutary for the state, but that it was necessary that it should not be publicly known. He demanded that the people should appoint somebody with whom he might communicate. Aristides was appointed. To him he dis- closed that the fleet of the Lacedaemonians, which was in dock at Gytheum, could secretly be burned ; of which act the necessary consequence would be, that the power of the Lacedaemonians would be broken ; which, when Aristides had heard, he came into the assembly amidst great expecta- tions of the people, and said that the plan which Themistocles 1 34 cicero's offices. [book III. proposed wa3 very expedient, but by no means honourable. Therefore, the Athenians were of opinion that what was not upright was not even expedient, and on the authority of Aristides, rejected that entire matter which they had not even heard. They acted better than we who have pirates free from tribute, and allies paying taxes. XII, Let it be inferred, then, that what is base never is expedient, not even when you obtain what you think to be useful. For this very thinking what is base to be expedient, is mischievous. But, as I said before, cases often occur, when profit seems to be opposed to rectitude, so that it is necessary to consider whether it is plainly opposed, or can be reconciled with rectitude. Of that sort are these questions. If, for example, an honest man has brought from Alexandria to Rhodes a great quantity of grain during the scarcity and famine of the Rhodians, and the very high prices of provi- sions ; if this same man should know that many merchants had sailed from Alexandria, and should have seen their ves- sels on the way, laden with corn, and bound for Rhodes, should he tell that to the Rhodians, or keeping silence, should he sell his own corn at as high a price as possible ? We are supposing a wise and honest man ; we are inquiring about the deliberation and consultation of one who would not conceal the matter from the Rhodians if he thought it dishonourable, but ; is in doubt whether it be dishonourable. In cases of this sort, one view was habitually taken by Diogenes, the Baby- lonian, a great and approved Stoic ; and a different view by Antipater, his pupil, a very acute man. It seems right to Antipater, that everything should be disclosed, so that the buyer should not be ignorant of anything at all that the seller knew. To Diogenes it appears that the seller ought, just as far as is established by the municipal law to declare the faults, to act in other respects without fraud ; but since he is selling, to wish to sell at as good a price as possible. I have brought my corn — I have set it up for sale — I am sell- ing it, not at a higher rate than others, perhaps, he will even say for less, since the supply is increased ; to whom is there injustice done ? The argument of Antipater proceeds on the other side. What do you say ? When you ought to consult for the good of mankind, and to benefit human society, and were born under this law, and have these principles from CHAP. XIII.] CICERO'S OFFICES. 135 nature, which you ought to obey and comply with, that your interest should be the common interest, and reciprocally, the common interest yours— will you conceal from men what ad- vantage and plenty is near them? Diogenes will answer perhaps, in this manner. It is one thing to conceal from them, another thing to be silent on the subject: "I do not conceal from you now, if I do not tell you what is the nature of the gods, or what is the supreme good ; things, the know- ledge of which would be more beneficial to you than the low price of wheat. But is there any necessity for me to tell you whatever is beneficial to you to know ?" " Yes, indeed," the other will say, " it is necessary, that is, if you remember that there is a social tie established between men by nature." « I remember that," he will answer, "but is that social tie such that each has nothing of his. own ? for if it be^ so, we should not even sell anything, but make a present of it." XIII. You see, throughout all this disputation, it is not said, although this act be base, yet since it is profitable, I will do it ; but on the one side it is said it is profitable in so much as it is not a base act ; and on the other side, be- cause it is base, on this account it should not be done. An honest man would dispose of a house on account of some faults which he himself knows, but others are ignorant of; it is unwholesome, though considered healthy ; it is not known that snakes make their appearance in all the bed-chambers ; it is built of bad materials, ready to fall ; but nobody knows this except the master. I ask, if the seller should not tell these things to the buyer, and should sell the house for a great deal more than he thought he could sell it for, whether he would have acted unjustly or dishonestly ? He surely would, says Antipater. For if suffering a purchaser to come to loss, and to incur the greatest damage by mistake, be not that which is forbidden at Athens with public execrations, namely, a not pointing out of the road to one going astray, what else is ? It is even more than not showing the way ; for it is knowingly leading another astray. Diogenes argues on the other side. Has he forced you to purchase who did not even request you to do so ? He advertised for sale a house that did not please him ; you have purchased one that pleased you. But if they who advertised " a good and well-built country house," are not thought to have prac- tised fraud, even though it be neither good nor well-built ; 136 cicero's offices. [book nr. much less have they who have not praised their house. For where there is judgment in the buyer, what fraud can there be in the seller ? But if it be not necessary to make good all that is said, do you think it necessary to make good that which is not said ? For what is more foolish than that the seller should relate the defects of that which he sells ? Or, what so absurd as that, by the command of the owner, the auctioneer should thus proclaim : " I am selling an unhealthy house." In some doubtful cases, then, virtue is thus defended on the one side ; on the other side, it is said on the part of expediency, that it not only is virtuous to do that which seems profitable' but even disgraceful not to do it. This is that dissension which seems often to exist between the profitable and the virtuous. Which matters we must decide. For we have not proposed them that we might make a question of them, but that we might explain them. That corn merchant, then' seems to me to be bound not to practise concealment on the Rhodians, nor this house-seller on the purchasers. For it is not practising concealment if you should be silent about anything ; but when for the sake of your own emolument you wish those, whose interest it is to know that which you know, to remain in ignorance. Now, as to this sort of con- cealment, who does not see what kind of thing it is, and what kind of a man will practise it ? Certainly not an open, not a single-minded, not an ingenuous, not a just, not a good man ; but rather a wily, close, artful, deceitful, knavish, crafty, double-dealing, evasive fellow.* Is it not inexpedient to * On referring to the conclusion of the last chapter, it will be seen that neither does Diogenes prove, nor does Antipater admit, that by the corn- merchants silence any rule of morality is infringed. On what ground and for what reason was it incumbent on him to disclose the fact which acci- dentally came to his knowledge, that other cargoes of corn were at sea ? none is assigned, but that buyers and sellers are bound by the same social ties. But these do not, as Antipater observes, bind us to communicate to every body all we know. In withholding this information, which was wholly extrinsic to his bargain, no confidence was violated. Had he disclosed it, the price of the commodity in which he dealt would have been materially reduced. However noble-minded or liberal it might be in him to put the buyer in possession of all the intelligence on the subject within his power, no rules of justice were violated by his withholding it. And these are, as Adam Smith observes (Theory of Moral Sentiments, iv. 7), « the only rules which are precise and accurate; those of other virtues are vague and inde- terminate. The first may be compared to the rules of grammar ; the CHAP. XIV.] CICERO'S OFFICES. 137 expose ourselves to the imputations of so many vices, and even more ? XIV. But if they are to be blamed who have kept silent, what ought to be thought of those who have practised false- hood in words ? Caius Canius, a Roman knight, not without wit, and tolerably learned, when he had betaken himself to Syracuse, for the sake, as he was himself accustomed to say, of enjoyment, not of business, gave out that he wished to purchase some pleasure-grounds, whither he could invite his friends, and where he could amuse himself without intruders. When this had got abroad, one Pythius, who practised dis- counting at Syracuse, told him that he had pleasure-grounds, not indeed for sale, but that Canius was at liberty to use them as his own if he desired, and at the same time he in- vited the gentleman to dinner at the pleasure-grounds on the following day. When he had promised to go, then Pythius, who, as a discounter, was well liked among all ranks, called some fishermen to him, and requested of them that upon the following day they should fish in front of his grounds, and told them what he wished them to do. In due time, Canius came to dinner — the entertainment was sumptuously pro- vided by Pythius — a crowd of fishing-boats before their eyes. Each fisherman for himself brought what he had caught ; the fish were laid before the feet of Pythius. Then Canius says, " What is this, pray, Pythias — so much fish — so many boats ?" And he answers, "What's the wonder? Whatever fish there are at Syracuse are taken at this place ; here is their watering place ; these men could not do without this villa." Canius, inflamed with desire, presses Pythius to sell. He is unwill- others to the rules which the critics lay down for the attainment of the sublime, which present us rather with a general idea of the perfection we ought to aim at, than afford us any certain and infallible directions for acquiring it." Puffendorf, considering this very question, after deciding that no rule of justice was infringed by the corn-merchant, absolves him also from any offence against the laws of benevolence and humanity. In this opinion bis ingenious commentator, Barbeyrac, fully agrees, and cites the opinion of a strict casuist, La Placette, to the same effect. Had the mer- chant, on his arrival, found the market forestalled by the importation of corn from some other quarter, or had he on the voyage lost ship and cargo, he could not have expected from the Rhodians the reimbursement of his loss. Why then should he not avail himself of a favourable state of the market ? All concur, therefore, in deciding that he was not bound in con- science to a disclosure, " provided merchants do not impose on us, we may easily dispense them," says Puffendorf, "from all acts of pure liberality." 138 cicero's offices. [cook ml ing at first; but, to be brief, lie obtains his wish. The man, eager and wealthy, purchases the place at as much as Pythius demands, and purchases it furnished. He draws the articles and completes the transaction. Canius on the following day invites his friends. He comes early himself ; he sees not a boat ; he asks of his next neighbour, was it any holiday with the fishermen, that he saw none of them. "None that I know," said he : " but none use to fish here, and there- fore I was amazed at what happened yesterday." Canius got angry ; yet what could he do ? for my colleague and friend Aquillius had not yet brought out the forms about criminal devices ; in which very forms, when it was inquired of him, " What is a criminal device?" he answered, "When one thing is pretended, and another thing done." Very clearly, indeed, was this laid down ; as by a man skilled in definition. Therefore, both Pythius, and all those who do one thing, while feigning another, are perfidious, base, knavish. No act of theirs, then, can be useful, when it is stained with so many vices. XV. But if the Aquillian definition is true, pretence and dissimulation ought to be banished from the whole of life ; so that neither to buy better, nor to sell, w T ill a good man feign or disguise anything. And this criminal device was punished both by the statute laws (as in the case of guardianship by the twelve tables, in that of the defrauding of minors, by the Plaetorian law), and by judicial decisions without legal enactment, in which is added "according to good faith" (ex fide bona). Moreover, in other judgments, the following phrases are very excellent : in the arbitration of a cause matrimonial, the phrase, " melius ^equius ;" in a case of trust, the phrase, "ut inter bonos bene agier."* What then? Can there be any room for fraud either in that transaction which is decreed to be adjusted "better and * The Praetor had an equitable jurisdiction. It is to his decrees the text refers ; and as the principal subjects that came before him were bona fide contracts, not binding in strict law, but in which he decided according to conscience, and used in these decrees a set form of words, " ex fide bonk agatur," the decisions on this and all other cases in equity came to be called judicia bonae fidei. Two other set forms are mentioned in the text : one used in the case of divorce (as well as in all other cases of arbitration), where arbitrators, decreeing the restoration of the wife's property, employed the form quantum ^Quius melius. The other formula was usual in cases of trust ; it ran thus,— -inter bonos bene agier et sine fraudatione. CHAP. XVI.] cicero's offices. 139 fairer ?" Or can any thing be done deceitfully or knavishly, when it is pronounced " that among honest men there must be fair dealing?" But criminal device, as Aquillius says, is comprised in pretence ; therefore all deceit should be excluded from contracts. The seller should not bring a person to bid over the value, nor the buyer one to bid under him. Each of the two, if he should come to name a price, should not name a price more than once. Quintus Scaevola, indeed, the son of Publius, when he re- quired that a price of a property of which he was about to become a purchaser should be named to him once for all, and the seller had done so, said that he valued it at more, and gave in addition a hundred sestertia. There is no person who can deny that this was the act of an honest man ; they deny that it was of a prudent man ; just as it would be if a man should sell a thing for less than he could get. This, then, is the mischief— that persons think some men honest, others prudent ; through which mistake En- nius remarks, " that the wise man is wise in vain, who cannot be of use to himself." That indeed is true, if it be only agreed on between me and Ennius what " to be of use " means. I see, indeed, Hecaton of Rhodes, the scholar of Pansetius, saying, in those books about duties which he wrote to Quintus Tubero, " that it was the duty of a wise . man, that doing nothing contrary to manners, laws, and institutions, he should have regard to improving his pro- perty; for we do not wish to be rich for ourselves alone, but for our children, kindred, friends, and especially for our country ; for the means and affluence of each individually constitute the riches of the state." To this philosopher the conduct of Scaevola, about which I spoke a little while ago, can by no means be pleasing ; for to him who disavows that he would do for the sake of his own gain only just so much as is not illegal, neither great pains nor thanks are due. But if pretence and dissimulation are criminal de- vices, there are few affairs in which that criminal device may not be employed ; or if a good man is he who serves whom he can, injures nobody — certainly we do not easily find such a good man ; to do wrong, then, is never profitable, because it is always base ; and to be a good man is always profitable, because it is always virtuous. XYI. And with respect to the law of landed estates, is it 140 cicero's offices. £book in. ordained among us by the civil law, that by selling them, the faults should be declared which were known to the seller. For though by the twelve tables it was sufficient to be answerable for those defects which were expressly men- tioned, which he who denied suffered a penalty of double the value, yet a penalty for silence also was established by the lawyers. For they determined that, if the seller knew what- ever defect there was in an estate, he ought to make it good, unless it was expressly mentioned. Thus, when the augurs were about to officiate on the augurs' hill,* and had com- manded Titus Claudius Centumalus, who had a hou3e on the Cselian Mount, to take down those parts of it, the height of which obstructed their auspices, Claudius set up the house for sale, and he sold it ; Publius Calpurnius Lanarius pur chased it. That same notice was given to him by the augurs ; therefore, when Calpurnius had pulled it down, and had discovered that Claudius had advertised the house after he had been commanded by the augurs to pull it down, he brought him before an arbitrator, to decide " what he ought to give or do for him in good faith." Marcus Cato pro- nounced the sentence ; the father of this our Cato (for as other men are to be named from their fathers, so he who begot that luminary ought to be named from his son). This judge, then, decreed as follows: — " Since in selling he had known that matter, and had not mentioned it, that he ought to make good the loss to the purchaser." There- fore he established this principle, that it concerned good faith that a defect which the seller was aware of should be made known to the purchaser ; but if he decided with justice, then that corn-merchant did not with justice keep silent, nor that seller of the unhealthy house, f However, all mental ♦ The Capitoline. t A commentator on this passage very justly observes, that "the analogy is by no means perfect between the cases. Claudius withheld from the buyer information respecting that very house, by which its utility and its value were materially reduced. In fact the house which he sold was not the identical house, as he well knew, which in a short period would be standing on that spot ; it must be replaced by a house less lofty, and which would cost to the buyer no small sum to unroof, reduce, and alter. This informa- tion related, therefore, to the house itself which he sold and warranted. Not so with regard to the corn sold at Rhodes ; the quality of the corn was not there in question ; the intelligence which the merchant withheld did not relate to that corn, but was completely extrinsic. Though he might be bound to satisfy the buyer's inquiry by giving a true account of that corn, CHAP. XVII.] CICERO'S OFFICES. 141 reservations of this kind cannot be comprehended in the civil law ; but those which can are carefully checked. Marcus Marius Gratidianus, our kinsman, sold to Cams bergms Orata that house which he had himself purchased from the same man a few years before. This house was subject to a service;* but Marius had not mentioned this in the con- ditions of conveyance. The matter was brought to trial. Crassus was counsel for Orata; Antonius defended Gratidi- anus: Crassus relied on the law -whatever defect a seller who knows it had not disclosed, it is fit that he should make good: Antonius relied on the equity— that since that defect could not have been unknown to Sergius who had formerly sold the house, there was no necessity that it should be disclosed; neither could he be deceived, who was aware under what liability that which he had bought was placed. To what purpose these accounts ? lhat you may understand this, that cunning men were not approved by our ancestors. XVII ' But the laws abolish frauds in one way, philoso- phers in another : the laws, as far as they can lay hold of them by their arm ;| philosophers, as far as they can check them by reason and wisdom. Reason, then, requires that nothing be done insidiously, nothing dissemblingly, nothing falsely. Is it not then an ensnaring to lay a net, even though you should not beat up the game, nor hunt them to it ? I or the wild creatures often fall into it of themselves, no one pur- suing them. So is it fit you should set up your house for sale, put up a bill like a net, sell the house because ot its defects, and that somebody should rush into it unwittingly ? Though I see that this, on account of the corruption of man- ners, is neither esteemed base in morals, nor forbidden either he was not bound to furnish, unasked, an account of all other corn. Had he stated his corn to be merchantable, and of a given weight and the buyer had found the corn on delivery to be of less weight and full °f weevils, then the comparison would have been more just with a house which as the proprietor knew, must be reduced in height, and which he sold, concealing that important circumstance." • A property was said in law, "servire ahem," when some third person had a right of way, or some other such right over it. + The dutv of the laws is to punish fraud in such overt cases as it can lay hold of. 'The dutv of philosophy is to expose by argument the turpi- tude of fraud, even in those cases which, from their subti ty, or from the corruptness of morals, escape the hand of the law, since "reticentise jure civili omnes comprehendi non possunt." 142 cicero's offices. [book in. by statutable enactments or by civil law ; yet it is forbidden by the law of nature. For there is the social tie between man and man which is of the widest extent, which, though I have often mentioned it, yet needs to be mentioned oftener. There is a closer tie between those who are of the same nation ; a closer still between those who are of the same state. Our ancestors, therefore, were of opinion that the law of nations was one thing, the municipal law a different thing. What- ever is civil law, the same is not, for that reason, necessarily the law of nations ; but whatever is the law of nations, the the same ought to be civil law. But we possess no solid and express image of true right and its sister justice : we use merely their shade and faint resemblances. Would that we followed even these, for they are taken from the best pat- terns of nature and truth! For how admirable are those words, " that I be not ensnared and defrauded on account of you and your honesty." W T hat golden words those — " that among honest men there be fair dealing, and without fraud.'' But who are honest men, and what is fair dealing, is the great question. Quintus Sceevola, indeed, the high priest, used to say, that there was the greatest weight in all those decisions in which was added the form " of good faith and he thought the jurisdiction of good faith extended very widely, and that it was concerned in wardships, societies, trusts, commissions, buyings, sellings, hirings, lettings, in which the intercourse of life is comprised ; that in these it is the part of a great judge to determine (especially since there were contrary decisions in most cases) what each ought to be accountable for to each. Wherefore craftiness ought to be put away, and that knavery which would fain seem, indeed, to be prudence, but which is far from it, and differs most widely.* For prudence consists in the distinguishing of *Addison carries out this distinction far more elaborately. "At the same time," he says, 'that I think discretion the most useful talent a man can be master of, I look upon cunning to be the accomplishment of little, mean, ungenerous minds. Discretion points out the noblest ends to us, and pursues the most proper and laudable methods of attaining them. Cunnin» has only private, selfish aims, and sticks at nothing which may make them succeed. Discretion has large and extended views, and, like a well-formed eye, commands a whole horizon. Cunning is a kind of short-sightedness that discovers the minutest objects which are near at hand, but is not able to discern things at a distance. Discretion, the more it is discovered, gives a greater authority to the person who possesses it. Cunning, when it is CHAP. XVII.] cicero's offices. 143 good and evil— knavery, if all things that are vicious are evil, prefers evil to good. Nor is it, indeed, in landed property alone that the civil law deduced from nature punishes knavery and fraud, but also in the sale of slaves, all fraud of the seller is prevented. For he who ought to be aware of the health, the running away, the thefts of slaves, is accountable by the edict of the JEdiles ; but the case of heirs is different.