Cicerone

 Philosophy was to the Roman what religion is to us. 

It professed to answer, so far as it might be answered, 
Pilate’s question, ‘‘What is truth 1” or to teach men, 
as Cicero described it, “the knowledge of things 
human and divine.” Hence the philosopher invests 
his subject with all attributes of dignity. To him 
Philosophy brings all blessings in her train. She is 
the guide of life, the medicine for his sorrows, “ the 
fountain-head of all perfect eloquence — the mother of 
all good deeds and good words.” He invokes with 
affectionate reverence the great name of Socrates — the 
sage who had “ first drawn wisdom down from heaven.” 

Ho man ever approached his subject more richly 
laden with philosophic lore than Cicero. Snatching 
every leisure moment that he could from a busy life, 
he devotes it to the study of the great minds of former 
ages> Indeed, he held this sindj to be the duty of 
* * De Finibus Bonorum et Malorum.’ 



154 


CICERCyS PBIL080RSY. 


the perfect orator; a knowledge of the human mind 
was one of his essential qualihcations. Nor could he 
cpnceive of real eloquence without it ; for his defini- 
tion of eloquence is, ‘^wisdom speaking fluently.”* 
But such studies were also suited to his own natural 
tastes. And as years passed on, and he grew weary of 
civil discords and was harassed by domestic troubles, 
the great orator turns his back upon the noisy city, 
and talces his parchments of Plato and Aristotle to be 
the friends of his councils and the companions of his 
solitude, seeking by their light to discover Truth, 
which Democritus had declared to be buried in the 
depths of the sea. 

Yet, after all, he professes to do little more than 
translate. So conscious is he that it ia to Greece that 
Eome is indebted for all her literature, and so con- 
scious, also, on the part of his countrymen, of what he 
terms ** an arrogant disdain for everything national,” 
that he apologises to his readers for writing for the 
million in their mother-tongue. Yet he is not content, 
as he says, to be “ a mere interpreter.” He thought 
that by an eclectic process — adopting and rearranging 
such of the doctrines of his Greek masters as approved 
themselves to his own judgment — ^he might make his 
own work a substitute for theirs. His ambition is to 
achieve what he might well regard as the hardest of 
tasks — a popular treatise on philosophy ; and he has 
certainly succeeded. He makes no pretence to origi- 
nality ; all he can do is, as he expresses it, to array 
Plato in a Latin dress,” and ‘‘present this stranger 
* “ Copiose loquens sapientia.” 



; *THM mUE EJtTM OE UFB: 


155 


from teyond the seas with the freedom of his native 
city/' And so this treatise on the Ends of Life — ^a 
grave question even to the most careless thinker — ^is, 
from the nature of the case, both dramatic and rheto^ 
ical. Eepresentatives of the two great schools of philo- 
sophy — the Stoics and Epicureans — pl^d and counter- 
plead in his pages, each in their turn; and their 
arguments are based on principles broad and universal 
enough to be valid even now. For now, as . then, 
men are inevitably separated into two classes — amiable 
men of ease, who guide their conduct by the rudder- 
strings of pleasure — ^who for the most part leave the 
world ” (as has been finely said) in the world^s debt, 
having consumed much and produced nothing or, 
on the other hand, zealous men of duty, — 

Who scorn delights and live laborious days,” 

and act according to the dictates of their honour or 
their conscience. In practice, if not in theory, a man 
must be either Stoic or Epicurean. 

Each school, in this dialogue, is allowed to plead its 
own cause. “Listen” (says the Epicurean) “to the 
voice of nature that bids you pursue pleasure, and do 
not be misled by that vulgar conception of pleasure as 
mere sensual enjoyment ; our opponents misrepresent 
us when they say that we advocate this as the highest 
good ; we hold, on the contrary, that men often obtain 
the greatest pleasure by neglecting this baser kind. 
Your highest instances of martyrdom — of Decii 
devoting themselves for their countiy, of consuls 
* Lord Derby. 



156 ClCMRCrS PSILOSOPHT. 

putting their sons to death to preserve discipline — » 
are not disinterested acts of sacrifice, but the choice 
of a present pain in order to procure a future pleasure* 
V ice is but ignorance of real enjoyment. Temperance 
alone can bring peace of mind ; and the wicked, even 
if they escape public censure, < are racked night and 
day by the anxieties sent upon them by the immortal 
gods.* We do not, in this, contradict your Stoic ; we, 
too, afiirm that only the wise man is really happy. 
Happiness is as impossible for a mind distracted by 
passions, as for a city divided by contending fac- 
tions. The terrors of death haunt the guilty wretch, 
‘ who finds out too late that he has devoted him- 
self to money or power or glory to rio purpose.* But 
the wise man*s life is unalloyed happiness. Rejoicing 
in a clear conscience, ‘ho remembers the past with 
gratitude, enjoys the blessings of the present, and 
disregards the future.* Thus the moral to be drawn 
is that which Horace (himself, as he expresses it, ‘ one 
of the litter of Epicurus ’) impresses on his fair friend 
Leuconde : — 

‘ Strain your wine, and prove your wisdom ; life is short ; 
should hope be more ? 

In the moment of our talking envious time has slipped 
away. 

Seize the present, trust to-morrow e’en as little as you may.’ ’* 

Passing on to the second book of the treatise, wo 
hear the adVocate of the counter-doctrine. Why, ex- 
claims the Stoic, introduce Pleasure to the councils of 
Virtue 1 Why uphold a theory so dangerous in prac- 
tice] Tour Epicurean soon turns Epicuroj^^and a class 



^THE TRUE ENDS OF LIFE.* 


167 


of men start up who have never seen the sun rise or 
set, who squander fortunes on cooks and perfumers, 
on costly plate and gorgeous rooms, and ransack se^ 
and land for delicacies to supply their feasts. Epicurus 
gives his disciples a dangerous discretion in their choice. 
There is no harm in luxury (he tells us) provided it he 
free from inordinate desires. But who is to fix the 
limit to such vague concessions ? 

Nay, more, he degrades men to the level of the 
brute creation. In his view, there is nothing admir- 
able beyond this pleasure — no sensation or emotion of 
the mind, no soundness or health of body. And what 
is this pleasure which he makes of such high account ] 
How short-lived while it lasts ! how ignoble when we 
recall it afterwards ! But even thb common feeling 
and sentiments of men condemn so selfish a doctrine. 
We are naturally led to uphold truth and abhor 
deceit, to admire Eegulus in his tortures, and to 
despise a lifetime of inglorious ease. And then fol- 
lows a passage which echoes the stirring lines of 
Scott — 

Sound, sound the clarion, fill the fife ! 

