{"collection":"philosophy-ethics","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_2808/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_2808","id":"gutenberg_2808","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/2808","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Old Age & the Elderly","Category: Philosophy & Ethics","Classical Antiquity","Friendship","Harvard Classics","Old age"],"text":"Produced by David Reed\n\n\n\n\n\nTREATISES ON FRIENDSHIP AND OLD AGE\n\nBy Marcus Tullius Cicero\n\n\nTranslated by E. S. Shuckburgh\n\n\n\n\nINTRODUCTORY NOTE\n\nMARCUS TULLIUS CICERO, the greatest of Roman orators and the chief\nmaster of Latin prose style, was born at Arpinum, Jan. 3, 106 B.C.\nHis father, who was a man of property and belonged to the class of\nthe \"Knights,\" moved to Rome when Cicero was a child; and the future\nstatesman received an elaborate education in rhetoric, law, and\nphilosophy, studying and practising under some of the most noted\nteachers of the time. He began his career as an advocate at the age of\ntwenty-five, and almost immediately came to be recognized not only as a\nman of brilliant talents but also as a courageous upholder of justice in\nthe face of grave political danger. After two years of practice he left\nRome to travel in Greece and Asia, taking all the opportunities that\noffered to study his art under distinguished masters. He returned to\nRome greatly improved in health and in professional skill, and in 76\nB. C. was elected to the office of quaestor. He was assigned to the\nprovince of Lilybaeum in Sicily, and the vigor and justice of his\nadministration earned him the gratitude of the inhabitants. It was at\ntheir request that he undertook in 70 B. C. the Prosecution of Verres,\nwho as Praetor had subjected the Sicilians to incredible extortion and\noppression; and his successful conduct of this case, which ended in the\nconviction and banishment of Verres, may be said to have launched him\non his political career. He became aedile in the same year, in 67 B.C.\npraetor, and in 64 B. C. was elected consul by a large majority. The\nmost important event of the year of his consulship was the conspiracy of\nCatiline. This notorious criminal of patrician rank had conspired with\na number of others, many of them young men of high birth but dissipated\ncharacter, to seize the chief offices of the state, and to extricate\nthemselves from the pecuniary and other difficulties that had resulted\nfrom their excesses, by the wholesale plunder of the city. The plot was\nunmasked by the vigilance of Cicero, five of the traitors were summarily\nexecuted, and in the overthrow of the army that had been gathered in\ntheir support Catiline himself perished. Cicero regarded himself as the\nsavior of his country, and his country for the moment seemed to give\ngrateful assent.\n\nBut reverses were at hand. During the existence of the political\ncombination of Pompey, Caesar, and Crassus, known as the first\ntriumvirate, P. Clodius, an enemy of Cicero's, proposed a law banishing\n\"any one who had put Roman citizens to death without trial.\" This was\naimed at Cicero on account of his share in the Catiline affair, and in\nMarch, 58 B. C., he left Rome. The same day a law was passed by which\nhe was banished by name, and his property was plundered and destroyed,\na temple to Liberty being erected on the site of his house in the city.\nDuring his exile Cicero's manliness to some extent deserted him. He\ndrifted from place to place, seeking the protection of officials against\nassassination, writing letters urging his supporters to agitate for\nhis recall, sometimes accusing them of lukewarmness and even treachery,\nbemoaning the ingratitude of his country or regretting the course\nof action that had led to his outlawry, and suffering from extreme\ndepression over his separation from his wife and children and the wreck\nof his political ambitions. Finally in August, 57 B. C., the decree\nfor his restoration was passed, and he returned to Rome the next month,\nbeing received with immense popular enthusiasm. During the next few\nyears the renewal of the understanding among the triumvirs shut Cicero\nout from any leading part in politics, and he resumed his activity in\nthe law-courts, his most important case being, perhaps, the defence of\nMilo for the murder of Clodius, Cicero's most troublesome enemy. This\noration, in the revised form in which it has come down to us, is ranked\nas among the finest specimens of the art of the orator, though in its\noriginal form it failed to secure Milo's acquittal. Meantime, Cicero was\nalso devoting much time to literary composition, and his letters show\ngreat dejection over the political situation, and a somewhat wavering\nattitude towards the various parties in the state. In 55 B. C. he went\nto Cilicia in Asia Minor as proconsul, an office which he administered\nwith efficiency and integrity in civil affairs and with success in\nmilitary. He returned to Italy in the end of the following year, and he\nwas publicly thanked by the senate for his services, but disappointed in\nhis hopes for a triumph. The war for supremacy between Caesar and Pompey\nwhich had for some time been gradually growing more certain, broke out\nin 49 B.C., when Caesar led his army across the Rubicon, and Cicero\nafter much irresolution threw in his lot with Pompey, who was overthrown\nthe next year in the battle of Pharsalus and later murdered in Egypt.\nCicero returned to Italy, where Caesar treated him magnanimously,\nand for some time he devoted himself to philosophical and rhetorical\nwriting. In 46 B.C. he divorced his wife Terentia, to whom he had been\nmarried for thirty years and married the young and wealthy Publilia in\norder to relieve himself from financial difficulties; but her also\nhe shortly divorced. Caesar, who had now become supreme in Rome, was\nassassinated in 44 B.C., and though Cicero was not a sharer in the\nconspiracy, he seems to have approved the deed. In the confusion which\nfollowed he supported the cause of the conspirators against Antony;\nand when finally the triumvirate of Antony, Octavius, and Lepidus was\nestablished, Cicero was included among the proscribed, and on December\n7, 43 B.C., he was killed by agents of Antony. His head and hand were\ncut off and exhibited at Rome.\n\nThe most important orations of the last months of his life were the\nfourteen \"Philippics\" delivered against Antony, and the price of this\nenmity he paid with his life.\n\nTo his contemporaries Cicero was primarily the great forensic and\npolitical orator of his time, and the fifty-eight speeches which have\ncome down to us bear testimony to the skill, wit, eloquence, and passion\nwhich gave him his pre-eminence. But these speeches of necessity deal\nwith the minute details of the occasions which called them forth, and\nso require for their appreciation a full knowledge of the history,\npolitical and personal, of the time. The letters, on the other hand,\nare less elaborate both in style and in the handling of current events,\nwhile they serve to reveal his personality, and to throw light upon\nRoman life in the last days of the Republic in an extremely vivid\nfashion. Cicero as a man, in spite of his self-importance, the\nvacillation of his political conduct in desperate crises, and the\nwhining despondency of his times of adversity, stands out as at bottom\na patriotic Roman of substantial honesty, who gave his life to check the\ninevitable fall of the commonwealth to which he was devoted. The evils\nwhich were undermining the Republic bear so many striking resemblances\nto those which threaten the civic and national life of America to-day\nthat the interest of the period is by no means merely historical.\n\nAs a philosopher, Cicero's most important function was to make his\ncountrymen familiar with the main schools of Greek thought. Much of\nthis writing is thus of secondary interest to us in comparison with his\noriginals, but in the fields of religious theory and of the application\nof philosophy to life he made important first-hand contributions. From\nthese works have been selected the two treatises, on Old Age and on\nFriendship, which have proved of most permanent and widespread interest\nto posterity, and which give a clear impression of the way in which\na high-minded Roman thought about some of the main problems of human\nlife.\n\n\n\n\nON FRIENDSHIP\n\n\nTHE augur Quintus Mucius Scaevola used to recount a number of stories\nabout his father-in-law Galus Laelius, accurately remembered and\ncharmingly told; and whenever he talked about him always gave him the\ntitle of \"the wise\" without any hesitation. I had been introduced by my\nfather to Scaevola as soon as I had assumed the _toga virilis_, and I\ntook advantage of the introduction never to quit the venerable man's\nside as long as I was able to stay and he was spared to us. The\nconsequence was that I committed to memory many disquisitions of his,\nas well as many short pointed apophthegms, and, in short, took as much\nadvantage of his wisdom as I could. When he died, I attached myself\nto Scaevola the Pontifex, whom I may venture to call quite the most\ndistinguished of our countrymen for ability and uprightness. But of this\nlatter I shall take other occasions to speak. To return to Scaevola the\naugur. Among many other occasions I particularly remember one. He was\nsitting on a semicircular garden-bench, as was his custom, when I and\na very few intimate friends were there, and he chanced to turn the\nconversation upon a subject which about that time was in many people's\nmouths. You must remember, Atticus, for you were very intimate\nwith Publius Sulpicius, what expressions of astonishment, or even\nindignation, were called forth by his mortal quarrel, as tribune, with\nthe consul Quintus Pompeius, with whom he had formerly lived on terms of\nthe closest intimacy and affection. Well, on this occasion, happening\nto mention this particular circumstance, Scaevola detailed to us a\ndiscourse of Laelius on friendship delivered to himself and Laelius's\nother son-in-law Galus Fannius, son of Marcus Fannius, a few days after\nthe death of Africanus. The points of that discussion I committed to\nmemory, and have arranged them in this book at my own discretion. For\nI have brought the speakers, as it were, personally on to my stage to\nprevent the constant \"said I\" and \"said he\" of a narrative, and to give\nthe discourse the air of being orally delivered in our hearing.\n\nYou have often urged me to write something on Friendship, and I\nquite acknowledged that the subject seemed one worth everybody's\ninvestigation, and specially suited to the close intimacy that has\nexisted between you and me. Accordingly I was quite ready to benefit the\npublic at your request.\n\nAs to the _dramatis personae_. In the treatise on Old Age, which I\ndedicated to you, I introduced Cato as chief speaker. No one, I thought,\ncould with greater propriety speak on old age than one who had been an\nold man longer than any one else, and had been exceptionally vigorous\nin his old age. Similarly, having learnt from tradition that of all\nfriendships that between Gaius Laelius and Publius Scipio was the most\nremarkable, I thought Laelius was just the person to support the chief\npart in a discussion on friendship which Scaevola remembered him to have\nactually taken. Moreover, a discussion of this sort gains somehow in\nweight from the authority of men of ancient days, especially if they\nhappen to have been distinguished. So it comes about that in reading\nover what I have myself written I have a feeling at times that it is\nactually Cato that is speaking, not I.\n\nFinally, as I sent the former essay to you as a gift from one old man to\nanother, so I have dedicated this _On Friendship_ as a most affectionate\nfriend to his friend. In the former Cato spoke, who was the oldest and\nwisest man of his day; in this Laelius speaks on friendship--Laelius,\nwho was at once a wise man (that was the title given him) and eminent\nfor his famous friendship. Please forget me for a while; imagine Laelius\nto be speaking.\n\nGaius Fannius and Quintus Mucius come to call on their father-in-law\nafter the death of Africanus. They start the subject; Laelius answers\nthem. And the whole essay on friendship is his. In reading it you will\nrecognise a picture of yourself.\n\n2. _Fannius_. You are quite right, Laelius! there never was a better or\nmore illustrious character than Africanus. But you should consider that\nat the present moment all eyes are on you. Everybody calls you \"the\nwise\" _par excellence_, and thinks you so. The same mark of respect was\nlately paid Cato, and we know that in the last generation Lucius Atilius\nwas called \"the wise.\" But in both cases the word was applied with\na certain difference. Atilius was so called from his reputation as a\njurist; Cato got the name as a kind of honorary title and in extreme old\nage because of his varied experience of affairs, and his reputation\nfor foresight and firmness, and the sagacity of the opinions which he\ndelivered in senate and forum. You, however, are regarded as wise in\na somewhat different sense not alone on account of natural ability and\ncharacter, but also from your industry and learning; and not in the\nsense in which the vulgar, but that in which scholars, give that title.\nIn this sense we do not read of any one being called wise in Greece\nexcept one man at Athens; and he, to be sure, had been declared by the\noracle of Apollo also to be \"the supremely wise man.\" For those who\ncommonly go by the name of the Seven Sages are not admitted into the\ncategory of the wise by fastidious critics. Your wisdom people believe\nto consist in this, that you look upon yourself as self-sufficing and\nregard the changes and chances of mortal life as powerless to affect\nyour virtue. Accordingly they are always asking me, and doubtless also\nour Scaevola here, how you bear the death of Africanus. This curiosity\nhas been the more excited from the fact that on the Nones of this month,\nwhen we augurs met as usual in the suburban villa of Decimus Brutus for\nconsultation, you were not present, though it had always been your\nhabit to keep that appointment and perform that duty with the utmost\npunctuality.\n\n_Scaevola_. Yes, indeed, Laelius, I am often asked the question\nmentioned by Fannius. But I answer in accordance with what I have\nobserved: I say that you bear in a reasonable manner the grief which\nyou have sustained in the death of one who was at once a man of the most\nillustrious character and a very dear friend. That of course you could\nnot but be affected--anything else would have been wholly unnatural in a\nman of your gentle nature--but that the cause of your non-attendance at\nour college meeting was illness, not melancholy.\n\n_Laelius_. Thanks, Scaevola! You are quite right; you spoke the exact\ntruth. For in fact I had no right to allow myself to be withdrawn from\na duty which I had regularly performed, as long as I was well, by any\npersonal misfortune; nor do I think that anything that can happen will\ncause a man of principle to intermit a duty. As for your telling me,\nFannius, of the honourable appellation given me (an appellation to\nwhich I do not recognise my title, and to which I make no claim), you\ndoubtless act from feelings of affection; but I must say that you seem\nto me to do less than justice to Cato. If any one was ever \"wise,\"--of\nwhich I have my doubts,--he was. Putting aside everything else, consider\nhow he bore his son's death! I had not forgotten Paulus; I had seen with\nmy own eyes Gallus. But they lost their sons when mere children; Cato\nhis when he was a full-grown man with an assured reputation. Do not\ntherefore be in a hurry to reckon as Cato's superior even that same\nfamous personage whom Apollo, as you say, declared to be \"the wisest.\"\nRemember the former's reputation rests on deeds, the latter's on words.\n\n3. Now, as far as I am concerned (I speak to both of you now), believe\nme the case stands thus. If I were to say that I am not affected by\nregret for Scipio, I must leave the philosophers to justify my conduct,\nbut in point of fact I should be telling a lie. Affected of course I am\nby the loss of a friend as I think there will never be again, such as\nI can fearlessly say there never was before. But I stand in no need of\nmedicine. I can find my own consolation, and it consists chiefly in my\nbeing free from the mistaken notion which generally causes pain at the\ndeparture of friends. To Scipio I am convinced no evil has befallen: mine\nis the disaster, if disaster there be; and to be severely distressed at\none's own misfortunes does not show that you love your friend, but that\nyou love yourself.