* From which it will be understood, since nature is the fountain of right, that it is according to nature that no one should act in such a manner, that he should prey on the ignorance of another. | Nor can there be found in life any greater cur£e than the pretence of wisdom in knavery ; from which those once detected, loses its force, and makes a man incapable of bringing about even those events which he might have done, had he passed only for a plain man. Discretion is the perfection of reason, and a guide to us in all the duties of life ; cunning is a kind of instinct that only looks out after our immediate interest and welfare. Discretion is only found in men of strong sense and good understanding ; cunning is often to be met with in brutes themselves, and in persons who are but the fewest removes from them. In short, cunning is only the mimic of discretion, and may pass upon mean men in the same manner as vivacity is often mistaken for wit, and gravity for wisdom. " — Spectator, No. 225. * Because an heir, having only just come into possession of the property, consisting of slaves, might fairly be considered ignorant of their evil qualities. f We have here a singular proof of the facility with which men, even when analysing the nicest moral obligations, may be insensible* to the grossest violations of moral fitness involved in the social institutions amidst which they have been educated. In connection with this nice casuistry touching the sale of a slave, it is curious to peruse the following description of the state of things which existed at the very time when Cicero penned his treatise. u The custom of exposing old, useless, or sick slaves in an island of the Tyber, there to starve, seems to have been pretty common in Rome ; and whoever recovered, after having been so exposed, had his liberty given him by an edict of the Emperor Claudius ; in which it was likewise forbidden to kill any slave merely for old age or sickness. But supposing that this edict was strictly obeyed, would it better the domestic treatment of slaves, or render their lives much more comfortable ? We may imagine what others would practise, when it was the professed maxim of the elder Cato to sell his superannuated slaves for any price, rather than maintain what he esteemed a useless burden. " The ergastula, or dungeons where slaves in chains were forced to work, were very common all over Italy. Columella advises that they be always built under ground, and recommends it as the duty of a careful overseer, to call over every day the names of these slaves, like the mustering of a regi- ment or ship's company, in order to know presently when any of them had 144 CICERO S OFFICES. [BOOK III. innumerable cases proceed, where the useful seems to be opposed to the virtuous. For how few will be found who, when promised perfect secrecy and impunity, can abstain from injustice ? XVII I. Let us test the principle, if you please, in those ex- amples in which, indeed, the mass of mankind do not think per- haps that there is any crime. For it is not necessary in this place to treat of assassins, poisoners, will-forgers, robbers, embezzlers, who are to be kept down, not by means of words and the disputation of philosophers, but by chains and a dungeon. But let us consider these acts, which they who are esteemed honest men commit. Some persons brought from Greece to Rome a forged will of Lucius Minucius Basilus, a rich man. That they might the more easily obtain their object, they put down as legatees along with themselves, Marcus Crassus and Quintus Hortensius, the most powerful men of that day ; who, though they suspected that it was a forgery, but were conscious of no crime in themselves, did not reject the paltry gift of other men's villainy. What then ? Was this enough, that they should not be thought to have been culpable ? To me, indeed, it seems otherwise ; deserted ; — a proof of the frequency of these ergastula and of the great number of slaves usually confined in them. " A chained slave for a porter was usual in Rome, as appears from Ovid and other authors. Had not these people shaken off all sense of com- passion towards that unhappy part of their species, would they have presented their friends, at the first entrance, with such an image of the severity of the master and misery of the slave ? Nothing so common in all trials, even of civil causes, as to call for the evidence of slaves ; which was always extorted by the most exquisite torments. Demosthenes says, that where it was possible to produce, for the same fact, either freemen or slaves, as witnesses, the judges always preferred the torturing of slaves as a more certain evidence. " Seneca draws a picture of that disorderly luxury which changes day into night, and night into day, and inverts every stated hour of every office in life. Among other circumstances, such as displacing the meals and times of bathing, he mentions, that regularly, about the third hour of the night, the neighbours of one who indulges this false refinement, hear the noise of whips and lashes ; and, upon inquiry, find that he is then taking an account of the conduct of his servants, and giving them due correction and discipline. ' c This is not remarked as an instance of cruelty, but only of disorder, which even in actions the most usual and methodical changes the fixed hours that an established custom had assigned for them." — Humes Essays, Part ii. Essay 1 1 . CHAP. XIX.] cicero's offices. 145 though I loved one of them when living, and do not hate the other, now that he is dead. But when Basilus had willed that Marcus Satrius, his sister's son, should bear his name, and had made him his heir, (I am speaking of him who was patron of the Picene and Sabine districts ; oh ! foul stigma upon those times !*) was it fair that these noble citizens should have the property, and that nothing but the name should come down to Satrius ? For if he who does not keep off an injury, nor repel it if he can from another, acts unjustly, as I asserted in the first book, what is to be thought of him who not only does not repel, but even assists in the injury ? To me, indeed, even true legacies do not seem honourable, if they are acquired by deceitful fawning — not by the reality, but by the semblance of kind offices. But in such matters !the profitable is sometimes accustomed to be thought one j thing, and the honest another thing. Falsely ; for the rule j about profit is the same as that which obtains respecting | honesty. To him who will not thoroughly perceive this, ;no fraud, no villainy will be wanting ; for, considering thus, i"that, indeed, is honest, but this is expedient," he will dare erroneously to separate things united by nature — which is the fountain of all frauds, malpractices, and crimes, [j XIX. If a good man, then, should have this power, that , by snapping his fingers his name could creep by stealth into Ithe wills of the wealthy, he would not use this power, not ■even if he had it for certain that no one at all would ever |suspect it. But should you give this power to Marcus fCrassus, that by the snapping of his fingers he could be in- scribed heir, when he really was not heir ; believe me, he would have danced in the forum. But the just man, and he fcwhom we deem a good man, would take nothing from any iman in order to transfer it wrongfully to himself. Let him who is surprised at this confess that he is ignorant of what Constitutes a good man. But if any one would be willing to develop the idea involved in his own mind,t he would at I *^ Marcus Satrius, having taken his uncle's name, Lucius Minucius Basilus, was chosen as patron by those districts—he was a partizan of Caesar in the civil war. In the eyes of Cicero it was, of course, a foul stain upon the times that a friend of Caesar should he chosen as patron, specially since, as he insinuates in the 2nd Phillippic, it was through fear, lot love, he was selected for that honour. t The commentator, from whom I have already quoted, gives thefollow- ng explanation of this passage. From the Platonic school Cicero seems to 146 cicero's offices. [book III. once convince himself that a good man is he who serves whom he can, and injures none except when provoked by injury. What then ? Does he hurt none, who, as if by some enchantment, accomplishes the exclusion of the true heirs, and the substitution of himself in their place ? Should he not do, then, somebody will say, what is useful, what is expedient ? Yes, but he should understand that nothing is either expedient or useful which is unjust. He who has not learned this, cannot be a good man. When a boy, I learned from my father that Fimbria, the consular,* was judge in the case of Marcus Lutatius Pinthia, Roman knight, a truly honest man, when he had given security, t {which he was to forfeit) "unless he was a good man ;" and that Fimbria thereupon told him that he never would decide that matter, lest he should either de- prive a worthy man of his character, if he decided against him, or should be seen to have established that any one was a good man, when this matter was comprised in in- numerable duties and praiseworthy actions. To this good man, then, whom even Fimbria, not Socrates alone had known, anything which is not morally right can by no means seem to be expedient. Such a man, then, not only will not venture to do, but not even to think, what he would not venture openly to proclaim. Is it not disgraceful that: philosophers should hesitate about this, which not even rustics doubt — from whom is derived this proverb, which has; have imbibed a persuasion, not merely tbat ideas are innate, but that they) were acquired during a pre-existent state of the mind or soul. " Habet ; primum (se animus hominis) memoriam et earn infinitam, rerum innume- rabilium quam quidem Plato recordationem esse vult superioris vita?. Ex quo effici vult Socrates, ut discere nihil aliud sit quam recordari. Nec vero fieri ullo modo posse ut a pueris tot rerum atque tantarum insitas, et, quasi consignatas in animis, notiones, quas ivvoiaq vocant, haberemus, nisi, animus, antequam in corpus intrasset, in rerum cognitione viquisset."'; Tull. Q. I. 24. He states also, Tull. Q. IV. c. 24., " Notionem quam; habemus omnes de fortitudine, tectam et involutam." In the present'; passage he appears to speak in the same tone, of developing the notion wei have, though indistinctly, in our minds of perfection of moral character. * So called to distinguish him from Caius Fimbria, who having by his; intrigues occasioned the death of Lucius Flaccus, the proconsul of Asia- (eighty-five years b. a), was subsequently conquered by Sylla, and termi- nated his career by suicide. t The " sponsio " was a sum deposited in court, or promised with the usual formula— ni veram causam haberet. If the party who thus gave security was defeated, the money was forfeited to the treasury. CHAP. XX. cicero's offices. 147 [ now become trite through antiquity ; for when they commend I the integrity and worthiness of any person, they say " he is ) one with whom you might play odd and even in the dark."* [ What meaning has this proverb but this, that nothing is ex- I pedient which is not morally right, even though you could I obtain it without any body proving you guilty. Do you not 1 see that, according to that proverb, no excuse can be offered ] either to the aforesaid Gyges, nor to this man whom I have Ijust now supposed able to sweep to himself the inheritances I of all by a snap of the fingers ? For as, how much soever [that which is base may be concealed, yet it can by no means ■ become morally right (honestum), so it cannot be made out that whatever is morally wrong can be expedient, since nature is adverse and repugnant. XX. But when the prizes are very great, there is a tempta- tion to do wrong. When Caius Marius was far from the hope of the consulship, and was now in the seventh year of his torpor, after obtaining the praetorship, and did not seem likely ever to stand for the consulship, he accused Quintus Metellus, a very eminent man and citizen, whose lieutenant he was, be- fore the Roman people of a charge that he was protracting the war, when he had been sent to Rome by him — his own com- imander; — stating that if they would make himself consul, that he would in a short time deliver Jugurtha, either alive or dead, into the power of the Roman people. Upon this he was indeed imade consul, but he deviated from good faith and justice, since, by a false charge, he brought obloquy upon a most excellent land respectable citizen, whose lieutenant he was, and by whom he had been sent. Even my relative Gratidianus did not jdischarge the duty of a good man at the time when he was Iprsetor, and the tribunes of the people had called in the college of the praetors, in order that the matter of the coinage (might be settled by a joint resolution. For at that period the coinage was in a state of uncertainty, so that no man (could know how much he was worth. They drew up in icommon an edict, with a fine and conviction annexed, and agreed that they should all go up together to the rostra, in Hp * This play, retained among modern Italians under the name of La Mora, is thus played : — A and B are the players ; A suddenly raises, we will suppose, three fingers, and B, two ; A at a guess, cries, six ; B, five. B, having named the number, wins. Parties, to play it in the dark, must lave reliance on each other's word ; hence the proverb. L 2 148 cicero's offices. BOOK III, the afternoon. And while the rest of them, indeed, went of] each a different way, Marius, from the judgment seats, wenl straight to the rostra, and singly published that which had been arranged in common. • And this proceeding, if you inquire into the result, brought him great honour. In every street statues of him were erected, and at these incense and tapers were burned. What need of many words ? No man ever became a greater favourite with the multitude. These are the things which sometimes perplex our deliberations, when that in which equity is violated seems not a very great crime, but that which is procured by it appears a very great advan- tage. Thus to Marius it seemed not a very base act to snatch away the popular favour from his colleagues and the tribunes! of the people, but it appeared a very expedient thing by means of that act to become consul, which at that time he had proposed to himself. But there is for all, the one rule which I wish to be thoroughly known to you ; either let not that which seems expedient be base, or if it be base let it not seem expedient. What then? Can we judge either the former Marius or the latter,* a good man ? Unfold and, examine your understanding, that you may see what in it is the idea, form, and notion of a good man. Does it then fall under the notion of a good man to lie for the sake of his: own advantage, to make false charges, to overreach, to*' deceive ? Nothing, indeed, less so. Is there, then, anything of such value, or any advantage so desirable, that for it you. would forfeit the splendour and name of a good man ? What is there which that expediency, as it is called, can bring, so valuable as that which it takes away, if it deprive you of the name of a good man, if it rob you of your integrity and justice ? Now, what difference does it make, whether from, a man one transform himself into a beast, or under the form, of a man, bear the savage nature of a beast ? XXI. What ? Are not they who disregard all things up-, right and virtuous, provided they can attain power, doing; the same as he f who was willing to have even for his father- in-law, that manf by whose audacity he might himself be- * Namely, Marcus Marius Gratidianus. t Pompey. m i $ Csesar, whose daughter Julia was sought and obtained in marriage by Pompey, who being, from his great power, suspected of ambitious designs by the people, with whom Csesar was a favourite, wished by the alliance to CHAP. XXI.] cicero's offices. 149 come as powerful ? It seemed expedient to him to become as .powerful as possible by the unpopularity of the other. He did not see how unjust that was towards his country, and how base and how useless. But the father-in-law himseh always had in his mouth the Greek verses from the Phoe- nissse,* which I will translate as well as I can — inelegantly, perhaps, yet so that the meaning can be understood : — " For if justice ought ever to be violated, it is to be violated for the sake of ruling ; in other cases cherish the love of country." Eteocles, or rather Euripides, deserved death for making an exception of that one crime, which is the most accursed of all. Why, then, do we repress petty villainies, or frau- dulent inheritances, trades, and sales ? Here is a man for you, who aspired to be king of the Koman people, and master of all nations, and accomplished it — if any one says this desire is an honest one, he is a madman, j* For he ap- proves of the murder of our laws and liberty ; the foul and abominable oppression of these he thinks glorious. But by what reproof, or rather by what reproach, should I attempt to tear away from so great an error the man who admits bring a share of the suspicion under which himself laboured upon his rival, and thus to diminish his popularity. * Et7Tfp yap ddiKeiv XP*1> rvpavvidog 7rspi KaWiarov adiKSiv r dWa d' tvatfisiv %ptwr. + ( But it is of the greatest importance in friendship that the superior should be on an equality with the inferior. For there often are instances of superiority, as was the case with Scipio, one,^ so to speak, of our own herd. He never ranked himself above Philus, or Rupilius, or Mummius, or other friends of an inferior grade. But his brother, Quintus Maximus, a distinguished man, though by no means equal to himself, simply because he was the elder, he treated as his superior, and he wished all his friends should receive additional dignity through him. And this conduct should be adopted and imitated by all, so that if they have attained to any excellence in worth, genius, or fortune, they should communicate them with their friends, and share them with their connexions ; so that if men have been born of humble parentage, or if they have kinsmen less powerful than themselves, either in mind or in fortune, they should increase the consequence of such persons, and be to them a source of credit and of dignity ; as in works of fiction, they who for some time, through igno- rance of their origin and descent, have been in a state of servitude, when they have been discovered and found out to be the sons of gods or kings, yet retain their affection for the shepherds, whom for many years they looked upon as their parents. And this assuredly is much rather to be observed in the case of parents that are real and undoubted. For the fruit of talent, and worth, and every excellence, is gathered most fully when it is bestowed on every one most nearly connected with us. ^ XX. As therefore those who are superior in the con-"^ > nexion of friendship and of union, ought to put themselves £ on a level with their inferiors ; so ought the inferiors not to. A grieve that they are surpassed by their friends either in genius, or fortune, or rank : whereas most of them are always either complaining of something, or even breaking out into reproaches ; and so much the more if they think they have anything which they can say was done by them in an obliging and friendly manner with some exertion on their part. A 'disgusting set of people assuredly they are who are ever reproaching you with their services ; which the man on 200 CICERO ON FRIENDSHIP. [CHAP. XX, whom they are conferred ought indeed to remember, but he who conferred them ought not to call them to mind. Where- fore, as those who are superior ought in the exercise of friendship to condescend ; so, in a measure, they ought to raise up their inferiors. For there are some persons who render friendships with them annoying, while they fancy they are slighted : this does not commonly happen except to those who think themselves liable to be slighted ; and from this belief they require to be relieved, not only by your pro- fessions but by your actions. Now, first of all, so much advantage is to be bestowed on each as you yourself can pro- duce ; and in the next place, as much as he whom you love and assist can bear ; for you could not, however eminent you might be, bring all your friends to the very highest honour; just as Scipio had power to make Publius Rutilius consul, but could not do the same for his brother Lucius : indeed, even if you have the power to confer what you please on another, yet you must consider what he can bear.^J On the whole, those connections only can be considered as friend- ships, when both the dispositions and age have been es- tablished and matured. Nor, when persons have been in early life attached to hunting or tennis, are they bound to make intimates of those whom at that time they loved, as being endowed with the same taste : for on that principle, our nurses and the tutors of our childhood, by right of priority, will claim the greatest part of our affection ; who, indeed, should not be neglected, but possess our regard in some other manner : otherwise friendships could not continue steadfast. For dissimilar habits and dissimilar pursuits ensue ; the dissimilarity of which severs friendships : it is for no other cause that the good cannot be friends of the worthless, or the worthless of the good ; but that there is between them the greatest difference that can subsist of cha- racters and pursuits. For in friendships this precept may be properly laid down, not to let ill-regulated affection (as often is the case) thwart and impede the great usefulness of friends : nor in truth (to revert to fiction) could Neoptolemus* * Neoptolemus, a surname of Pyrrhus, the son of Achilles. He was so called because he came to the Trojan war in the last year of the siege of Troy. According to the fates, Troy could not be taken without his assist- ance. His mother, Deidamia, was the daughter of Lycomedes, king of the island of Scjros. CHAF. XXI.] CICERO ON FRIENDSHIP. 201 I have taken Troy if he had been inclined to listen to Lyco- medes, with whom he had been brought up, when with many tears he sought to prevent his journey : and often important occasions arise, so that you must bid farewell to your friends; and he who would hinder them, because he cannot easily bear the regret for their loss, such an one is both weak and effeminate by nature, and on that ground unjust in his friend- ship. And in every case it is necessary to consider, both what you would ask of a friend, and what favour you would permit to be obtained from yourself. 