To all the sensual world proclaim. 

One crowded hour of glorious life 
Is worth an age without a name.” 

Do not then (concludes the Stoic) take good words in 
your mouth, and prate before applauding citizens of 
honour, duty, and so forth, while you make your 
private lives a mere selfish calculation of expediency. 
We were surely bom for nobler ends than this, and none 



168 mcsms PBitosoPHY. ^ 

■v^ho IS worthy the name of a man would subscribe to 
doctrines which destroy all honour and all chivalry. 

heroes of old time won their immortality not by 
weighing pleasures and pains in the balance, but by 
being prodigal of their lives, doing and enduring all 
things for the sake of their fellow-men. 

The opening scene in the third book is as lively and 
dramatic as (what was no doubt the writer’s model) 
the introduction of a Platonic dialogue. Cicero has 
walked across from his Tusculan villa to borrow some 
manuscripts from the well -stocked library of his 
young friend Lucullus * — a youth whose high promise 
was sadly cut short, for he was killed at Philippi, 
when he was not more than twenty-three. There, 
‘‘gorging himself with books,” Cicero finds Marcus 
Cato — a Stoic of the Stoics — ^who expounds in a high 
tone the principles of his sect. 

Honour he declares to be the rule, and “ life accord- 
ing to nature ” the end of man’s existence. And wrong 
and injustice are more really contrary to this nature 
than either death, or poverty, or bodily suffering, or 
any other outward evil.”t Stoics and Peripatetics 
are agreed at least on one point — that bodily plea- 
sures fade into nothing before the splendours of 
virtue, and that to compare the two is like holding 
a candle against the sunlight, or setting a drop of 

* See p. 4k ' 

. + So Bishop Butler, in the preface to his Sermons upon ‘ Hu- 
man hTature,* says they were “ intended to explain what is 
meant by the nature ofoman, when it is said that virtue Con- 
sists in following, tod vice in deviating firom it<j^^ 



‘TSi TRUM OF life: 


m . 


brine against the waves of the ocean. iTour Epi- 
curean would have each man live in selfish isolation, 
engrossed in his private pleasures and pursuits. 
on the other hand, maintain that “ Divine Providence 
has appointed the world to be a common city for men 
and gods,” and each one of us to be a part of this vast 
social system. And thus every man has his lot and 
place in life, and should take for his guidance those 
golden rules of ancient times — ‘‘ Obey God ; know 
thyself; shun excess.” Then, rising to enthusiasm, 
the philosopher concludes : “ Who cannot but admire 
the incredible beauty of such a system of morality ? 
What character in history or in fiction can be grander 
or more consistent than the ^ wise man * of the Stoics 1 
All the riches and glory of the world are his, for he 
alone can make a right use of all things. He is ‘ free,* 
though he be bound by chains ; ^ rich,* though in the 
midst of poverty ; ‘ beautiful,* for the mind is fairer 
than the body; ‘a king,* for, unlike the tyrants of 
the world, he is lord of himself ; ‘ happy,* for he has 
no need of Solon*s warning to ‘ wait till the end,* since 
a life virtuously spent is a perpetual happiness.’* 

In the fourth book, Cicero himself proceeds to 
vindicate the wisdom of the ancients — the old Aca- 
demic school of Socrates and his pupils — against what 
he considers the novelties of Stoicism. All that the 
Stoics have said has been said a hundred times before 
by Plato and Aristotle, but in nobler language. They 
merely pick out the thorns** and lay bare the bones ** 
of previous systems, using newfangled terms and misty 
aiguments with a “ vainglorious parade.** Their fine 



t60 


diCEms PHiLOSOPur, 


talk about citizens of the world and the ideal wise 
man is rather poetry than philosophy. They rightly 
connect happiness with virtue, and virtue with wisdom ; 
"^ut so did Aristotle some centuries before them. 

But their great fault (says Cicero) is, that they 
ignore the practical side of life. So broad is the line 
which they draw between the “ wise ” and foolish,’' 
that they would deny to Plato himself the possession 
of wisdom. They take no account of the thousand 
circumstances which go to form our happiness. To a 
spiritual being, virtue might be the chief good ; biit 
in actual life our physical is closely bound up with 
our mental enjoyment, and pain is one of those stern 
facts before which all theories are powerless. Again, 
by their fondness for paradox, they reduce all offences 
to the same dead level. It is, in their eyes, as impious 
to beat a slave as to beat a parent : because, as they 
say, ‘‘nothing T3an be wiore virtuous than virtue, — 
nothing more vicious than vice." And lastly, this 
stubbornness of opinion affects their personal char- 
*acter. They too often degenerate into austere critics 
and bitter partisans, and go far to banish from among 
us love, friendship, gratitude, and all the fair humani- 
ties of life. 

The fifth book carries us back some twenty years, 
when we find Cicero once more at Athens, taking his 
afternoon walk among the deserted groves of the 
Academy. With him are his brother Quintus, his 
cousin Lucius, and his friends Piso and Atticus. The 
scene, with its historic associations, irresistibly carries 
their minds back to those illustrious spirits who had 



*TEn TRUE ENDS OF LIFE: 


161 


once made the place their own. Among these trees 
Plato himself had walked ; under the shadow of that 
Porch Zeno had lectured to his disciples;* yonder 
Quintus points out the white peak of Colonus,” de^^ 
scribed by Sophocles in “ those sweetest lines ; ” while 
glistening on the horizon were the waves of the Phaleric 
harbour, which Demosthenes, Cicero’s own great proto- 
type, had outvoiced with the thunder of his declama- 
tion. So countless, indeed, are the memories of the 
past called up by the genius of the place, that (as one 
of the friends remarks) “ wherever we plant our feet, 
we tread upon some history.” Then Piso, speaking 
at Cicero’s request, begs his friends to turn from the 
degenerate thinkers of their own day to those giants 
of philosophy, from whose writings all liberal learning, 
all history, and all elegance of language may be de- 
rived, More than all, they should turn to the leader 
of the Peripatetics, Aristotle, who seemed (like Lord 
Bacon after him) to have taken all knowledge as 
his portion. Prom these, if from no other source, we 
may leam the secret of a happy life. But first we must 
settle what this ‘ chief good ’ is — this end and object of 
our efforts — ^and not be carried to and fro, like ships 
without a steersman, by every blast of doctrine. 

