The Tusculan questions

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Oass_HA.

Book_j 1_

THE

Book II. On Bearing Pain

NeoptoleaiuS; indeed, with Ennius, says it is necessary for him to philosophize, but in few points; for. as a whole, it likes him not. But I, my dear Brutus, think it necessary for me to philosophize; for, what can I. especially doing nothing, do better ? but not like him. in a few points. For. in philosophy, it is difficult even for a few things to be known to him who is not familiar with all. or the most of things. For neither can a few things be selected except out of many ; nor will he who masters a few not follow the rest with the same ardour. But. in a busy and military life, as that of Neoptolemus then was. even a few things are very beneficial, and produce fruits. if not so copious as may be gathered from universal philosophy, yet such as will enable us to free ourselves, in some measure, and at times, from 8 either sorrow, cupidity, or fear ; as there appeared to be effected, from that disputation held by me of late at the Tusculan, a great contempt of death ; which is no small step towards freeing the mind from fear. For a man that fears a thing not to be avoided at all, can by no means live in quiet of mind ; but he who, both because to die is necessary, and because death has nothing in it that should make it horrible, has no fear of it, is provided with a powerful aid in pursuit of happiness ; although we are not ignorant we are to encounter a host of earnest gainsayers ; which was unavoidable by any means, unless we wrote nothing at all. For, if orations, we purposely moulded for the minds of the multitude ; for that faculty is popu-^ lar ; and eloquence, to be effective, must have the approbation of the hearers ; yet, if they were fallen upon by some, who would praise nothing but what they trusted they could imitate, every one confining the bounds of good speaking to what he could hope from himself, and, when they were overwhelmed by a tide of sentences and words, said they preferred fasting and famine to exuberance and plenty, ignorant of the very origin of that attic style which they pretended to follow ; who are already silenced, scoffed at, almost, by the Forum itself; what are we to expect now, when we see the help of the people, aforetime so useful, can no longer be relied on at all ?

For philosophy is content with few judges, retiring of choice from the crowd, and is herself an object both of suspicion and hatred for the multitude ; so that, should any one incline to load her with invective in the mass, he might do it with the cheers of the people ; or, should he direct his attack upon that we especially cultivate, he might have large succours from the schools of dissenting philosophers. But the adversaries of universal philosophy we have answered in Hortensius ; and what was to be said for the Academy, has been advanced with sufficient diligence, we think, in the four Academical Books ; but still, so far are we from declining to be written against, that this is the very thing we most earnestly wish. For, in Greece herself, philosophy would never have risen to honours so great, unless she had flourished by the contentions and dissensions of the most learned men. Wherefore, I exhort all, who are able, to seize this kind of glory also, from Greece, now in her decline, and transfer it to our city, as our ancestors, by their spirit and industry, have all the rest, at least, that were worth seeking. Indeed, that of orators, from such humble beginnings, has already so reached its summit, that, according to the course of nature in almost every thing, it grows old, and seems likely, in a short time, to come to nothing. Let philosophy take birth, at least in Latin letters, from the present times ; and let us cherish her, allowing ourselves to be disputed and refuted : a thing which ruffles the minds of those who are addicted, as it were, and devoted to certain established opinions, and, by that necessity, are compelled to advocate, for the sake of consistency, even what in general they do not approve.