\n\nAs for him, who can say that all is not more than well? For, unless he\nhad taken the fancy to wish for immortality, the last thing of which he\never thought, what is there for which mortal man may wish that he did\nnot attain? In his early manhood he more than justified by extraordinary\npersonal courage the hopes which his fellow-citizens had conceived of\nhim as a child. He never was a candidate for the consulship, yet was\nelected consul twice: the first time before the legal age; the second at\na time which, as far as he was concerned, was soon enough, but was near\nbeing too late for the interests of the State. By the overthrow of two\ncities which were the most bitter enemies of our Empire, he put an end\nnot only to the wars then raging, but also to the possibility of others\nin the future. What need to mention the exquisite grace of his manners,\nhis dutiful devotion to his mother, his generosity to his sisters, his\nliberality to his relations, the integrity of his conduct to every\none? You know all this already. Finally, the estimation in which his\nfellow-citizens held him has been shown by the signs of mourning which\naccompanied his obsequies. What could such a man have gained by the\naddition of a few years? Though age need not be a burden,--as I remember\nCato arguing in the presence of myself and Scipio two years before he\ndied,--yet it cannot but take away the vigour and freshness which Scipio\nwas still enjoying. We may conclude therefore that his life, from the\ngood fortune which had attended him and the glory he had obtained, was\nso circumstanced that it could not be bettered, while the suddenness\nof his death saved him the sensation of dying. As to the manner of his\ndeath it is difficult to speak; you see what people suspect. Thus much,\nhowever, I may say: Scipio in his lifetime saw many days of supreme\ntriumph and exultation, but none more magnificent than his last, on\nwhich, upon the rising of the Senate, he was escorted by the senators\nand the people of Rome, by the allies, and by the Latins, to his own\ndoor. From such an elevation of popular esteem the next step seems\nnaturally to be an ascent to the gods above, rather than a descent to\nHades.\n\n4. For I am not one of these modern philosophers who maintain that our\nsouls perish with our bodies, and that death ends all. With me ancient\nopinion has more weight: whether it be that of our own ancestors, who\nattributed such solemn observances to the dead, as they plainly would\nnot have done if they had believed them to be wholly annihilated; or\nthat of the philosophers who once visited this country, and who by their\nmaxims and doctrines educated Magna Graecia, which at that time was in a\nflourishing condition, though it has now been ruined; or that of the man\nwho was declared by Apollo's oracle to be \"most wise,\" and who used to\nteach without the variation which is to be found in most philosophers\nthat \"the souls of men are divine, and that when they have quitted the\nbody a return to heaven is open to them, least difficult to those who\nhave been most virtuous and just.\" This opinion was shared by Scipio.\nOnly a few days before his death--as though he had a presentiment\nof what was coming--he discoursed for three days on the state of the\nrepublic. The company consisted of Philus and Manlius and several\nothers, and I had brought you, Scaevola, along with me. The last part of\nhis discourse referred principally to the immortality of the soul; for\nhe told us what he had heard from the elder Africanus in a dream. Now if\nit be true that in proportion to a man's goodness the escape from what\nmay be called the prison and bonds of the flesh is easiest, whom can\nwe imagine to have had an easier voyage to the gods than Scipio? I am\ndisposed to think, therefore, that in his case mourning would be a sign\nof envy rather than of friendship. If, however, the truth rather is that\nthe body and soul perish together, and that no sensation remains, then\nthough there is nothing good in death, at least there is nothing bad.\nRemove sensation, and a man is exactly as though he had never been born;\nand yet that this man was born is a joy to me, and will be a subject of\nrejoicing to this State to its last hour.\n\nWherefore, as I said before, all is as well as possible with him. Not so\nwith me; for as I entered life before him, it would have been fairer\nfor me to leave it also before him. Yet such is the pleasure I take\nin recalling our friendship, that I look upon my life as having been a\nhappy one because I have spent it with Scipio. With him I was associated\nin public and private business; with him I lived in Rome and served\nabroad; and between us there was the most complete harmony in our\ntastes, our pursuits, and our sentiments, which is the true secret of\nfriendship. It is not therefore in that reputation for wisdom mentioned\njust now by Fannius--especially as it happens to be groundless--that\nI find my happiness so much, as in the hope that the memory of our\nfriendship will be lasting. What makes me care the more about this is\nthe fact that in all history there are scarcely three or four pairs of\nfriends on record; and it is classed with them that I cherish a hope of\nthe friendship of Scipio and Laelius being known to posterity.\n\n_Fannius_. Of course that must be so, Laelius. But since you have\nmentioned the word friendship, and we are at leisure, you would be doing\nme a great kindness, and I expect Scaevola also, if you would do as it\nis your habit to do when asked questions on other subjects, and tell\nus your sentiments about friendship, its nature, and the rules to be\nobserved in regard to it.\n\n_Scaevola_. I shall of course be delighted. Fannius has anticipated the\nvery request I was about to make. So you will be doing us both a great\nfavour.\n\n5. _Laelius_. I should certainly have no objection if I felt confidence\nin myself. For the theme is a noble one, and we are (as Fannius has\nsaid) at leisure. But who am I? and what ability have I? What you\npropose is all very well for professional philosophers, who are used,\nparticularly if Greeks, to have the subject for discussion proposed to\nthem on the spur of the moment. It is a task of considerable difficulty,\nand requires no little practice. Therefore for a set discourse on\nfriendship you must go, I think, to professional lecturers. All I can\ndo is to urge on you to regard friendship as the greatest thing in the\nworld; for there is nothing which so fits in with our nature, or is so\nexactly what we want in prosperity or adversity.\n\nBut I must at the very beginning lay down this principle--_friendship\ncan only exist between good men_. I do not, however, press this\ntoo closely, like the philosophers who push their definitions to a\nsuperfluous accuracy. They have truth on their side, perhaps, but it is\nof no practical advantage. Those, I mean, who say that no one but the\n\"wise\" is \"good.\" Granted, by all means. But the \"wisdom\" they mean is\none to which no mortal ever yet attained. We must concern ourselves\nwith the facts of everyday life as we find it--not imaginary and\nideal perfections. Even Gaius Fannius, Manius Curius, and Tiberius\nCoruncanius, whom our ancestors decided to be \"wise,\" I could never\ndeclare to be so according to their standard. Let them, then, keep\nthis word \"wisdom\" to themselves. Everybody is irritated by it; no one\nunderstands what it means. Let them but grant that the men I mentioned\nwere \"good.\" No, they won't do that either. No one but the \"wise\" can be\nallowed that title, say they. Well, then, let us dismiss them and manage\nas best we may with our own poor mother wit, as the phrase is.\n\nWe mean then by the \"good\" _those whose actions and lives leave no\nquestion as to their honour, purity, equity, and liberality; who are\nfree from greed, lust, and violence; and who have the courage of their\nconvictions_. The men I have just named may serve as examples. Such men\nas these being generally accounted \"good,\" let us agree to call them so,\non the ground that to the best of human ability they follow nature as\nthe most perfect guide to a good life.\n\nNow this truth seems clear to me, that nature has so formed us that\na certain tie unites us all, but that this tie becomes stronger from\nproximity. So it is that fellow-citizens are preferred in our affections\nto foreigners, relations to strangers; for in their case Nature herself\nhas caused a kind of friendship to exist, though it is one which lacks\nsome of the elements of permanence. Friendship excels relationship in\nthis, that whereas you may eliminate affection from relationship, you\ncannot do so from friendship. Without it relationship still exists in\nname, friendship does not. You may best understand this friendship by\nconsidering that, whereas the merely natural ties uniting the human race\nare indefinite, this one is so concentrated, and confined to so narrow a\nsphere, that affection is ever shared by two persons only or at most by\na few.\n\n6. Now friendship may be thus defined: a complete accord on all subjects\nhuman and divine, joined with mutual goodwill and affection. And with\nthe exception of wisdom, I am inclined to think nothing better than this\nhas been given to man by the immortal gods. There are people who give\nthe palm to riches or to good health, or to power and office, many even\nto sensual pleasures. This last is the ideal of brute beasts; and of the\nothers we may say that they are frail and uncertain, and depend less on\nour own prudence than on the caprice of fortune. Then there are those\nwho find the \"chief good\" in virtue. Well, that is a noble doctrine. But\nthe very virtue they talk of is the parent and preserver of friendship,\nand without it friendship cannot possibly exist.\n\nLet us, I repeat, use the word virtue in the ordinary acceptation and\nmeaning of the term, and do not let us define it in high-flown language.\nLet us account as good the persons usually considered so, such as\nPaulus, Cato, Gallus, Scipio, and Philus. Such men as these are good\nenough for everyday life; and we need not trouble ourselves about those\nideal characters which are nowhere to be met with.\n\nWell, between men like these the advantages of friendship are almost\nmore than I can say. To begin with, how can life be worth living, to use\nthe words of Ennius, which lacks that repose which is to be found in the\nmutual good-will of a friend? What can be more delightful than to\nhave some one to whom you can say everything with the same absolute\nconfidence as to yourself? Is not prosperity robbed of half its value if\nyou have no one to share your joy? On the other hand, misfortunes\nwould be hard to bear if there were not some one to feel them even more\nacutely than yourself. In a word, other objects of ambition serve for\nparticular ends--riches for use, power for securing homage, office for\nreputation, pleasure for enjoyment, health for freedom from pain and\nthe full use of the functions of the body. But friendship embraces\ninnumerable advantages. Turn which way you please, you will find it at\nhand. It is everywhere; and yet never out of place, never unwelcome.\nFire and water themselves, to use a common expression, are not of more\nuniversal use than friendship. I am not now speaking of the common\nor modified form of it, though even that is a source of pleasure and\nprofit, but of that true and complete friendship which existed\nbetween the select few who are known to fame. Such friendship enhances\nprosperity, and relieves adversity of its burden by halving and sharing\nit.\n\n7. And great and numerous as are the blessings of friendship, this\ncertainly is the sovereign one, that it gives us bright hopes for the\nfuture and forbids weakness and despair. In the face of a true friend a\nman sees as it were a second self. So that where his friend is he is;\nif his friend be rich, he is not poor; though he be weak, his friend's\nstrength is his; and in his friend's life he enjoys a second life\nafter his own is finished. This last is perhaps the most difficult to\nconceive. But such is the effect of the respect, the loving remembrance,\nand the regret of friends which follow us to the grave. While they take\nthe sting out of death, they add a glory to the life of the survivors.\nNay, if you eliminate from nature the tie of affection, there will be an\nend of house and city, nor will so much as the cultivation of the soil\nbe left. If you don't see the virtue of friendship and harmony, you may\nlearn it by observing the effects of quarrels and feuds. Was any family\never so well established, any State so firmly settled, as to be beyond\nthe reach of utter destruction from animosities and factions? This may\nteach you the immense advantage of friendship.\n\nThey say that a certain philosopher of Agrigentum, in a Greek poem,\npronounced with the authority of an oracle the doctrine that whatever in\nnature and the universe was unchangeable was so in virtue of the binding\nforce of friendship; whatever was changeable was so by the solvent power\nof discord. And indeed this is a truth which everybody understands and\npractically attests by experience. For if any marked instance of loyal\nfriendship in confronting or sharing danger comes to light, every one\napplauds it to the echo. What cheers there were, for instance, all\nover the theatre at a passage in the new play of my friend and guest\nPacuvius; where the king, not knowing which of the two was Orestes,\nPylades declared himself to be Orestes, that he might die in his stead,\nwhile the real Orestes kept on asserting that it was he. The audience\nrose _en masse_ and clapped their hands. And this was at an incident in\nfiction: what would they have done, must we suppose, if it had been in\nreal life? You can easily see what a natural feeling it is, when men\nwho would not have had the resolution to act thus themselves, shewed how\nright they thought it in another.\n\nI don't think I have any more to say about friendship. If there is any\nmore, and I have no doubt there is much, you must, if you care to do so,\nconsult those who profess to discuss such matters.\n\n_Fannius_. We would rather apply to you. Yet I have often consulted\nsuch persons, and have heard what they had to say with a certain\nsatisfaction. But in your discourse one somehow feels that there is a\ndifferent strain.\n\n_Scaevola_. You would have said that still more, Fannius, if you had\nbeen present the other day in Scipio's pleasure-grounds when we had\nthe discussion about the State. How splendidly he stood up for justice\nagainst Philus's elaborate speech.\n\n_Fannius_. Ah! it was naturally easy for the justest of men to stand up\nfor justice.\n\n_Scaevola_. Well, then, what about friendship? Who could discourse on\nit more easily than the man whose chief glory is a friendship maintained\nwith the most absolute fidelity, constancy, and integrity?\n\n8. _Laclius_. Now you are really using force. It makes no difference\nwhat kind of force you use: force it is. For it is neither easy nor\nright to refuse a wish of my sons-in-law, particularly when the wish is\na creditable one in itself.\n\nWell, then, it has very often occurred to me when thinking about\nfriendship, that the chief point to be considered was this: is it\nweakness and want of means that make friendship desired? I mean, is its\nobject an interchange of good offices, so that each may give that in\nwhich he is strong, and receive that in which he is weak? Or is it not\nrather true that, although this is an advantage naturally belonging to\nfriendship, yet its original cause is quite other, prior in time, more\nnoble in character, and springing more directly from our nature itself?\nThe Latin word for friendship--_amicitia_--is derived from that for\nlove--_amor_; and love is certainly the prime mover in contracting\nmutual affection. For as to material advantages, it often happens\nthat those are obtained even by men who are courted by a mere show\nof friendship and treated with respect from interested motives. But\nfriendship by its nature admits of no feigning, no pretence: as far\nas it goes it is both genuine and spontaneous. Therefore I gather that\nfriendship springs from a natural impulse rather than a wish for help:\nfrom an inclination of the heart, combined with a certain instinctive\nfeeling of love, rather than from a deliberate calculation of the\nmaterial advantage it was likely to confer. The strength of this\nfeeling you may notice in certain animals. They show such love to their\noffspring for a certain period, and are so beloved by them, that they\nclearly have a share in this natural, instinctive affection. But of\ncourse it is more evident in the case of man: first, in the natural\naffection between children and their parents, an affection which only\nshocking wickedness can sunder; and next, when the passion of love has\nattained to a like strength--on our finding, that is, some one person\nwith whose character and nature we are in full sympathy, because we\nthink that we perceive in him what I may call the beacon-light of\nvirtue. For nothing inspires love, nothing conciliates affection, like\nvirtue. Why, in a certain sense we may be said to feel affection even\nfor men we have never seen, owing to their honesty and virtue. Who, for\ninstance, fails to dwell on the memory of Gaius Fabricius and Manius\nCurius with some affection and warmth of feeling, though he has never\nseen them? Or who but loathes Tarquinius Superbus, Spurius Cassius,\nSpurius Maelius? We have fought for empire in Italy with two great\ngenerals, Pyrrhus and Hannibal. For the former, owing to his probity, we\nentertain no great feelings of enmity: the latter, owing to his cruelty,\nour country has detested and always will detest.