* The Stoics took their name from the * stoa,’ or portico in 
the Academy, where they sat at lecture, as the Peripatetics (the 
school of Aristotle) from the little knot of listeners who fol- 
lowed their master as he walked, Epicurus's school were 
known as the philosophers of ‘the Garden,' from the place 
where he taught. The ‘ Old Academy ’ were the disciples of 
Plato ; the *^New Academy * (to whos^ tenets Cicero inclined) 
revived the great principle of Socrates— of affirming nothing. 

. A. 0. vol. ix* L 



162 : ClOERaS PHIL080PBY. 

If Epicurus was wrong in placing Happiness 
“ In corporal pleasure and in careless ease,*' 

less wrong are they who say that ‘‘ honour ” requires 
pleasure to be added to it, since they thus make honour 
itself dishonourable. • And again, to say with others 
that happiness is tranquillity of mind, is simply to beg 
the question. 

Putting, then, all such theories aside, we bring the 
argument to a practical issue. Self-preservation is 
the first great principle of nature ; and so strong is 
this instinctive love of life both among men and 
animals, that we see even the iron-hearted Stoic shrink 
from the actual pangs of a voluntary death. Then 
comes the question. What is this nature that is so 
precious to each of us 1 Clearly it is compounded of 
body and mind, each with many virtues of its own ; 
but as the mind should rule the body, so reason, as 
the dominant faculty, should rule the mind. Virtue 
itself is only “ the perfection of this reason,*’ and, call it 
what you will, genius or intellect is something divine. 

Furthermore, there is in man a gradual progress of 
reason, growing with his growth until it has reached 
perfection. Even in the infant there are “ as it’ were 
sparks of virtue ” — half-unconscious principles of love 
and gratitude ) and these germs bear fruit, as the child 
develops into the man. We have also an instinct 
which attracts us towards the pursuit of wisdom; 
such is the true meaning of the Sirens* voices in the 
Odyssey, says the philosopher, quoting from the poet 
of all time : — 



*TEB TRUE ENDS OF LIFE: 


163 


‘‘ Turn thy swift keel and listen to our lay ; 

Since never pilgrim to these regions came, 

But heard our sweet voice ere he sailed away, 

And in his joy passed on, with ampler mind.” * 

% 

It is wisdom, not pleasure, which they offer. Hence 
it is that men devote their days and nights to litera- 
ture, without a thought of any gain that may accrue 
from it ; and philosophers paint the serene delights of 
a life of contemplation in the islands of the hlest. 

Again, our minds can never rest. ^‘Desire for 
action grows with us ; ” and in action of some sort, 
he it politics or science, life (if it is to he life at all) 
must he passed hy each of us. Even the gambler 
must ply the dice-hox, and the man of pleasure seek 
excitement in society. But in the true life of action, 
still the ruling principle should he honour. 

Such, in brief, is Piso^s (or rather Cicero^s) vindica- 
tion of the old masters of philosophy. Before they 
leave the place, Cicero fires a parting shot at the Stoic 
paradox that the * wise man * is always happy. How, 
he pertinently asks, can one in sickness and poverty, 
blind, or childless, in exile or in torture, he possibly 
called happy, except hy a monstrous perversion of 
language ? + 

Here, somewhat abruptly, the dialogue closes ; and 
Cicero pronounces no judgment of his own, hut leaves 
the . great question almost as perplexed as when he 

* Odjm xii. 185 (Worsley). 

t In Or little treatise called “ Paradcftes,” Cicero discusses six 
of these scholastic quibbles of the Stoics. 



164 


CWERaS PHILOSOPHY. 


started the discussion. But, of the two antagonistic 
theories, he leans rather to the Stoic than to the Epi- 
Self-sacrifice and honour seem, to his view, 
to present a higher ideal than pleasure or expediency. 


II. 'academic questions.' 

Fragments of two editions of this work have come 
down to usj for almost before the first copy had 
reached the hands of his friend Atticus, to whom it was 
sent, Cicero had rewritten the whole on an enlarged 
scale. The first book (as we have it now) is dedicated 
to Varro, a noble patron of art and literature. In his 
villa at Cuma3 were spacious porticoes and gardens, and 
a library with galleries and cabinets open to all comers. 
Here, on a terrace looking seawards, Cicero, Atticus, 
and Varro himself pass a long afternoon in discussing 
the relative merits of the old and new Academies ; and 
hence we get the title of the work, Varro takes the 
lion’s share of the first dialogue, and shows how from 
the " vast and varied genius of Plato” both Academics 
and Peripatetics drew all their philosophy, whether it 
related to morals, to nature, or to logic. Stoicism 
receives a passing notice, as also does what Varro con- 
siders the heresy of Theophrastus, who strips virtue 
of all its beauty, by denying that happiness depends 
upon it. 

The second book is dedicated to another illustrious 
name, the elder Lucullus, not long deceased — half- 
statesman, half-dilettante, ‘‘with almost as divine a 
memory for facts,” says Cicero, with someth^g of envy^ 



^ACADEMIC questions: 


165 


as Hortensius had for words.” This time it is at his 
villa, near Tusculum, amidst scenery perhaps even now 
the loveliest of all Italian landscapes, that the philo- 
sophic dialogue takes place. Lucullus condemns the ^ 
scepticism of the New Academy — those reactionists 
against the dogmatism of past times, who disbelieve 
their very eyesight. If (he says) we reject the testi- 
mony of the senses, there is neither body, nor truth, 
nor argument, nor anything certain left us. These 
perpetual doubters destroy every ground of our belief. 

Cicero ingeniously defends this scepticism, which 
was, in fact, the bent of his own mind. After 
all, what is our eyesight worth'! The ship sailing 
across the bay yonder seems to move, but to the sailors 
it is the shore that recedes from their view. Even the 
sun, ‘‘which mathematicians affirm to be eighteen 
times larger than the earth, looks but a foot in diame- 
ter.’* And as it is with these things, so it is with 
all knowledge. Bold indeed must be the man who 
can define the point at which belief passes into cer- 
tainty. Even the “ fine frenzy ** of the poet, his pic- 
tures of gods and heroes, are as lifelike to himself and 
to his hearers as though he actually saw them ; — 

“ See how Apollo, fair-haired god. 