We, on the contrary, who seek probability, and can go no further than what has the appearance of truth, are prepared to refute without pertinacity, and be refuted without anger. Because, if these studies are translated to our literature, we shall not need even Greek libraries, where the multitude of books is infinite, from the multitude of writers ; for the same things are said by many; and thus they have deluged every thing with books. And the same will happen with us, should great numbers throng to these studies. But let us, if we can, encourage those who, with thorough education, philosophize upon principles of reason, and with method, not omitting the graces of an elegant style. For there is a certain race, who wish to be called philosophers, whose Latin books, indeed, are said to be numerous, which I have no con-* tempt for. really, because I never read them ; but, since their authors themselves profess to write without either order or method, ornament or elegance, I neglect a reading which affords me no delight. For what they of that discipline both say and think, no man of common information is ignorant. Wherefore, since they will give themselves no trouble as to their manner of expression, why they are to be read except among themselves, of similar sentiment, I do not understand. For, as Plato and the rest of the Socratic school, with their successors downward, are read by all, even by those who disapprove or faintly approve their opinions, while Epicurus and Metrodorus are in the hand of no one scarcely, besides their own sectaries ; so let those Latins be read only by those who relish their system. But it appears to us, that whatever is committed to letters ought to recommend itself to the perusal of all men of erudition ; and even if we ourselves are less competent to accomplish this, do we therefore think it the less to be accomplished. And therefore the custom of the Peripatetics and Academics, of discussing all questions in opposite parts, has always pleased me, not only because it is otherwise impossible to find what is the most probable in every point of inquiry, but also because it affords an 8* ample exercise for the talent of speaking. This method was first introduced by Aristotle, and has been retained by his followers. But, within recollection, Philo, whom we have heard frequently, instituted the custom of delivering at one time the precepts of rhetoricians, and of philosophers at another. Being induced by our friends to adopt this method at the Tusculan, we devoted to it what time we had to spend there. And thus, when we had given the morning to diction, as we had done the day before, we descended, in the afternoon, into the Academy. The disputation held there we shall exhibit, not in the way of narrative, but in much the same words in which it passed and was discoursed. While walking, then, it commenced after this manner, and was introduced by an exordium something like the following :

Auditor. It is impossible to express how I was delighted, or rather profited, by your dissertation of yesterday. For, though I am not conscious of ever having been over-fond of life, yet my mind, at times, would be struck with a certain fear and regret, when reflecting that a time must come for taking leave of this light, and parting with all that is pleasant in life. From this kind of trouble I am relieved, I assure you, so that I think nothing is less to be cared for.

Marcus, No wonder in the least at that ; for such is the effect of philosophy. She heals the mind ; banishes its vain solicitudes, delivers it from the chains of cupidity, expels its fearful apprehensions. But this her power is not the same over all ; but it has great sway, when it has embraced a suitable nature. For, not only fortune favours the brave, as the ancient proverb has it, but reason much more ; which, by certain precepts, confirms, as it were, the sinews of fortitude. Nature had moulded thee for something noble and exalted, and to look down upon the events of fortune ; and thus a discourse held against death is easily seated in a mind of strength. But, dost judge the same arguments to have availed with the men themselves, except a very few, by whom they were invented, argued, and elaborately written ? For, how rare to find a philosopher with such morals, with a mind and life so regulated, as reason requires — who deems his own doctrine, not a parade of science, but the rule of life — who yields obedience to himself, and deference to his own decrees ! Whereas, how common to see some so full of vanity and ostentation, that it had been better for them not to have been taught — some the votaries of money, some of glory — many the slaves of their passions, — so that their life is strangely" at war with their language ; which, to me, appears of all things the most disgraceful ! As, when a professed grammarian speaks uncouthly, or he that would be thought a musician sings absurdly, the disgrace is the greater, because he stumbles in the very science which he professes to know ; so the philosopher, failing in the practice of life, is the more disgraced, for transgressing those duties of which he would pass for the teacher, and, having professed the art of life, is himself a delinquent in life.

Auditor. Is it not to be feared, if this be as you say, that you adorn philosophy with a false glory? For, what more decisive argument that it profits nothing, than that certain perfect philosophers live disgracefully ?

Marcus. Indeed, that is no argument at all. For, as all fields which are cultivated are not fruitful, and that passage of Accius is false,

Although committed to a barren soil,

The grain still nourishes by its own nature,

so all minds which are cultured do not bear fruit. And — to dwell upon the same simile — as the field, however fertile, cannot be fruitful without culture, so with the mind, without learning. Thus, either of the two is abortive without the other. The culture of the mind is philosophy. This eradicates the vices, and prepares the mind for seeding, and implants it, and sows it, as it were, with such principles as, when come to maturity, yield the most exuberant fruits. Then, let us proceed as we began. Propose the topic, if you please, you would like to hear discussed.