\n\n9. Now, if the attraction of probity is so great that we can love it not\nonly in those whom we have never seen, but, what is more, actually in an\nenemy, we need not be surprised if men's affections are roused when they\nfancy that they have seen virtue and goodness in those with whom a close\nintimacy is possible. I do not deny that affection is strengthened by\nthe actual receipt of benefits, as well as by the perception of a wish\nto render service, combined with a closer intercourse. When these are\nadded to the original impulse of the heart, to which I have alluded,\na quite surprising warmth of feeling springs up. And if any one thinks\nthat this comes from a sense of weakness, that each may have some one\nto help him to his particular need, all I can say is that, when he\nmaintains it to be born of want and poverty, he allows to friendship an\norigin very base, and a pedigree, if I may be allowed the expression,\nfar from noble. If this had been the case, a man's inclination to\nfriendship would be exactly in proportion to his low opinion of his own\nresources. Whereas the truth is quite the other way. For when a man's\nconfidence in himself is greatest, when he is so fortified by virtue and\nwisdom as to want nothing and to feel absolutely self-dependent, it\nis then that he is most conspicuous for seeking out and keeping up\nfriendships. Did Africanus, for example, want anything of me? Not\nthe least in the world! Neither did I of him. In my case it was\nan admiration of his virtue, in his an opinion, may be, which he\nentertained of my character, that caused our affection. Closer intimacy\nadded to the warmth of our feelings. But though many great material\nadvantages did ensue, they were not the source from which our affection\nproceeded. For as we are not beneficent and liberal with any view\nof extorting gratitude, and do not regard an act of kindness as an\ninvestment, but follow a natural inclination to liberality; so we look\non friendship as worth trying for, not because we are attracted to it by\nthe expectation of ulterior gain, but in the conviction that what it has\nto give us is from first to last included in the feeling itself.\n\nFar different is the view of those who, like brute beasts, refer\neverything to sensual pleasure. And no wonder. Men who have degraded\nall their powers of thought to an object so mean and contemptible can of\ncourse raise their eyes to nothing lofty, to nothing grand and divine.\nSuch persons indeed let us leave out of the present question. And let\nus accept the doctrine that the sensation of love and the warmth of\ninclination have their origin in a spontaneous feeling which arises\ndirectly the presence of probity is indicated. When once men have\nconceived the inclination, they of course try to attach themselves to\nthe object of it, and move themselves nearer and nearer to him. Their\naim is that they may be on the same footing and the same level in regard\nto affection, and be more inclined to do a good service than to ask a\nreturn, and that there should be this noble rivalry between them.\nThus both truths will be established. We shall get the most important\nmaterial advantages from friendship; and its origin from a natural\nimpulse rather than from a sense of need will be at once more dignified\nand more in accordance with fact. For if it were true that its material\nadvantages cemented friendship, it would be equally true that any change\nin them would dissolve it. But nature being incapable of change, it\nfollows that genuine friendships are eternal.\n\nSo much for the origin of friendship. But perhaps you would not care to\nhear any more.\n\n_Fannius_. Nay, pray go on; let us have the rest, Laelius. I take on\nmyself to speak for my friend here as his senior.\n\n_Scaevola_. Quite right! Therefore, pray let us hear.\n\n10. _Loelius_. Well, then, my good friends, listen to some conversations\nabout friendship which very frequently passed between Scipio and myself.\nI must begin by telling you, however, that he used to say that the most\ndifficult thing in the world was for a friendship to remain unimpaired\nto the end of life. So many things might intervene: conflicting\ninterests; differences of opinion in politics; frequent changes in\ncharacter, owing sometimes to misfortunes, sometimes to advancing years.\nHe used to illustrate these facts from the analogy of boyhood, since\nthe warmest affections between boys are often laid aside with the boyish\ntoga; and even if they did manage to keep them up to adolescence, they\nwere sometimes broken by a rivalry in courtship, or for some other\nadvantage to which their mutual claims were not compatible. Even if the\nfriendship was prolonged beyond that time, yet it frequently received a\nrude shock should the two happen to be competitors for office. For while\nthe most fatal blow to friendship in the majority of cases was the lust\nof gold, in the case of the best men it was a rivalry for office and\nreputation, by which it had often happened that the most violent enmity\nhad arisen between the closest friends.\n\nAgain, wide breaches and, for the most part, justifiable ones were\ncaused by an immoral request being made of friends, to pander to a man's\nunholy desires or to assist him in inflicting a wrong. A refusal, though\nperfectly right, is attacked by those to whom they refuse compliance\nas a violation of the laws of friendship. Now the people who have no\nscruples as to the requests they make to their friends, thereby allow\nthat they are ready to have no scruples as to what they will do for\ntheir friends; and it is the recriminations of such people which\ncommonly not only quench friendships, but give rise to lasting enmities.\n\"In fact,\" he used to say, \"these fatalities overhang friendship in such\nnumbers that it requires not only wisdom but good luck also to escape\nthem all.\"\n\n11. With these premises, then, let us first, if you please, examine\nthe question--how far ought personal feeling to go in friendship? For\ninstance: suppose Coriolanus to have had friends, ought they to have\njoined him in invading his country? Again, in the case of Vecellinus\nor Spurius Maelius, ought their friends to have assisted them in their\nattempt to establish a tyranny? Take two instances of either line of\nconduct. When Tiberius Gracchus attempted his revolutionary measures he\nwas deserted, as we saw, by Quintus Tubero and the friends of his own\nstanding. On the other hand, a friend of your own family, Scaevola,\nGaius Blossius of Cumae, took a different course. I was acting as\nassessor to the consuls Laenas and Rupilius to try the conspirators,\nand Blossius pleaded for my pardon on the ground that his regard for\nTiberius Gracchus had been so high that he looked upon his wishes as\nlaw. \"Even if he had wished you to set fire to the Capitol?\" said I.\n\"That is a thing,\" he replied, \"that he never would have wished.\" \"Ah,\nbut if he had wished it?\" said I. \"I would have obeyed.\" The wickedness\nof such a speech needs no comment. And in point of fact he was as good\nand better than his word for he did not wait for orders in the audacious\nproceedings of Tiberius Gracchus, but was the head and front of them,\nand was a leader rather than an abettor of his madness. The result\nof his infatuation was that he fled to Asia, terrified by the special\ncommission appointed to try him, joined the enemies of his country, and\npaid a penalty to the republic as heavy as it was deserved. I conclude,\nthen, that the plea of having acted in the interests of a friend is not\na valid excuse for a wrong action. For, seeing that a belief in a man's\nvirtue is the original cause of friendship, friendship can hardly remain\nif virtue he abandoned. But if we decide it to be right to grant our\nfriends whatever they wish, and to ask them for whatever we wish,\nperfect wisdom must be assumed on both sides if no mischief is to\nhappen. But we cannot assume this perfect wisdom; for we are speaking\nonly of such friends as are ordinarily to be met with, whether we have\nactually seen them or have been told about them--men, that is to say, of\neveryday life. I must quote some examples of such persons, taking care\nto select such as approach nearest to our standard of wisdom. We read,\nfor instance, that Papus Aemilius was a close friend of Gaius Luscinus.\nHistory tells us that they were twice consuls together, and colleagues\nin the censorship. Again, it is on record that Manius Curius and\nTiberius Coruncanius were on the most intimate terms with them and with\neach other. Now, we cannot even suspect that any one of these men ever\nasked of his friend anything that militated against his honour or his\noath or the interests of the republic. In the case of such men as these\nthere is no point in saying that one of them would not have obtained\nsuch a request if he had made it; for they were men of the most\nscrupulous piety, and the making of such a request would involve a\nbreach of religious obligation no less than the granting it. However,\nit is quite true that Gaius Carbo and Gaius Cato did follow Tiberius\nGracchus; and though his brother Caius Gracchus did not do so at the\ntime, he is now the most eager of them all.\n\n12. We may then lay down this rule of friendship--neither ask nor\nconsent to do what is wrong. For the plea \"for friendship's sake\" is a\ndiscreditable one, and not to be admitted for a moment. This rule\nholds good for all wrong-doing, but more especially in such as involves\ndisloyalty to the republic. For things have come to such a point with\nus, my dear Fannius and Scaevola, that we are bound to look somewhat far\nahead to what is likely to happen to the republic. The constitution, as\nknown to our ancestors, has already swerved somewhat from the regular\ncourse and the lines marked out for it. Tiberius Gracchus made an\nattempt to obtain the power of a king, or, I might rather say, enjoyed\nthat power for a few months. Had the Roman people ever heard or seen\nthe like before? What the friends and connexions that followed him, even\nafter his death, have succeeded in doing in the case of Publius Scipio\nI cannot describe without tears. As for Carbo, thanks to the punishment\nrecently inflicted on Tiberius Gracchus, we have by hook or by crook\nmanaged to hold out against his attacks. But what to expect of the\ntribuneship of Caius Gracchus I do not like to forecast. One thing\nleads to another; and once set going, the downward course proceeds with\never-increasing velocity. There is the case of the ballot: what a blow\nwas inflicted first by the lex Gabinia, and two years afterwards by the\nlex Cassia! I seem already to see the people estranged from the Senate,\nand the most important affairs at the mercy of the multitude. For you\nmay be sure that more people will learn how to set such things in motion\nthan how to stop them. What is the point of these remarks? This: no one\never makes any attempt of this sort without friends to help him. We\nmust therefore impress upon good men that, should they become inevitably\ninvolved in friendships with men of this kind, they ought not to\nconsider themselves under any obligation to stand by friends who are\ndisloyal to the republic. Bad men must have the fear of punishment\nbefore their eyes: a punishment not less severe for those who follow\nthan for those who lead others to crime. Who was more famous and\npowerful in Greece than Themistocles? At the head of the army in the\nPersian war he had freed Greece; he owed his exile to personal envy: but\nhe did not submit to the wrong done him by his ungrateful country as\nhe ought to have done. He acted as Coriolanus had acted among us twenty\nyears before. But no one was found to help them in their attacks upon\ntheir fatherland. Both of them accordingly committed suicide.\n\nWe conclude, then, not only that no such confederation of evilly\ndisposed men must be allowed to shelter itself under the plea of\nfriendship, but that, on the contrary, it must be visited with the\nseverest punishment, lest the idea should prevail that fidelity to a\nfriend justifies even making war upon one's country. And this is a case\nwhich I am inclined to think, considering how things are beginning to\ngo, will sooner or later arise. And I care quite as much what the state\nof the constitution will be after my death as what it is now.\n\n13. Let this, then, be laid down as the first law of friendship, that\n_we should ask from friends, and do for friends', only what is good_.\nBut do not let us wait to be asked either: let there be ever an eager\nreadiness, and an absence of hesitation. Let us have the courage to give\nadvice with candour. In friendship, let the influence of friends who\ngive good advice be paramount; and let this influence be used to enforce\nadvice not only in plain-spoken terms, but sometimes, if the case\ndemands it, with sharpness; and when so used, let it be obeyed.\n\nI give you these rules because I believe that some wonderful opinions\nare entertained by certain persons who have, I am told, a reputation for\nwisdom in Greece. There is nothing in the world, by the way, beyond the\nreach of their sophistry. Well, some of them teach that we should avoid\nvery close friendships, for fear that one man should have to endure the\nanxieties of several. Each man, say they, has enough and to spare on his\nown hands; it is too bad to be involved in the cares of other people.\nThe wisest course is to hold the reins of friendship as loose as\npossible; you can then tighten or slacken them at your will. For the\nfirst condition of a happy life is freedom from care, which no one's\nmind can enjoy if it has to travail, so to speak, for others besides\nitself. Another sect, I am told, gives vent to opinions still less\ngenerous. I briefly touched on this subject just now. They affirm that\nfriendships should be sought solely for the sake of the assistance they\ngive, and not at all from motives of feeling and affection; and that\ntherefore just in proportion as a man's power and means of support are\nlowest, he is most eager to gain friendships: thence it comes that weak\nwomen seek the support of friendship more than men, the poor more than\nthe rich, the unfortunate rather than those esteemed prosperous. What\nnoble philosophy! You might just as well take the sun out of the sky as\nfriendship from life; for the immortal gods have given us nothing better\nor more delightful.\n\nBut let us examine the two doctrines. What is the value of this\n\"freedom from care\"? It is very tempting at first sight, but in practice\nit has in many cases to be put on one side. For there is no business\nand no course of action demanded from us by our honour which you can\nconsistently decline, or lay aside when begun, from a mere wish to\nescape from anxiety. Nay, if we wish to avoid anxiety we must avoid\nvirtue itself, which necessarily involves some anxious thoughts in\nshowing its loathing and abhorrence for the qualities which are opposite\nto itself--as kindness for ill-nature, self-control for licentiousness,\ncourage for cowardice. Thus you may notice that it is the just who are\nmost pained at injustice, the brave at cowardly actions, the temperate\nat depravity. It is then characteristic of a rightly ordered mind to be\npleased at what is good and grieved at the reverse. Seeing then that the\nwise are not exempt from the heart-ache (which must be the case unless\nwe suppose all human nature rooted out of their hearts), why should we\nbanish friendship from our lives, for fear of being involved by it\nin some amount of distress? If you take away emotion, what difference\nremains I don't say between a man and a beast, but between a man and a\nstone or a log of wood, or anything else of that kind?