Draws in and bends his golden bow, 

While on the left fair Dian waves her torch.” 

No — ^we are sure of nothing ; and we are happy if, like 
Socrates, we only know this — that we know nothing. 
Then, as if in irony, or partly in^uenced perhaps by the 
advocate’s love of arguing the case both ways, Cicero 



166 


CICERO^S PHILOSOPHY. 


demolishes that grand argument of design which else- 
where he so carefully constructs,* and reasons in the 
^ j gry language of materialism : You assert that all the 
universe could not have been so ingeniously made with- 
out some godlike wisdom, the majesty of which you 
trace down even to the perfection of bees and ants. 
Why, then, did the Deity, when he made everything 
for the sake of man, make such a variety (for instance) 
of venomous reptiles % Your divine soul is a fiction ; 
it is better to imagine that creation is the result of the 
laws of nature, and so release the Deity from a great 
deal of hard work, and me from fear ; for which of us, 
when ho thinks that he is an object of divine care, 
can help feeling an awe of the divine power day and 
night? But we do not understand even our own 
bodies ; how, then, can we have an eyesight so pierc- 
ing as to penetrate the mysteries of heaven and earth?” 

The treatise, However, is but a disappointing frag- 
ment, and the argument is incomplete. 


III. TUB *TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS.' 

The scene of this dialogue is Cicero’s villa at*Tuscu- 
lum. There, in his long gallery, he walks and discus- 
ses with his friends the vexed questions of morality. 
Was death an evil? Was the soul immortal? How 
could a man. best bear pain and the other miseries of 
life ? Was virtue any guarantee for happiness ? 

Then, as now, death was the great problem of hu- 
manity— “ to die and, go we know not where.” The 
* See p, 168. % 



*TUscuLAN disputations: 


167 


old belief in Elysium and Tartaras had died away ; 
as Cicero himself boldly puts it in another place, such 
things were no longer even old wives* fables. Either 
death brought an absolute unconsciousness, or the soul 
soared into space. “ Lex non poena mors ** — “ Death 
is a law, not a penalty ” — ^was the ancient saying. It 
was, as it were, the close of a banquet or the fall of 
the curtain. “While we are, death is not; when 
death has come, we are not.** 

Cicero brings forward the testimony of past ages to 
prove that death is not a mere annihilation. Man 
cannot perish utterly. Heroes are deified; and the 
spirits of the dead return to us in visions of the night. 
Somehow or other (he says) there clings to our minds 
a certain presage of future ages ; and so we plant, that 
our children may reap ; we toil, that others may enter 
into our labours ; and it is this life after death, the 
desire to live in nien*s mouths for ever, which inspires 
the patriot and the martyr. Eame to the Roman, 
even more than to us, was “ the last infirmity of noble 
minds.** It was so in a special degree to Cicero. The 
instinctive sense of immortality, he argues, is strong 
within us ; and as, in the words of the English poet, 

“ Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting,’* 

so also in death, the Roman said, though in other 
words — 

“ Our souls have sight of that immortal sea 
Which brought us hither,** 

Believe not then, says Cicero„ those old wives* tales, 
those poetic legends, the terrors of a material hell, or 



168 


ClCERaS PHILOSOPHY. 


the joys of a sensual paradise. Rather hold with 
Plato that the soul is an eternal principle of life, which 
has neither beginning nor end of existence ; for if it 
were not so, heaven and earth would be overset, and 
all nature would stand at gaze. “ Men say they can- 
not conceive or comprehend what the soul can be, dis- 
tinct from the body. As if, forsooth, they could 
comprehend what it is, when it is in the body, — its 
conformation, its magnitude, or its position there, . . . 
To me, when I consider the nature of the soul, there 
is far more difficulty and obscurity in forming a con- 
ception of what the soul is while in the body, — in 
a dwelling where it seems so little at home, — ^than 
of what it will be when it has escaped into the 
free atmosphere of heaven, which seems its natural 
abode.” * And as the poet seems to us inspired, as the 
gifts of memory and eloquence seem divine, so is the 
soul itself, in its simple essence, a god dwelling in the 
breast of each of us. What else can be this power 
which enables us to recollect the past, to foresee the 
future, to understand the present ? 

There follows a passage on the argument from design 
which anticipates that fine saying of Voltaire-:-" Si 
Dieu n’existait pas, il faudrait I’inventer; mais toute- 
la nature crie qu’il existe.” " The heavens,” says even 
the heathen philosopher, " declare the glory of God.” 
Look on the sun and the stars ; look on the alternation 
of the seasons, and the changes of day and night ; look 
again at the earth bringing forth her fruits for the use 
of men; the multitude of cattle; and man himself, 
* I. c. 22. * 



^TUSCVLAN disputations: 


169 


made as it were to contemplate and adore the heavens 
and the gods. Look on all these things, and doubt 
not that there is some Being, though you see him not, 
who has created and presides over the world. 

“ Imitate, therefore, the end of Socrates ; who, with 
the fatal cup in his hands, spoke with the serenity of 
one not forced to die, but, as it were, ascending into 
heaven ; for he thought that the souls of men, when 
they left the body, went by different roads ; those pol- 
luted by vice and unclean living took a road wide 
of that which led to the assembly of the gods ; while 
those who had kept themselves pure, and on earth had 
taken a divine life as their model, found it easy to 
return to those beings from whence they came.” Or 
learn a lesson from the swans, who, with a prophetic 
instinct, leave this world with joy and singing. Yet 
do not anticipate the time of death, ‘‘for the Deity 
forbids us to depart hence without his summons ; but, 
on just cause given (as to Socrates and Cato), gladly 
should we exchange our darkness for that light, and, 
like men not breaking prison but released by the law, 
leave our chains with joy, as having been discharged 
by God.” 