Auditor. I look upon pain as the greatest of evils.

Marcus. Even greater than disgrace ?

Auditor. I dare not say that, in fact, and am ashamed to be thrust so quickly from the opinion.

Marcus. It were more to be ashamed of, did you persist in it ; for what is less worthy than for anything to appear worse to you than disgrace, turpitude, wickedness? which to escape, what pain is to be refused, or rather not to be welcomed, sought for, embraced ?

Auditor. Assuredly, I think so.

Marcus. Do you see, then, when briefly reminded, how much you have exhausted the terrour of pain ?

Auditor. I see plainly ; but I desire more.

Marcus. I will try, at least ; but the affair is great, and I shall require a mind that is not reluctant.

Auditor. That you shall certainly have; fop^ as I did yesterday, so now, I will follow reason, wherever she may lead me.

Marcus. In the first place, then, I will speak of the imbecility of some philosophers, and of their various systems, the chief of whom, as well for authority as antiquity, the Socratic Aristippus, hesitated not to pronounce pain the worst of evils. And then Epicurus lent himself, with docility enough, to this enervated and effeminate opinion. After him, Hieronymus of Rhodes admitted the absence of pain for the chief of goods, so great was the evil he saw in pain. The rest, except Zeno, Aristo, Pyrrho, about the same with yourself just now : an evil, indeed, but others worse. Thus, what nature herself, and a certain generosity of virtue, immediately spurned, so that you could not hold pain as the worst of evils, and, upon the opposition of disgrace, were driven from the opinion, -— in that opinion, philosophy, the mistress of life, is found to persist for so many ages, What duty, what praise, what glory, will be deemed worth purchase at the expense of pain, by the man who shall persuade himself that it is the worst of evils ? On the contrary, what shame 3 what infamy, will he shrink from, that he may avoid pain, who has decreed that there can be nothing worse? And who not miserable, not only in suffering the severest pains, if such be the worst of evils, but even in knowing they are possible to befall him ? and who is exempt, to whom they may not befall ? Thus, it follows, that no man in the world can ever be happy. Metrodorus, indeed, thinks a man perfectly happy, whose body is well constituted, with assurance it will always remain so.

But where is the man that can have this assurance ? But Epicurus makes assertions which appear to me calculated to raise a laugh ; for he affirms, somewhere, " If the wise man should be burned," — you think he is going to say, no doubt, he will bear it, he will endure it, he will not sink under it. Great praise, by Hercules, and worthy of that Hercules by whom I have sworn ; but for Epicurus, the stout, rough man, this is not enough. "If in the bull of Phalaris, he will say, How sweet it is ! how I despise it utterly!" Even sweet? Was it too little, if not bitter ? But, even philosophers, who deny the evil of pain, do not usually say it is sweet for a man to be tortured ; they say it is rough, difficult, odious, contrary to nature, yet not an evil. This man, who not only calls it evil, but the extreme of all evils, judges the wise man will say it is sweet ! I do not request thee to think pain entitled to such epithets as Epicurus, a voluptuary, as you know, bestows upon pleasure* Let him say the same thing, if he will, in the bull of Phalaris, as if he were in his comfortable bed. I do not ascribe to the wise man so much vigour against pain. Let him bear it with courage, is all that duty requires. That he should rejoice in it, is what I ask not ; for it is a sad thing, beyond doubt, rough, bitter, inimical to nature, difficult to be suffered and borne. Look at Philoctetes, whose groans are excusable ; for he had seen Hercules himself, on mount (Eta, shrieking from intensity of pain. Thus, the arrows he had received from Hercules, we find, were no consolation to this man, when,

Imbues the vital current of his veins,

And through his tortured frame fierce anguish thrills ;

and so exclaims, imploring aid, and desiring to die,

O, who will hurl me to the briny deep, From the high summit of yon beetling cliff? Now, now I perish ; life is ebbing fast, Through anguish of the wound, the ulcer's rage.