\n\nNeither should we give any weight to the doctrine that virtue is\nsomething rigid and unyielding as iron. In point of fact it is in regard\nto friendship, as in so many other things, so supple and sensitive that\nit expands, so to speak, at a friend's good fortune, contracts at his\nmisfortunes. We conclude then that mental pain which we must often\nencounter on a friend's account is not of sufficient consequence to\nbanish friendship from our life, any more than it is true that the\ncardinal virtues are to be dispensed with because they involve certain\nanxieties and distresses.\n\n14. Let me repeat then, \"the clear indication of virtue, to which a\nmind of like character is naturally attracted, is the beginning of\nfriendship.\" When that is the case the rise of affection is a necessity.\nFor what can be more irrational than to take delight in many objects\nincapable of response, such as office, fame, splendid buildings, and\npersonal decoration, and yet to take little or none in a sentient being\nendowed with virtue, which has the faculty of loving or, if I may use\nthe expression, loving back? For nothing is really more delightful than\na return of affection, and the mutual interchange of kind feeling\nand good offices. And if we add, as we may fairly do, that nothing so\npowerfully attracts and draws one thing to itself as likeness does to\nfriendship, it will at once be admitted to be true that the good love\nthe good and attach them to themselves as though they were united by\nblood and nature. For nothing can be more eager, or rather greedy, for\nwhat is like itself than nature. So, my dear Fannius and Scaevola, we\nmay look upon this as an established fact, that between good men there\nis, as it were of necessity, a kindly feeling, which is the source of\nfriendship ordained by nature. But this same kindliness affects the many\nalso. For that is no unsympathetic or selfish or exclusive virtue, which\nprotects even whole nations and consults their best interests. And that\ncertainly it would not have done had it disdained all affection for the\ncommon herd.\n\nAgain, the believers in the \"interest\" theory appear to me to destroy\nthe most attractive link in the chain of friendship. For it is not so\nmuch what one gets by a friend that gives one pleasure, as the warmth\nof his feeling; and we only care for a friend's service if it has been\nprompted by affection. And so far from its being true that lack of means\nis a motive for seeking friendship, it is usually those who being most\nrichly endowed with wealth and means, and above all with virtue (which,\nafter all, is a man's best support), are least in need of another, that\nare most openhanded and beneficent. Indeed I am inclined to think that\nfriends ought at times to be in want of something. For instance, what\nscope would my affections have had if Scipio had never wanted my advice\nor co-operation at home or abroad? It is not friendship, then, that\nfollows material advantage, but material advantage friendship.\n\n15. We must not therefore listen to these superfine gentlemen when they\ntalk of friendship, which they know neither in theory nor in practice.\nFor who, in heaven's name, would choose a life of the greatest wealth\nand abundance on condition of neither loving or being beloved by any\ncreature? That is the sort of life tyrants endure. They, of course, can\ncount on no fidelity, no affection, no security for the goodwill of\nany one. For them all is suspicion and anxiety; for them there is no\npossibility of friendship. Who can love one whom he fears, or by whom he\nknows that he is feared? Yet such men have a show of friendship offered\nthem, but it is only a fair-weather show. If it ever happen that they\nfall, as it generally does, they will at once understand how friendless\nthey are. So they say Tarquin observed in his exile that he never knew\nwhich of his friends were real and which sham, until he had ceased to\nbe able to repay either. Though what surprises me is that a man of his\nproud and overbearing character should have a friend at all. And as it\nwas his character that prevented his having genuine friends, so it often\nhappens in the case of men of unusually great means--their very wealth\nforbids faithful friendships. For not only is Fortune blind herself;\nbut she generally makes those blind also who enjoy her favours. They are\ncarried, so to speak, beyond themselves with self-conceit and self-will;\nnor can anything be more perfectly intolerable than a successful fool.\nYou may often see it. Men who before had pleasant manners enough undergo\na complete change on attaining power of office. They despise their old\nfriends: devote themselves to new.\n\nNow, can anything be more foolish than that men who have all the\nopportunities which prosperity, wealth, and great means can bestow,\nshould secure all else which money can buy--horses, servants, splendid\nupholstering, and costly plate--but do not secure friends, who are, if\nI may use the expression, the most valuable and beautiful furniture\nof life? And yet, when they acquire the former, they know not who will\nenjoy them, nor for whom they may be taking all this trouble; for they\nwill one and all eventually belong to the strongest: while each man has\na stable and inalienable ownership in his friendships. And even if those\npossessions, which are, in a manner, the gifts of fortune, do prove\npermanent, life can never be anything but joyless which is without the\nconsolations and companionship of friends.\n\n16. To turn to another branch of our subject. We must now endeavour\nto ascertain what limits are to be observed in friendship--what is the\nboundary-line, so to speak, beyond which our affection is not to go. On\nthis point I notice three opinions, with none of which I agree. One is\n_that we should love our friend just as much as we love ourselves, and\nno more; another, that our affection to them should exactly correspond\nand equal theirs to us; a third, that a man should be valued at exactly\nthe same rate as he values himself_. To not one of these opinions do I\nassent. The first, which holds that our regard for ourselves is to be\nthe measure of our regard for our friend, is not true; for how many\nthings there are which we would never have done for our own sakes, but\ndo for the sake of a friend! We submit to make requests from unworthy\npeople, to descend even to supplication; to be sharper in invective,\nmore violent in attack. Such actions are not creditable in our own\ninterests, but highly so in those of our friends. There are many\nadvantages too which men of upright character voluntarily forego, or\nof which they are content to be deprived, that their friends may enjoy\nthem rather than themselves.\n\nThe second doctrine is that which limits friendship to an exact equality\nin mutual good offices and good feelings. But such a view reduces\nfriendship to a question of figures in a spirit far too narrow and\nilliberal, as though the object were to have an exact balance in\na debtor and creditor account. True friendship appears to me to be\nsomething richer and more generous than that comes to; and not to be so\nnarrowly on its guard against giving more than it receives. In such a\nmatter we must not be always afraid of something being wasted or running\nover in our measure, or of more than is justly due being devoted to our\nfriendship.\n\nBut the last limit proposed is the worst, namely, that a friend's\nestimate of himself is to be the measure of our estimate of him. It\noften happens that a man has too humble an idea of himself, or takes too\ndespairing a view of his chance of bettering his fortune. In such a case\na friend ought not to take the view of him which he takes of himself.\nRather he should do all he can to raise his drooping spirits, and lead\nhim to more cheerful hopes and thoughts.\n\nWe must then find some other limit. But I must first mention the\nsentiment which used to call forth Scipio's severest criticism. He often\nsaid that no one ever gave utterance to anything more diametrically\nopposed to the spirit of friendship than the author of the dictum, \"You\nshould love your friend with the consciousness that you may one day\nhate him.\" He could not be induced to believe that it was rightfully\nattributed to Bias, who was counted as one of the Seven Sages. It was\nthe sentiment of some person with sinister motives or selfish ambition,\nor who regarded everything as it affected his own supremacy. How can a\nman be friends with another, if he thinks it possible that he may be his\nenemy? Why, it will follow that he must wish and desire his friend\nto commit as many mistakes as possible, that he may have all the\nmore handles against him; and, conversely, that he must be annoyed,\nirritated, and jealous at the right actions or good fortune of his\nfriends. This maxim, then, let it be whose it will, is the utter\ndestruction of friendship. The true rule is to take such care in the\nselection of our friends as never to enter upon a friendship with a man\nwhom we could under any circumstances come to hate. And even if we are\nunlucky in our choice, we must put up with it--according to Scipio--in\npreference to making calculations as to a future breach.\n\n17. The real limit to be observed in friendship is this: the characters\nof two friends must be stainless. There must be complete harmony of\ninterests, purpose, and aims, without exception. Then if the case arises\nof a friend's wish (not strictly right in itself) calling for support in\na matter involving his life or reputation, we must make some concession\nfrom the straight path--on condition, that is to say, that extreme\ndisgrace is not the consequence. Something must be conceded to\nfriendship. And yet we must not be entirely careless of our reputation,\nnor regard the good opinion of our fellow-citizens as a weapon which we\ncan afford to despise in conducting the business of our life, however\nlowering it may be to tout for it by flattery and smooth words. We must\nby no means abjure virtue, which secures us affection.\n\nBut to return again to Scipio, the sole author of the discourse on\nfriendship. He used to complain that there was nothing on which men\nbestowed so little pains: that every one could tell exactly how many\ngoats or sheep he had, but not how many friends; and while they took\npains in procuring the former, they were utterly careless in selecting\nfriends, and possessed no particular marks, so to speak, or tokens by\nwhich they might judge of their suitability for friendship. Now the\nqualities we ought to look out for in making our selection are firmness,\nstability, constancy. There is a plentiful lack of men so endowed, and\nit is difficult to form a judgment without testing. Now this testing\ncan only be made during the actual existence of the friendship; for\nfriendship so often precedes the formation of a judgment, and makes a\nprevious test impossible. If we are prudent then, we shall rein in our\nimpulse to affection as we do chariot horses. We make a preliminary\ntrial of horses. So we should of friendship; and should test our\nfriends' characters by a kind of tentative friendship. It may often\nhappen that the untrustworthiness of certain men is completely displayed\nin a small money matter; others who are proof against a small sum are\ndetected if it be large. But even if some are found who think it mean\nto prefer money to friendship, where shall we look for those who put\nfriendship before office, civil or military promotions, and political\npower, and who, when the choice lies between these things on the one\nside and the claims of friendship on the other, do not give a strong\npreference to the former? It is not in human nature to be indifferent\nto political power; and if the price men have to pay for it is the\nsacrifice of friendship, they think their treason will be thrown into\nthe shade by the magnitude of the reward. This is why true friendship\nis very difficult to find among those who engage in politics and the\ncontest for office. Where can you find the man to prefer his friend's\nadvancement to his own? And to say nothing of that, think how grievous\nand almost intolerable it is to most men to share political disaster.\nYou will scarcely find anyone who can bring himself to do that. And\nthough what Ennius says is quite true,--\" the hour of need shews the\nfriend indeed,\"--yet it is in these two ways that most people betray\ntheir untrustworthiness and inconstancy, by looking down on friends when\nthey are themselves prosperous, or deserting them in their distress. A\nman, then, who has shewn a firm, unshaken, and unvarying friendship in\nboth these contingencies we must reckon as one of a class the rarest in\nthe world, and all but superhuman.\n\n18. Now, what is the quality to look out for as a warrant for the\nstability and permanence of friendship? It is loyalty. Nothing that\nlacks this can be stable. We should also in making our selection look\nout for simplicity, a social disposition, and a sympathetic nature,\nmoved by what moves us. These all contribute to maintain loyalty.\nYou can never trust a character which is intricate and tortuous.\nNor, indeed, is it possible for one to be trustworthy and firm who is\nunsympathetic by nature and unmoved by what affects ourselves. We may\nadd, that he must neither take pleasure in bringing accusations against\nus himself, nor believe them when they are brought. All these contribute\nto form that constancy which I have been endeavouring to describe.\nAnd the result is, what I started by saying, that friendship is only\npossible between good men.\n\nNow there are two characteristic features in his treatment of his\nfriends that a good (which may be regarded as equivalent to a wise) man\nwill always display. First, he will be entirely without any make-believe\nor pretence of feeling; for the open display even of dislike is\nmore becoming to an ingenuous character than a studied concealment of\nsentiment. Secondly, he will not only reject all accusations brought\nagainst his friend by another, but he will not be suspicious himself\neither, nor be always thinking that his friend has acted improperly.\nBesides this, there should be a certain pleasantness in word and\nmanner which adds no little flavour to friendship. A gloomy temper and\nunvarying gravity may be very impressive; but friendship should be a\nlittle less unbending, more indulgent and gracious, and more inclined to\nall kinds of good-fellowship and good-nature.\n\n19. But here arises a question of some little difficulty. Are there any\noccasions on which, assuming their worthiness, we should prefer new to\nold friends, just as we prefer young to aged horses? The answer admits\nof no doubt whatever. For there should be no satiety in friendship, as\nthere is in other things. The older the sweeter, as in wines that keep\nwell. And the proverb is a true one, \"You must eat many a peck of salt\nwith a man to be thorough friends with him.\" Novelty, indeed, has its\nadvantage, which we must not despise. There is always hope of fruit,\nas there is in healthy blades of corn. But age too must have its proper\nposition; and, in fact, the influence of time and habit is very great.\nTo recur to the illustration of the horse which I have just now used.\nEvery one likes _ceteris paribus_ to use the horse to which he has been\naccustomed, rather than one that is untried and new. And it is not\nonly in the case of a living thing that this rule holds good, but\nin inanimate things also; for we like places where we have lived the\nlongest, even though they are mountainous and covered with forest. But\nhere is another golden rule in friendship: _put yourself on a level with\nyour friend_. For it often happens that there are certain superiorities,\nas for example Scipio's in what I may call our set. Now he never assumed\nany airs of superiority over Philus, or Rupilius, or Mummius, or\nover friends of a lower rank still. For instance, he always shewed a\ndeference to his brother Quintus Maximus because he was his senior, who,\nthough a man no doubt of eminent character, was by no means his equal.\nHe used also to wish that all his friends should be the better for his\nsupport. This is an example we should all follow. If any of us have any\nadvantage in personal character, intellect, or fortune, we should be\nready to make our friends sharers and partners in it with ourselves.\nFor instance, if their parents are in humble circumstances, if their\nrelations are powerful neither in intellect nor means, we should supply\ntheir deficiencies and promote their rank and dignity. You know the\nlegends of children brought up as servants in ignorance of their\nparentage and family. When they are recognized and discovered to be\nthe sons of gods or kings, they still retain their affection for the\nshepherds whom they have for many years looked upon as their parents.\nMuch more ought this to be so in the case of real and undoubted parents.