The feeling of these ancients with regard to suicide, 
we must here remember, was very different from our 
own. There was no distinct idea of the sanctity of life ; 
no social stigma and consequent suffering were brought 
on the family of the suicide. Stoic and Epicurean phil- 
osophers alike upheld it as a lawful remedy against the 
pangs of disease, the dotage of old age, or the caprices 
of a tyrant. Every man might, they contended, choose 



170 


CIPERO^S PHILOSOPHY. 


his own route on the last great journey, and sleep well, 
when he grew wearied out with life’s fitful fever. The 
door was always open (said Epictetus) when the play 
palled on the senses. You should quit the stage with 
dignity, nor drain the flask to the dregs. Some phil- 
"osophers, it is true, protested against it as a mere de- 
vice of cowardice to avoid pain, and as a failure in our 
duties as good citizens. Cicero, in one of his latest 
works, again quotes with approval the opinion of Py- 
thagoras, that ‘‘no man should abandon his post in 
life without the orders of the Great Commander.” But 
at Eome suicide had been glorified by a long roll of. 
illustrious names, and the protest was made in vain. 

But why, continues Cicero, why add to the miseries 
of life by brooding over death ? Is life to any of us 
such unmixed pleasure even while it lasts 1 Which of 
us can tell whether he be taken away from good or 
from evil ? As* our birth is but “ a sleep and a forget- 
ting,” so our death may be but a second sleep, as last- 
ing as Endymion’s. Why then call it wretched, even 
if we die before our natural time 1 Nature has lent us 
life, without fixing the day of payment j and uncer- 
tainty is one of the conditions of its tenure. Compare 
our longest life with eternity, and it is as short-lived 
as that of those ephemeral insects whose life is meas- 
ured by a summer day ; and “ who, when the sun sets, 
have reached old age.” 

Let us, then, base our happiness on strength of 
mind, on a contempt of earthly pleasures, and on the 
strict observance of virtue. Let us recall the last noble 
words of Socrates taiAis judges. “The^eath,” said 



‘ TUSCULA^r DISPUTA TIONS: 1 7 1 

he, ‘‘ to which you condemn me, I count a gain rather 
than a loss. Either it is a dreamless sleep that knows 
no waking, or it carries me where I may converse with 
the spirits of the illustrious dead. I go to death, you 
to life ; hut which of us is going the better way, God 
only knows.” 

No man, then, dies too soon who has run a course 
of perfect virtue ; for glory follows like a shadow in 
the wake of such a life. Welcome death, therefore, 
as a blessed deliverance from evil, sent by the special 
favour of the gods, who thus bring us safely across a 
sea of troubles to an eternal haven. 

The second topic which Cicero and his friends dis- 
cuss is, the endurance of pain. Is it an unmixed evil ? 
Can anything console the sufferer? Cicero at once 
condemns the sophistry of Epicurus. The wise man 
cannot pretend indifference to pain ; it is enough that 
he endure it with courage, since, beyond all question, 
it is sharp, bitter, and hard to bear. And what is 
tliis courage ? Partly excitement, partly the impulse 
of honour or of shame, partly the habituation which 
steels the endurance of the gladiator. Keep, therefore 
— this is the conclusion — stern restraint over the 
feminine elements of your soul, and learn not only to 
despise the attacks of pain, but also , 

“ The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune.” 

From physical, the discussion naturally passes to 
mental, suffering. For grief, as well as for pain, he 
prescribes the remedy of the Stpics — mquanimitas — 
“ a calm serenity of mind.” Theivise man, ever serene 



172 


CICEmS PHILOSOPHY. 


and composed, is moved neither by pain or sorrow, by 
fear or desire. He is equally undisturbed by the malice 
of enemies or the inconstancy of fortune. But what 
consolation can we bring to ease the pain of the 
Epicurean 1 “ Put a nosegay ta his nostrils — ^burn 
perfumes before him — crown him with roses and wood- 
bine ! ** But perfumes and garlands can do little in 
such case j pleasures may divert, but they can scarcely 
console. 

Again, the Cyrenaics bring at the best but Job's 
comfort. No man will bear his misfortunes the more 
lightly by bethinking himself that they are unavoid- 
able — that others have suffered before him — that pain 
is part and parcel of the ills which flesh is heir to. 
Why grieve at all? Why feed your misfortune by 
dwelling on it? Plunge rather into active life and 
forget it, remembering that excessive lamentation over 
the trivial accidents of humanity is alike unmanly and 
unnecessary. And as it is with grief, so it is with 
envy, lust, anger, and those other “perturbations of 
the mind ” which the Stoic Zeno rightly declares to 
be “repugnant to reason and nature.” From such 
disquietudes it is the wise man who is free. 

The fifth and last book discusses the great question, 
Is virtue of itself sufficient to make life happy ? The 
bold conclusion is, that it is sufficient. Cicero is not 
content with the timid qualifications adopted by the 
school of the Peripatetics, who say one moment that 
external advantages and worldly prosperity are nothing, 
and then again adm^ that, though man may be happy 
T^thout them, he is happier with thep, — which is 



TREATISE *OJSr MORAL DUTIES: 173 


making the real happiness imperfect after all. Men 
differ in their views of life. As in the great Olympic 
games, the throng are attracted, some by desire of gain, 
some by the crown of wild olive, some merely by the 
spectacle ; so, in the race of life, we are all slaves to 
some ruling idea, it may be glory, or money, or wis- 
dom. Eut they alone can be pronounced happy whose 
minds are like some tranquil sea — “alarmed by no 
fears, wasted by no griefs, inflamed by no lusts, ener- 
vated by no relaxing pleasures, — and such serenity 
virtue alone can produce.” 

These ‘ Disputations * have always been higlily ad- 
mired. But their popularity was greater in times 
when Cicero’s Greek originals were less read or under- 
stood. Erasmus carried his admiration of this treatise 
to enthusiasm. “ I cannot doubt,’’ he says, “ but that 
the mind from which such teaching flowed was in- 
spired in some sort by divinity.” 


IV. THE TREATISE ‘ ON MORAL DUTIES.* 

The treatise ‘De Officiis,’ known as Cicero’s ‘ Offices,’ 
to which we pass next, is addressed by the author to 
his son, while studying at Athens under Cratippus 3 
possibly in imitation of Aristotle, who inscribed his 
Ethics to his son Nicomachus. It is a treatise on 
the duties of a gentleman — “the noblest present,” 
says a modern writer, “ever made by parent to a 
child.”* Written in a far higher tone than Lord 
Chesterfield’s letters, though treating of the same sitb- 

* Kelsall. ^ 



174 


CICERO'S PHILOSOPHY. 


ject, it proposes and answers multifarious questions 
which must occur continually to the modern Christian 
as well as to the ancient philosopher. What makes 
an action right or wrong 1 What is a duty % What is 
expediency? How shall I learn to choose between 
my principles and my interests ? And lastly (a point 
of casuistry which must sometimes perplex the strict- 
est conscience), of two ‘ things honest,^ * which is most 
so?” 