7f XXI. There is a kind of calamity also, sometimes inevi- table, in the discarding of friendships. For at length our discourse descends, from the intimacies of the wise, to ordinary friendships. The faults of friends often break out as well on the friends themselves as on strangers ; and yet the disgrace of such persons must redound to their friends : such friend- ships therefore must be dissolved by the intermission of intercourse, and (as I have heard Cato say) should be ripped rather than rent ; unless some intolerable sense of wrong has been kindled, so that it is neither right, nor cre- ditable, nor possible that an estrangement and separation should not take place immediately. But if any change of character or pursuits (as commonly happens) shall have taken place, or quarrel arisen with respect to political parties (for I speak now, as I observed a little before, not of the friend- ships of the wise but of such as are ordinary), we should have to be cautious, lest not only friendships be found to be laid aside, but even animosity to have been incurred; for ! nothing can be more disgraceful than to be at war with him with whom you have lived on terms of friendship. From his friendship with Quintus Pompey,* Scipio had withdrawn himself on my account f (as you know); moreover, on account of the dissension which existed in the republic, he was estranged from my colleague MetellusjJ on both occasions he * Quintus Pompeius a consul, who carried on war against the Numan- , tines, and made an ignominious treaty. He is the first of that noble family of whom mention is made. + Meo nomine, on my account; desiderium expresses a "feeling of want" or " regret for the loss of any one." % Metellus, a Roman general, who defeated the Achaeans, and invaded Macedonia, 202 CICERO ON FRIENDSHIP. [CHAP. XXII. acted with dignity and decision, . and with an offended but not bitter feeling. Wherefore, in the first place, pains must ( be taken that there be no alienation of friends ; but if aught / of the kind shall have occurred, that that friendship should ) seem rather to have died away than to have been violently ( destroyed. In truth we must take care lest friendship turn into bitter hostilities ; from which quarrels, hard language, and insults are produced, and yet if they shall be bearable, they must be borne ; and thus much honour should be paid to* an old friendship, that he shall be in fault who inflicts the injury, and not he who suffers it. On the whole, against all such faults and inconveniences there is one precaution and one provision, that we should not begin to love too hastily, nor love unworthy persons. Now they are worthy of friend- ship in whom there exists a reason why they should be loved ; a rare class (for in truth all that is excellent is rare) ; nor is aught more difficult than to find anything which in every respect is perfect of its kind : but most men recognize no- thing as good in human affairs but what is profitable ; and with their friends, as with cattle, they love those most espe- cially from whom they hope they will receive most ad- vantage ; and thus they are destitute of that most beautiful and most natural friendship, which is desirable for itself and of itself ; nor do they exemplify to themselves what and how powerful this quality of friendship is. For every one loves himself, not that he may exact from himself some reward of his affection, but that, for his own sake, every one is dear to himself. Aiid unless this same principle be transferred to friendship, a true friend will never be found ; for such an one is, as it were, a second self. Now, if this is apparent in beasts, birds, fishes, creatures of the field, tame and wild, that first they love themselves (for the principle is alike born with every living thing); in the next place, that they seek out and desire some creatures of the same species to which they may unite themselves, and do this with desire, and with a kind of resemblance to human love ; how much more naturally does this take place in man by nature, who not only loves himself, but seeks for another whose soul he may so mingle with his owij, as almost to create one person out of two ? XXII. Yet most men, perversely, not to say shamelessly, desire to have a friend, such as they themselves are unable CHAP. XXII.] CICEEO ON FRIENDSHIP 203 to be • and allowances which they themselves make not for \ their friends, they require from them. Now, the fair thing / / is first that a man himself should be good, and then that he ^ should seek another like to himself. Amongst such persons there may be established that solidity of friendship which I have lone been treating on : when men are united by benevolent feeling, they will first of all master those nassions to which others are slaves ; next, they will take pleasure in equity and justice, and the one will undertake everything for the other ; nor will the one ever ask of the other anything but what is honourable and right : nor will they only mutually regard and love each other, but even have a feeling of respect ; for he removes the greatest ornament of friendship, who takes away from it respect. Accordingly, there is a pernicious error in those who think that a free in- dulgence in all lusts and sins is extended in friendship Friendship was given us by nature as the handmaid of virtues, and not as the companion of our vices : that since, alone and unaided, virtue could not arrive at the highest attainments, she might be able to do so when united and associated with another* ; and if such a society between any persons either exists or has existed, or is likely to do so, iheir companionship is to be esteemed, in respect of the chief eood in life, most excellent and most happy. Ihis, 1 say, is that association in which all things exist which men deem worthy the pursuit ;— reputation, high esteem, peace of mind, and cheerfulness ; so that where these blessings -are present, life is happy, and without these cannot be so. And whereas • « But it is not merely as a source of pleasure, or as a relief from pain, that virtuous friendship is to be coveted, it is as much recommended by its utility He who has made the acquisition of a judicious and sympathizing friend; may be said to have doubled his mental resources : by associating an equal, perhaps a supreme mind with his own, he has provided the means of strengthening his reason, of perfecting his counsels, of discerning • and correcting his errors. He can have recourse at all times to the judg- ment and assistance of one who, with the same power of discernment with himself, comes to the decision of a question with a mm neither harassed with the perplexities, nor heated with the passions which so frequently Obscure the perception of our true interests Next to the immediate guidance of God by his Spirit, the counsel and encouragement of vir nous Lid enlightened friends afford the most powerfu l aid in the encounter of temptation and in the career of duty."-HaU's Funeral Sermon for Dr. Eyland. 204 CICERO OX FRIENDSHIP. |CIIAP. XXIH. this is the best and highest of objects, if we would gain it attention must be paid to virtue; without which we can neither obtain friendship nor anything worthy of pursuit • indeed, should this be disregarded, they who think they possess friends, too late find that they are mistaken, when some grievous misfortune compels them to make the trial. Wherefore (for I must say it again and again) when you have formed your judgment, then it behoves you to give your affections ; and not when you have given your alec- tions, then to form the judgment ; but while in many cases we suffer for our carelessness, so especially in choosing and cultivating friends ; for we adopt a preposterous plan, and set about doing what has been already done, which we are forbidden by the old proverb to do. For, being entano-led on every side,_ either by daily intercourse or else by kind°offices suddenly, in the middle of our course, on some offence arising, we break off our friendships altogether. XXIII. Wherefore so much the more is this great negli- gence to be blamed in a matter of the highest necessity. For friendship is the only point in human affairs, concerning the benefit of which, all with one voice agree ; although by many virtue herself is despised, and is said to be a mere bragging and ostentation. Many persons despise riches ; for being content with a little, moderate food and a moderate 8 t e " f hv \ n g flights them; as to high offices, in truth, with the ambitious desire of which some men are inflamed bow many men so completely disregard them, that they think nothing is more vain and more trifling : and likewise there are those who reckon as nothing other things which to some men seem worthy of admiration :• concerning friend- lv Am °r ? thCS t ma ? be mentioned L °rd Bacon, not only as one of those fh. V h f' C T f 6 !5 fPf ia "y refCTri "g> but »» one who himself held the highest office to which the ambition of a subject could aspire. In his eleventh essay entitled, "Of great place," he makes the following observa- I turns : Men in great place are thrice servants ; servants of the sovereign or state, servants of fame, and servants of business, so as they have no freedom neither in their persons, nor in their actions, nor in their times. It is a strange desire to seek power and lose liberty, or to seek power over others and to lose power over a man's self. The rising unto place is laborious, and by pains men come to greater pains, and it is sometimes base and by indignities men come to dignities. The standing is slippery, and the repress is either a downfall or *• least an odipse, which is a melancholy thing • CHAP. XXIII. J CICERO ON FRIENDSHIP. 205 ship, all to a man have the same opinion. Those who have devoted themselves to political affairs and those who find pleasure in knowledge and learning, and those who transact Er own affairs at their leisure, and lastly, those^ who h^ given themselves wholly up to pleasure, feel that with out friendship life is nothing, at least if they are inclined in any degree to live respectably; for somehow or other, friendship entwines itself with the life of all men, nor does it suffer any mode of spending our life to be ^P end *f °f itself Moreover, if there is any one of such ferocity and brutality of nature, that he shuns and hates the intercourse of mankind, sueh as we have heard that one Timor* was at Athens ; yet even he cannot possibly help looking out for some one on whom he may disgorge the venom of. hisiU- nature And this would be most clearly decided if something of this kind could happen-that some god should remove us from the crowded society of men, and place us somewhere n solitude, and there supplying us with abundance and plenty of all things which nature requires, yet should take from us altogether the opportunity of seeing a human being ; who would then be so insensible that he eouki endure g such a life, and from whom would not solitude take away the enjoyment of all pleasure? Accordingly, therei^uth in that which I have heard our old men relate to have been commonly said by Archytas of Tarentum,t and Concutitur. Flet, si lachrymas conspexit amici Nec dolet ; igniculum brum a- si tempore poscas Accipit endromidem : si dixeris, restuo^sudat." ^ ^ t Gnaiho, a parasite in the Eunuch of Terence. t Cooptatio, the election of new members into the priesthood. The CHAP. XXV1.1 CICERO ON FRIENDSHIP. 211 presentation of the people. And he first commenced the practice of turning towards the forum, and addressing the people.* And yet regard for the immortal gods, under my advocacy, gained an easy triumph over his plausiblet address. Now this occurred in my praetorship, five years before I was consul ; so that that cause was supported rather by its own importance than by supreme influence. XXVI. Now, if upon the stage, that is, before the as- sembly, where every advantage is given to fictions and imitations, yet the truth prevails (if only it be set forth and illustrated); what ought to be the case in friendship, which is measured according to simple truth ? for in it (as the say- ing is) ye see an open heart and show your own also ; you can have nothing faithful, nothing certain ; and you cannot love or be loved, since you are uncertain how far it is sin- cerely done. And yet that flattery, however pernicious it be, can hurt no one but the man who receives it and is most delighted with himself. Hence it happens that he opens his ears widest to flatteries who is a flatterer of him- self, and takes the highest delight in himself: no doubt virtue loves herself, for she is best acquainted with herself and is conscious how amiable she is : but I am not speaking of virtue, but of a conceit of virtue ; for not so many desire to be endowed with virtue itself, as to seem to be so. Flat- tery delights such men : when conversation formed to their wishes is addressed to such persons, they think those deceit- ful addresses to be the evidence of their merits. This, therefore, is not friendship at all, when one party is unwilling to hear the truth, and the other prepared to speak falsely. Nor would the flattery of parasites in comedies seem to us facetious, unless there were swaggering soldiers also. "Does then Thais pay me many thanks ? It was enough to answer ! yes, many;' but he says 'infinite.'" The flatterer always exaggerates that which he, for whose pleasure he speaks, wishes to be great. Although the flattering falsehood may have influence with those who themselves allure and invite it; yet more steady and consistent persons require to be different orders of priests were self-elected, so that the proposed law of Crassus was an infringement of vested rights and privileges. * Agere cum populo, to tamper with, or to curry favour with the people. t Vendibtlis, plausible, popular. p 2 212 CICERO ON FRIENDSHIP. [CHAP. XXVII, warned that they take care lest they are entrapped by such crafty flattery; for every one, except the man who is extremely obtuse, observes the person who openly employs adulation. But lest the crafty and insidious man should insinuate him- self, you must be studiously on your guard ; for he is not very easily recognized, seeing that he often flatters by opposing; and pretending that he quarrels, is fawning all the time, and at last surrenders himself, and allows himself to be beaten : so that he who has been deluded may fancy that he has seen farther than the other ; for what can be more disgraceful than to be deluded ? And lest this happen, we must be more cautious, as it is said in the Epiclerus, " To-day, above all the foolish old fellows of the comedy, you will have deceived me and played upon me in a most amusing manner." For this is the most foolish character of all in the plays, that of un- thinking and credulous old men. But I know not how it is that my address, passing from the friendship of perfect men, that is of the wise (for I speak of that wisdom which seems within the reach of man), has digressed into frivo- lous friendships. Wherefore, let me return to that from I which I set out, and bring these remarks at length to a con- clusion. / XXVII. It is virtue, virtue I say, Caius Fannius, and you, ' Quintus Mucius, that both wins friendship and preserves it ; for in it is found the power of adapting one's self to circum- stances, and also steadfastness and consistency;- and when * " The necessity of virtue, then, in every bosom of which we resolve to share the feelings, would be sufficiently evident, though we were to con- sider those feelings only; but all the participation is not to be on our part. We are to place confidence, as well as to receive it ; we are not to be comforters only, but sometimes too the comforted ; and our own conduct may require the defence which we are sufficiently ready to afford to the conduct of our friend. Even with respect to the pleasure of the friendship itself, if it be a pleasure on which we set a high value, it is not a slight consideration whether it be fixed on one whose regard is likely to be as stable as ours, or on one who may in a few months, or perhaps even in a few weeks, withhold from us the very pleasure of that intimacy which before had been profusely lavished on us. In every one of these respects I need not point out to you the manifest superiority of virtue over vice. Virtue only is stable, because virtue only is consistent and the caprice which, under momentary impulse, begins an eager intimacy with one, as it began it from an impulse as momentary with another, will soon find a third, with whom it may again begin it with the same exclusion, for the moment, of every previous attachment. Nothing can be juster than the observation of CHAP. XXVTT, ] CICERO ON FRIENDSHIP. she has exalted herself and displayed her own effulgence, and hath beheld the same and recognized it in another, she moves towards it, and in her turn receives that which is in the other ; from which is kindled love or friendship, for both derive their name from loving ; for to love is nothing else than to be attached to the person whom you love, without any sense of want, without any advantage being sought; and yet advantage springs up of itself from friendship, even though you may not have pursued it. J It was with kind feelings of this de- scription that I, when young, was attached to those old men, Lucius Paullus, Marcus Cato. Caius Gallus, Publius Nasica, and Tiberius Gracchus,* the father-in-law of our friend Scipio. This is even more strikingly obvious between per- sons of the same age, as between me and Scipio, Lucius Furius, Publius Rupilius, and Spurius Mummius : and now in turn, in my old age I repose in the attachment of younger men, as in yours and that of Quintus Tubero ; nay, I even Rousseau on these hasty starts of kindness, that, 6 he who treats us at first sight like a friend of twenty years' standing, will very probahly at the end of twenty years treat us as a stranger if we have any important service to request of hiln. , "If without virtue we have little to hope in stability, have we even, while the semblance of friendship lasts, much more to hope as to those services of kindness which we may need from our friends ? The secrets which it may be of no importance to divulge, all may keep with equal fidelity ; because nothing is to be gained by circulating what no man would take sufficient interest in hearing, to remember after it was heard ; but if the secret be of a kind which, if made known, would gain the favour of some one whose favour it would be more profitable to gain than to retain ours, can we expect fidelity from a mind that thinks only of what is to be gained by vice, in the great social market of moral feelings, not of what it is right to do ? Can we expect consolation in our affliction from one who regards our adversity only as a sign that there is nothing more to be hoped from our intimacy ; or trust our virtues to the defence of him who defends or assails, as interest prompts, and who may see his interest in representing us as guilty of the very crimes with which slander has loaded us ? In such cases we have no title to complain of the treacheries of friendship ; for it was not friendship in which we trusted : the treachery is as much the fault of the deceived as of the deceiver ; we have ourselves violated some of the most important duties of friendship ; the duties which relate to its commencement." — Moral Philosophy, Lect. 89. * T. Gracchus, who with his brother C. Gracchus excited great tumults about the Agrarian law. He was slain for his seditious conduct by P. Nasica. His name has passed into a by-word for a factious demagogue. It is thus applied by Juvenal — • * " Quis tulerit Gracchos de seditione querentes V 9 $ • • 214 CICERO ON FRIENDSHIP. [dlAP. XXVII. take delight in the familiarity of some that are very young, of Publius Rutilius and Aulius Virginius. And since the course of our life and nature is so directed that a new period is ever arising, it is especially to be wished that with those comrades with whom you set out, as it were, from the start- ing, with the same you may, as they say, arrive at the(go^G But, since human affairs are frail and fleeting, some persons ( must ever be sought for whom we may love, and by whom we may be loved ; for when affection and kind feeling are done away with, all cheerfulness likewise is banished from existence. To me, indeed, though he was suddenly snatched away, Scipio still lives, and will always live ; for I love the virtue of that man, and that worth is not yet extinguished : and not before my eyes only is it presented, who ever had it in possession, but even with posterity it will be illustrious and renowned; for never shall any undertake any high achievements with spirit and hope, without feeling that the memory and the character of that man should be placed before him. Assuredly, of all things that either fortune or nature has bestowed on me, I have none which I can compare with the friendship of Scipio.* In it I had concurrence in politics, and in it advice for my private affairs. In it also, I possessed a repose replete with pleasure. Never in the , slightest degree did I offend him, at least so far as I was aware ; never did I myself hear a word from him that I was unwilling to hear : we had one house between us, the same j food, and that common to both ; and not only service abroad, * This confession is not confined to Cicero or his age. Lord Claren- don was often heard to say, "that next to the immediate blessing and provi- dence of God Almighty, which had preserved him throughout the whole course of this life from many dangers and disadvantages, in which many \ other young men were lost, he owed all the little he knew, and the little | good that was in him, to the friendships and conversation he still had been used to, of the most excellent men in their several kinds that lived in that age, by whose learning and information and instruction he formed his studies and mended his understanding, and by whose example he formed his manners, subdued that pride, and suppressed that heat and passion he was naturally inclined to be transported with: and always charged his children to follow his example in that point, protesting, that in the whole course of his life he never knew one man, of what condition soever, arrive „o any degree of reputation in the world, who made choice or delighted in the company or conversation of those who, in their qualities and their parts were not much superior to himself."— Clarendon's Memoirs of his own Life. CHAP. XXVI. J CICERO ON FRIENDSHIP. 215 but even our travelling and visits to the country were in common. For what need I say of our constant pursuits of knowledge and learning, in which, retired from the eyes of the world, we spent all our leisure time ? Now, if the recol- lection and memory of these things had died along with him, I could in no wise have borne the loss of that most intimate and affectionate friend ; but these things have not perished, yea, they are rather cherished and improved by reflection and memory ;* and even if I were altogether bereft of them, vet would age itself bring me much comfort, for I cannot now very long suffer these regrets. Now all afflictions, if brief, ought to be tolerable, howsoever great they may be. Such are the remarks I had to make on friendship. But as for you, I exhort you to lay the foundations of virtue, without which friendship cannot exist, in such a manner that, with this one exception, you may consider that nothing in the world is more excellent than friendship. * " The pleasures resulting from the mutual attachment of kindred spirits are by no means confined to the moments of personal intercourse ; they diffuse their odours, though more faintly, through the seasons of absence, refreshing and exhilarating the mind by the remembrance of the past and the anticipation of the future. It is a treasure possessed when it is not employed— a reserve of strength, ready to be called into action when most needed— a fountain of sweets, to which we may continually repair, whose waters are inexhaustible,' '—Robert Hall's Funeral Sermon for Dr. Ryland. ON OLD AGE. "O Titus,* if I shall have assisted you at all, or alleviated the anxiety which now fevers, and, fixed in your heart, distracts you, shall I have any reward ?" I. For I may address you, Atticus, in the same lines in which he addresses Flaminius, " That man, not of great property, but rich in integrity." And yet I am very sure that not, as Flaminius, " Are you, 0 Titus, so racked by anxiety night and day :" for I know the regularity and even temperament of your mind ; and I am well aware that you have derived not only your surname from Athens, but also refinement and wisdom:! and yet I suspect that you are sometimes too deeply affected by the same causes by which I myself am; the consolation of which is of a higher kind, and requires to be put off to another occasion, j But at present I have thought it good to' * Titus Pomponius Atticus, to whom this treatise is addressed, was a celebrated Roman knight. Cicero wrote to him a number of letters which still survive. He was surnamed Atticus from his perfect knowledge of, the Greek language and literature. A minute account of his life has been written by Cornelius Nepos, one of his intimate friends. f " This alludes to the disordered state of the commonwealth occasioned by Julius Caesar's usurpation, and the commotion consequent on his death • 1 the present treatise having been written soon after he was assassinated in j the senate. No man had more at stake in these public convu sions than Cicero ; and nothing sets the power of his mind in a more striking point | of view than his being able, at such an alarming crisis, sufficiently to com- pose his thoughts to meditations of this kind. For not only this treatise but his Essay on Friendship, his dialogues on the Nature of the Gods together with those concerning Divination, as also his book of Offices, and some other of the most considerable of his philosophical writings, Vsre drawn up within the same turbulent and distracted period."— -Melmoth ~ CHAP. II.] CICERO ON OLD AGE. 217 write to you something on Old Age; for of this burden which I have in common with you of old age, either now weighing upon, or at any rate approaching us, I wish both you and myself to be relieved, although I am very sure that you indeed bear it, and will bear it, with temper and wisdom (as you do all things). But to my mind, when I was about "to write an essay on old age, you occurred as worthy of a gilt, which each of us might enjoy in common. For my part ] have found the composition of this book so delightful, that it has not only wiped off all the annoyances of old age, but haa rendered old age even easy and delightful. Never, there- fore, can philosophy be praised in a manner sufficiently worthy, inasmuch as he who obeys philosophy is able to pass every period of life without irksomeness. But upon other subjects we both have discoursed much, and often shall dis- course : this book, on the subject of old age, I have sent to you. And all the discourse we have assigned not to Tithonus,* as Aristof the Chian did, lest there should be too little of authority in the tale ; but to Marcus Cato, J when an old man, that the discourse might carry with it the greater weight; at whose house we introduce Laelius § and Scipio, ex- pressing their wonder that he so patiently bears old age, and him replying to them. And if he shall appear to discourse more learnedly than he himself was accustomed to do in his own books, ascribe it to Greek literature, of which it is well known that he was very studious in old age. But what need is there to say more ? for now the conversation of Cato him- self shall unfold all my sentiments on old age. II. Scipio. — I am very often accustomed with my friend here, C. Laelius, to admire as well your surpassing and ac- f complished wisdom in all other matters, O Marcus Cato, as also especially that I have never perceived old age to be * Tithortus, son of Laomedon, king of Troy. He was carried away by Aurora, who made him immortal. t Aristo, a philosopher of Chios, a pupil of Zeno the Stoic. t M. Cato. M. Porcius Cato was a Roman censor, famed for the strict- ness of his morals. He died at an advanced age, about b.c. 151. He wrote a work called " Origines," i. e. antiquities, some fragments of which are still extant. § Laslium. C. Laelius, a Roman consul, a.u.c. 614. He was the in- timate friend of Africanus the younger, and is the principal character hi Cicero's treatise, " De Amicitia." 