\nFor the advantages of genius and virtue, and in short, of every kind of\nsuperiority, are never realized to their fullest extent until they are\nbestowed upon our nearest and dearest.\n\n20. But the converse must also be observed. For in friendship and\nrelationship, just as those who possess any superiority must put\nthemselves on an equal footing with those who are less fortunate, so\nthese latter must not be annoyed at being surpassed in genius, fortune,\nor rank. But most people of that sort are forever either grumbling at\nsomething, or harping on their claims; and especially if they consider\nthat they have services of their own to allege involving zeal and\nfriendship and some trouble to themselves. People who are always\nbringing up their services are a nuisance. The recipient ought to\nremember them; the performer should never mention them. In the case of\nfriends, then, as the superior are bound to descend, so are they bound\nin a certain sense to raise those below them. For there are people who\nmake their friendship disagreeable by imagining themselves undervalued.\nThis generally happens only to those who think that they deserve to\nbe so; and they ought to be shewn by deeds as well as by words the\ngroundlessness of their opinion. Now the measure of your benefits should\nbe in the first place your own power to bestow, and in the second place\nthe capacity to bear them on the part of him on whom you are bestowing\naffection and help. For, however great your personal prestige may be,\nyou cannot raise all your friends to the highest offices of the State.\nFor instance, Scipio was able to make Publius Rupilius consul, but not\nhis brother Lucius. But granting that you can give anyone anything you\nchoose, you must have a care that it does not prove to be beyond his\npowers. As a general rule, we must wait to make up our mind about\nfriendships till men's characters and years have arrived at their full\nstrength and development. People must not, for instance, regard as fast\nfriends all whom in their youthful enthusiasm for hunting or football\nthey liked for having the same tastes. By that rule, if it were a mere\nquestion of time, no one would have such claims on our affections as\nnurses and slave-tutors. Not that they are to be neglected, but they\nstand on a different ground. It is only these mature friendships that\ncan be permanent. For difference of character leads to difference of\naims, and the result of such diversity is to estrange friends. The sole\nreason, for instance, which prevents good men from making friends with\nbad, or bad with good, is that the divergence of their characters and\naims is the greatest possible.\n\nAnother good rule in friendship is this: do not let an excessive\naffection hinder the highest interests of your friends. This very\noften happens. I will go again to the region of fable for an instance.\nNeoptolemus could never have taken Troy if he had been willing to listen\nto Lycomedes, who had brought him up, and with many tears tried to\nprevent his going there. Again, it often happens that important business\nmakes it necessary to part from friends: the man who tries to baulk it,\nbecause he thinks that he cannot endure the separation, is of a weak\nand effeminate nature, and on that very account makes but a poor friend.\nThere are, of course, limits to what you ought to expect from a friend\nand to what you should allow him to demand of you. And these you must\ntake into calculation in every case.\n\n21. Again, there is such a disaster, so to speak, as having to break off\nfriendship. And sometimes it is one we cannot avoid. For at this point\nthe stream of our discourse is leaving the intimacies of the wise and\ntouching on the friendship of ordinary people. It will happen at times\nthat an outbreak of vicious conduct affects either a man's friends\nthemselves or strangers, yet the discredit falls on the friends. In\nsuch cases friendships should be allowed to die out gradually by an\nintermission of intercourse. They should, as I have been told that Cato\nused to say, rather be unstitched than torn in twain; unless, indeed,\nthe injurious conduct be of so violent and outrageous a nature as\nto make an instant breach and separation the only possible course\nconsistent with honour and rectitude. Again, if a change in character\nand aim takes place, as often happens, or if party politics produces an\nalienation of feeling (I am now speaking, as I said a short time ago, of\nordinary friendships, not of those of the wise), we shall have to be on\nour guard against appearing to embark upon active enmity while we only\nmean to resign a friendship. For there can be nothing more discreditable\nthan to be at open war with a man with whom you have been intimate.\nScipio, as you are aware, had abandoned his friendship for Quintus\nPompeius on my account; and again, from differences of opinion in\npolitics, he became estranged from my colleague Metellus. In both cases\nhe acted with dignity and moderation, shewing that he was offended\nindeed, but without rancour.\n\nOur first object, then, should be to prevent a breach; our second, to\nsecure that, if it does occur, our friendship should seem to have died\na natural rather than a violent death. Next, we should take care that\nfriendship is not converted into active hostility, from which flow\npersonal quarrels, abusive language, and angry recriminations. These\nlast, however, provided that they do not pass all reasonable limits\nof forbearance, we ought to put up with, and, in compliment to an old\nfriendship, allow the party that inflicts the injury, not the one that\nsubmits to it, to be in the wrong. Generally speaking, there is but one\nway of securing and providing oneself against faults and inconveniences\nof this sort--not to be too hasty in bestowing our affection, and not to\nbestow it at all on unworthy objects.\n\nNow, by \"worthy of friendship\" I mean those who have in themselves the\nqualities which attract affection. This sort of man is rare; and indeed\nall excellent things are rare; and nothing in the world is so hard to\nfind as a thing entirely and completely perfect of its kind. But most\npeople not only recognize nothing as good in our life unless it is\nprofitable, but look upon friends as so much stock, caring most for\nthose by whom they hope to make most profit. Accordingly they never\npossess that most beautiful and most spontaneous friendship which must\nbe sought solely for itself without any ulterior object. They fail\nalso to learn from their own feelings the nature and the strength of\nfriendship. For every one loves himself, not for any reward which such\nlove may bring, but because he is dear to himself independently of\nanything else. But unless this feeling is transferred to another, what\na real friend is will never be revealed; for he is, as it were, a\nsecond self. But if we find these two instincts shewing themselves in\nanimals,--whether of the air or the sea or the land, whether wild or\ntame,--first, a love of self, which in fact is born in everything that\nlives alike; and, secondly, an eagerness to find and attach themselves\nto other creatures of their own kind; and if this natural action is\naccompanied by desire and by something resembling human love, how much\nmore must this be the case in man by the law of his nature? For man not\nonly loves himself, but seeks another whose spirit he may so blend with\nhis own as almost to make one being of two.\n\n22. But most people unreasonably, not to speak of modesty, want such\na friend as they are unable to be themselves, and expect from their\nfriends what they do not themselves give. The fair course is first to be\ngood yourself, and then to look out for another of like character. It\nis between such that the stability in friendship of which we have been\ntalking can be secured; when, that is to say, men who are united by\naffection learn, first of all, to rule those passions which enslave\nothers, and in the next place to take delight in fair and equitable\nconduct, to bear each other's burdens, never to ask each other for\nanything inconsistent with virtue and rectitude, and not only to serve\nand love but also to respect each other. I say \"respect\"; for if respect\nis gone, friendship has lost its brightest jewel. And this shows the\nmistake of those who imagine that friendship gives a privilege to\nlicentiousness and sin. Nature has given us friendship as the handmaid\nof virtue, not as a partner in guilt: to the end that virtue, being\npowerless when isolated to reach the highest objects, might succeed in\ndoing so in union and partnership with another. Those who enjoy in the\npresent, or have enjoyed in the past, or are destined to enjoy in the\nfuture such a partnership as this, must be considered to have secured\nthe most excellent and auspicious combination for reaching nature's\nhighest good. This is the partnership, I say, which combines moral\nrectitude, fame, peace of mind, serenity: all that men think desirable\nbecause with them life is happy, but without them cannot be so. This\nbeing our best and highest object, we must, if we desire to attain it,\ndevote ourselves to virtue; for without virtue we can obtain neither\nfriendship nor anything else desirable. In fact, if virtue be neglected,\nthose who imagine themselves to possess friends will find out their\nerror as soon as some grave disaster forces them to make trial of them.\nWherefore, I must again and again repeat, you must satisfy your judgment\nbefore engaging your affections: not love first and judge afterwards. We\nsuffer from carelessness in many of our undertakings: in none more than\nin selecting and cultivating our friends. We put the cart before the\nhorse, and shut the stable door when the steed is stolen, in defiance\nof the old proverb. For, having mutually involved ourselves in a\nlong-standing intimacy or by actual obligations, all on a sudden some\ncause of offence arises and we break off our friendships in full career.\n\n23. It is this that makes such carelessness in a matter of supreme\nimportance all the more worthy of blame. I say \"supreme importance,\"\nbecause friendship is the one thing about the utility of which everybody\nwith one accord is agreed. That is not the case in regard even to virtue\nitself; for many people speak slightingly of virtue as though it were\nmere puffing and self-glorification. Nor is it the case with riches.\nMany look down on riches, being content with a little and taking\npleasure in poor fare and dress, And as to the political offices for\nwhich some have a burning desire--how many entertain such a contempt\nfor them as to think nothing in the world more empty and trivial!\n\nAnd so on with the rest; things desirable in the eyes of some are\nregarded by very many as worthless. But of friendship all think alike to\na man, whether those have devoted themselves to politics, or those who\ndelight in science and philosophy, or those who follow a private way of\nlife and care for nothing but their own business, or those lastly who\nhave given themselves body and soul to sensuality--they all think, I\nsay, that without friendship life is no life, if they want some part\nof it, at any rate, to be noble. For friendship, in one way or another,\npenetrates into the lives of us all, and suffers no career to be\nentirely free from its influence. Though a man be of so churlish and\nunsociable a nature as to loathe and shun the company of mankind, as we\nare told was the case with a certain Timon at Athens, yet even he cannot\nrefrain from seeking some one in whose hearing he may disgorge the\nvenom of his bitter temper. We should see this most clearly, if it were\npossible that some god should carry us away from these haunts of men,\nand place us somewhere in perfect solitude, and then should supply us in\nabundance with everything necessary to our nature, and yet take from us\nentirely the opportunity of looking upon a human being. Who could steel\nhimself to endure such a life? Who would not lose in his loneliness the\nzest for all pleasures? And indeed this is the point of the observation\nof, I think, Archytas of Tarentum. I have it third hand; men who were my\nseniors told me that their seniors had told them. It was this: \"If a man\ncould ascend to heaven and get a clear view of the natural order of\nthe universe, and the beauty of the heavenly bodies, that wonderful\nspectacle would give him small pleasure, though nothing could be\nconceived more delightful if he had but had some one to whom to tell\nwhat he had seen.\" So true it is that nature abhors isolation, and ever\nleans upon something as a stay and support; and this is found in its\nmost pleasing form in our closest friend.\n\n24. But though Nature also declares by so many indications what her wish\nand object and desire is, we yet in a manner turn a deaf ear and will\nnot hear her warnings. The intercourse between friends is varied and\ncomplex, and it must often happen that causes of suspicion and offence\narise, which a wise man will sometimes avoid, at other times remove,\nat others treat with indulgence. The one possible cause of offence\nthat must be faced is when the interests of your friend and your own\nsincerity are at stake. For instance, it often happens that friends need\nremonstrance and even reproof. When these are administered in a kindly\nspirit they ought to be taken in good part. But somehow or other there\nis truth in what my friend Terence says in his _Andria_:\n\nCompliance gets us friends, plain speaking hate.\n\nPlain speaking is a cause of trouble, if the result of it is resentment,\nwhich is poison of friendship; but compliance is really the cause of\nmuch more trouble, because by indulging his faults it lets a friend\nplunge into headlong ruin. But the man who is most to blame is he who\nresents plain speaking and allows flattery to egg him on to his ruin. On\nthis point, then, from first to last there is need of deliberation and\ncare. If we remonstrate, it should be without bitterness; if we reprove,\nthere should be no word of insult. In the matter of compliance (for I\nam glad to adopt Terence's word), though there should be every courtesy,\nyet that base kind which assists a man in vice should be far from us,\nfor it is unworthy of a free-born man, to say nothing of a friend. It is\none thing to live with a tyrant, another with a friend. But if a man's\nears are so closed to plain speaking that he cannot bear to hear the\ntruth from a friend, we may give him up in despair. This remark of\nCato's, as so many of his did, shews great acuteness: \"There are people\nwho owe more to bitter enemies than to apparently pleasant friends:\nthe former often speak the truth, the latter never.\" Besides, it is a\nstrange paradox that the recipients of advice should feel no annoyance\nwhere they ought to feel it, and yet feel so much where they ought not.\nThey are not at all vexed at having committed a fault, but very angry at\nbeing reproved for it. On the contrary, they ought to be grieved at the\ncrime and glad of the correction.\n\n25. Well, then, if it is true that to give and receive advice--the\nformer with freedom and yet without bitterness, the latter with patience\nand without irritation--is peculiarly appropriate to genuine friendship,\nit is no less true that there can be nothing more utterly subversive of\nfriendship than flattery, adulation, and base compliance. I use as many\nterms as possible to brand this vice of light-minded, untrustworthy men,\nwhose sole object in speaking is to please without any regard to truth.\nIn everything false pretence is bad, for it suspends and vitiates our\npower of discerning the truth. But to nothing it is so hostile as to\nfriendship; for it destroys that frankness without which friendship is\nan empty name. For the essence of friendship being that two minds become\nas one, how can that ever take place if the mind of each of the separate\nparties to it is not single and uniform, but variable, changeable, and\ncomplex? Can anything be so pliable, so wavering, as the mind of a man\nwhose attitude depends not only on another's feeling and wish, but on\nhis very looks and nods?\n\n     If one says \"No,\" I answer \"No\";\n     If \"Yes,\" I answer \"Yes.\"\n     In fine, I've laid this task upon myself\n     To echo all that's said--\n\nto quote my old friend Terence again. But he puts these words into the mouth of\na Gnatho. To admit such a man into one's intimacy at all is a sign of\nfolly. But there are many people like Gnatho, and it is when they\nare superior either in position or fortune or reputation that their\nflatteries become mischievous, the weight of their position making up\nfor the lightness of their character. But if we only take reasonable\ncare, it is as easy to separate and distinguish a genuine from a\nspecious friend as anything else that is coloured and artificial from\nwhat is sincere and genuine. A public assembly, though composed of men\nof the smallest possible culture, nevertheless will see clearly\nthe difference between a mere demagogue (that is, a flatterer and\nuntrustworthy citizen) and a man of principle, standing, and solidity.