The key-note of his discourse throughout is Honour ; 
and the word seems to carry with it that magic force 
which Burke attributed to chivalry — “ the unbouglit 
grace of life — ^the nurse of heroic sentiment and manly 
enterprise.” Noblesse oblige , — and there is no state of 
life, says Cicero, without its obligations. In their due 
discharge consists all the nobili^, and in their neglect 
all the disgrace, of character. There should be no 
selfish devotion to private interests. We are born not 
for ourselves only, but for our kindred and fatherland. 
We owe duties not only to those who have benefited 
but to those who have wronged us. We should render 
to all their due ; and justice is due even to the lowest 
of mankind : what, for instance (he says with a hard- 
ness which jars upon our better feelings), can be lower 
than a slave ? Honour is that ‘‘ unbought grace ” which 
adds a lustre to every action. In society it produces 

* The English “ Honesty ’’ and “ Honour ” alike fail to con- 
vey the full force of the Latin honestvs. The word expresses 
a progress of thought from comeliness and grace of person to 
a noble and graceful character — aU whose works are done in 
honesty and honour. ^ • ♦ 



TREATISE MORAL DUTIES,* 


176 


courtesy of manners ; in business, under the form of 
truth, it establishes public credit. Again, as equity, it 
smooths the harsh features of the law. In war it pro- 
duces that moderation and good faith between contend- 
ing armies which are the surest basis of a lasting peace. 
And so in honour are centred the elements of all the 
virtues — ^wisdom and justice, fortitude and temperance ; 
and ‘‘if,” he says, reproducing the noble words of 
Plato, as applied by him to Wisdom, “ this ‘ Honour * 
could but be seen in her full beauty by mortal eyes, 
the whole world would fall in love with her.” 

Such is the general spirit of this treatise, of which 
only the briefest sketch can be given in these pages. 

Cicero bases honour on our inherent excellence of 
nature, paying the same noble tribute to humanity as 
Kant some centuries after : “ On earth there is nothing 
great but man; in man there is nothing great but 
mind.” Truth is a law of our nature. Man is only 
“ lower than the angels ; ” and to him belong prero- 
gatives which mark him off from the brute creation — 
the faculties of reason and discernment, the sense of 
beauty, and the love of law and order. And from this 
arises that fellow-feeling which, in one sense, “ makes 
the whole world kin ” — the spirit of Terence^s famous 
line, which Cicero notices (applauded on its recitation, 
as Augustin tells us, by the cheers of the entire audi- 
ence in the theatre) — 

Homo sum — ^humani nihil a me alienum puto * 

* “ I am a man— I hold that nothiijg which concerns man- 
kind can be matter of unconcern to me.*’ 



176 


CJCMR0*8 PHILOSOPHY. 


for (he continues) “ all men by nature love one another, 
and desire an intercourse of words and action.'' Hence 
spring the family affections, friendship, and social ties; 
hence also that general love of combination, which 
forms a striking feature of the present age, resulting 
in clubs, trades-unions, companies, and generally in 
what Mr Carlyle terms ‘‘ swarmery.” 

Next to truth, justice is the great duty of mankind. 
Cicero at once condemns “ communism ” in matters of 
property. Ancient immemorial seizure, conquest, or 
compact, may give a title ; but no man can say that 
he has anything his own by a right of nature.” In- 
justice springs from avarice or ambition, the thirst of 
riches or of empire, and is the more dangerous as it 
appears in the more exalted spirits, causing a dissolu- 
tion of all ties and obligations. And here he takes oc- 
casion to instance “ that late most shameless attempt 
of Caesar's to n\ake himself master of Home.” 

There is, besides, an injustice of omission. You 
may wrong your neighbour by seeing him wronged 
without interfering. Cicero takes the opportunity of 
protesting strongly against the selfish policy of those 
lovers of ease and peace, who, “from a desire of 
furthering their own interests, or else from a churlish 
temper, profess that they mind nobody's business but 
their own, in order that they may seem to be men of 
strict integrity and to injure none,'' and .thus shrink 
from taking their part in “the fellowship of life.” 
He would have had small patience with our modem 
doctrine of non-intepention and neutrality in nations 
any more than in men. Such conduct ^ises (he says) 



TREATISE *0N MORAL LVTIES:, 


177 


from the false logic with which men cheat their con- 
science ; arguing reversely, that whatever is the hest 
policy is — honesty. 

There are two ways, it must be remembered, in 
which one man may injure another — ^force and fraud ; 
but as the lion is a nobler creature than the fox, so 
open violence seems less odious than secret villany. 
Ko character is so justly hateful as 

rogue in grain, 

Veneered with sanctimonious theory.” 

iN'ations have their obligations as well as individuals, 
and war has its laws as well as peace. The struggle 
should be carried on in a generous temper, and not in 
the spirit of extermination, when ‘‘it has sometimes 
seemed a question between two hostile nations, not 
which should remain a conqueror, but which should 
remain a nation at all.” 

No mean part of justice consists in liberality, and 
this, too, has its duties. It is an important question, 
how, and when, and to whom, we should give ? It is 
possible to be generous at another personas expense : 
it is possible to injure the recipient by mistimed 
liberality ; or to ruin one’s fortune by open house and 
prodigal hospitality. A great man’s bounty (as he 
says in another place) should be a common sanctuary 
for the needy. “ To ransom captives and enrich the 
meaner folk is a nobler form of generosity than pro- 
viding wild beasts or shows of gladiators to amuse the 
mob.” Charity should begin at-home ; for relations 

A. 0. vol. ix. M 



178 ciCMnas Fmiosopjrr. 

and friends hold the first place in our affections ; hut 
the circle of our good deeds is not to be narrowed 
by the ties of blood, or sect, or painty, and ‘‘our 
country comprehends the endearments of all.” We 
should act in the spirit of the ancient law — “Thou 
shalt keep no man from the running stream, or from 
lighting his torch at thy hearth.” Our liberality 
should be really liberal, — like that charity which 
Jeremy Taylor describes as “friendship to all the 
world.” 