218 CICERO OK OLD AGE. [CnAP. II. burdjnsome to you; which to most old men is so disagree- able, that they say they support a burden heavier than iLtna. Cato —It is not a very difficult matter, Scipio and Laelius, which you seem to be surprised at; for to those who have no resource in themselves for living well and happily, every a was so common an expression of Cato's as to have become proverbial. CHAP. VI.] CICERO ON OLD AGE. 225 men, our ancestors would never have called the supreme council by the name of senate.* Among the- Lacedemo- nians, those who hold the highest office, as they are, so also are they styled, elders. But if you shall be inclined to read or hear of foreign matters, you will find the greatest com- monwealths have been overthrown by young men, and supported and restored by the old. "Pray, how lost you your commonwealth, so great as it was, in so short a time?" For such is the appeal, as it is in the play of the poet Nsevius ; f both other answers are given, and these especially : " There came forward orators inexperienced, foolish young men." Kashness, beyond a doubt, belongs to life when in its bloom; wisdom to it in old age. VII. But the memory is impaired. I believe it, unless you keep it in practice, or if you are by nature rather dull. • Themistocles had learned by heart the names of all his fellow citizens. Do you suppose, therefore, when he ad- vanced in age, he was accustomed to address him as Lysi- machus who was Aristides ? For my part> I know not only those persons who are alive, but their fathers also, and grandfathers; nor in reading tombstones am I afraid, as they say, lest I should lose my memory ; for by reading these very tombstones, I regain my recollection of the dead.| * So called from the Latin word senex. The members of this august assembly were originally distinguished by the title of fathers. " Vel aitate," says Sallust, " vel curee similitudine." Ovid has some pretty lines in allu« sion to the same etymology : — t( Magna fuit capitis quondam reverentia cani, In que suo pretio ruga senilis erat, Nec nisi post annos patuit tunc curia seros Nomen et aetatis mite senatus habet, Jura dabat Populo senior finitaque certis, Legibus est eetas inde petatur honor." " Time was when reverend years observance found, And silver hairs with honour's meed was crowned. In those good days the venerably old In Rome's sage synod stood alone enrolled. Experienced old she gave her laws to frame, And from the seniors rose the senate's name." — Melmoth. + Cneius Nsevius was a Latin poet, who lived during the first Punic war, which he made the subject of an Epic poem. He also wrote comedies, now lost. He died about b. c. 203. X " It was a prevailing superstition," says Melmoth, in his annotation 226 CICERO ON OLD AGE. J\ TO. Nor indeed have I heard of any old man having toi^tten in what place he had buried a treasure ; they remember all things which they care about : appointments of bail ;* who are indebted to them, and to whom they are indebted, f What do lawyers ? what do pontiffs ? what do augurs ? what do phi- losophers, when old men ? how many things they remember! The intellectual powers remain in the old, provided study and application be kept up ; and that not only in men illus- trious and of high rank, but also in private and peaceful life. Sophocles wrote tragedies up to the period of extreme old age; and when on account of that pursuit he seems to be neglect- ing the family property, he was summoned by his sons into a court of justice, that, as according to our practice, fathers mismanaging their property are wont to be interdicted their possessions,} so in his case the judges might remove him upon this passage, " among the Romans, that to read the inscriptions on the monuments of the dead, weakened the memory. Of this very singular and unaccountable notion, no other trace I believe is to be found among the Roman authors but what appears in the present passage. Possibly it might take its rise from the popular notion that the spirits of malevolent and wicked men, after their decease, delighted to haunt the places where their bodies or ashes were deposited, and there were certain annual rites celebrated at these sepluchres for appeasing the ghosts." — Vid. Platon. Phced. No. 3. Ovid, Fast. II. 533. * Vadimonia, " vades," or " vadimonium dare, 91 to give bail or recogni- zances ; " deserere vadimonium" to forfeit his recognizances. •+ " We generally find that this inaptitude at recollection is most apparent with reference to subjects which are uninteresting or distasteful to the indi- vidual ; and this for an obvious reason. To such subjects the mind gives little or no attention, and consequently few or no associations are connected with the facts observed. Hence these facts never become the property of the mind, and of course can never be recalled. On the other hand, on what subjects do we find that the faculty of recollection is the most susceptible ? Unquestionably on those, on which the individual is most deeply interested, either from taste, habit, or professional pursuit. Its apparent defects are clearly traceable to voluntary habits of inactivity and neglect ; while like every other faculty of the intellectual nature, it is capable of receiving from practice, an indefinite measure of susceptibility and power. In short, in the degree of perfection at which it may arrive, it is one of the most com- manding and dignified faculties of an intelligent being. It extends the very limit of our existence back from the present to the past ; so that the stream of by-gone years, with all the rich freight of knowledge and ex- perience which it bears upon its bosom, does not merge and lose itself in an unknown ocean, but only winds itself out of sight in the recesses of our own domains."— Edmonds's Philosophy of Memory. + Interdici bonis. The praetor was said " inter dicere" when he took from any one the management of his property, as in cases of lunacy, &c. CHAP. THL] CICERO ON OLD AGE. 227 from the management of the estate as being imbecile / Then the old man is related to have read aloud to the judges that play which he held in his hands and had most recently written, the CEdipus Coloneus, and to have asked whether that appeared the poem of a dotard ; on the recital of which he was acquitted by the sentences of the judges.- Did, then,' old age compel this man, or Homer, or Hesiod,* or Simoni- des,T or Stesichorus,} or those men whom I mentioned before, Isocrates, Gorgias, or the chiefs of the philosophers, Pythagoras, Democritus, or Plato, or Xenocrates, or after- wards Zeno, Chjaffthes, or him whom you have also seen at Kome, Diogenes the stoic, to falter in their pursuits? Was riot the vigorous pursuit of their studies commensurate with their hfe in all these men ? Come, to pass over these sublime pursuits, I can mention in the Sabine district, country gen- tlemen at Rome, neighbours and acquaintances of mine, in whose absence scarcely ever are any important works done in the tarm, either in sowing, or in reaping, or in storing the produce; and yet in those men this is less to be wondered at; for no man is so old, as not to think he may live a year. _but they also take pains in those matters, which they know do not *t all concern themselves. " He plants trees to benefit another generation," as our friend ■ Statins S says in his Synephebi. Nor, in truth, let the husbandman, however old, hesitate to reply to any one who asks him "for whom he is- sowing : "For the immortal gods, who intended that I should not only receive these possessions from my ancestors, but also transmit them to my descendants." ; VIII. Cfficilius speaks more wisely about an old man look- ing forward to another generation, than the following :- In truth,|| old age, if thou bringest with thee no other ablu^btL* P tu ° f A8C1 S in Bce0tia ' su PP°sed by some to have lived + Simonides, a poet of Cos, who flourished b. c. 538. + Stcsichorus, a lyric Greek poet of Himera, in Sicily, B.C. 556. Gall Hi^/ C ° miC P °n in , the da * VS of Enniu8 ' He w«8 a native of uaui. His surnamp w^s r»/» •» in a rJ^ S ; SUr P me T C ? eilius —Vid. Chap. viii.'at the beginning. II JEdepol. Per adem Pollncis, by the temple of Pollux : a form of >r n * : Q2 ,1 .wrpo.. rer vOem folhicis, by the temple of Pollux : a form of Vaator, was usedljt wMeu only : Hercle. or 1/./,. h, tl.. r~.l J3, by m°en. U ^||jj^ n onl ^ : «mk. orMeherelel^ tl^'form xJek 228 CICERO ON OLD AGE. [CHAP. IX. fault when thou arrivest, this one is enough, that by living long, one sees many things which he does not like:" — and many things, perhaps, which he does like ; and youth also often meets with things which he does not like.^ But the same Csecilus makes the following assertion, which is still more objectionable :— " Then, for my part, I reckon this circumstance connected with old age the most wretched, to be conscious at that age that one is disagreeable to others." Pleasant rather than disagreeable. For as wise old men take pleasure in young men possessed of good disposition, and the old age of those persons becomes lighter who are courted and loved by youth ; so young men take pleasure in the lessons of the old, by which they are led on to the pursuits of virtue. Nor am I aware that I am less agreeable to you than you are to me. But you see that old age is so far from being feeble and inactive, that it is even industrious, and always doing and devising something; namely, such pursuits as have belonged to each man in for- mer life. Nay, they even learn something new; as we see Solon in his verses boasting, who says that he was becoming an old man, daily learning something new, as I have done, who, when an old man, learned the Greek language;* which too I so greedily grasped, as if I were desirous of satisfying a long protracted thirst, that those very things became known to me which you now see me use as illus- trations. And when I heard that Socrates had done this on the lyre, for my part I should like to do that also, — for the ancients used to learn the lyre : but with their literature, at any rate, I have taken pains. IX. Nor even now do I feel the want of the strength of a young man — for that was the second topic about the faults of old age— no more than when a young man I felt the want of the strength of the bull or of the elephant. What one has, * Referring to this fact in the life of Cato, Lord Bacon says, " As to the judgment of Cato the censor, he was well punished for his blasphemy against learning, in the same kind wherein he offended ; for when he was past threescore years old, he was taken with an extreme desire to go to school again and to learn the Greek tongue to the end to peruse the Greek authors, which doth well demonstrate, that his former censure of the Grecian learning was rather an affected gravity than according to the in- ward sense of his own opinion." — " Advancement of Learning," book i. CHAP. IX.] CICERO GN OLD AGE. 229 that one ought to use; and whatever you do, you should do ' it with ail your strength. For what expression can be more contemptible than that of Milo* of Crotona, who, when he was now an old man, and was looking at the prize-fighters exercising themselves on the course, is reported to have looked at his arms, and, weeping over them, to have said But these, indeed, are now dead."f Nay, foolish man, not these arms so much as yourself; for you never derived your nobility from yourself, but from your chest and your arms Nothing of the kind did Sextus JElius ever say, nothin- of the kind many years before did Titus Coruncanius, nothing lately did Publius Crassus; by whom instructions in juris- prudence were given to their fellow citizens, and whose wisdom was progressive even to their latest breath. For the orator, I fear lest he be enfeebled by old age ; for elo- quence is a gift not of mind only, but also of lungs and strength. On the whole, that melodiousness in the voice is graceful, I know not how, even in old age ; which, indeed I have not lost, and you see my years. Yet there is a grace- ful style of eloquence in an old man, unimpassioned and subdued, and very often the elegant and gentle discourse o*' an eloquent old man wins for itself a hearing; and if vou have not yourself the power to produce this effect, yet you may be able to teach it to Scipio and Lselius. For what nZ' A ! U °' u- A l am T AtMete ' ° f Cr0t0na > in Ita] y- He is said to have carried on his shoulders a young bullock. He was seven times crowned at the Fythian games, and six times at the Olympian. f " When an old man bewails the Joss of such gratifications as are passed, he discovers a monstrous inclination to that which it is not in the course of Providence to recall. The state of an old man, who is dissatisfied merely for his being such, is the most out of all measures of reason and good sense of any being we have any account of, from the highest angel to be lowest worm. How miserable is the contemplation, to consider a libidinous old man fretting at the course of things, and being almost the sole malcontent m the creation. But let us a little reflect upon what he has lost by tne number of years ; the passions which he had in vouth are not to be obeyed as they were then, but reason is more powerful now with- out the disturbance of them. One would think it should be no small satis- taction to have gone so far in our journey that the heat of the day is over • with us. When life itself is a fever, as it is in licentious youth, the plea- sures of it are no other than the dreams of a man in that distemper ; and it is as absurd to wish the return of that season of life, as for a man in health to be sorry for the loss of gilded palaces, fairv walks, and flowery pastures, with which he remembers he was entertained in the troubled slumbers of a fit of sickness."— The Spectator, No. 153. 230 CICERO ON OLD AGE. [CHAP. X. is more delightful than old age surrounded with the stu- dious attention of youth ? Shall we not leave even such a resource to old age, as to teach young men, instruct them, train them to every department of duty? an employment, indeed, than which what can he more noble ? J3ut, tor mv nart, I thought the Cneius and Puhhus Scipios, and your two grandfathers, L. JSmilius and P. Africanus, quite happy in the attendance of noble youths ; nor are any pre- miers of liberal accomplishments to be deemed otherwise than happy, though their strength hath fallen into old age and failed although that very failure of strength is more frequently caused by the follies of youth than by those of old age; for a lustful and intemperate youth transmits to old age an exhausted body * Cyrus too in Xenophon, in that discourse which he delivered on his death-bed when he was a very old man, said that he never felt that his old age had become feebler than his youth had been. I recol- , lect when a bov, that Lucius Metellus, who, when four years after his second consulship he had been ^ made «pon- , tifex maximus," and for twenty-two years held that sacer- dotal office, enjoyed such good strength at the latter period ; of his life/thai he felt no want of youth There is no need . for me to speak about myself, and yet that is the privilege j of old ^e, and conceded to my time of lite. X Do yon see how, in Homer, Nestor very often pro- | claims his own virtues ? for he was now living m the third ™ation of men; nor had he occasion to fear lest when STZ truth about himself, he should appear either too : arrogant or too talkative ; for, as Homer says f from his Joncue speech flowed sweeter than honey ; for which charm , he stood P in need of no strength of body : and ye .the famous chief of Greece nowhere wishes to have ten men like Ajax but like Nestor ;% and he does not doubt if that should,, * . CHAP. XII.] CICERO ON OLD AGE. 235 who always lives in these pursuits and labours, it is not perceived when old age steals on. Thus gradually and un- consciously life declines into old age; nor is its thread suddenly broken, but the vital principle is consumed by length of time. , XII. Then follows the third topic of blame against old age, that they say it has no pleasures. Oh, noble privi- \r lege of age! if indeed it takes from us that which is in youth the greatest defect. For listen, most excellent young men, to the ancient speech of Archytas of Tarentum, a man eminently great and illustrious, which was reported to me when I, a young man, was at Tarentum with Quintus Maxi- mus. He said that no more deadly plague than the pleasure of the body was inflicted on men by nature; for the pas- sions, greedy of that pleasure, were in a rash and unbridled manner incited to possess it ; that hence arose treasons against one's country, hence the ruining of states, hence clan- destine conferences with enemies: in short, that there was no crime, no wicked act, to the undertaking of which the lust of pleasure did not impel; but that fornica- tions and adulteries and every such crime, were provoked by no other allurements than those of pleasure. And whereas either nature or some god had given to man nothing more excellent than his mind; that to this divine func- tion and gift, nothing was so hostile as pleasure: since where lust bore sway, there was no room for self-restraint ; and in the realm of pleasure, virtue could by no possi- bility exist. And that this might be the better understood, he begged you to imagine in your mind any one actuated by the greatest pleasure of the body that could be enjoyed ; he believed no one would doubt, but that so long as the person was in that state of delight, he would be able to consider nothing in his mind, to attain nothing by reason, nothing by reflection : wherefore that there was nothing so detestable and so destructive as pleasure, inasmuch as that when it was excessive and very prolonged, it extinguished all the light of the soul. Nearchus of Tarentum, our host,* who had re- * The title of Z'zvoq. or public host of a nation or city, is exceedingly common in the classic writers. The duty of the person on whom it was conferred, was to receive ambassadors from the state with which he was thus connected, into his own house, if they had been sent on public 236 CICEEO ON OLD AGE. [OHAP. Xm. mained throughout in friendship with the Roman people said he had heard from older men, that Archytas held this C0 7 Ration with Cains Pontius the Samnitef the father of hTm SlSvi ln th !, Caudian , battle >* Spurius Postumius and litus Vetunus, the consuls, were overcome, on which occa- and I find that he came to Tarentum in the consulship of Lucius Camillas and Appius Claudius. f Wherefore do I adduce tins? that we may understand that if we could not by reason and wisdom despise pleasure, great gratitude should not be a matter of pleasure which is not a matter of T/'^ f P . S T 18 ° Stile t0 reaSOn ' hinders deliberation, and, so to speak, closes the eyes of the mind, nor does it hold evLn er r 0UrSe , Wlth VirtUe> Iindeed acted reluctantly in expelling from the senate Lucius Flamininus, brother of that very brave man, Titus Flamininus, seven years after he had been consul; but I thought that his licentiousness should be Stigmatized. For that man, when he was consul in Gaul was prevailed on at a banquet, by a courtezan, to behead one of those who were in chains, condemned on a capital charge He escaped in the censorship of his brother Titus, who had immediate]* preceded me: but so profligate and aban- 1USt - C ° Uld ^ n ° ~ be ' ^ed U > pass by me and Flaccus, s.nce with private infamy it combined the disgrace of the empire. XIII. I have often heard from my elders, who said that, in like manner, they, when boys, had heard from old men that Cains Fabricius was wont to wonder that when he was ambassador to king Pyrrhus, he had heard from Cineas the inessalian, that there was' a certain person at Athens, who professed himself a wise man, and that he was accustomed to say that all things which we did were to be referred to plea- sure: and that hearing him say so, Manius Curius and Titus Coruncanius were accustomed to wish that that might be business to the city in which he resided, and to use all the interest he possessed m furthering the purpose of their mission. * f ra!lt0 Oaudmo. taudi and Caudium, a town of the Samnites nea* which, in a place called Caudin* Furcul* or Fauces, the Romans' we" defeated and made to pass under the yoke by Pontius Herennius t Lonsuhbus L. Camillo, &c. a.u.c. 330. CHAP. XIII.] CICERO ON OLD AGE. 237 the persuasion of the Samnites and Pyrrhus himself, that they might the more easily be conquered when they had given themselves up to pleasure. Manius Curius had lived with Publius Decius, who, five years before the consulship of the former, had devoted himself for the commonwealth in his fourth consulship. Fabricius had been acquainted with him, and Coruncanius had also known him ; who, as well from his own conduct in life, as from the great action of him whom I mention, Publius Decius, judged that there was doubtless something in its own nature excellent and glorious, which should be followed for its own sake, and which, scorn- ing and despising pleasure, all the worthiest men pursued. To what end then have I said so many things about plea- sure ? Because it is so far from being any disparagement, I that it is even the highest praise to old age, that it has no ! great desire for any pleasures. It lacks banquets, and piled- | up boards, and fast-coming goblets ; it is therefore also free from drunkenness and indigestion and sleeplessness. But if something must be conceded to pleasure (since we do not easily withstand its allurements, for Plato beautifully calls pleasure the bait of evils, inasmuch as, by it, in fact, men are caught as fishes with a hook), although old age has nothing to do with extravagant banquets, yet in reasonable entertainments it can experience pleasure. I, when a boy, often saw Caius Duilius,* son of Marcus, the first man who had conquered the Carthaginians by sea, returning from / dinner, when an old man : he took delight in numerous torches and musicians, things which he, as a private person, had assumed to himself without any precedent: so much indulgence did his glory give him. But why do I refer to others ? let me now return to myself. First of all, I always had associates in clubs; and clubs were established when I was quaestor, on the Idaean worship of the great mother -being adopted. Therefore I feasted with my associates! altogether in a moderate way; but there was a kind of fervour peculiar to that time of life, and as that advances, all things will become every day more subdued. For I did not calculate the gratification of those banquets by the pleasures * C. Duilius, surnamed Nepos, obtained a naval victory over the Cartha- ginians, b.c. 260. Sodalitia were club-feasts, corporation dinners, &c. 238 CICERO ON OLD AGE. [CHAP. XIV. of the body, so much as by the meetings of friends and con- versations. For well did our ancestors style the reclining of friends at an entertainment, because it carried with it a union of life, by the name " convivium"* better than the Greeks do, who call this same thing as well by the name of " compotatio" as " concoenatio : " so that what in that kind (of pleasures) is of the least value, that they appear most to approve of. XIV. For my part, on account of the pleasure of conver- sation, I am delighted also with seasonable entertainments, * not only with those of my own age, of whom very few sur- vive, but with those of your age, and with you; and I give great thanks to old age, which has increased my desire for conversation, and taken away that of eating and drinking. But even if such things delight any person (that I may not appear altogether to have declared war against pleasure, of which perhaps a certain limited degree is even natural), I am not aware that even in these pleasures themselves old age is without enjoyment. For my part, the presidencies f esta- blished by our ancestors delight me ; and that conversation, which after the manner of our ancestors, is kept up over our cups from the top of the table ; and the cups, as in the Sym- posium of Xenophon, small and dewy, and the cooling of the wine in summer, and in turn either the sun, or the fire in winter : practices which I am accustomed to follow among the Sabines also, and I daily join a party of neighbours, which we prolong with various conversation till late |t night, as far as we can. But there is not, as it were, so ticklish a sensibility of pleasures in old men. I believe it : but then neither is there the desire. But nothing is irksome, • unless you long for it. Well did Sophocles, when a certain man inquired of him advanced in age, whether he enjoyed venereal pleasures, reply, "The gods give me something better ; nay, I have run away from them with gladness, as from a wild and furious tyrant." For to men fond of such things, it is perhaps disagreeable and irksome to be without them ; but to the contented and satisfied it is more delightful to want them than to enjoy them : and yet he does not want who feels no desire ; therefore I say that this freedom from * Convivium, which the Greeks call (rvfnrocnov. t " Nec regna vini sortiere talis." — Horace, Book I. Ode 4. CHAP. XIV. | CICERO ON OLD AGE. 239 desire is more delightful than enjoyment. But if the prime of life has more cheerful enjoyment of those very pleasures, in the first place they are but petty objects which it en- joys, as I have said before; then they are those of which old age, if it does not abundantly possess them, is not altogether destitute. As he is more delighted with Turpio Ambivius, who is spectator on the foremost bench,* yet he also is delighted who is in the hindmost; so youth having a close view of pleasures, is perhaps more grati- fied; but old age is as much delighted as is necessary in viewing them at a distance. But of what high value are the following circumstances, that the soul, after it has served out, as it were, its time under lust, ambition, contention, enmities, and all the passions, shall retire within itself, and, as the phrase is, live with itself? But if it has, as it were, food for study and learning, nothing is more delightful than an old age of leisure.