It appears difficult to say that a man is not suffering evil, who is forced to exclaim in this manner. But, we are about to see Hercules himself broken down by pain at the very time when, by his death ; he acquired immortality. What tones he utters, in the Trachinise of Sophocles ? who, when Dejanira had put him on a tunic dipped in the blood of the centaur, and it had clung to his flesh, says, —

O, much that 5 s hard to tell, and rough to bear, This battered frame has braved, this mind endured ! Yet not the dread of Juno's mortal hate, Nor Eurystheus stern, has wrought me mischief Aught so dire, as this one frantic woman, This daughter of QSneus, unawares, Entrapped me in a vest by furies spun ; Which to the flesh adhering, eats its way To the entrails \ steals from the lungs their breath, Drinks my discoloured blood; and, urging on, Consumes with horrible pest this crumbling form ; Caught in the meshes of a woven curse. Blows, which no hostile arm, no mountain bulk Of earth-born giants, no twofold impetus Of double centaur, have dealt this body : Not Grecian force, nor yet barbaric rage ; Not that fierce race, who people earth's last verge, Which, scouring through, I purged of monsters fell ) But female guilt; by woman's hand I die. O son, bear that name truly to thy sire, Nor aught of filial tenderness retain Towards a mother urging me to death. O drag her hither, seized with pious hands. 'Twixt her and me, now shall I see thee choose. Haste, dare, my son, espouse thy father's wrongs : 9

Oh pity me ! nations will weep our woes.

Alas ! that I should utter girlish cries,

Whom man ne'er saw at worst of ills to groan.

Courage, grown thus enervate, prostrate falls.

Come hither, son, O come, behold this corse ;

These wretched, shattered relics of thy father.

Let all behold : and thou, celestial sire,

Launch, I implore, on me the flashing force of thunder.

Now, now, the whirling pangs of pain torment :

Now the fit rages : O hands, victorious erst,

O breast, O back, O arms of sinewy force !

Crushed in your gripe, did not Nemsea's lion,

Gnashing, in groans breathe out his latest gasp?

The lake of Lerna this right hand appeased

The horrid victim slain upon its shores :

This felled Geryon's twofold giant form ;

This the desolating brute of Erymanth :

This from the darkling realms of Tartarus,

Drew forth the triple-headed whelp of Hydra :

And sealed those eyes that watched the golden fruit.

Many exploits besides this hand have graced ;

And man can boast no spoil from my renown.

Can we despise pain, when we see Hercules himself grieving so impatiently ? Let JEschylus appear, not a poet only, but a Pythagorean ; for so he is transmitted. With him, how do we find Prometheus bear the pain inflicted on account of the Lemnian theft, whence fire shines for mortals, clandestinely imparted ? The learned Prometheus having taken it by stealth, suffers the penalty imposed by the sovereign doom of Jove. Under the scourge of this punishment, then, fastened to Caucasus, he speaks thus :

Ye race of Titans, ye of kindred blood,

Offspring of Heaven, see me here impaled,

And fastened to these pointed rocks,

As fearful mariners secure their ship

At night, trembling at Neptune's angry roar.

Even thus, has Jove Saturnian fixed me here ;

The hand of Vulcan summoned to his aid.

He these bolts of fabric stern inserting,

My limbs has riven : wretch that I am ! transfixed

By ruthless skill, and doomed to make my home

Of this detested dungeon of the furies.

Where, too, on every other dismal day,

The bird of Jove, rending with hooked claws,

Then, with fat liver crammed, and satisfied,

Soaring aloft, he utters frightful cries,

And laps my blood from off his feathery tail.

When the gnawed liver springs, renewed in growth 5

Unfailing he returns to his fell feast.