Another component principle of this honour is cour- 
age, or “ greatness of soul,” which (continues Cicero) 
has been well defined by the Stoics as “ a virtue con- 
tending for justice and honesty;” and its noblest form 
is a generous contempt for ordinar/ objects of ambi- 
tion, not “ from a vain or fantastic humour, but from 
solid principles of reason.” The lowest and commoner 
form of courage is the mere animal virtue of the 
fighting-cock. 

But a character should not only be excellent, — it 
should be graceful. In gesture and deportment men 
should strive to acquire that dignified grace of manners 
“ which adds as it were a lustre to our lives.” They 
should avoid affectation and eccentricity ; “ not to care 
a farthing what people think of us is a sign not so 
much of pride as of immodesty.” The want of tact — 
the saying and doing things at the wrong time and 
place — ^produces the same discord in society as a false 
note in music ; and harmony of character is of more 
consequence than harmony of sounds. There is a 
grace in words as well as in conduct^ we should 



TREATISE MORAL DUTIES: 179 

avoid unseasonable jests, “ and not lard our talk with 
Greek quotations.” * 

In the path of life, each should follow the bent of 
his own genius, so far as it is innocent — 

“ Honour and shame from no condition rise ; 

Act well your part — there all the honour lies.” 

ITothing is so difficult (says Cicero) as the choice of 
a profession, inasmuch as “ the choice has commonly 
to be made when the judgment is weakest.” Some 
tread in their father’s steps, others befit out a fresh 
line of their own ; and (he adds, perhaps not without 
a personal reference) this is generally the case with 
those born of mean parents, who propose to carve 
their own way in the world. But the parvenu of 
Arpinum — the ‘new man,’ as aristocratic jealousy 
always loved to call him — is by no means insensible 
to the true honours of ancestry. “ The noblest inher- 
itance,” he says, “ that can ever be left by a father to 
his son, far excelling that of lands and houses, is the 
fame of his virtues and glorious actions ; ” and saddest 
of all sights is that of a noble house dragged through 
the mire by some degenerate descendant, so as to be a 
by-word among the populace, — “which may” (he con- 
cludes) “ be justly said of but too many in our times.” 

The Homan’s view of the comparative dignity of 
professions and occupations is interesting, because his 
prejudices (if they be prejudices) have so long main- 

* This last precept Cicero must have considered did not 
apply to letter-writing, otherwise he ttas a notorious offender 
agauist his own rule. 



180 


CICEROS PHILOSOPHY, 


tained their ground amongst us modems. Tax-gather- 
ers and usurers are as unpopular now as ever — ^the 
latter very deservedly so. Eetail trade is despicable, 
we are told, and “ all mechanics are by their profes- 
sion mean.’^ Especially such trades as minister to 
mere appetite or luxury — ^butchers, fishmongers, and 
cooks; perfumers, dancers, and suchlike. But medi- 
cine, architecture, education, farming, and even whole- 
sale business, especially importation and exportation, 
are the professions of a gentleman. “ But if the mer- 
chant, satisfied with his profits, shall leave the seas and 
from the harbour step into a landed estate, such a man 
seems justly deserving of praise.” We seem to be 
reading the verdict of modern English society delivered 
by anticipation two thousand years ago. 

The section ends with earnest advice to all, that they 
should put their principles into practice. “ The deepest 
knowledge of nature is but a poor and imperfect busi- 
ness, unless it proceeds into action. As justice con- 
sists in no abstract theory, but in upholding society 
among men, — as greatness of soul itself, if it be iso- 
lated from the duties of social life, is but a kind of un- 
couth churlishness,” — ^so it is each citizen's duty to leave 
his philosophic seclusion of a cloister, and take his place 
in public life, if the times demand it, though he be 
able to number the stars and measure out the world.” 

The same practical vein is continued in the next 
book. What, after all, are a man's real interests 1 what 
line of conduct will best advance the main end of his 
life 1 Generally, mem make the fatal mistake of assum- 
ing that honour must always clash with t!^ir interests ; 



rnsATisE moral duties: 181 

while in reality, says Cicero, they would obtain their 
ends best, not by knavery and underhand dealing, but 
by justice and integrity.’* The right is identical with 
the expedient. The way to secure the favour of the 
gods is by upright dealing ; and next to the gods, no- 
thing contributes so much to men’s happiness as men 
themselves.” It is labour and co-operation which have 
given us all the goods which we possess. 

Since, then, man is the best friend to man, and 
also his most formidable enemy, an important question 
to be discussed is the secret of influence and popularity — 
“ the art of winning men’s affections.” For to govern 
by bribes or by force is not really to govern at all ; and 
no obedience based on fear can be lasting — no force 
of power can bear up long against a current of public 
hate.” Adventurers who ride rough-shod over law (he 
is thinking again of Csesar) have but a short-lived reign ; 
and “ liberty, when she has been chained up a while, 
bites harder when let loose than if she had never been 
chained at all.” * Most happy was that just and moder- 
ate government of Eome in earlier times, when she was 
“ the port and refuge for princes and nations in their 
hour of need.” Three requisites go to form that popu- 
lar character which has a just influence over others ; 
we must win men’s love, we must deserve their confi- 

* It is curious to note how, throughout the whole of this 
argument, Cicero, whether consciously or unconsciously, works 
upon the principle that the highest life is the political life, and 
that the highest object a man can set before him is the obtain- 
ing, by legitimate means, influence authority amongst his 
fellow-citizens. 



182 


CICEmS PHILOSOPHY. 


dence, and we must inspire them with an admiration 
for our abilities. The shortest and most direct road to 
real influence is that which Socrates recommends — “ for 
a man to be that which he wishes men to take him 
for.”’*^ 

Then follow some maxims which show how thor- 
oughly conservative was the policy of our philosopher. 
The security of property he holds to be the security 
of the state. There must be no playing with vested 
rights, no unequal taxation, no attempt to bring all 
things to a level, no cancelling of debts and redistribu- 
tion of land (he is thinking of the baits held out by 
Catiline), none of those traditional devices for winning 
favour with the people, which tend ^to destroy that 
social concord and unity which make a common- 
wealth. What reason is there,^* he asks, why, 
when I have bought, built, repaired, and laid out much 
money, another shall come and enjoy the fruits of it ? ” 
And as a man should be careful of the interests of the 
social body, so he should be of his own. But Cicero 
feels that in descending to such questions he is 
somewhat losing sight of his dignity as a moralist. 
‘‘ You will find all this thoroughly discussed,” he says 
to his son, ‘4n Xenophon’s (Economics — a book 
which, when I was just your age, I translated from 
the Greek into Latin.” [One wonders whether young 
Marcus took the hint.] “And if you want instruction 
in money matters, there are gentlemen sitting on the 

* “ Not being less but more than all 
The gentleness he seemed to be.’* 

—Tennyson : * In Memoriam.’ 