^ I saw Caius Gallus, the intimate friend of your father, Scipio, almost expiring in the employment of calcu- lating the sky and the earth. How often did daylight over- take him when he had begun to draw some figure by night, how often did night, when he had begun in the morning ! How it did delight him to predict to us the eclipses of the sun and the moon, long before their occurrence ! What shall we say in the case of pursuits less dignified, yet, notwithstanding, requiring acuteness ! How Nsevius did delight in his Punic war ! how Plautus in his Truculentus ! how in his Pseudolus ! I saw also the old man Livy,f who, though he had brought a play upon the stage six years before I was born, in the consul- ship of Cento and Tuditanus, yet advanced in age even to the time of my youth. Why should I speak of Publius Licinius Crassus's study both of pontifical and civil law ? or of the present Publius Scipio, who within these few days was cre- ated chief pontiff? Yet we have seen all these persons whom I have mentioned, ardent in these pursuits when old men. But as to Marcus Cethegus, whom Ennius rightly called the * Primd caved. The theatre was of a semicircular form : the foremost rows next the stage were called orchestra: fourteen rows behind them were assigned to the knights, the rest to the people. The whole was fre- quently called cavea, t Livius Andronicus flourished at Rome about 240 years before the Christian era. 240 CICERO ON OLD AGE. [CHAP. XV. " marrow of persuasion," with what great zeal did we see him engage in the practice of oratory, even when an old man ! What pleasures, therefore, arising from banquets, or plays, or harlots, are to be compared with these pleasures ? And these, indeed, are the pursuits of learning, which too, with the sensible and well educated, increase along with their age : so that is a noble saying of Solon, when he says in a certain verse, as I observed before, that he grew old learning many things every day— than which pleasure of the mind, certainly, none can be greater. XV. I come now to the pleasures of husbandmen, with which I am excessively delighted ; which are not checked by any old age, and appear in my mind to make the nearest approach to the life of a wise man.* For they have relation to the earth, which never refuses command, and never returns without interest thajt which it hath received ; but sometimes with less, generally with very great interest. And yet for my part it is not only the product, but the virtue and nature of the earth itself delight me ; which, when in its softened and subdued bosom it has received the scattered seed, first of all confines what is hidden within it, from which harrowing, which produces that effect, derives its name {occatio) ; then, when it is warmed by heat and its own com- pression, it spreads it out, and elicits from it the verdant blade, which, supported by the fibres of the roots, gradually grows up, and, rising on a jointed stalk, is now enclosed in a sheath, as if it were of tender age, out of which, when it hath shot up, it then pours forth the fruit of the ear, piled in due order, and is guarded by a rampart of beards against the pecking of the smaller birds. Why should I, in the case of vines, tell of the plantings, the risings, the stages of growth ? That you may know the repose and amusement of my old age, I assure you that I can never have enough of that gratification. For I pass over the peculiar nature of all things which are produced from the earth : which generates * * God Almighty first planted a garden ; and indeed it is the purest of human pleasures ; it is the greatest refreshment to the spirits of man % without which buildings and palaces are but gross handy-works, and a man shall ever see, that, when ages grow to civility and elegancy, men come to build stately sooner than to garden finely; as if gardening were the greater perfection." — Lord Bacon, Essay 46. CHAP. XV.] CICERO ON OLD AGE. 241 such great trunks and branches from so small a grain of the fig or from the grape-stone, or from the minutest seeds of other fruits and roots : shoots, plants, twigs, quicksets, layers, do not these produce the effect of delighting any one even to admiration ? The vine, indeed, which by nature is prone to fall, and is borne down to the ground, unless it be propped, in order to raise itself up, embraces with its tendrils, as it were with hands, whatever it meets with ; which, as it creeps with manifold and wandering course, the skill of the hus- bandmen, pruning with the knife, restrains from running into a forest of twigs, and spreading too far in all directions. Accordingly, in the beginning of spring, in those twigs which are left, there rises up as it were at the joints of the branches that which is called a bud, from which the nascent grape shows itself ; which, increasing in size by the moisture of the earth and the heat of the sun, is at first very acid to the taste, and then as it ripens grows sweet, and being clothed with its large leaves does not want moderate warmth, and yet keeps off the excessive heat of the sun ; than which what can be in fruit on the one hand more rich, or on the other hand more beautiful in appearance ? Of which not only the advantage, as I said before, but also the cultivation and the nature itself delights me : the rows of props, the joining of the heads, the tying up and propagation of vines, and the pruning of some twigs, and the grafting of others, which I have mentioned. Why should I allude to irriga- tions, why to the diggings of the ground, why to the trenching by which the ground is made much more productive ? Why should I speak of the advantage of manuring ? I have treated of it in that book which I wrote respecting rural affairs, concerning which the learned Hesiod has not said a single word, though he has written about the cultivation of the land. But Homer, who, as appears to me, lived many ages before, introduces Laertes soothing the regret which he felt for his son, by tilling the land and manuring it. Nor in- deed is rural life delightful by reason- of corn-fields only and meadows and vineyards and groves, but also for its gardens and orchards; also for the feeding of cattle, the swarms of bees, and the variety of all kinds of flowers.* Nor * (t I look upon the pleasure which we take in a garden, as one of the most innocent delights in human life. A garden was the habitation of our R CICERO ON OLD AGE. [CHAP. XVI. do plantings * only give me delight, but also engraftings ; than which agriculture has invented nothing more in- genious. XVI. I can enumerate many amusements of rustic life ; but even those things which I have mentioned, I perceive to have been rather long. But you will forgive me ; for both from my love of rural life I have been carried away, and old age is by nature rather talkative, that I may not appear to vindicate it from all failings. In such a life then as this, Marcus Curius,t after he had triumphed over the Samnites, over the Sabines, over Pyrrhus, spent the closing period of his existence. In contemplating whose country seat, too (for it is not far distant from my house), I cannot sufficiently admire either the continence of the man himself, or the moral character of the times. When the Samnites had brought a great quantity of gold to Curius as he sat by his fire-side, they were repelled with dis- dain by him ; for he said that it did not appear to him glorious to possess gold, but to have power over those who possessed gold. Could so great a soul fail in rendering old age pleasant ? But I come to husbandmen, that I may not digress from my- self. In the country at that time there were senators, and Ihey too old men : inasmuch as Lucius Quintius Cincinnatus was at the plough when it was announced to him that he was made dictator : by whose command when dictator, Caius Servilius Ahala, the master of the horse, arrested and put j to death Spurius Melius, who was aspiring to kingly power. ! From their country-house, Curius and other old men were summoned to the senate, from which cause they who sum- moned them were termed "viatores." Was then their old age to be pitied, who amused themselves in the cultivation of land ? In my opinion, indeed, I know not whether any other can be more happy : and not only in the discharge of first parents before the fall. It is naturally apt to fill the mind with calm- ness and tranquillity, and to lay all its turbulent passions at rest. It gives us a great insight into the contrivance and wisdom of Providence, and suggests innumerable subjects for meditation." — Spectator, No. 477. * Conditio, sowing or planting ; insitio, grafting ; repastinalio, trench- ing. t Curius Dentatus Marcus Annius, celebrated for his fortitude and frugality. He was thrice consul, and twice honoured with a triumph. CHAP. XVII.] CICERO ON OLD AGE. 243 duty, because to the whole race of mankind the cultivation of the land is beneficial ; but also from the amusement, which I have mentioned, and that fulness and abundance of all things which are connected with the food of men, and also with the worship of the gods ; so that, since some have a desire for these things, we may again put ourselves on good terms with pleasure. For the wine-cellar of a good and diligent master is always well stored ; the oil-casks, the pantry also, the whole farm-house is richly supplied ; it abounds in pigs, kids, lambs, hens, milk, cheese, honey. Then, too, the countrymen themselves call the garden a second dessert. And then what gives a greater relish to these things is that kind of leisure labour, fowling and hunt- ing. Why should I speak of the greenness of meadows, or the rows of trees, or the handsome appearance of vineyards and olive grounds ? Let me cut the matter short. Nothing can be either more rich in use, or more elegant in appear- ance than ground well tilled ; to the enjoyment of which old age is so far from being an obstacle, that it is even an invitation and allurement. For where can that age be better warmed either by basking in the sun or by the fire, or again be more healthfully refreshed by shades or waters ? Let the young, therefore, keep to themselves their arms, horses, spears, clubs, tennis-ball, swimmings, and races : to us old men let them leave out of many amuse- ments the tali and tesserce;* and even in that matter it may be as they please, since old age can be happy without these amusements. XVII. For many purposes the books of Xenophon are very useful ; which read, I pray you, with diligence, as you are doing. At what length is agriculture praised by him in that book, which treats of the management of private property, and which is styled " QEconomicus."f And that you may understand that nothing to him appears so kingly as the pur- suit of agriculture, Socrates in that book converses with Crito- * Tesserce had six sides marked 1 , 2, 3, &c., like our dice. The tali had four sides longwise, the ends not being regarded. The lowest throw (vnio), the ace, was called canis: the highest (senio or sice), was called Venus; the dice-box, Fritillus, + (Economicus. A dialogue of Xenophon, in which he treats of the management of a farm, horses, &c. R 2 244 OICERO ON OLD AGE. [CHAP. XVII. bulus, [and remarks] that Cyrus the younger,* king of the Persians, pre-eminent in talent and the glory of his empire, when Lysander "f the Lacedaemonian, a man of the highest valour, had come to him at Sardis, and had brought to him presents from the allies, both in other respects was courteous and kind towards Lysander, and in particular showed to him an enclosed piece of ground planted with great care. And that when Lysander admired both the tallness of the trees and the lines arranged in a quincunx, and the ground well cultivated and clear, and the sweetness of the perfumes which were breathed from the flowers, he said that he admired not only the diligence, but also the skilfulness of the man by whom these grounds had been planned and measured out ; and that Cyrus answered him, "Well, it was I who planned all these grounds ; mine are the rows, mine the laying out ; many also of these trees were planted by my own hand." That then Lysander, beholding his purple robe and the elegance of his person, and his Persian dress adorned with much gold and many jewels, said, " O Cyrus, they truly report you as happy, since excel- lence is combined with your fortune !" This lot then old men may enjoy ; nor does age hinder us from retaining the pursuit both of other things, and especially of cultivating the land, even to the last period of old age. In the case of Marcus Valerius Corvus, we have heard that he continued to live to his hundredth year, while, when his (active) life had been spent, he lived in the country and tilled the land : between whose first and sixth consulship forty-six years intervened. Thus, as long a period of life as our ancestors considered to reach to the beginning of old age, just so long was the career of his honours : and the close of his life was happier on this account than the middle, because it had more of authority and less of toil. Now authority is the crown of old age. How great was it in Lucius Csecilius Metellus ! how great in Atilius Calatinus ! on whom was that singular inscription — "Many nations agree that he was the leading man of the people." It is a well-known epitaph, inscribed on his tomb. He therefore was justly dignified, about whose praises the * Cyrus the younger. He attempted to dethrone his brother Artaxerxes, and was killed at the battle of Cynaxa, B.C. 401. t Lysander defeated the Athenian fleet at the battle of jEgos Potamos, B.C. 405, and put an end to the Peloponnesian war. CHAP. XVIII.] CICERO ON OLD AGE. 24.5 report of all men was concurrent. How great a man have we seen in Publius Crassus, late pontifex maximus ; how great a man subsequently in Marcus Lepidus, invested with the same sacerdotal office ! Why should I speak of Paul us or Africanus? or, as I have already done, about Maximus ? men not only in whose expressed judgment, but even in whosa acquiescence authority resided. Old age, especially an ^ honoured old age, has so great authority, that this is of more value than all the pleasures of youth. XVIII. But in my whole discourse remember that I am praising that old age which is established on the foundations of vouth : from which this is effected which I once asserted with the great approbation of all present, — that wretched was the old age which had to defend itself by speaking. Neither grey hairs nor wrinkles can suddenly catch respect ; but the former part of life honourably spent, reaps the fruits of authority at the close. For these very observances, which seem light and common, are marks of honour — to be saluted, to be sought after, to receive precedence, to have persons rising up to you, to be attended on the way, to be escorted home, to be consulted ; points which, both among us and in other states, in proportion as they are the most excellent in their morals, are the most scrupulously observed. They say that Lysander the Lacedaemonian, whom I mentioned a little above, was accus- j tomed to remark, that Lacedaemon was the most honourable abode for old age ; for nowhere is so much conceded to that time of life, nowhere is old age more respected. Nay, further, it is recorded that when at Athens, during the games, a cer- tain elderly person had entered the theatre, a place was nowhere offered him in that large assembly by his own townsmen ; but when he had approached the Lacedaemonians, who, as they were ambassadors, had taken their seats together in a particular place, they all rose up and invited the old man to a seat ; and when reiterated applause had been be- stowed upon them by the whole assembly, one of them remarked, that the Athenians knew what was right, but were unwilling to do it. There are many excellent rules in our college,* but this of which I am treating especially, that in proportion as each man has the advantage in age, so he * In nostro collegio. The College of Augurs is here meant, which Cicero calb, " amplissimi sacerdotii collegium." 246 CICERO ON OLD AGE. [CHAP. XIX. takes precedence in giving his opinion ; and older augurs are preferred not only to those who are higher in office, but even to such as are in actual command. What pleasures, then, of the body can be compared with the privileges of authority ? which they who have nobly employed seem to me to have consummated the drama of life, and not like inexpert per- formers to have broken down in the last act. Still old men are peevish, and fretful, and passionate, and unmanageable, —nay, if we seek for such, also covetous : but these are the faults of their characters, not of their old age. And yet that peevishness and those faults which I have mentioned have some excuse, not quite satisfactory indeed, but such as may be admitted. They fancy that they are neglected, despised, made a jest of; besides, in a weak state of body every offence is irritating. All which defects, however, are extenuated by good dispositions and qualities ; and this may be discovered not only in real life, but on the stage, from the two brothers that are represented in the Brothers ;* how much austerity in the one, and how much gentleness in the other ! Such is the fact : for as it is not every wine, so it is not every man's life, that grows sour from old age. I approve of gravity in old age, but this in a moderate degree, like everything else ; harshness by no means.f What avarice in an old man can propose to itself I cannot conceive : for can anything be more absurd than, in proportion as less of our journey remains, to seek a greater supply of provisions ? XIX. A fourth reason remains, which seems most of all to distress and render anxious our time of life, namely, the near approach of death, which certainly cannot be far distant from old age. O wretched old man, who in so long a time of life hast not seen that death is a thing to be despised ! Which either ought altogether to be regarded with indiffer- ence, if it entirely annihilates the mind, or ought even to be * Adelphi. A play of Terence : Demea and Micio are the names of the two old men alluded to here. f " Nothing is more despicable or more miserable, than the old age of a passionate man. When the vigour of youth fails him, and his amusements pall with frequent repetition, his occasional rage sinks by decay of strength into peevishness ; that peevishness, for want of novelty and variety, becomes habitual ; the world falls off from around him, and he is left, as Homer ex- presses it, ' (poivvSiov (pikov /c^p, ? to devour his own heart in solitude and contempt." — Rambler, No. 11. CHAP. XIX. J CICERO ON OLD AGE. desired, if it leads it to a place where it is destined to be i in* mortal.* Yet no third alternative certainly can be found. What, therefore, should I fear, if after death I am sure either not to be miserable or to be happy ? Although who is so foolish, though he be young, as to be assured that he will live even till the evening ? Nay, that period of life has many more probabilities of death than ours has : young men more readily fall into diseases, suffer more severely, are cured with more difficulty, and therefore few arrive at old age. Did not this happen so, we should live better and more wisely, for intelligence, and reflection, and judgment reside, in old men, and if there had been none of them, no states could exist at all. But I return to the imminence of death. What charge is that against old age, since you see it to be common to youth also ? I experienced not only in the case of my own excellent son, but also in that of your brothers, Scipio, men plainly marked out for the highest distinction, that death was common to every period of life. Yet a young * * I thank God T have not those straight ligaments or narrow obligations to the world as to dote on life, or he eonvulst and tremble at the name of death : not that I am insensible of the dread and horror thereof, or by taking into the bowels of the deceased continual sight of anatomies, skeletons, or cadaverous reliques like vespillores, or grave-makers ; I am become stupid, or have forgot the apprehension of mortality, but that marshalling all the honours, and contemplating the extremities thereof, I find not anything therein able to daunt the courage of a man, much less a well resolved Chris- tian ; and therefore am not angry at the error of our first parents, or un- willing to bear a part of this common fall, and, like the best of them, to die ; that is, to cease to breathe, to take a farewell of the elements, to be a kind of nothing for a moment, to be within one instant of a spirit. When 1 take a full view and circle of myself without this reasonable moderator and equal piece of justice, I do conceive myself the miserablest person ex- tant ; were there not another life that I hope for, all the vanities of this worid should not intreat a moment's bi ?ath from me ; could the devil work my belief to imagine I could never die, I would not outlive that very thought ; I have so abject a conceit oi this common way of existence, this retaining to the sun and elements — I c mnot think this is to be a man, or to live according to the dignity of human) y : in expectation of a better, I can with patience embrace this life ; yet ii my best meditations do often defy death ; I honour any man that conterr is it, nor can highly love any that is afraid of it. This makes me natural ' love a soldier, and honour those tattered and contemptible regiments t tat will die at the command of a sergeant. For a pagan, there may be j mie motives to be in love with life ; but for a Christian to be amazed at dea\ i, I see not how he can escape this dilemma, that he is too sensible of t lis life, or hopeless of the life to come. ,, — Sir Thomas Browne's Reliyio Medici, chap, xxxviii 248 CICERO ON OLD AGE. [CHAP. XIX. man hopes that he will live a long time, which expectation an old man cannot entertain. His hope is hut a fooEone for what can be more foolish than to regard uncertainties as certainties, delusions as truths? An old man indeed has nothing to hope for ; yet he is in so much the happier stSe than a young one; since he has already attaine/wha the other is only hoping for. The one is wishing to live W n le m S life ^ ^n yet ' g °° d g ° ds! what 1 S period In, r ? 6 £ Ued long ? For aIlow the ***** Period, let us anticipate the age of the kings of the Tar- ArSnth!ls 9 e t r r^ e,t * V fiDd * reco ^df a man namTd livfd 120 E ,i n S ' • T h ° ^ gned f0r ^ y^rs, and lived 120. But to my mind, nothing whatever seems of W duration, in which there is any end? For when that arr Tef then the ime which has passed has flowed away; that only remains which you have secured by virtue and right conduct Hours mdeed depart from ns, and days and Lnths and years; nor does past time ever return, nor can it be dis- covered what is to follow. Whatever time is assigned to °h ?' Wlt 'l ° Ught t0 be content : forSher need the drama be performed entire by the actor, in order lefhe 6 EfT* Pr ° Vid f I" ^ aPPr ° Ved act he may be : nor need the wise man live till the plaudrteA For the short period of life is long enough for living well and honourably ;$ and if you should advance CaU^t^S ££> * ^ ^ » - ancient., immortal'fame among al? K^ofl^SSi S ^^00 Seed ?r the ""r 86 5 Wh ° With mZ^ZZ and powfr has reduced the jarnng elements into just order and proportion Let SP ecu Janve reasoners dispute how far this beneficent Being extends his cLe and whether he prolongs our existence bevond the erave in mvW tTk I ' virtue its just reward, and render it fully riumpC Th?l» f T w.thout deciding anything on so tJ^SgX i^lZl^A CHAP. XIX.] CICERO ON OLD AGE. 249 further, you need no more grieve than farmers do when the loveliness of spring-time hath passed, that summer and autumn have come. For spring represents the time of youth, and gives promise of the future fruits ; the remaining seasons are intended for plucking and gathering in those fruits. Now the harvest of old age, as I have often said, is the recollection and abundance of blessings previously secured. In truth everything that happens agreeably to nature is to be reckoned among blessings. What, however, is so agreeable to nature as for an old man to die ? which even is the lot of the young, though nature opposes and resists. And thus it is that young men seem to me to die, just as when the violence of flame is extinguished by a flood of water ; whereas old men die, as the exhausted fire goes out, spontaneously, without the exertion of any force : and as fruits when they are green are plucked by force from the trees, but when ripe and mellow drop off, so violence takes away their lives from youths, maturity from old men ; a state which to me indeed is so delightful, that the nearer I approach to death, I seem as it were to be £ etting sight of land, and at length, after a long voyage, to be just coming into harbour.