Thus 1 this guardian of my torture feed,

Who wreaks on me alive an endless doom.

For, chained as you behold, and bound by Jove.

I have no power to chase the accursed bird

That preys upon my vitals : thus alone,

I suffer all that's doleful ; yet in vain

I look around for death to end my woes :

Doomed not to die by Jove's severe decree. This old, this new, this ever-growing plague, Forever to this body horrid clings ; Whence briny drops, forced by the solar blaze, Distilling, wear the stones of Caucasus.

It would seem scarce possible not to say of a man thus affected, that he is unhappy : and if this man is unhappy, pain is certainly an evil.

Auditor. As yet, at least, you have upheld my cause ; but this I shall see presently. Meanwhile., whence are those verses ? for they are new to me.

Marcus. I will tell you, as I live ; for you may well inquire. You know I abound in leisure.

Auditor. And what then ?

Marcus. When you were at Athens 3 no doubt you frequented the schools of the philosophers.

Auditor. It is true I did so ; and much to my satisfaction.

Marcus. Then you must have observed, though at that time there was no one who excelled much for eloquence, that, however, they sprinkled their discourse with verse.

Auditor. Nay, I remember we had a great many from Dionysius the stoic.

Marcus. You are perfectly right. But what he introduced resembled school exercises, with-} out selection, without elegance. Our friend Philo, not only used to select his poems with taste, but connected them with his subject, in place. Thus, since I began to acquire a fondness for this kind of declamation, suited to the decline of life, I use our own poets, I confess, with a partial preference. But where, at any time, they fail me, I have translated myself largely from the Greeks, that our Latin discourse might want no ornament in this kind of disputation. But do you see what mischief the poets have wrought? They introduce the bravest of men descending to lamentation : they soften our minds ; and then they are so fascinating, that they are not read only, but learned by heart. Thus, when to a bad education at home, and a life of indulgence and delicacy, the poets are added also, they cripple the sinews of all virtue. They were therefore excluded rightly by Plato, from that city he sketched, when in search of the most perfect manners and constitution for a republic. We, however, being taught by Greece, read these seductions from childhood, and learn them ; and repute this a liberal education and learning ! But why be angry with poets ? philosophers, masters of virtue, are found, who should say that pain is the chief of evils. But thou, a youth, who, having a little while since said it appeared so to thee, on being asked by me, 9* whether worse than disgrace, at the word didst drop the opinion.

Ask the same of Epicurus ; he will say, the evil of a moderate pain is greater than the extreme of disgrace ; for in disgrace itself there is no evil, unless it be followed by pains. Then what pain followed Epicurus, when he said this very thing, that pain is the w^orst of evils : than which disgrace, I expect none greater from a philosopher ? Wherefore you granted me enough ? when you acknowledged that disgrace appeared to you a greater evil than pain ; for, if you hold but to this, you will perceive how much to be resisted is pain. Nor is it so material to inquire whether pain is an evil or not, as how the mind is to be strengthened for the bearing of pain. The stoics twist up certain shadows of reasons, to prove it is not an evil ; as if all the evil lay in the word, and not in the thing. Why will you deceive me, Zeno ? for, when that which appears to me horrible, you assert is no evil at all, I am caught, and crave to know, in what manner the thing I deem the depth of misery, comes all at once to be not even an evil ? Nothing is evil, he says, but that which is base and vicious. You return to your trifling. I know that pain is not wickedness ; desist from teaching me that : now teach that pain, or no pain, is all one for me. It is always the same thing, he says, at least, to living happy ; — which is placed in virtue alone : but still, pain is to be rejected. Why ? It is rough, alien to nature, difficult to be borne, sad, hard. Here is profusion of words : what all men call by one word, evil, the same may be said in so many forms.