TREATISE •OE MORAL DUTIES: 183 

Exchange who will teach you much better than the 
philosophers.” 

The last book opens with a saying of the elder 
Cato’s, which Cicero much admires, though he says 
modestly that he was never able in his own case quite 
to realise it — “ I am never less idle than when I am 
idle, and never less alone than when alone.” Eetire- 
ment and solitude are excellent things, Cicero always 
declares; generally contriving at the same time to 
ma-ke it plain, as he does here, that his own heart is in 
the world of public life. But at least it gives him time 
for writing. He has written more in this short time, 
since the fall of the Commonwealth, than in all the 
years during which it stood.” 

Ho here resolves the question, If honour and interest 
seem to clash, which is to give wayl Or rather, it has 
been resolved already ; if the right be always the ex- 
pedient, the opposition is seeming, not real. He puts 
a great many questions of casuistry, but it all amounts 
to this : the good man keeps his oath, “ though it were 
to his own hindrance.” But it is never to his hin- 
drance ; for a violation of his conscience would be the 
greatest hindrance of all. 

In this treatise, more than in any of his other phi- 
losophical works, Cicero inclines to the teaching of the 
Stoics. In the others, ho is rather the seeker after 
truth than the niaintainer of a system. His is the 
critical eclecticism of the ‘ ^ew Academy ’ — the spirit 
so prevalent in our own day, Avhich fights against the 
shackles of dogmatism. And yith all his respect for 
the nobler side of Stoicism, he is fully alive to its de- 



184 


CWSmS PHILOSOPHY. 


fects ; though it was not given to him to see, as Mil- 
ton saw after him, the point wherein that great system 
really failed — the “ philosophic pride ** which was the 
besetting sin of all disciples in the school, from Cato to 
Seneca : — 

Ignorant of themselves, of God much more, 
****** 

Much of the soul they talk, but all awry ; 

And in themselves seek virtue, and to themselves 
All glory arrogate, — to God give none ; 

Eather accuse Him under usual names, 

Fortune, or Fate, as one regardless quite 
Of mortal things.” * 

Yet, in spite of this, such men were as the salt of the 
earth in a corrupt age ; and as we find*' throughout the 
more modern pages of history, great preachers de- 
nouncing wickedness in high places, — Bourdalouo and 
Massillon pouring their eloquence into the heedless 
ears of Louis XIV. and his courtiers — Sherlock and 
Tillotson declaiming from the pulpit in such stirring 
accents that “ even the indolent Charles roused him- 
self to listen, and the fastidious Buckingham forgot to 
sneer ” t — ^so, too, do we find these ‘‘monks of heathen- 
dom,” as the Stoics have been not unfairly called, 
protesting in their day against that selfish profligacy 
which was fast sapping all morality in the Koman 
empire. No doubt (as Mr Lecky takes care to tell us), 
their high principles were not always consistent with 
their practice (alas ! whose are 1) ; Cato may have ill- 
used his slaves, Sallust may have been rapacious, and 

* Paradise Eegained. t Macai^ay* 



THE STOICS. 


185 


Seneca wanting in personal courage. Yet it was surely 
something to have set up a noble ideal, though they 
might not attain to it themselves, and in “ that hideous 
carnival of vice ” to have kept themselves, so far as 
they might, unspotted from the world. Certain it is 
that no other ancient sect ever came so near the light 
of revelation. Passages from Seneca, from Epictetus, 
from Marcus Aurelius, sound even now like fragments 
of the inspired writings. The Unknown God, whom 
they ignorantly worshipped as the Soul or Reason of 
the World, is — in spite of Milton's strictures — the 
beginning and the end of their philosophy. Let us 
listen for a moment to their language. “ Prayer should 
be only for the ^ood.” ‘‘ Men should act according to 
the spirit, and not according to the letter of their 
faith.” ‘‘Wouldest thou propitiate the gods? Be 
good : he has worshipped them sufficiently who has 
imitated them.” It was from a Stoic poet, Aratus, 
that St Paul quoted the great truth which was the 
rational argument against idolatry — For we are also 
His offspring, and ” (so the original passage concludes) 
“we alone possess a voice, which is the image of 
reason.” It is in another poet of the same school that 
we find what are perhaps the noblest lines in all Latin 
poetry. Persius concludes his Satire on the common 
hypocrisy of those prayers and offerings to the gods 
which were but a service of the lips and hands, in 
words of which an English rendering may give the 
sense but not the beauty : — “ Nay, then, let us offer 
to the gods that which the de*baiiched sons of great 
Messala can never bring on their broad chargers, 



186 


CICERO'S PHILOSOPHY. 


soul wherein the laws of God and man are 
blended, — a heart pure to its inmost depths, — a 
breast ingrained with a noble sense of honour. 
Let me but bring these with me to the altar, and I 
care not though my offering be a handful of corn.’’ 
With these grand words, fit precursors of a purer 
creed to come, we may take our leave of the Stoics, 
remarking how thoroughly, even in their majestic 
egotism, they represented the moral force of the nation 
among whom they flourished ; a nation, says a modem 
preacher, “ whose legendary and historic heroes could 
thrust their hand into the flame, and see it consumed 
without a nerve shrinking ; or come from captivity on 
parole, advise their countrymen against a peace, and 
then go back to torture and certain (feath ; or devote 
themselves by solemn self-sacrifice like the Decii. 
The world must bow before such men; for, uncon- 
sciously, here was a form of the spirit of the Cross — 
self-surrender, unconquerable fidelity to duty, sacrifice 
for others.” * 

* F. W. Kobertson, Sermons, i. 218. 


Portions of three treatises by Cicero upon Political 
Philosophy have come down to us : — 1. ‘De Repuhlica*; a 
dialogue on Government, founded chiefly on the ‘Re- 
public ’ of Plato : 2. ‘ De Legibus ’ ; a discussion on Law 
in the abstract, and on national systems of legislation : 
3. ‘De Jure Civili’; of which last only a few fragments 
exist. His historical works have all perished.