* portion marked out to aim by the supreme Disposer of all things. Grate- fully he accepts of th it farther reward prepared for him ; but if disap- pointed, he thinks not virtue an empty name, but justly esteeming it its own reward, he gratefully acknowledges the bounty of his Creator, who, by calling him into existence, has thereby afforded him an opportunity of once acquiring so invaluable a possession." — Hume's Essays, Essay 16. * " It is curious to observe the difference m the estimate formed by Cicero and the great moralist of the last century on the condition of old age and the proximity of death. A difference depending partly, no doubt, upon the temperament of the two men, but still more on their religious notions. The other miseries which waylay our passage through the world, wisdom may escape, and fortitude may conquer ; by caution and circum- spection, we may steal along with very little to obstruct or incommode us ; by spirit an'd vigour we may force a way, and reward the vescalion by con- quest, by the pleasures of victory. But a time must come when our policy and bravery shall be equally useless ; when we shall all sink into helpless- ness and sadness, without any power of receiving solace from the pleasures that have formerly delighted us, or any prospect of emerging into a second possession of the blessings that we have lost. However age mav discourage us by its appearance from considering it in prospect, we shall all by degrees certainly be old, and therefore we ought to enquire what provision can be made against that time of distress? what happiness can be stored up against the winter of life \ and how we may pass our latter years with serenity and cheerfulness? If it has been found by the experience of mankind, that not 250 CICERO ON OLD AGE. LCHAP. XX. XX. Of all the periods of life there is a definite limit ; but of old age there is no limit fixed ; and life goes on very well in it, so long as you are able to follow up and attend to the duty of your situation, and, at the same time, to care nothing about death : whence it happens that old age is even of higher spirit and bolder than youth. Agreeable to this was the answer given to Pisistratus,* the tyrant, by Solon ; when on the former inquiring, "in reliance on what hope he so boldly withstood him," the latter is said to have answered, "on old age." The happiest end of life is this— when the mind and the other senses being unimpaired, the same nature, which put it together, takes asunder her own work. As in the case of a ship or a house, he who built them takes them down most easily ; so the same nature which has compacted man, most easily breaks him up. Besides, every fastening of glue, when fresh, is with difficulty torn asunder, but easily when tried by time. Hence it is that that short rem- nant of life should be neither greedily coveted, nor without reason given up : and Pythagoras forbids us to abandon the station or post of life without the orders of our commander, that is of God.f There is indeed a saying of the wise Solon, in even the best seasons of life are able to supply sufficient gratifications with- out anticipating uncertain felicities, it cannot surely be supposed that old age, worn with labours, harassed with anxieties, and tortured with diseases, should have any gladness of its own, or feel any satisfaction from the con- templation of the present. All the comfort that' can now be expected must be recalled from the past, or borrowed from the future ; the past is very soon exhausted ; all the events or actions of which the memory can afford pleasure, are quickly recollected ; and the future lies beyond the grave, where it can be reached only by virtue and devotion. Piety is the only proper and adequate relief of decaying man." — Rambler, No. 69, * Pisistratus, tyrant of Athens, reigned thirty-three years, and died about b. c. 527. t Upon this passage Melmoth has a note, of which the following is an abstract: "Although the practice of suicide too generally prevailed among the ancient Greeks and Romans, yet it was a practice condemned by the best and wisest of their philosophers. Nothing can be more clear and ex- press than the prohibition of Pythagoras with respect to this act, as cited by Cicero in the present passage; and in this he was followed both by Socrates and Plato, those noblest and most enlightened of the pagan moralists, con- sidered suicide as an act of rebellion against the authority of the Supreme Being, who having placed man in his present post, hath reserved to himself alone the right of determining the proper time for his dismission. Agreeably to these principles, Cicero in his relation of Scipio's dream, represents the departed spirit of Emilius as assuring his son, who had expressed an im- CHAP. XX. J CICERO ON OLD AGE. 251 which he declares that he does not wish his own death to be unattended by the grief and lamentation of friends. He patience of joining him in the heavenly mansions, that there was no admit- tance into those regions of felicity for the man who attempted to force his way into them by his own unauthorized act. The Platonic poet, it is well known, places those unhappy persons in a state of punishment, who not having the piety and the courage to support their misfortunes with due resignation, impiously endeavoured to deliver themselves by venturing to be their own executioners." Such were the sentiments of the most approved moralists among the ancient philosophers; the doctrine of the Stoics, it must be acknowledged, was more relaxed upon this important article ; but although they did not scruple to represent it even as a duty in some very particular circum- stances, they ought, if they had reasoned consequentially from their own principles, to have held it forth as highly criminal in all. For there is no precept of morality which they inculcate more frequently, nor in stronger terms, than an unlimited submission to the dispensations of Providence ; the truth is, the ancient writers of this sect are not more at variance with reason than with themselves in what they have delivered upon this subject. Inconsistency, indeed, is one of the characteristical marks of the Stoical system, as Plutarch has proved by a variety of instances drawn from the writings of Chrysippus. Those of Seneca and Epictetus may equally be produced in support of the same charge, so far at least as relates to their sentiments on the present question ; for they sometimes contend for the lawfulness of suicide without any restriction, sometimes only under very peculiar circumstances, and sometimes zealously press upon their disciples, as an indispensable obligation, the duty of a pious acquiescence under all the various calamities of human life. Agreeably to this last position, Seneca, in answer to a querulous letter he had received from his friend Lucilius, writes thus: — "A wise and good man,"" says he, il should stand prepared for all event;, remembering that he is destined to pass through a world where pain and sorrow, disease and in- firmity, are posted in his way. It is not in his power to change these conditions upon which he receives his present existence ; but it certainly is to submit to them with such fortitude and acquiescence in the laws of nature, as becomes a virtuous mind. It should be our constant endeavour, therefore, to reconcile our minds to these unalterable laws of Providence, and to submit to them without murmur or complaint; fully persuaded that every thing is as it ought to be, and that the government of the world is in the hands of the Supreme Being. To deliver himself up to that Being with an implicit and unreserved resignation, is the merit of a truly great soul, as it is of a base and little mind to entertain unworthy suspicions of the order established in the world, to attempt to break through the laws of Providence; and instead of correcting his own ways, impiously presume to correct the ways of God."— Sen. Ess. 107. To the same purpose, and with equal inconsistency, is the doctrine of Epictetus ; on the one hand telling those who complain under the pressure of any calamity that they have the remedy in their own power, and on the other exhorting them to bear with a patient composure of mind the evils that attend human life, and not presume to deliver themselves by an un- 2.52 CICERO ON OLD AGE. [CHAP. XX. wishes, I suppose, that he should be dear to his friends. But I know not whether Ennius does not say with more pro- priety, " Let no one pay me honour with tears, nor celebrate my funeral with mourning." He conceives that a death ought not to be lamented which an immortality follows. Besides, a dying man may have some degree of consciousness, but that for a short time, espe- cially in the case of an old man : after death, indeed, con- sciousness either does not exist, or it is a thing to be desired. But this ought to be a subject of study from our youth to be indifferent about death ; without which study no one can be of tranquil mind. For die we certainly must, and it is uncertain whether or not on this very day. He, therefore, who at all hours dreads impending death, how can he be at peace in his mind ? concerning which there seems to be no need of such long discussion, when I call to mind not only Lucius Brutus, who was slain in liberating his country ; nor the two Decii, who spurred on their steeds to a voluntary death ; nor Marcus Atilius,* who set out to execution, that he might keep a promise pledged to the enemy ; nor the two Scipios, who even with their very bodies sought to obstruct the march of the Carthaginians ; nor your grandfather Lucius Paulus,f who by his death atoned for the temerity of his warranted desertion of that post in which the Supreme Being has thought proper to place them. With the exception of the cases of soldiers, suicide was not forbidden by the Roman law, nor was it discountenanced by public opinion. Voluntary suicide, by the law of England is a crime; and every suicide is presumed to be voluntary until the contrary is made apparent. It is remarkable, how- ever, that even English moralists are by no means unanimous in con- demning it ; both Hume and Godwin submit it to the test of a mere calculation of expediency. The Code Penal of France contains no legislation on the subject of suicide. Of the modern codes of Germany, some adopt the silence of the French code, and others vary in their particular provisions. In the Bavarian and Saxon codes, suicide is not mentioned. The Prussian code forbids all mutilation of the dead body of a self-murderer, under ordi- nary circumstances, but declares that it shall be buried without any marks of respect, otherwise suitable to the rank of the deceased. * Better known to the English reader by the name of Regulus. + Lucius Paulus fell at the battle of Cannae, which was brought on by the rashness of his colleague, Terentius Varro, B.C. 216: 40,000 Romans were killed in this battle. CHAP. XXI. J CICERO ON OLD AGE. 253 colleague in the disgraceful defeat at Cannae; nor Marcus Marcellus, * whose corpse not even the most merciless foe suffered to go without the honour of sepulture : but that our legions, as I have remarked in my Antiquities, have often gone with cheerful and undaunted mind to that place, from which they believed that they should never return. Shall, then, well-instructed old men be afraid of that which young men, and they not only ignorant, but mere peasants, des- pise ? On the whole, as it seems to me indeed, a satiety of all pursuits causes a satiety of life. There are pursuits pe- culiar to boyhood ; do therefore young men regret the loss of them ? There are also some of early youth ; does that now settled age, which is called middle life, seek after these ? There are also some of this period ; neither are they looked for by old age. There are some final pursuits of old age ; accor- dingly, as the pursuits of the earlier parts of life fall into disuse, so also do those of old age ; and when this has taken place, satiety of life brings on the seasonable period of death, j* XXI. Indeed I do not see why I should not venture to tell you what I myself think concerning death ; because I fancy I see it so much the more clearly, in proportion as I am less distant from it. I am persuaded that your fathers, Publius Scipio, and Caius Laelius, men of the greatest eminence and very dear friends of mine, are living ; and that * M. Marcellus, a Roman consul who fought against Hannibal. He was killed in an ambuscade, a. u. c. 546. + " Confound not the distinctions of thy life which nature hath divided, that is youth, adolescence, manhood, and old age ; nor, in these divided periods, wherein thou art in a manner four, conceive thyself but one. Let every division be happy in its proper virtues, nor one vice run through all. Let each distinction have its salutary transition, .and critically deliver thee from the imperfections of the former, so ordering the whole that prudence and virtue may have the largest section. Do as a child, but when thou art a child, and ride not on a reed at twenty. He who hath not taken leave of the follies of his youth, and in his maturer state scarce got out of that division, disproportionately divideth his days, crowds up the latter part of his life, and leaves too narrow a corner for the age of wisdom, and so hath room to be a man scarce longer than he hath been a youth. Rather than to make this confusion, anticipate the virtues of age, and live long without the infirmities of it. So mayest thou count up thy days, as some do Adam's, that is by anticipation. . So mayest thou be co-etaneous unto thy elders, and a father unto thy contemporaries/' — Sir T. Browne's "Christian Morals," part 3, ch. 8. 254 CICERO ON OLD AGE. [CHAP. XXI. life too which alone deserves the name of life.* For whilst we are shut up in this prison of the body, we are fulfilling as * In another of his writings, "The Tusculan Questions," Cicero thus ex- presses himself: "There is, I know not how, in minds, a certain presage as it were, o a future existence. And this takes the deepest root, and is most discoverable in the greatest geniuses and most exalted minds/' It was naturally to he expected that far more distinct and elevated views should be entertained upon this subject subsequently to the dawn of the Christian dispensation, and it is most interesting to observe both the resemblances and the contrasts which obtain between the views of Cicero, the most enlightened of heathen advocates for the soul's immortality, and of Christian moralists;— the analogies doubtless arising from the universality and instinctiveness' of the notion, and the differences being readily explained by the fuller light shed upon the subject by the Christian revelation. We will select Addison as one of the most charming, if not one of the most profound of the latter school. In stating the arguments for the immortality of the soul, in one of his elegnnt essays, he has the following observations :— "I consider these several proofs drawn : First, from the nature of the soul itself, and particu- larly its immateriality, which though not absolutely necessary to the eternity of its duration, has, I think, been evinced to almost a" demonstration. Secondly. From its passions and sentiments. As particularly from its love of existence, its horror of anihilation, and its hopes of immortality, with that secret satisfaction which it finds in the practice of virtue, and that uneasiness which follows in it upon the commission of vice. Third ly, From the nature of the Supreme Being, whose justice, wisdom, goodness! ; and veracity, are all concerned in this great point. But among these and other excellent arguments for the immortality of the soul, there is one drawn from the perpetual progress of the souf to its perfection, without a 1 possibility of its ever arriving at it, which is a hint that I do not remember to have seen opened and improved by others who have written upon this 1 subject, though it seems to me to carry a great weight with it. How can it ' enter into the thoughts of man, that the soul, which is capable of such immense perfections, and of receiving new improvements to all eternity, shall fall away into nothing almost as soon as it is created ? Are such abilities made for no purpose ? A brute arrives at a point of perfection that he can never pass in a few years ; he has all the endowments he is capable of, and were he to live ten thousand more, would be the same thing he is at present. Were a human soul thus at a stand in her accom- plishments, were her faculties to be full blown and incapable of further enlargements, I could imagine it might fall away insensibly, and drop at once into a state of annihilation. But can we believe a thinking being that is in a perpetual progress of improvements, and travelling on from perfection to perfection, after having just looked abroad into the works of its Creator, and made a few discoveries of his infinite goodness, wisdom, and power, must perish at her first setting out, and in the beginning of her inquiries? " There is not in my opinion a more pleasing and triumphant considera- tion in religion than this, of the perpetual progress which the soul makes J towards the perfection of its nature, without ever arriving at a period in it. 1 To look upon the soul as going on from strength to strength ; to consider CHAP. XXI.] CICERO ON OLD AGE. 255 it were the function and painful task of destiny : for the heaven-born soul has been degraded from its dwelling- place above, and as it were buried in the earth, a situation uncongenial to its divine and immortal nature. But I believe that the immortal gods have shed souls into human bodies, that beings might exist who might tend the earth, and by contemplating the order of the heavenly bodies, might imitate it in the manner and regularity of their lives.* Nor have reason and argument alone influenced me thus to believe, but likewise the high name and authority of the greatest philo- sophers. I used to hear that Pythagoras and the Pytha- goreans, t who were all but our neighbours, who were formerly called the Italian philosophers, had no doubt that we possess souls derived from the universal divine mind. Moreover, the arguments were conclusive to me, which Socrates de- livered on the last day of his life concerning the immortality of the soul, — he who was pronounced by the oracle of Apollo the wisest of all men. But why say more ? I have thus per- suaded myself, such is my belief: that since such is the that she is to shine for ever, with new accessions of glory, and brighten to all eternity ; that she will be still adding virtue to virtue, and knowledge to knowledge, carries in it something wonderfully agreeable to that ambition which is natural to the mind of man. Nay, it must be a prospect pleasing to God himself, to see his creation for ever beautifying in his eyes, and drawing nearer to him by greater degrees of resemblance." — "Spectator," No. 111. * The Pythagoreans, according to Aristotle (Eth. Magn. I.) were the first who determined anything in moral philosophy. Their ethics are of the loftiest and most spiritual description. Virtue was with them a har- mony, an unity, and an endeavour to resemble the Deity. The whole life of man should be an attempt to represent on earth the beauty and harmony displayed in the order of the universe. The mind should have the body and the passions under perfect control : the gods should be worshipped by simple purifications, offerings, and above all, by sincerity and purity of the heart. t The Pythagoreans represented the souls of men as light particles of the universal soul diffused through the whole world, (Cic. de Nat. Deor. i. 11.) The souls of the gods were considered as proceeding directly from the central fire, which was on this account designated " mother of the gods,'" while the souls of men proceeded from the sun, which was a mere reflux of the central fire. The soul of man was divided into three parts, vovq, (pptvsQ, and Svfxog. The two former were considered as the rational half of the soul, and had their seat in the brain. The last, or Svfiog, was the i animal half, and its seat was in the heart. (Diog. Laert.viii. 19. 30. Plut. 1 de Plac. Phil. iv. 5. 256 CICERO ON OLD AGE. [CHAP. XXI. activity of our souls, so tenacious their memory of things past, and their sagacity regarding things future, — so many arts, so many sciences, so many discoveries, that the nature which comprises these qualities cannot be mortal ; * and since the mind is ever in action and has no source of motion, because it moves itself, I believe that it never will find any end of motion, because it never will part from itself ; and that since the nature of the soul is uncompounded, and has not in itself any admixture heterogeneous and dissimilar to itself, I maintain that it cannot undergo dissolution ; and if this be not possible, it cannot perish: and it is a strong argument, that men know very many things before they are born, since when mere boys, while they are learning difficult subjects, they so quickly catch up numberless ideas, that they seem not to be learning them then for the first time, but to remember them,j and to be calling them to recollection. J Thus did our Plato argue. * u The sublime attainments which man has been capable of making in science, and the wonders of his own creative art in that magnificent scene to which he has known how to give new magnificence, have been considered by many as themselves proofs of the immortality of a being so richly en- dowed. When we view him, indeed, comprehending in his single concep- tion, the events of ages that have preceded him, and not content with the past, anticipating events that are to begin only in ages as remote in futurity as the origin of the universe is in the past, measuring the distance of the remotest planets, and naming in what year of other centuries, the nations that are now gazing with astonishment on some comet, are to gaze on it in its return, it is scarcely possible for us to believe that a mind which seems equally capacious of what is infinite in space and time, should only be a creature whose brief existence is measurable by a few points of space, and a few moments of eternity." — Brown's Moral Philosophy, lect. xcvii. t Reminisci et recordari. See Plato's dialogue called Meno, in which it is attempted to be shown that all our knowledge is the reminiscence of what has passed in some previous state of existence. \ " That the soul had an existence prior to her connexion with the body, seems to have been an opinion of the highest antiquity ; as it may be traced in the Chaldean, Egyptian, and Grecian theology as far back aa there are any records remaining of their speculative tenets. This genera) notion, however, was not maintained universally in the same precise sense. Some considering the soul in its former state as subsisting only in the great soul of the universe, whilst others held its prior distinct and personal indi- viduality. Those philosophers who maintained the latter opinion, at least the generality of them, seem to have supposed that the sonl is sent down into his sublunary orb as into a place of punishment for transgressions com- mitted in a former state. And this theory claims the greater attention, not only as it appears to have been adopted both by the Pythagoric and CHAP. XXII.] CICERO ON OLD AGE. 257 XXII. Moreover, in Xenophon, Cyrus the elder,* on his death-bed, discourses thus: "Never imagine, O my dearest sons, that when I have departed from you, I shall exist nowhere, or cease to be : for while I was with you you never saw my soul ; though you concluded from the actions which I performed that it was in this body. Believe, therefore, that it still exists, though you will see nothing of it. Nor, in truth, would the honours of illustrious men con- tinue after death, if their own spirits did not make us pre- serve a longer remembrance of them. I could never, indeed, be persuaded that souls, while they were in mortal bodies, lived ; and when they had quitted them, perished : nor, in truth, that the soul became senseless when it made its escape from a senseless body ; but that it then became wise when freed from every corporeal admixture, it had become pure and eenuin^J Besides, when the constitution of man is TroSen up by death, it is clear whither each of its other parts depart; for they all return to the source from whence they sprang : whereas the soul alone, neither shows itself when it is with us, nor when it departs. Further, you see there is nothing so like death as sleep. Yet the souls of per- sons asleep especially manifest their divine nature ; for when they are disengaged and free, they foresee many future events, j From which we conclude in what state they will be Platonic schools, which undoubtedly produced the most respectable philo- sophers that ever enlightened the Pagan world, but as bearing strong marks of being primarily derived from the Mosaical account of the fall of man." — (Melmoth, in loco,) * Cyrus Major. The character of this Cyrus is drawn by Xenophon in his Cyropaedia. He was king