Instead of removing, you define my pain, when you say it is rough, hostile to nature, and scarce possible to be tolerated and borne. Neither do you say false ; but it had been more becoming not to sink under the thing, while vociferating that nothing is good but the honest, nothing evil but the base. This may be wishing : it certainly is not teaching. Both better and truer is this : — all things which nature spurns, are evils : all she calls for, goods. This being premised, and the verbal dispute determined, so much does that excel, which is rightly comprised under these phrases, what is honest, what is right, what is proper, — which we sometimes embrace in the name virtue, — that all things else reputed as the goods of the body and of fortune, appear very small and inconsiderable ; so that no evil at all, nor all evils assembled in one place, are to be compared with the evil of turpitude. Wherefore, if, as you admitted at first, turpitude is worse than pain, pain is absolutely nothing. For, while it shall appear to thee disgraceful, and unworthy of man, to groan, to shriek, to lament, to be crushed, to be disabled by pain, — then honesty, then dignity, then decorum, will stand before thee ; and when, beholding these, thou shalt restrain thyself, pain will certainly yield to virtue, and, at the presence of mind, will sink away : for, either there is no virtue, or all pain is to be despised. Will you allow there is such a thing as prudence, without which, no virtue can even be understood ? Then how is it ? will she authorize thee to do any thing without profit, but with much labour ? will temperance suffer thee to do aught without moderation ? could justice be worshipped by the man, who, through pain, will disclose counsels, betray friends, abandon the most sacred duties ? What ! how wilt thou answer fortitude, with her companions, greatness of soul, gravity, patience, a spirit superior to fortune? Broken down, prostrate, and deploring with lamentable voice, wilt thou hear, O the brave man ! I doubt, in such a plight, if any would even call thee a man. Then fortitude is to be lost, or pain is to be sepulchred. Do you know that if you should lose some of your Corinthian vases, you may have the rest of your furniture safe ; but, should you lose a single virtue, — although virtue cannot be lost, — but should you confess that you have not one particular virtue, that you will have none left ?

Then could you apply the epithets of brave man, or magnanimous, or patient, or grave, or the contemner of fortune, either to Prometheus, or to that Philoctetes ? for I prefer to avert the question from thee ; but, assuredly, he was not a brave man,

Who, stretched on the humid bed, resounding

With wailing, shrieks, laments, and bellowing groans,

Attuned his voice to all the notes of woe.

That pain is pain, I do not deny ; for why should fortitude be desired ? but I say it is kept under by patience : — if, at least, there be any patience. If there be no such thing, why do we extol philosophy? or why do we glory in her name ? Pain pricks ; nay, let it stab even ; if thou art naked, present thy throat. But if covered with Vulcanian armour, that is fortitude ; resist : for unless thou dost, this guardian of dignity will leave and forsake thee. Indeed, the laws of the Cretans, which, whether sanctioned by Jupiter, or Minos, had, as the poets tell us, at least the authority of Jove ; and equally those of Lycurgus, inured the youth to labours, by hunting, running, fasting, thirsting, enduring the extremes of heat and cold.

But at Sparta, the boys are received at the altar with such scourgings, as draw the blood freely from their flesh : sometimes, as I heard when I was there, even unto death. Not one of them ever uttered a cry, nay, not even a groan. Then what ? boys may do this, men could not ; and custom is powerful, reason impotent? There is some difference between labour and pain ; they are near borderers, certainly ; but still there is a partition between them. Labour is the execution of some considerable work, or performance, whether of body or mind ; but pain is a rough motion in the body, that shocks the senses. These two, those Greeks whose language is more copious than ours, call by one name ; and thus, with them, industrious men are studiers, or rather lovers of pain : but we more properly call them laborious ; for labour is one thing, and pain is another. O Greece ! how needy of words sometimes, who thinkest thyself to abound with them always. To suffer pain, I say, is one thing ; to labour, is another. When the varix was cut from Caius Marius, he had pain ; when he marched with his army in sultry weather, he laboured. There is, however, a certain resemblance between them ; for the habitual use of labours will facilitate the endurance of pains. Accordingly, the founders of