\nIt was by this kind of flattering language that Gaius Papirius the\nother day endeavoured to tickle the ears of the assembled people, when\nproposing his law to make the tribunes re-eligible. I spoke against it.\nBut I will leave the personal question. I prefer speaking of Scipio.\nGood heavens! how impressive his speech was, what a majesty there was\nin it! You would have pronounced him, without hesitation, to be no mere\nhenchman of the Roman people, but their leader. However, you were there,\nand moreover have the speech in your hands. The result was that a law\nmeant to please the people was by the people's votes rejected. Once\nmore to refer to myself, you remember how apparently popular was the law\nproposed by Gaius Licinius Crassus \"about the election to the College\nof Priests\" in the consulship of Quintus Maximus, Scipio's brother, and\nLucius Mancinus. For the power of filling up their own vacancies on\nthe part of the colleges was by this proposal to be transferred to the\npeople. It was this man, by the way, who began the practice of turning\ntowards the forum when addressing the people. In spite of this, however,\nupon my speaking on the conservative side, religion gained an easy\nvictory over his plausible speech. This took place in my praetorship,\nfive years before I was elected consul, which shows that the cause\nwas successfully maintained more by the merits of the case than by the\nprestige of the highest office.\n\n26. Now, if on a stage, such as a public assembly essentially is,\nwhere there is the amplest room for fiction and half-truths, truth\nnevertheless prevails if it be but fairly laid open and brought into\nthe light of day, what ought to happen in the case of friendship, which\nrests entirely on truthfulness? Friendship, in which, unless you both\nsee and show an open breast, to use a common expression, you can neither\ntrust nor be certain of anything--no, not even of mutual affection,\nsince you cannot be sure of its sincerity. However, this flattery,\ninjurious as it is, can hurt no one but the man who takes it in and\nlikes it. And it follows that the man to open his ears widest to\nflatterers is he who first flatters himself and is fondest of himself. I\ngrant you that Virtue naturally loves herself; for she knows herself\nand perceives how worthy of love she is. But I am not now speaking of\nabsolute virtue, but of the belief men have that they possess virtue.\nThe fact is that fewer people are endowed with virtue than wish to be\nthought to be so. It is such people that take delight in flattery.\nWhen they are addressed in language expressly adapted to flatter their\nvanity, they look upon such empty persiflage as a testimony to the truth\nof their own praises. It is not then properly friendship at all when the\none will not listen to the truth, and the other is prepared to lie. Nor\nwould the servility of parasites in comedy have seemed humorous to us\nhad there been no such things as braggart captains. \"Is Thais really\nmuch obliged to me?\" It would have been quite enough to answer \"Much,\"\nbut he must needs say \"Immensely.\" Your servile flatterer always\nexaggerates what his victim wishes to be put strongly. Wherefore,\nthough it is with those who catch at and invite it that this flattering\nfalsehood is especially powerful, yet men even of soldier and steadier\ncharacter must be warned to be on the watch against being taken in by\ncunningly disguised flattery. An open flatterer any one can detect,\nunless he is an absolute fool the covert insinuation of the cunning\nand the sly is what we have to be studiously on our guard against. His\ndetection is not by any means the easiest thing in the world, for\nhe often covers his servility under the guise of contradiction, and\nflatters by pretending to dispute, and then at last giving in and\nallowing himself to be beaten, that the person hoodwinked may think\nhimself to have been the clearer-sighted. Now what can be more degrading\nthan to be thus hoodwinked? You must be on your guard against this\nhappening to you, like the man in the _Heiress_:\n\n     How have I been befooled! no drivelling dotards\n     On any stage were e'er so p1ayed upon.\n\nFor even on the stage we have no grosser representation of folly than\nthat of short-sighted and credulous old men. But somehow or other I have\nstrayed away from the friendship of the perfect, that is of the \"wise\"\n(meaning, of course, such \"wisdom\" as human nature is capable of), to\nthe subject of vulgar, unsubstantial friendships. Let us then return to\nour original theme, and at length bring that, too, to a conclusion.\n\n27. Well, then, Fannius and Mucius, I repeat what I said before. It\nis virtue, virtue, which both creates and preserves friendship. On\nit depends harmony of interest, permanence, fidelity. When Virtue has\nreared her head and shewn the light of her countenance, and seen and\nrecognised the same light in another, she gravitates towards it, and in\nher turn welcomes that which the other has to shew; and from it springs\nup a flame which you may call love or friendship as you please. Both\nwords are from the same root in Latin; and love is just the cleaving\nto him whom you love without the prompting of need or any view to\nadvantage--though this latter blossoms spontaneously on friendship,\nlittle as you may have looked for it. It is with such warmth of feeling\nthat I cherished Lucius Paulus, Marcus Cato, Galus Gallus, Publius\nNasica, Tiberius Gracchus, my dear Scipio's father-in-law. It shines\nwith even greater warmth when men are of the same age, as in the case of\nScipio and Lucius Furius, Publius Rupilius, Spurius Mummius, and myself.\n_En revanche_, in my old age I find comfort in the affection of young\nmen, as in the case of yourselves and Quintus Tubero: nay more, I\ndelight in the intimacy of such a very young man as Publius Rutilius and\nAulus Verginius. And since the law of our nature and of our life is that\na new generation is for ever springing up, the most desirable thing is\nthat along with your contemporaries, with whom you started in the\nrace, you may also teach what is to us the goal. But in view of\nthe instability and perishableness of mortal things, we should be\ncontinually on the look-out for some to love and by whom to be loved;\nfor if we lose affection and kindliness from our life, we lose all that\ngives it charm. For me, indeed, though torn away by a sudden stroke,\nScipio still lives and ever wilt live. For it was the virtue of the man\nthat I loved, and that has not suffered death. And it is not my eyes\nonly, because I had all my life a personal experience of it, that never\nlose sight of it: it will shine to posterity also with undimmed glory.\nNo one will ever cherish a nobler ambition or a loftier hope without\nthinking his memory and his image the best to put before his eyes. I\ndeclare that of all the blessings which either fortune or nature has\nbestowed upon me I know none to compare with Scipio's friendship. In\nit I found sympathy in public, counsel in private business; in it too a\nmeans of spending my leisure with unalloyed delight. Never, to the best\nof my knowledge, did I offend him even in the most trivial point; never\ndid I hear a word from him I could have wished unsaid. We had one house,\none table, one style of living; and not only were we together on foreign\nservice, but in our tours also and country sojourns. Why speak of\nour eagerness to be ever gaining some knowledge, to be ever learning\nsomething, on which we spent all our leisure hours far from the gaze of\nthe world? If the recollection and memory of these things had perished\nwith the man, I could not possibly have endured the regret for one so\nclosely united with me in life and affection. But these things have not\nperished; they are rather fed and strengthened by reflexion and memory.\nEven supposing me to have been entirely bereft of them, still my time\nof life of itself brings me no small consolation: for I cannot have much\nlonger now to bear this regret; and everything that is brief ought to be\nendurable, however severe.\n\nThis is all I had to say on friendship. One piece of advice on parting.\nMake up your minds to this. Virtue (without which friendship is\nimpossible) is first; but next to it, and to it alone, the greatest of\nall things is Friendship.\n\n\n\n\nON OLD AGE\n\n\n     1. And should my service, Titus, ease the weight\n     Of care that wrings your heart, and draw the sting\n     Which rankles there, what guerdon shall there be?\n\nFOR I may address you, Atticus, in the lines in which Flamininus was\naddressed by the man,\n\n     who, poor in wealth, was rich in honour's gold,\n\nthough I am well assured that you are not, as Flamininus was,\n\n     kept on the rack of care by night and day.\n\nFor I know how well ordered and equable your mind is, and am fully aware\nthat it was not a surname alone which you brought home with you from\nAthens, but its culture and good sense. And yet I have an idea that you\nare at times stirred to the heart by the same circumstances as myself.\nTo console you for these is a more serious matter, and must be put off\nto another time. For the present I have resolved to dedicate to you an\nessay on Old Age. For from the burden of impending or at least advancing\nage, common to us both, I would do something to relieve us both though\nas to yourself I am fully aware that you support and will support it,\nas you do everything else, with calmness and philosophy. But directly I\nresolved to write on old age, you at once occurred to me as deserving\na gift of which both of us might take advantage. To myself, indeed, the\ncomposition of this book has been so delightful, that it has not only\nwiped away all the disagreeables of old age, but has even made it\nluxurious and delightful too. Never, therefore, can philosophy be\npraised as highly as it deserves considering that its faithful disciple\nis able to spend every period of his life with unruffled feelings.\nHowever, on other subjects I have spoken at large, and shall often speak\nagain: this book which I herewith send you is on Old Age. I have put the\nwhole discourse not, as Alisto of Cos did, in the mouth of Tithonus--for\na mere fable would have lacked conviction--but in that of Marcus Cato\nwhen he was an old man, to give my essay greater weight. I represent\nLaelius and Scipio at his house expressing surprise at his carrying\nhis years so lightly, and Cato answering them. If he shall seem to shew\nsomewhat more learning in this discourse than he generally did in his\nown books, put it down to the Greek literature of which it is known that\nhe became an eager student in his old age. But what need of more? Cato's\nown words will at once explain all I feel about old age.\n\n\nM. Cato. Publius Cornelius Scipio Africanus (the younger). Gaius\nLaelius.\n\n2. _Scipio_. Many a time have I in conversation with my friend Gaius\nLaelius here expressed my admiration, Marcus Cato, of the eminent,\nnay perfect, wisdom displayed by you indeed at all points, but above\neverything because I have noticed that old age never seemed a burden to\nyou, while to most old men it is so hateful that they declare themselves\nunder a weight heavier than Aetna.\n\n_Cato_. Your admiration is easily excited, it seems, my dear Scipio\nand Laelius. Men, of course, who have no resources in themselves for\nsecuring a good and happy life find every age burdensome. But those who\nlook for all happiness from within can never think anything bad which\nnature makes inevitable. In that category before anything else comes\nold age, to which all wish to attain, and at which all grumble when\nattained. Such is Folly's inconsistency and unreasonableness! They say\nthat it is stealing upon them faster than they expected. In the first\nplace, who compelled them to hug an illusion? For in what respect did\nold age steal upon manhood faster than manhood upon childhood? In the\nnext place, in what way would old age have been less disagreeable to\nthem if they were in their eight-hundredth year than in their eightieth?\nFor their past, however long, when once it was past, would have no\nconsolation for a stupid old age. Wherefore, if it is your wont to\nadmire my wisdom--and I would that it were worthy of your good opinion\nand of my own surname of Sapiens--it really consists in the fact that I\nfollow Nature, the best of guides, as I would a god, and am loyal to\nher commands. It is not likely, if she has written the rest of the play\nwell, that she has been careless about the last act like some idle poet.\nBut after all some \"last\" was inevitable, just as to the berries of a\ntree and the fruits of the earth there comes in the fulness of time a\nperiod of decay and fall. A wise man will not make a grievance of this.\nTo rebel against nature--is not that to fight like the giants with the\ngods?\n\n_Laelius_. And yet, Cato, you will do us a very great favour (I venture\nto speak for Scipio as for myself) if--since we all hope, or at least\nwish, to become old men--you would allow us to learn from you in good\ntime before it arrives, by what methods we may most easily acquire the\nstrength to support the burden of advancing age.\n\n_Cato_. I will do so without doubt, Laelius, especially if, as you say,\nit will be agreeable to you both.\n\n_Laelius_ We do wish very much, Cato, if it is no trouble to you, to\nbe allowed to see the nature of the bourne which you have reached after\ncompleting a long journey, as it were, upon which we too are bound to\nembark.\n\n3. _Cato_. I will do the best I can, Laelius. It has often been my\nfortune to bear the complaints of my contemporaries--like will to like,\nyou know, according to the old proverb--complaints to which men like C.\nSalinator and Sp. Albinus, who were of consular rank and about my time,\nused to give vent. They were, first, that they had lost the pleasures of\nthe senses, without which they did not regard life as life at all; and,\nsecondly, that they were neglected by those from whom they had been used\nto receive attentions. Such men appear to me to lay the blame on the\nwrong thing. For if it had been the fault of old age, then these same\nmisfortunes would have befallen me and all other men of advanced years.\nBut I have known many of them who never said a word of complaint against\nold age; for they were only too glad to be freed from the bondage of\npassion, and were not at all looked down upon by their friends. The fact\nis that the blame for all complaints of that kind is to be charged\nto character, not to a particular time of life. For old men who are\nreasonable and neither cross-grained nor churlish find old age tolerable\nenough: whereas unreason and churlishness cause uneasiness at every time\nof life.\n\n_Laelius_ It is as you say, Cato. But perhaps some one may suggest that\nit is your large means, wealth, and high position that make you think\nold age tolerable: whereas such good fortune only falls to few.\n\n_Cato_. There is something in that, Laelius, but by no means all. For\ninstance, the story is told of the answer of Themistocles in a wrangle\nwith a certain Seriphian, who asserted that he owed his brilliant\nposition to the reputation of his country, not to his own. \"If I had\nbeen a Seriphian,\" said he, \"even I should never have been famous, nor\nwould you if you had been an Athenian.\" Something like this may be said\nof old age. For the philosopher himself could not find old age easy\nto bear in the depths of poverty, nor the fool feel it anything but a\nburden though he were a millionaire. You may be sure, my dear Scipio\nand Laelius, that the arms best adapted to old age are culture and the\nactive exercise of the virtues. For if they have been maintained at\nevery period--if one has lived much as well as long--the harvest they\nproduce is wonderful, not only because they never fail us even in our\nlast days (though that in itself is supremely important), but also\nbecause the consciousness of a well-spent life and the recollection of\nmany virtuous actions are exceedingly delightful.\n\n4. Take the case of Q. Fabius Maximus, the man, I mean, who recovered\nTarentum. When I was a young man and he an old one, I was as much\nattached to him as if he had been my contemporary. For that great man's\nserious dignity was tempered by courteous manners, nor had old age made\nany change in his character. True, he was not exactly an old man when my\ndevotion to him began, yet he was nevertheless well on in life; for his\nfirst consulship fell in the year after my birth. When quite a stripling\nI went with him in his fourth consulship as a soldier in the ranks, on\nthe expedition against Capua, and in the fifth year after that against\nTarentum. Four years after that I was elected Quaestor, holding office\nin the consulship of Tuditanus and Cethegus, in which year, indeed,\nhe as a very old man spoke in favour of the Cincian law \"on gifts and\nfees.