of Persia, son of Cambyses and Mandane, daughter of Astyages, king of Media. He dethroned Astyages, and trans- ferred the Persian empire to the Medes. The Cyropaedia is not to be looked upon as an authentic history, but as showing what a good and virtuous prince ought to be. f There is surely a nearer apprehension of anything that delights us in our dreams than in our waking senses, without this I were unhappy, for my awaked judgment discontents me, ever whispering unto me that I am from my friend, but my friendly dreams in night requite me and make me think I am within hisarms. I thank God for my happy dreams, as I do for my good rest, for there is a satisfaction in them unto reasonable desires, and such as can be content with a fit of happiness. And surely, it is not a melancholy conceit to think we are all asleep in this world, and that the conceits of this life are as mere dreams to those of the next, as the phantasms of the night to the conceits of the day. There is an equal delusion in both, and S 258 CICERO ON OLD AGE. [CHAP. XXI. when they shall have altogether released themselves from the fetters of the body. Wherefore, if this is the case, regard me the one doth but seem to be the emblem or picture of the other ; we are somewhat more than ourselves in our sleep, and the slumber of the body seems to be but the waking of the soul. It is the ligation of sense, but the liberty of reason, and our awaking conceptions do not match the fan- cies of our sleeps. I am in no way facetious, not disposed for the mirth and galliardize of company, yet in one dream I can compose a whole co- medy, behld the action, apprehend the jests, and laugh myself awake at the conceits thereof. Were my memory as faithful as my reason is then fruitful, I could never study but in my dreams, and this time also would I choose for my devotions ; but out grosser memories have then so little hold of our abstracted understandings that they forget the story, and can only relate to our awaked souls, a confused and broken tale of that that hath passed. Aristotle, who hath written a singular tract of sleep, hath not, methinks, thoroughly defined it ; nor yet Galen, though he seem to have corrected it ; for those noctambuloes and night-walkers, though in their sleep, do yet enjoy the action of their senses, we must therefore say that there is something in us that is not in the jurisdiction of Morpheus, and that those abstracted and ecstatic souls do walk about in their own corps, as spirits with the bodies they assume wherein they seem to hear, see, and feel, though indeed, the organs are destitute of sense, and their natures of those faculties that should inform them. Thus it is observed that men sometimes upon the hour of their departure, do speak and reason above themselves ; for then the soul, beginning to be freed from the ligaments of the bodv, begins to reason like herself, and to discourse in a strain above mortality. " — Sir Thomas Browne's Religio Medici, part ii. chap. xi. " Dream, s" says Addison, " are an instance of that agility and perfection which is natural to the faculties of the mind when they are disengaged from the body. The soul is clogged and retarded in her operations when she ac;s in conjuction with a companion, that is so heavy and unwieldy in its motion. But in dreams it is wonderful to observe with whata sprightliness and alacrity she exerts herself. The slow of speech make unpremeditated harangues, or converse readily in languages that they are but little acquainted with. The grave abound in pleasantries, the dull in repartees and points of wit. There is not a more painful action of the mind than invention, yet in dreams it works with that ease and activity that we are not sensible of when the faculty is employed. For instance, I believe every one some- time or other dreams that he is reading papers, books, or letters, in which case the invention prompts so readily that the mind is imposed upon, and mistakes its own suggestions for the compositions of another. I must not omit that argument for the the excellency of the soul which I have seen quoted out of Tertullian, namely, its power of divining in dreams. That several such divinitions have been made, none can question who believes the holy writings, or who has but the least degree of a common historical faith ; there being innumerable instances of this nature in several authors, both ancient and modern, sacred and profane. Whether such dark pre- sages, such visions of the night, proceed from any latent power in the soul, during this her state of abstraction, or from any communication with the Supreme Being, or from any operation of subordinate spirits has been CHAP. XXIII.] CIC.EUO ON OLD AGE. 2,59 as a god, but if the soul is destined to perish along with the body, yet you, reverencing the gods, who oversee and control all this beautiful system, will affectionately and sacredly pre- serve my memory." Such were the dying words of Cyrus. XXIII. Let me, if you please, revert to my own views. No one will ever persuade me that either your father, Paulus, or two grandfathers, Paulus and Africanus, or the father of Africanus, or his uncle, or the many distinguished men whom it is unnecessary to recount, aimed at such great exploits as might reach to the recollection of posterity, had they not perceived in their mind that posterity belonged to them. Do you suppose, to boast a little of myself, after the manner of old men, that I should have undergone such great toils, by day and night, at home and in service, had I thought to limit my glory by the same bounds as my life ? Would it not have been far better to pass an easy and quiet life without any toil or struggle ? But I know not how my soul, stretch- ing upwards, has ever looked forward to posterity, as if, when it had departed from life, then at last it would begin to live.* a great dispute amongst the learned. The matter of fact is, I think, in- contestable, and has been looked upon as such by the greatest writers who have been never suspected either of superstition or enthusiasm. I do not suppose that the soul in these instances is entirely loose and unfettered from the body: it is sufficient if she is not so far sunk and immersed in matter, nor entangled and perplexed in her operations with such motions of blood and spirits, as when she actuates the machine in its waking hours. The corporeal union is slackened enough to give the mind more play. The soul seems gathered within herself, and recovers that spring which is broken and weakened when she operates more in concert with the body. ,, — Spec- tator, No. 487. * Dr. Thomas Brown attaches no value to the argument for the immor- tality of the soul, derived from the aspiration after it which is common to all. " u I am aware," he says, « that in judging from the mind itself a considerable stress has often been laid on the existence of feelings which admit of a very easy solution, without the necessity of ascribing them to any instinctive foreknowledge of a state of immortal being. Of this sort particularly seems to me an argument which, both in ancient and modern times, has been brought forward as one of the most powerful arguments for our continued existence, after life has seemed to close upon us for ever. I allude to the universal desire of this immortal existence. But surely, it life itself be pleasing, and even though there were no existence beyond the grave,— life might -still, by the benevolence of Him who conferred it, have been rendered a source of pleasure ; it is not wonderful that we should desire futurity, since futurity is only protracted life. It would indeed have been worthy of our astonishment if man, loving his present life, and 26C CICERO ON OLD AGE. [chap. xxm. And, indeed, unless this were the case, that souls were im- mortal, the souls of the noblest of men would not aspire above all things to an immortality of glory. * Why need I adduce that the wisest man ever dies with the greatest equa- nimity, the most foolish with the least ? Does it not seem to you that the soul, which sees more and further, sees that it knowing that it was to terminate in the space of a very few years, should not have regretted the termination of what he loved ; that is to say, should not have wished the continuance of it beyond the period of its melancholy close. The universal desire then, even if the desire were truly universal, would prove nothing, but the goodness of Him who has made the realities of life— or if not the realities, the hones of life— so pleasing that the mere loss of what is possessed, or hopea, appears like a positive evil of the most afflicting kind." — Dr. Brown's Moral Philosophy, sec. 97. * « I am fully persuaded that one of the best springs of generous and worthy actions ishaving generous and worthy thoughts of ourselves. Who- ever has a mean opinion of the dignity of his nature will act in no higher a rank than he has allotted himself in his own estimation. If he considers his being as circumscribed by the uncertain term of a few years, his designs will be contracted into the same narrow space he imagines is to bound his existence. How can he exalt his thoughts to anything great and noble,: who only believes that after a short turn on the stage of this world, he is 1 to sink into oblivion, and to lose his consciousness for ever ? For this reason I am of opinion that so useful and elevated a contemplation as that of the soul's immortality cannot be resumed too often. There is not a more improving exercise to the human mind than to be frequently review- , ing its own great privileges and endowments, nor a more effectual means ' to awaken in us an ambition raised above low objects and little pursuits, I than to value ourselves as heirs of eternity."— Hughes. Spectator, No. 210 Upon the love of posthumous fame, Dr. Johnson has the following j observations : " If the love of fame is so far indulged by the mind as to j become independent and predominant ; it is dangerous and irregular, but j it may be usefully employed as an inferior and secondary motive, and will j serve sometimes to revive our activity, when we begin to languish and lose j sight of that more certain, more valuable, and more durable reward, which > ought always to be our first hope and our last. But it must be strongly \ impressed upon our minds that virtue is not to be pursued as one of the t means to fame; but fame to be accepted as the only recompence which | mortals can bestow on virtue, to be accepted with complacence, but not ^ sought with eagerness. Simply to be remembered is no advantage ; it is i a privilege which satire as well as panegyric can confer, and is not moreg enjoyed by Titus or Constantine than by Timocrean of Rhodes, of whom ; we only know from his epitaph, that he had eaten many a meal, drank .' many a flagon, and uttered many a reproach. The true satisfaction which! is to be drawn from the consciousness that we shall share the attention of future times must arise from the hope that with our name our virtues will, be propagated, and that those whom we cannot benefit in our lives, may I receive instruction from our examples and incitement from our renown.' — J Rambler, No. 49. CHAP. XXIII.]| CICERO ON OLD AGE. 261 ! is passing to a better state, while that body, whose vision is duller, does not see it ? I, indeed, am transported with eager- ness to see your fathers, whom I have respected and loved : nor in truth is it those only I desire to meet whom I myself have known ; but those also of whom I have heard or read, and have myself written. Whither, indeed, as I proceed, no one assuredly should easily force me back, nor, as they did with Pelias, cook me again to youth. For if any god should grant me, that from this period of life I should become a child again and cry in the cradle, I should earnestly refuse it :* nor in truth should I like, after having run, as it were, ' my course, to be called back to the starting-place f from the goal. For what comfort has life ? What trouble has it not, rather? But grant that it has ; yet it assuredly has either satiety or limitation (of its pleasures). For I am not dis- posed to lament the loss of life, which many men, and those ! learned men too, have often done ; neither do I regret that I i have lived, since I have lived in such a way that I con- ceive I was not born in vain : and from this life I depart as from a temporary lodging, not as from a home. For nature has assigned it to us as an inn to sojourn in, not a place of * habitation. Oh, glorious day ! when I shall depart to that divine company and assemblage of spirits, and quit this troubled and polluted scene. For I shall go not only to those 1 great men of whom I have spoken before, but also to my son Cato, $ than whom never was better man born, nor * " Though I think no man could live well once, but he that could live twice, yet, for my own part I would not live over my hours past, or begin again the thread of my days ; not upon Cicero's ground, because I have lived them well, but for fear I should live them worse. I find my growing judgment daily instruct me how to be better, but my untamed affections and confirmed vitiosity make me daily do worse. I find in my confirmed age the same sins I discovered in my youth ; I committed many then, because I was a child ; and because I commit them still, I am yet an infant ; therefore I perceive a man may be twice a child before the days of dotage, and stand in need of Eson's bath before threescore."— Sir Thomas Browne's Religio Medici, ch. 42. + Ad carceres a calce : carceres or repagula, from which the horses started. A line called creta or calx was drawn, to mark the end of the ; course. X Tnis apostrophe has suggested to the greatest of modern pulpit ora- tors one of his most eloquent perorations. " If," says Robert Hall, " the mere conception of the reunion of good men in a future state infused a momentary rapture into the mind of Tully; if an airv speculation, for 2G2 CICERO ON OLD AGE. [chap. xxin. more distinguished for pious affection ^ whose body was burned by me, whereas, on the contrary, it was fitting that mine should be burned by him. But his soul not deserting me, but oft looking back, no doubt departed to those regions whither it saw that I myself was destined to come. Which, though a distress to me, I seemed patiently to endure : not that I bore it with indifference, but 1 comforted myself with the recollection that the separation and distance between us would not continue long. For these reasons, O Scipio (since you said that you with Laelius were accustomed to wonder at this), old age is tolerable to me, and not only not irksome, but even delightful. And if I am wrong in this, that I believe the souls of men to be immortal, I willingly delude myself : nor do I desire that this mistake, in which I take pleasure, should be wrested from me as long as I live ; but if I, when dead, shall have no consciousness, as some narrow-minded philoso- phers imagine, I do not fear lest dead philosophers should ridicule this my delusion. But if we are not destined to be immortal, yet it is a desirable thing for a man to expire at his fit time. For, as nature prescribes a boundary to all other things, so does she also to life. Now old age is the consum- mation of life, just as of a play ; from the fatigue of which we ought to escape, especially when satiety is superadded. This is what I had to say on the subject of old age ; to which may you arrive! that, after having experienced the truth of those statements which you have heard from me, you may be enabled to give them your approbation. there is reason to fear it had little hold on his convictions, could inspire him with such delight, what may we be expected to feel who are assured of such an event bv the true savings of God ! How should we rejoice in the prospect—the certaintv, rather, of spending a blissful eternity with those whom we loved on earth; of seeing them emerge from the rums of the tomb, and the deeper ruins of the fall, not only uninjured, but refined and perfected. What delight will it afford to renew the sweet counsel we have taken together, to recount the toils of combat and the labour of the way, and to approach not the house but the throne of God in company, in order to join in the svmphony of heavenly voices, and lose ourselves amidst the splendours and fruitions of the beatific vision."— Funeral Sermon for Dr. Ryland. PARADOXES. ADDRESSED TO MARCUS BRUTUS. I have often observed, O Brutus, that your uncle Cato, when he delivered his opinion in the senate, was accustomed to handle important points of philosophy, in- consistent with popular and forensic usage ; but that yet, in speaking, he managed them so that even these seemed to the people worthy of approbation ; which was so much the greater excellency in him, than either in you or in me, because we are more conversant in that philosophy which has produced a copiousness of expression, and in which those things are propounded which do not widely differ from the popular opinion. But Cato, in my opinion a complete Stoic, both holds those notions which certainly do not approve themselves to the common people ; and belongs to that sect which aims at no . embellishments, and does not spin out an argument. He therefore succeeds in what he has purposed, by certain pithy and, as it were, stimulating questions. There is, however, nothing so incredible that it may not be made plausible by eloquence ; nothing so rough and uncultivated that it may not, in oratory, become brilliant and polished. As I have been accustomed to think thus, I have made a bolder attempt than he himself did of whom I am speaking. For Cato is accustomed to treat stoically of magnanimity, of modesty, of death, and of all the glory of virtue, of the im- mortal gods, and of patriotism, with the addition of the orna- ments of eloquence. But I have, for amusement, digested into common-places those topics which the Stoics scarcely prove in their retirement and in their schools. Such topics are termed, even by themselves, paradoxes, be- cause they are remarkable, and contrary to the opinion of all men. I have been desirous of trying whether they might not come into publicity, that is before the forum, and be so expressed as to be approved ; or whether learned 264 CICEROS PARADOXES. [par. L expressions were one thing, and a popular mode of address another. I undertook this with the more pleasure, because these very paradoxes, as they are termed, appear to me to be the most^ Socratic, and by far the most true. Accept therefore this little work, composed during these shorter nights, since that work of my longer watchings appeared in your name. You will have here a specimen of the manner I 1 nive been accustomed to adopt when I accommodate those things which in the schools are termed theses to our oratorical manner of speaking. I do not, however, expect that you will look upon yourself as indebted to me for this perform- ance, which is not such as to be placed, like the Minerva of Phidias, in a citadel, but still such as may appear to have issued from the same studio. PARADOX I. THAT VIRTUE IS THE ONLY GOOD. I am apprehensive that this position may seem to some j among you to have been derived from the schools of the Stoics,* and not from my own sentiments. Yet I will tell you my real opinion, and that too more briefly than so im- portant a matter requires to be discussed. By Hercules, I ' never was one who reckoned among good and desirable things, treasures, magnificent mansions, interest, power, or * The ethical doctrines of the Stoics have attracted most attention, as exhibited in the lives of distinguished Greeks and Romans. To live according to nature was the basis of their ethical system ; but by this it was not meant that a man should follow his own particular nature ; he must make his life conformable to the nature of the whole of things. This principle is the foundation of all morality; and it follows that morality is connected with philosophy. To know -vhat is our relation to the whole of things, is to know what we ought to be and to do. This fundamental principle of the Stoics is indisputable, but its application is not always easy, nor did they all agree in their exposition of it. Some things were j good, some bad, and some indifferent ; the only good things were virtue, j wisdom, justice, temperance, and the like. The truly wise man pos- sesses all knowledge ; he is perfect and sufficient in himself ; he despises 1 all that subjects to its power the rest of mankind ; he feels pain, but he is not conquered by it. But the morality of the Stoics, at least in the later periods, though it rested on a basis apparently so sound, permitted the wise man to do nearly everything that he liked. Such a system, it has been well observed, might do for the imaginary wise man of the Stoics ; but it was not a system whose general adoption was compatible with the existence of any actual society. PAR. I.] CICERO'S PARADOXES. 265 those pleasures to which mankind are most chiefly addicted. For I have^ observed, that those to whom these things abounded, still desired them most : for the thirst of cupidity is never filled or satiated. They are tormented not only with the lust of increasing, but with the fear of losing what they have. I own that I often look in vain for the good sense of our ancestors, those most continent men, who affixed the appellation of good to those weak, fleeting, circumstances of wealth, when in truth and fact their senti- ments were the very reverse.* Can any bad man enjoy a good thing ? Or, is it possible for a man not to be good, when he lives in the very abundance of good things ? And yet we see all those things so distributed that wicked men possess them, and that they are inauspicious to the good. Now let any man indulge his raillery, if he please ; but right reason will ever have more weight with me than the opinion of the multitude. Nor shall I ever account a man, when he has lost his stock of cattle, or furniture, to have lost his good things. Nor shall I seldom speak in praise of Bias, who, if I mistake not, is reckoned among the seven wise men. For when the enemy took pos- session of Priene, his native country, and when the rest so managed their flight as to carry off with them their effects, on his being recommended by a certain person to do the same, " Why," answered he, " I do so, for I carry with me all my possessions." He did not so much as esteem those playthings of fortune, which we even term our blessings, to be his own.t But some one will ask, What then is a real good ? Whatever is done uprightly, honestly, and virtu- ously, is truly said to be done well ; and whatever is upright, honest, and agreeable to virtue, that alone, as I think, is a good thing. But these matters, when they are more loosely discussed, * I cannot call riches better than the baggage of virtue ; the Roman word is better, " impedimenta ;" for as the baggage is to an army, so is riches to virtue, it cannot be spared nor left behind, but it hindereth the march; yea, and the care of it sometimes loseth or disturbeth the victory; of great riches there is no real use, except it be in the distribution ; the rest is but conceit. — Lord Bacon, Essay 34. f Ovid expresses the same idea in the following passage :— " Et genus et proavos et quae non fecimus ipsi Vix ea nostra voco. 266 CICEHOS PARADOXES. [par. l appear somewhat obscure ; but those things which seemed to be discussed with more subtlety than is necessary in words, may be illustrated by the lives and actions of the greatest of men. I ask then of you, whether the men who left to us this empire, founded upon so noble a system, seem ever to have thought of gratifying avarice by money ; delight by delicacy ; luxury by magnificence ; or pleasure by feasting ?* Set before your eyes any one of our monarchs. Shall I begin with Romulus ? Or, after the state was free, with those who liberated it ? By what steps then did Romulus ascend to heaven ? By those which these people term good things ? Or by his exploits and his virtues ? What ! are we to imagine, that the wooden or earthen dishes of Numa Pompilius were less acceptable to the immortal gods, than the embossed plate of others ? I pass over our other kings, for all of them, excepting Tarquin the Proud, were equally excellent. Should any one ask, What did Brutus perform when he delivered his country ? Or, as to those who were the participators of that design, what was their aim, and the object of their pursuit? Lives there the man who can regard as their object, riches, pleasure, or any- thing else than acting the part of a great and a gallant man ? What motive impelled Caius Mucius, without the least hope of preservation, to attempt the death of Porsenna ? What impulse kept Codes to the bridge, singly opposed to the whole force of the enemy ? What power devoted the elder and the younger Decius, and impelled them against armed battalions of enemies ? What was the object of the continence of Caius Fabricius, or of the frugality of life of Manius Curius ? What were the motives of those two thunderbolts of the Punic war, Publius and Cneius Scipio, when they proposed with their own bodies to intercept the progress of * Horace develops the same thought. In commending decision of cha- racter, he writes : — Hac arte Pollux et vagus Hercules Enisus arces attigit igneas : Quos inter Augustus recumbens Purpureo bibit ore nectar. Hac te merentem, Bacche pater, tuae Vexere tigres indocili jugum Collo trahentes : hac Quirinns Martis equis Acheronta fugit. — Carm. lib. iii. carm. 3 PAR. I.] cicero's paradoxes. 