\"\n\nNow this man conducted wars with all the spirit of youth when he was far\nadvanced in life, and by his persistence gradually wearied out Hannibal,\nwhen rioting in all the confidence of youth. How brilliant are those\nlines of my friend Ennius on him!\n\n     For us, down beaten by the storms of fate,\n     One man by wise delays restored the State.\n     Praise or dispraise moved not his constant mood,\n     True to his purpose, to his country's good!\n     Down ever-lengthening avenues of fame\n     Thus shines and shall shine still his glorious name.\n\nAgain what vigilance, what profound skill did he show in the capture of\nTarentum! It was indeed in my hearing that he made the famous retort to\nSalinator, who had retreated into the citadel after losing the town: \"It\nwas owing to me, Quintus Fabius, that you retook Tarentum.\" \"Quite so,\"\nhe replied with a laugh; \"for had you not lost it, I should never have\nrecovered it.\" Nor was he less eminent in civil life than in war. In his\nsecond consulship, though his colleague would not move in the matter, he\nresisted as long as he could the proposal of the tribune C. Flaminius\nto divide the territory of the Picenians and Gauls in free allotments in\ndefiance of a resolution of the Senate. Again, though he was an augur,\nhe ventured to say that whatever was done in the interests of the State\nwas done with the best possible auspices, that any laws proposed against\nits interest were proposed against the auspices. I was cognisant of much\nthat was admirable in that great man, but nothing struck me with greater\nastonishment than the way in which he bore the death of his son--a man\nof brilliant character and who had been consul. His funeral speech\nover him is in wide circulation, and when we read it, is there any\nphilosopher of whom we do not think meanly? Nor in truth was he only\ngreat in the light of day and in the sight of his fellow-citizens;\nhe was still more eminent in private and at home. What a wealth of\nconversation! What weighty maxims! What a wide acquaintance with ancient\nhistory! What an accurate knowledge of the science of augury! For a\nRoman, too, he had a great tincture of letters. He had a tenacious\nmemory for military history of every sort, whether of Roman or\nforeign wars. And I used at that time to enjoy his conversation with a\npassionate eagerness, as though I already divined, what actually turned\nout to be the case, that when he died there would be no one to teach me\nanything.\n\n5. What then is the purpose of such a long disquisition on Maximus? It\nis because you now see that an old age like his cannot conscientiously\nbe called unhappy. Yet it is after all true that everybody cannot be a\nScipio or a Maximus, with stormings of cities, with battles by land and\nsea, with wars in which they themselves commanded, and with triumphs to\nrecall. Besides this there is a quiet, pure, and cultivated life which\nproduces a calm and gentle old age, such as we have been told Plato's\nwas, who died at his writing-desk in his eighty-first year; or like that\nof Isocrates, who says that he wrote the book called The Panegyric in\nhis ninety-fourth year, and who lived for five years afterwards; while\nhis master Gorgias of Leontini completed a hundred and seven years\nwithout ever relaxing his diligence or giving up work. When some one\nasked him why he consented to remain so long alive--\"I have no fault,\"\nsaid he, \"to find with old age.\" That was a noble answer, and worthy of\na scholar. For fools impute their own frailties and guilt to old age,\ncontrary to the practice of Ennui, whom I mentioned just now. In the\nlines--\n\n     Like some brave steed that oft before\n     The Olympic wreath of victory bore,\n     Now by the weight of years oppressed,\n     Forgets the race, and takes his rest--\n\nhe compares his own old age to that of a high-spirited and successful\nrace-horse. And him indeed you may very well remember. For the present\nconsuls Titus Flamininus and Manius Acilius were elected in the\nnineteenth year after his death; and his death occurred in the\nconsulship of Caepio and Philippus, the latter consul for the second\ntime: in which year I, then sixty-six years old, spoke in favour of\nthe Voconian law in a voice that was still strong and with lungs\nstill sound; while be, though seventy years old, supported two burdens\nconsidered the heaviest of all--poverty and old age--in such a way as to\nbe all but fond of them.\n\nThe fact is that when I come to think it over, I find that there are\nfour reasons for old age being thought unhappy: First, that it withdraws\nus from active employments; second, that it enfeebles the body; third,\nthat it deprives us of nearly all physical pleasures; fourth, that it is\nthe next step to death. Of each of these reasons, if you will allow me,\nlet us examine the force and justice separately.\n\n6. OLD AGE WITHDRAWS US FROM ACTIVE EMPLOYMENTS. From which of them? Do\nyou mean from those carried on by youth and bodily strength? Are\nthere then no old men's employments to be after all conducted by the\nintellect, even when bodies are weak? So then Q. Maximus did\nnothing; nor L. Aemilius--our father, Scipio, and my excellent son's\nfather-in-law! So with other old men--the Fabricii, the Guru and\nCoruncanii--when they were supporting the State by their advice and\ninfluence, they were doing nothing! To old age Appius Claudius had the\nadditional disadvantage of being blind; yet it was he who, when the\nSenate was inclining towards a peace with Pyrrhus and was for making a\ntreaty, did not hesitate to say what Ennius has embalmed in the verses:\n\n     Whither have swerved the souls so firm of yore?\n     Is sense grown senseless? Can feet stand no more?\n\nAnd so on in a tone of the most passionate vehemence. You know the\npoem, and the speech of Appius himself is extant. Now, he delivered\nit seventeen years after his second consulship, there having been an\ninterval of ten years between the two consulships, and he having been\ncensor before his previous consulship. This will show you that at the\ntime of the war with Pyrrhus he was a very old man. Yet this is the\nstory handed down to us.\n\nThere is therefore nothing in the arguments of those who say that old\nage takes no part in public business. They are like men who would say\nthat a steersman does nothing in sailing a ship, because, while some\nof the crew are climbing the masts, others hurrying up and down the\ngangways, others pumping out the bilge water, he sits quietly in the\nstern holding the tiller. He does not do what young men do; nevertheless\nhe does what is much more important and better. The great affairs of\nlife are not performed by physical strength, or activity, or nimbleness\nof body, but by deliberation, character, expression of opinion. Of these\nold age is not only not deprived, but, as a rule, has them in a greater\ndegree. Unless by any chance I, who as a soldier in the ranks, as\nmilitary tribune, as legate, and as consul have been employed in various\nkinds of war, now appear to you to be idle because not actively engaged\nin war. But I enjoin upon the Senate what is to be done, and how.\nCarthage has long been harbouring evil designs, and I accordingly\nproclaim war against her in good time. I shall never cease to entertain\nfears about her till I hear of her having been levelled with the ground.\nThe glory of doing that I pray that the immortal gods may reserve\nfor you, Scipio, so that you may complete the task begun by your\ngrand-father, now dead more than thirty-two years ago; though all years\nto come will keep that great man's memory green. He died in the year\nbefore my censorship, nine years after my consulship, having been\nreturned consul for the second time in my own consulship. If then he had\nlived to his hundredth year, would he have regretted having lived to be\nold? For he would of course not have been practising rapid marches, nor\ndashing on a foe, nor hurling spears from a distance, nor using swords\nat close quarters--but only counsel, reason, and senatorial eloquence.\nAnd if those qualities had not resided in us _seniors_, our ancestors\nwould never have called their supreme council a Senate. At Sparta,\nindeed, those who hold the highest magistracies are in accordance with\nthe fact actually called \"elders.\" But if you will take the trouble\nto read or listen to foreign history, you will find that the mightiest\nStates have been brought into peril by young men, have been supported\nand restored by old. The question occurs in the poet Naevius's _Sport_:\n\n     Pray, who are those who brought your State\n     With such despatch to meet its fate?\n\nThere is a long answer, but this is the chief point:\n\n     A crop of brand-new orators we grew,\n     And foolish, paltry lads who thought they knew.\n\nFor of course rashness is the note of youth, prudence of old age.\n\n7. But, it is said, memory dwindles. No doubt, unless you keep it in\npractice, or if you happen to be somewhat dull by nature. Themistocles\nhad the names of all his fellow-citizens by heart. Do you imagine that\nin his old age he used to address Aristides as Lysimachus? For my part,\nI know not only the present generation, but their fathers also, and\ntheir grandfathers. Nor have I any fear of losing my memory by reading\ntombstones, according to the vulgar superstition. On the contrary, by\nreading them I renew my memory of those who are dead and gone. Nor, in\npoint of fact, have I ever heard of any old man forgetting where he had\nhidden his money. They remember everything that interests them: when to\nanswer to their bail, business appointments, who owes them money, and\nto whom they owe it. What about lawyers, pontiffs, augurs, philosophers,\nwhen old? What a multitude of things they remember! Old men retain their\nintellects well enough, if only they keep their minds active and fully\nemployed. Nor is that the case only with men of high position and\ngreat office: it applies equally to private life and peaceful pursuits.\nSophocles composed tragedies to extreme old age; and being believed to\nneglect the care of his property owing to his devotion to his art, his\nsons brought him into court to get a judicial decision depriving him of\nthe management of his property on the ground of weak intellect--just as\nin our law it is customary to deprive a paterfamilias of the management\nof his property if he is squandering it. There--upon the old poet is\nsaid to have read to the judges the play he had on hand and had just\ncomposed--the _Oedipus Coloneus_--and to have asked them whether they\nthought that the work of a man of weak intellect. After the reading he\nwas acquitted by the jury. Did old age then compel this man to become\nsilent in his particular art, or Homer, Hesiod, Simonides, or Isocrates\nand Gorgias whom I mentioned before, or the founders of schools of\nphilosophy, Pythagoras, Democritus, Plato, Xenocrates, or later Zeno and\nCleanthus, or Diogenes the Stoic, whom you too saw at Rome? Is it not\nrather the case with all these that the active pursuit of study only\nended with life?\n\nBut, to pass over these sublime studies, I can name some rustic Romans\nfrom the Sabine district, neighbours and friends of my own,\nwithout whose presence farm work of importance is scarcely ever\nperformed--whether sowing, or harvesting or storing crops. And yet in\nother things this is less surprising; for no one is so old as to think\nthat he may not live a year. But they bestow their labour on what they\nknow does not affect them in any case:\n\n     He plants his trees to serve a race to come,\n\nas our poet Statius says in his Comrades. Nor indeed would a farmer,\nhowever old, hesitate to answer any one who asked him for whom he was\nplanting: \"For the immortal gods, whose will it was that I should not\nmerely receive these things from my ancestors, but should also hand them\non to the next generation.\"\n\n8. That remark about the old man is better than the following:\n\n     If age brought nothing worse than this,\n     It were enough to mar our bliss,\n     That he who bides for many years\n     Sees much to shun and much for tears.\n\nYes, and perhaps much that gives him pleasure too. Besides, as to\nsubjects for tears, he often comes upon them in youth as well.\n\nA still more questionable sentiment in the same Caecilius is:\n\n     No greater misery can of age be told\n     Than this: be sure, the young dislike the old.\n\nDelight in them is nearer the mark than dislike. For just as old men, if\nthey are wise, take pleasure in the society of young men of good parts,\nand as old age is rendered less dreary for those who are courted and\nliked by the youth, so also do young men find pleasure in the maxims of\nthe old, by which they are drawn to the pursuit of excellence. Nor do\nI perceive that you find my society less pleasant than I do yours. But\nthis is enough to show you how, so far from being listless and sluggish,\nold age is even a busy time, always doing and attempting something, of\ncourse of the same nature as each man's taste had been in the previous\npart of his life. Nay, do not some even add to their stock of learning?\nWe see Solon, for instance, boasting in his poems that he grows old\n\"daily learning something new.\" Or again in my own case, it was only\nwhen an old man that I became acquainted with Greek literature, which in\nfact I absorbed with such avidity--in my yearning to quench, as it were,\na long-continued thirst--that I became acquainted with the very facts\nwhich you see me now using as precedents. When I heard what Socrates had\ndone about the lyre I should have liked for my part to have done that\ntoo, for the ancients used to learn the lyre but, at any rate, I worked\nhard at literature.\n\n9. Nor, again, do I now MISS THE BODILY STRENGTH OF A YOUNG MAN (for\nthat was the second point as to the disadvantages of old age) any more\nthan as a young man I missed the strength of a bull or an elephant. You\nshould use what you have, and whatever you may chance to be doing, do\nit with all your might. What could be weaker than Milo of Croton's\nexclamation? When in his old age he was watching some athletes\npractising in the course, he is said to have looked at his arms and to\nhave exclaimed with tears in his eyes: \"Ah well! these are now as good\nas dead.\" Not a bit more so than yourself, you trifler! For at no time\nwere you made famous by your real self, but by chest and biceps. Sext.\nAelius never gave vent to such a remark, nor, many years before him,\nTitus Coruncanius, nor, more recently, P. Crassus--all of them learned\njuris-consults in active practice, whose knowledge of their profession\nwas maintained to their last breath. I am afraid an orator does lose\nvigour by old age, for his art is not a matter of the intellect alone,\nbut of lungs and bodily strength. Though as a rule that musical ring\nin the voice even gains in brilliance in a certain way as one grows\nold--certainly I have not yet lost it, and you see my years. Yet\nafter all the style of speech suitable to an old man is the quiet and\nunemotional, and it often happens that the chastened and calm delivery\nof an old man eloquent secures a hearing. If you cannot attain to that\nyourself, you might still instruct a Scipio and a Laelius. For what is\nmore charming than old age surrounded by the enthusiasm of youth? Shall\nwe not allow old age even the strength to teach the young, to train\nand equip them for all the duties of life? And what can be a nobler\nemployment? For my part, I used to think Publius and Gnaeus Scipio and\nyour two grandfathers, L. Aemilius and P. Africanus, fortunate men when\nI saw them with a company of young nobles about them. Nor should we\nthink any teachers of the fine arts otherwise than happy, however much\ntheir bodily forces may have decayed and failed. And yet that same\nfailure of the bodily forces is more often brought about by the vices of\nyouth than of old age; for a dissolute and intemperate youth hands down\nthe body to old age in a worn-out state. Xenophon's Cyrus, for instance,\nin his discourse delivered on his death-bed and at a very advanced age,\nsays that he never perceived his old age to have become weaker than his\nyouth had been. I remember as a boy Lucius Metellus, who having been\ncreated Pontifex Maximus four years after his second consulship, held\nthat office twenty-two years, enjoying such excellent strength of body\nin the very last hours of his life as not to miss his youth. I need not\nspeak of myself; though that indeed is an old man's way and is generally\nallowed to my time of life. Don't you see in Homer how frequently Nestor\ntalks of his own good qualities? For he was living through a third\ngeneration; nor had he any reason to fear that upon saying what was true\nabout himself he should appear either over vain or talkative. For, as\nHomer says, \"from his lips flowed discourse sweeter than honey,\" for\nwhich sweet breath he wanted no bodily strength. And yet, after all, the\nfamous leader of the Greeks nowhere wishes to have ten men like Ajax,\nbut like Nestor: if he could get them, he feels no doubt of Troy shortly\nfalling.