261 the Carthaginians ? What did the elder, what did the younger Africanus propose ? What were the views of Cato, who lived between the times of both? What shall I say of innumerable other instances ; for we abound in examples drawn from our own history ; can we think that they proposed any other object in life but what seemed glorious and noble ? Now let the deriders of this sentiment and principle come forward; let even them take their choice, whether they would rather resemble the man who is rich in marble palaces, adorned with ivory, and shining with gold, in statues, in pictures, in embossed gold and silver plate, in the workmanship of Corin- thian brass, or if they will resemble Fabricius, who had, and who wished to have, none of these things. And yet they are readily prevailed upon to admit that those things which are transferred, now hither, now thither, are not to be ranked among good things, while at the same time they strongly maintain, and eagerly dispute, that pleasure is the highest good ; a sentiment that to me seems to be that of a brute, rather than that of a man.* Shall you, endowed as you are by God or by nature, whom we may term the mother of all * That pleasure is man's chiefest good (because indeed it is the percep- tion of good that is properly pleasure), is an assertion most certainly true, though under the common acceptance of it not only false but odious: for, according to this, pleasure and sensuality pass for terms equivalent ; and therefore he that takes it in this sense alters the subject of the discourse. Sensuality is indeed a part, or rather one kind of pleasure, such an one as it is ; for pleasure in general is the consequent apprehension of a suitable object, suitably applied to a rightly disposed faculty ; and so must be con- versant both about the faculties of the body and of the soul respectively; as being the result of the functions belonging to both. "Since God never created any faculty either in soul or body, but withal prepared for it a suitable object, and that in order to its gratification ; can we think that religion was designed only for a contradiction to nature ? And, with the greatest and most irrational tyranny in the world, to tantalize and tie men up from enjoyment, in the midst of all the opportunities of enjoyment? To place men with the furious affections of hunger and thirst in the very bosom of plenty, and then to tell them that the envy of Providence has sealed up everything that is suitable under the character of unlawful ? For certainly, first to frame appetites fit to receive pleasure, and then to interdict them with a " touch not, taste not," can be nothing else than only to give them occasion to devour and prey upon themselves, and so to keep men under the perpetual torment of an unsatisfied desire a thing hugely contrary to the natural felicity of the creature, and conse- quently to the wisdom and goodness of the great Creator. There is no doubt but a man, while he resigns himself up to the brutish guidance ot 268 cicero's paradoxes. [par. l things, with a soul (than which there exists nothing more excellent and more divine), so degrade and prostrate yourself as to think there is no difference between yourself and any quadruped ? Is there any real good that does not make him who possesses it a better man ? For in proportion as every man has the greatest amount of excellence, he is also in that proportion most praiseworthy ; nor is there any excellence on which the man who possesses it may not justly value himself. But what of these qualities resides in pleasure ? Does it make a man better, or more praiseworthy ? Does any man extol himself in boasting or self-recommendation for having enjoyed pleasures ? Now if pleasure, which is defended by the advocacy of many, is not to be ranked among good things, and if the greater it is the more it dislodges the mind from its habitual and settled position;* surely to live well and happily, is nothing else than to live virtuously and rightly, f sense and appetite, has no relish at all for the spiritual, refined delights of a soul clarified by grace and virtue. The pleasures of an angel can never be the pleasures of a hog. But this is the thing that we contend for, that a man, having once advanced himself to a state of superiority over the control of his inferior appetites, finds an infinitely more solid and sublime pleasure in the delights proper to his reason, than the same person had ever conveyed to him by the bare ministry of his senses/' — South's Sermons, Vol. I. Sermon 1. * M All pleasures that affect the body must needs weary, because they transport ; and all transportation is a violence, and no violence can be lasting, but determines upon the falling of the spirits, which are not able to keep up that height of motion that the pleasures of the senses raise them to ; and therefore, how inevitably does an immoderate laughter end in a sigh ? which is only nature's recovering itself after a force done to it. But the religious pleasure of a well-disposed mind moves gently, and therefore constantly; it does not affect by rapture and ecstasy; but is like the plea- sure of health, which is still and sober, yet greater and stronger than those that call up the senses with grosser and more affecting impressions. God has given no man a body as strong as his appetites ; but has corrected the boundlessness of his voluptuou3 desires by stinting his strength and con- tracting his capacities." — Ibid. t "And now, upon the result of all, I suppose that to exhort men to be religious is only in other words to exhort them to take their pleasure. A pleasure high, rational, and angelical; a pleasure, embased with no appen- dant sting, no consequent loathing, no remorses, or bitter farewells ; but such an one as, being honey in the mouth, never turns to gall or gravel in the belly. A pleasure made for the soul, and the soul for that ; suitable to its spirituality, and equal to all its capacities. Such an one as grows fresher upon enjoyment, and though continually fed upon, yet is never PAR. II.] CICERO S PARADOXES. 269 PARADOX IL A MAN WHO IS VIRTUOUS IS DESTITUTE OE NO REQUISITE OF A HAPPY LIFE. Never, for my part, did I imagine Marcus Regulus to have been distressed, or unhappy, or wretched ; because his magnanimity was not tortured by the Carthaginians ; nor was the weight of his authority ; nor was his honour ; nor was his resolution ; nor was one of his virtues ; nor, in short, did his soul suffer their torments, for a soul with the guard and retinue of so many virtues, never surely could be taken, though his body was made captive.* We have seen devoured. A pleasure that a man may call as properly his own as his soul and his conscience ; neither liable to accident, nor exposed to injury. It is the foretaste of heaven, and the earnest of eternity. In a word, it is such an one, as being begun in grace passes into glory, blessedness, and immortality, and those pleasures that ' neither eye has seen, nor ear heard, nor has it entered into the heart of man to conceive.' " — South's Sermons, Vol. i. Sermon I. * *' The sect of ancient philosophers that boasted to have carried this necessary science to the highest perfection were the Stoics, or scholars of Zeno, whose wild enthusiastic virtue pretended to an exemption from the sensibilities of unenlightened mortals, and who proclaimed themselves ex- alted, by the doctrines of their sect, above the reach of those miseries which embitter life to the rest of the world. They therefore removed pain, poverty, loss of friends, exile, and violent death, from the catalogue of evils; and passed, in their haughty style, a kind of irreversible decree, by which they forbade them to be counted any longer among the objects of terror or anxiety, or to give any disturbance to the tranquillity of a wise man. " This edict was, I think, not universally observed ; for though one of the more resolute, when he was tortured by a violent disease, cried out that let pain harass him to its utmost power, it should never force him to consider it as other than indifferent and neutral ; yet all had not stubbornness to hold out against their senses ; for a weaker pupil of Zeno is recorded to have confessed, in the anguish of the gout, that he now found pain to be an evil. " It may, however, be questioned, whether these philosophers can be very properly numbered among the teachers of patience ; for if pain be not an evil, there seems no instruction requisite how it may be borne ; and, there- fore, when they endeavour to arm their followers with arguments against it, they may be thought to have given up their first position. But such inconsistencies are to be expected from the greatest understandings, when they endeavour to grow eminent by singularity, and employ their strength in establishing opinions opposite to nature. The controversy about the reality of external evils is now at an end. That life has many miseries, and that those miseries are, sometimes at least, equal to all the powets of 270 cicero's paradoxes. [par. a Cains Manus ; he, in my opinion, was in prosperity one of the happiest, and in adversity one of the greatest of men than which man can have no happier lot. Thou knowest not, foolish man, thou knowest not what power virtue possesses ; thou only usurpest the name of virtue ; thou art a stranger to her influence. No man who is wholly consistent within himself, and who reposes all his interests in himself alone, can be otherwise than completely happy. But the man whose every hope, and scheme, and design depends upon fortune, such a man can have no certainty ; — can possess nothing assured to him as destined to continue for a single day. If you have any such man in your power, you may terrify him by threats of death or exile ; but what- ever can happen to me in so ungrateful a country, will find me not only not opposing, but even not refusing it. To what purpose have I toiled? to what purpose have I acted ? or on what have my cares and meditations been watchfully employed, if I have produced and arrived at no such result, as that neither the outrages of fortune nor the injuries of enemies can shatter me. Do you threaten me with death, t which is separating me from mankind? Or with exile, fortitude, is now universally confessed ; and therefore, it is useful to con- sider not only how we may escape them, but by what means those which either the accidents of affairs, or the infirmities of nature, must bring upon us, may be mitigated and lightened, and how we may make those hours less wretched, which the condition of our present existence will not allow to be very happy."— Dr. Johnson, Rambler, No. 32. * " There is nothing that can raise a man to that generous absoluteness ol condition, as neither to cringe, to fawn, or to depend meanly j but that which gives him that happiness within himself for which men depend upon others. For surely I need salute no great man's threshold, sneak to none of his friends or servants, to speak a good word for me to my conscience. It is a noble and a sure defiance of a great malice, backed with a great in- terest, which yet can have no advantage of a man, but from his own expectations of something that is without himself. But if I can make my duty mv delight ; if I can feast, and please, and caress my mm d with the pleasures of worthv speculations or virtuous practices ; let greatness and malice vex and abridge me, if they can ; my pleasures aie ag ^ as ^ will, no more to be controlled than my choice, or the unlimited range of my thoughts and my desires."— South's Sermons, Vol. I., Sermon I. , f To be understood as addressed to Anthony. Virgil has a similar '^ ea ' ** Breve et irreparabile tempus. Omnibus est vita3, sed famam extendere factis Hoc virtutis opus."— ;En. X. ver. 467—469. par. in.] cicero's paradoxes. 271 which is removing me from the wicked ? Death is dreadful to the man whose all is extinguished with his life ; but not to him whose glory never can die. Exile is terrible to those who have, as it were, a circumscribed habitation ; but not to those who look upon the whole globe but as one city. Troubles and miseries oppress thee who tliinkest thyself happy and prosperous. Thy lusts torment thee, day and night thou art upon the rack ; for whom that which thou possessest is not sufficient, and who art ever trembling lest even that should not continue ; the consciousness of thy misdeeds tortures thee ; the terrors of the laws and the dread of justice appal thee; look where thou wilt, thy crimes, like so many furies, meet thy view and suffer thee not to breathe.* There- fore, as no man can be happy if he is wicked, foolish, or indo- lent ; so no man can be wretched, if he is virtuous, brave, and wise. Glorious is the life of that man whose virtues and practice are praiseworthy ; nor indeed ought that life to be escaped from which is deserving of praise, though it might well be if it were a wretched one. We are therefore to look upon whatever is worthy of praise as at once happy, pros- perous, and desirable. PARADOX HI. THAT ALL MISDEEDS ARE IN THEMSELVES EQUAL, AND GOOD DEEDS THE SAME. The matter it may be said is a trifle, but the crime is enormous ; for crimes are not to be measured by the issue of events, but from the bad intentions of men. j The fact in * "Though," says South, in the sermon from which we have several times quoted, " company may reprieve a man from his melancholy, yet it cannot secure him from his conscience, nor from sometimes being alone. And what is all that a man enjoys from a week's, a month's, or a year's converse, comparable to what he feels for one hour, when his conscience shall take him aside and rate him by himself." T The ethical principle of Cicero, so far from having been improved upon in modern times, shows in favourable contrast beside that of the eminent Christian moralist, Paley. " The method," he says, " of coming at the will of God, concerning any action, by the light of nature, is to inquire into the tendency of that action to promote or diminish the general happiness. " So then actions are to be estimated by their tendency. Whatever is 272 cicero's paradoxes. [par. in which the sin consists may be greater in one instance and less in another, but guilt itself, in whatsoever light you be- hold it, is the same. A pilot oversets a ship laden with gold or one laden with straw : in value there is some difference, but in the ignorance of the pilot there is none. Your illicit desire has fallen upon an obscure female. The mortification affects fewer persons than if it had broken out in the case of some high born and noble virgin ; nevertheless it has been guilty, if it be guilty to overstep the mark. When you have done this, a crime has been committed ; nor does it matter in aggravation of the fault how far you run afterwards ; expedient, is right. It is the utility of any moral rule alone which con- stitutes the obligation of it. But to all this there seems a plain objection, viz. that many actions are useful, which no man in his senses will allow to be right There are occasions in which the hand of the assassin would be very useful. The present possessor of some great estate employs his in- fluence and fortune, to annoy, corrupt, or oppress, all about him. His estate would devolve, by his death, to a successor of an opposite character. It is useful, therefore, to despatch such a one as soon as possible out of the way as the neighbourhood will exchange thereby a pernicious tyrant for a wise'and generous benefactor. It might be useful to rob a miser, and give the money to the poor ; as the money no doubt would produce more happiness by being laid out in food and clothing for half a dozen distressed families, than by continuing locked up in a miser's chest It may be useful to get possession of a place, a piece of preferment, or of a seat in Parlia- ment, bv bribery or false swearing : as by means of them we may serve the public more effectually than in our private station. What then shall we sav * Must we admit these actions to be right, which would be to justify assassination, plunder, and perjury ; or must we give up our princi- ple, that the criterion of right is utility ? It is not necessary to do either The true answer is this ; that these actions, after all, are not useful, and for that reason, and that alone, are not right. To see this point perfectly, it must be observed that the bad consequences of actions are twofold, par- ticular and general. The particular bad consequence of an action, is the mischief which that single action directly and immediately occasions. I he general bad consequence is, the violation of some necessary or useful General rule. Thus, the particular bad consequence of the assassination above described, is the fright and pain which the deceased underwent ; the loss he suffered of life, which is as valuable to a bad man as to a good one, or more so : the prejudice and affliction, of which his death was the occa- sion, to his family, friends, and dependants. The general bad consequence is the violation of this necessary general rule, that no man be put to death for his crimes but by public authority. Although, therefore, such an action have no particular bad consequences, or greater particular good conse- ouences yet it is not useful, by reason of the general consequence, which la of more importance, and which is evil/'-Moral and Political Philo- sophy. PAR. III.] cicero's paradoxes. 273 certainly it is not lawful for any one to commit sin, and that which is unlawful is limited by this sole condition, that it is shown to be wrong. If this guilt can neither be made greater nor less (because, if the thing was unlawful, therein sin was committed), then the vicious acts which spring out of that which is ever one and the same must necessarily be equal. Now if virtues are equal amongst themselves, it must necessarily follow that vices are so likewise ; and it is most easy to be perceived that a man cannot be better than good, more temperate than temperate, braver than brave, nor wiser than wise. Will any man call a person honest, who, having a deposit of ten pounds of gold made to him without any witness, so that he might take advantage of it with impunity, shall restore it, and yet should not do the same in the case of ten thousand pounds ?* Can a man be accounted temperate who checks one inordinate passion and gives a loose to another ? Virtue is uniform, conformable to reason, and of unvarying consistency ; nothing can be added to it that can make it more than virtue; nothing can be taken from it, and the name of virtue be left. If good offices are done with an upright intention, nothing can be more upright than upright is ; and therefore it is impossible that any thing should be better than what is good. It there- fore follows that all vices are equal; for the obliquities of the mind are properly termed vices. Now we may infer, that as all virtues are equal, therefore all good actions, when they spring from virtues, ought to be equal likewise ; and therefore it necessarily follows, that evil actions, springing from vices, should be also equal. You borrow, says one, these views from philosophers. I was afraid you would have told me that I borrowed it from panders. But Socrates reasoned in the manner you do. — - By Hercules, you say well ; for it is recorded that he was a learned and a wise person. Meanwhile as we are contending, not with blows, but with words, I ask you whether good men should inquire what was the opinion of porters and labourers, or that of the wisest of mankind ? Especially too * The reader will probably be reminded by this passage of the words of the Great Teacher : " He that is faithful in that which is least, is faithful - also in much. And he that is unjust in the least, is unjust also in much/' — Luke, chap. xvi. 10. T 274 cicero's paradoxes [par. III. as no truer sentiment than this can be found, nor one more conducive to the interests of human life. For what influence is there which can more deter men from the commission of every kind of evil, than if they become sensible that there are no degrees in sin ? That the crime is the same, whether they offer violence to private persons or to magistrates. That in whatever families they have gratified their illicit desire, the turpitude of their lust is the same. But some one will say, what then ? does it make no differ- ence, whether a man murders his father or his slave? If you instance these acts abstractedly, it is difficult to decide of what quality they are. If to deprive a parent of life is in itself a most heinous crime, the Saguntines were then parri- cides, because they chose that their parents should die as freemen rather than live as slaves. Thus a case may happen in which there may be no guilt in depriving a parent of life, and very often we cannot without guilt put a slave to death. The circumstances therefore attending this case, and not the nature of the thing, occasion the distinction : these circum- stances as they lean to either case, that case becomes the more favourable; but if they appertain alike to both, the acts are then equal. There is this difference — that in killing a slave, if wrong is done, it is a single sin that is committed ; but many are involved in taking the life of a father. The object of violence is the man who begat you, the man who fed you, the man who brought you up, the man who gave your position in your home, your family, and the state. This offence is greater by reason of the number of sins (involved in it), and is deserving of a proportionately greater punish- ment. But in life we are not to consider what should be the punishment of each offence, but what is the rule of right to each individual. We are to consider everything that is not be- coming as wicked, and everything which is unlawful as heinous. What ! even in the most trifling matters ? To be sure ; for if we are unable to regulate the course of events, yet we may place a bound to our passions. If a player dances ever so little out of time, if a verse is pronounced by him longer or shorter by a single syllable than it ought to be, he is hooted and hissed off the stage. And shall you, who ought to be better regulated than any gesture, and more regu- lar than any verse shall you be found faulty even in a syllable PAR IV.] cicero's paradoxes. 275 of conduct? I overlook the trifling faults of a poet; but shall I approve my fellow citizen's life while he is counting his misdeeds with his fingers ? If some of these are trifling,* how can it be regarded as more venial when whatever wrong is committed, is committed to the violation of reason and order? Now, if reason and order are violated, nothing can be added by which the offence can seem to be aggravated. PARADOX IV. THAT EVERY FOOL IS A MADMAN. I will now convict you,f by infallible considerations, not as a fool, as I have often done, nor as a villain, as I always do, but as insane and mad. Could the mind of the wise man, fortified as with walls by depth of counsel, by patient endurance of human ills, by contempt of for- tune ; in short, by all the virtues— a mind that could not be expelled out of this community—shall such a mind be overpowered and taken by storm ? For what do we call a community ? Surely, not every assembly of thieves and ruffians? Is it then the entire rabble of outlaws and robbers assembled in one place ? No ; you will doubtless reply. Then this was no community when its laws had no force; when its courts of justice were prostrated; when the custom of the country had fallen into contempt ; when, the magistrates having been driven away by the sword, there was not even the name of a senate in the state. Could that gang of ruffians, that assembly of villains which you headed in the forum, could those remains of Catiline's frantic conspiracy, diverted to your mad and guilty schemes, be termed a com- munity ? I could not therefore be expelled from a commu- nity, because no such then existed. I was summoned back I to a community when there was a consul in the state, which * The reference here is to beating time to the quantity of syllables in a verse, and the term breviora, which is here rendered by the word " trifling 99 indicates the short syllables in the metre. f This paradox takes for its illustration the life of Publius Clodius, a i Roman soldier of noble birth, but infamous for the corruption of his morals He was ultimately slain by the retinue of Milo, in a rencontre which took place between the two as Milo was journeying towards Lanuvium, his native place, and Clodius was on his way to Rome. T 2 276 CICERO 3 PARADOXES. L PAE - IVl at the former time there was not ; when there was a senate, which then had ceased to exist ; when the voice of the people was free ; and when laws and equity, those bonds of a com- munity, had been restored. p But see how much I despised the shafts of your villany. That you aimed your villanous wrongs at me, I was always aware ; but that they reached me, I never thought. It is true you might think that somewhat belonging to me was tumbling down or consuming, when you were demolishing my walls, and applying your detestable torches to the roofs ,