\n\n10. But to return to my own case: I am in my eighty-fourth year. I could\nwish that I had been able to make the same boast as Cyrus; but, after\nall, I can say this: I am not indeed as vigorous as I was as a private\nsoldier in the Punic war, or as quaestor in the same war, or as consul\nin Spain, and four years later when as a military tribune I took part in\nthe engagement at Thermopylae under the consul Manius Acilius Glabrio;\nbut yet, as you see, old age has not entirely destroyed my muscles, has\nnot quite brought me to the ground. The Senate-house does not find all\nmy vigour gone, nor the rostra, nor my friends, nor my clients, nor\nmy foreign guests. For I have never given in to that ancient and\nmuch-praised proverb:\n\n     Old when young\n     Is old for long.\n\nFor myself, I had rather be an old man a somewhat shorter time than\nan old man _before_ my time. Accordingly, no one up to the present has\nwished to see me, to whom I have been denied as engaged. But, it may\nbe said, I have less strength than either of you. Neither have you the\nstrength of the centurion T. Pontius: is he the more eminent man on that\naccount? Let there be only a proper husbanding of strength, and let each\nman proportion his efforts to his powers. Such an one will assuredly not\nbe possessed with any great regret for his loss of strength. At Olympia\nMilo is said to have stepped into the course carrying a live ox on\nhis shoulders. Which then of the two would you prefer to have given to\nyou--bodily strength like that, or intellectual strength like that of\nPythagoras? In fine, enjoy that blessing when you have it; when it is\ngone, don't wish it back--unless we are to think that young men should\nwish their childhood back, and those somewhat older their youth! The\ncourse of life is fixed, and nature admits of its being run but in one\nway, and only once; and to each part of our life there is something\nspecially seasonable; so that the feebleness of children, as well as\nthe high spirit of youth, the soberness of maturer years, and the ripe\nwisdom of old age--all have a certain natural advantage which should\nbe secured in its proper season. I think you are informed, Scipio, what\nyour grandfather's foreign friend Masinissa does to this day, though\nninety years old. When he has once begun a journey on foot he does not\nmount his horse at all; when on horseback he never gets off his horse.\nBy no rain or cold can he be induced to cover his head. His body is\nabsolutely free from unhealthy humours, and so he still performs all\nthe duties and functions of a king. Active exercise, therefore, and\ntemperance can preserve some part of one's former strength even in old\nage.\n\n11. Bodily strength is wanting to old age; but neither is bodily\nstrength demanded from old men. Therefore, both by law and custom,\nmen of my time of life are exempt from those duties which cannot be\nsupported without bodily strength. Accordingly not only are we not\nforced to do what we cannot do; we are not even obliged to do as much\nas we can. But, it will be said, many old men are so feeble that they\ncannot perform any duty in life of any sort or kind. That is not a\nweakness to be set down as peculiar to old age: it is one shared by ill\nhealth. How feeble was the son of P. Africanus, who adopted you! What\nweak health he had, or rather no health at all! If that had not been\nthe case, we should have had in him a second brilliant light in the\npolitical horizon; for he had added a wider cultivation to his father's\ngreatness of spirit. What wonder, then, that old men are eventually\nfeeble, when even young men cannot escape it? My dear Laelius and\nScipio, we must stand up against old age and make up for its drawbacks\nby taking pains. We must fight it as we should an illness. We must look\nafter our health, use moderate exercise, take just enough food and drink\nto recruit, but not to overload, our strength. Nor is it the body alone\nthat must be supported, but the intellect and soul much more. For they\nare like lamps: unless you feed them with oil, they too go out from\nold age. Again, the body is apt to get gross from exercise; but the\nintellect becomes nimbler by exercising itself. For what Caecilius means\nby \"old dotards of the comic stage\" are the credulous, the forgetful,\nand the slipshod. These are faults that do not attach to old age as\nsuch, but to a sluggish, spiritless, and sleepy old age. Young men are\nmore frequently wanton and dissolute than old men; but yet, as it is not\nall young men that are so, but the bad set among them, even so senile\nfolly--usually called imbecility--applies to old men of unsound\ncharacter, not to all. Appius governed four sturdy sons, five daughters,\nthat great establishment, and all those clients, though he was both old\nand blind. For he kept his mind at full stretch like a bow, and never\ngave in to old age by growing slack. He maintained not merely an\ninfluence, but an absolute command over his family: his slaves feared\nhim, his sons were in awe of him, all loved him. In that family, indeed,\nancestral custom and discipline were in full vigour. The fact is that\nold age is respectable just as long as it asserts itself, maintains its\nproper rights, and is not enslaved to any one. For as I admire a young\nman who has something of the old man in him, so do I an old one who has\nsomething of a young man. The man who aims at this may possibly become\nold in body--in mind he never will. I am now engaged in composing the\nseventh book of my _Origins_. I collect all the records of antiquity.\nThe speeches delivered in all the celebrated cases which I have defended\nI am at this particular time getting into shape for publication. I am\nwriting treatises on augural, pontifical, and civil law. I am, besides,\nstudying hard at Greek, and after the manner of the Pythagoreans--to\nkeep my memory in working order--I repeat in the evening whatever I have\nsaid, heard, or done in the course of each day. These are the exercises\nof the intellect, these the training grounds of the mind: while I sweat\nand labour on these I don't much feel the loss of bodily strength. I\nappear in court for my friends; I frequently attend the Senate and bring\nmotions before it on my own responsibility, prepared after deep and\nlong reflection. And these I support by my intellectual, not my bodily\nforces. And if I were not strong enough to do these things, yet I should\nenjoy my sofa--imagining the very operations which I was now unable to\nperform. But what makes me capable of doing this is my past life. For a\nman who is always living in the midst of these studies and labours\ndoes not perceive when old age creeps upon him. Thus, by slow and\nimperceptible degrees life draws to its end. There is no sudden\nbreakage; it just slowly goes out.\n\n12. The third charge against old age is that it LACKS SENSUAL PLEASURES.\nWhat a splendid service does old age render, if it takes from us the\ngreatest blot of youth! Listen, my dear young friends, to a speech of\nArchytas of Tarentum, among the greatest and most illustrious of men,\nwhich was put into my hands when as a young man I was at Tarentum\nwith Q. Maximus. \"No more deadly curse than sensual pleasure has been\ninflicted on mankind by nature, to gratify which our wanton appetites\nare roused beyond all prudence or restraint. It is a fruitful source of\ntreasons, revolutions, secret communications with the enemy. In fact,\nthere is no crime, no evil deed, to which the appetite for sensual\npleasures does not impel us. Fornications and adulteries, and every\nabomination of that kind, are brought about by the enticements of\npleasure and by them alone. Intellect is the best gift of nature or\nGod: to this divine gift and endowment there is nothing so inimical\nas pleasure. For when appetite is our master, there is no place for\nself-control; nor where pleasure reigns supreme can virtue hold its\nground. To see this more vividly, imagine a man excited to the highest\nconceivable pitch of sensual pleasure. It can be doubtful to no one that\nsuch a person, so long as he is under the influence of such excitation\nof the senses, will be unable to use to any purpose either intellect,\nreason, or thought. Therefore nothing can be so execrable and so fatal\nas pleasure; since, when more than ordinarily violent and lasting, it\ndarkens all the light of the soul.\"\n\nThese were the words addressed by Archytas to the Samnite Caius Pontius,\nfather of the man by whom the consuls Spurius Postumius and Titus\nVeturius were beaten in the battle of Caudium. My friend Nearchus of\nTarentum, who had remained loyal to Rome, told me that he had heard them\nrepeated by some old men; and that Plato the Athenian was present, who\nvisited Tarentum, I find, in the consulship of L. Camillus and Appius\nClaudius.\n\nWhat is the point of all this? It is to show you that, if we were unable\nto scorn pleasure by the aid of reason and philosophy, we ought to have\nbeen very grateful to old age for depriving us of all inclination for\nthat which it was wrong to do. For pleasure hinders thought, is a foe to\nreason, and, so to speak, blinds the eyes of the mind. It is, moreover,\nentirely alien to virtue. I was sorry to have to expel Lucius, brother\nof the gallant Titus Flamininus, from the Senate seven years after his\nconsulship; but I thought it imperative to affix a stigma on an act of\ngross sensuality. For when he was in Gaul as consul, he had yielded to\nthe entreaties of his paramour at a dinner-party to behead a man who\nhappened to be in prison condemned on a capital charge. When his brother\nTitus was Censor, who preceded me, he escaped; but I and Flaccus could\nnot countenance an act of such criminal and abandoned lust, especially\nas, besides the personal dishonour, it brought disgrace on the\nGovernment.\n\n13. I have often been told by men older than myself, who said that they\nhad heard it as boys from old men, that Gaius Fabricius was in the\nhabit of expressing astonishment at having heard, when envoy at the\nheadquarters of king Pyrrhus, from the Thessalian Cineas, that there was\na man of Athens who professed to be a \"philosopher,\" and affirmed that\neverything we did was to be referred to pleasure. When he told this to\nManius Curius and Publius Decius, they used to remark that they wished\nthat the Samnites and Pyrrhus himself would hold the same opinion. It\nwould be much easier to conquer them, if they had once given themselves\nover to sensual indulgences. Manius Curius had been intimate with\nP. Decius, who four years before the former's consulship had devoted\nhimself to death for the Republic. Both Fabricius and Coruncanius knew\nhim also, and from the experience of their own lives, as well as from\nthe action of P. Decius, they were of opinion that there did exist\nsomething intrinsically noble and great, which was sought for its own\nsake, and at which all the best men aimed, to the contempt and neglect\nof pleasure. Why then do I spend so many words on the subject of\npleasure? Why, because, far from being a charge against old age, that it\ndoes not much feel the want of any pleasures, it is its highest praise.\n\nBut, you will say, it is deprived of the pleasures of the table, the\nheaped up board, the rapid passing of the wine-cup. Well, then, it is\nalso free from headache, disordered digestion, broken sleep. But if we\nmust grant pleasure something, since we do not find it easy to resist\nits charms,--for Plato, with happy inspiration, calls pleasure \"vice's\nbait,\" because of course men are caught by it as fish by a hook,--yet,\nalthough old age has to abstain from extravagant banquets, it is still\ncapable of enjoying modest festivities. As a boy I often used to see\nGaius Duilius the son of Marcus, then an old man, returning from\na dinner-party. He thoroughly enjoyed the frequent use of torch and\nflute-player, distinctions which he had assumed though unprecedented in\nthe case of a private person. It was the privilege of his glory. But why\nmention others? I will come back to my own case. To begin with, I have\nalways remained a member of a \"club\"--clubs, you know, were established\nin my quaestorship on the reception of the Magna Mater from Ida. So I\nused to dine at their feast with the members of my club--on the whole\nwith moderation, though there was a certain warmth of temperament\nnatural to my time of life; but as that advances there is a daily\ndecrease of all excitement. Nor was I, in fact, ever wont to measure\nmy enjoyment even of these banquets by the physical pleasures they gave\nmore than by the gathering and conversation of friends. For it was\na good idea of our ancestors to style the presence of guests at a\ndinner-table--seeing that it implied a community of enjoyment--a\n_convivium_, \"a living together.\" It is a better term than the Greek\nwords which mean \"a drinking together,\" or, \"an eating together.\" For\nthey would seem to give the preference to what is really the least\nimportant part of it.\n\n14. For myself, owing to the pleasure I take in conversation, I enjoy\neven banquets that begin early in the afternoon, and not only in company\nwith my contemporaries--of whom very few survive--but also with men\nof your age and with yourselves. I am thankful to old age, which has\nincreased my avidity for conversation, while it has removed that for\neating and drinking. But if anyone does enjoy these--not to seem to have\nproclaimed war against all pleasure without exception, which is perhaps\na feeling inspired by nature--I fail to perceive even in these very\npleasures that old age is entirely without the power of appreciation.\nFor myself, I take delight even in the old-fashioned appointment of\nmaster of the feast; and in the arrangement of the conversation, which\naccording to ancestral custom is begun from the last place on the\nleft-hand couch when the wine is brought in; as also in the cups which,\nas in Xenophon's banquet, are small and filled by driblets; and in the\ncontrivance for cooling in summer, and for warming by the winter sun or\nwinter fire. These things I keep up even among my Sabine countrymen, and\nevery day have a full dinner-party of neighbours, which we prolong as\nfar into the night as we can with varied conversation.\n\nBut you may urge--there is not the same tingling sensation of pleasure\nin old men. No doubt; but neither do they miss it so much. For nothing\ngives you uneasiness which you do not miss. That was a fine answer of\nSophocles to a man who asked him, when in extreme old age, whether he\nwas still a lover. \"Heaven forbid!\" he replied; \"I was only too glad to\nescape from that, as though from a boorish and insane master.\" To\nmen indeed who are keen after such things it may possibly appear\ndisagreeable and uncomfortable to be without them; but to jaded\nappetites it is pleasanter to lack than to enjoy. However, he cannot be\nsaid to lack who does not want: my contention is that not to want is the\npleasanter thing.\n\nBut even granting that youth enjoys these pleasures with more zest; in\nthe first place, they are insignificant things to enjoy, as I have said;\nand in the second place, such as age is not entirely without, if it\ndoes not possess them in profusion. Just as a man gets greater pleasure\nfrom Ambivius Turpio if seated in the front row at the theatre than if\nhe was in the last, yet, after all, the man in the last row does get\npleasure; so youth, because it looks at pleasures at closer quarters,\nperhaps enjoys itself more, yet even old age, looking at them from\na distance, does enjoy itself well enough. Why, what blessings are\nthese--that the soul, having served its time, so to speak, in the\ncampaigns of desire and ambition, rivalry and hatred, and all the\npassions, should live in its own thoughts, and, as the expression goes,\nshould dwell apart! Indeed, if it has in store any of what I may call\nthe food of study and philosophy, nothing can be pleasanter than an\nold age of leisure. We were witnesses to C. Gallus--a friend of your\nfather's, Scipio--intent to the day of his death on mapping out the sky\nand land. How often did the light surprise him while still working out\na problem begun during the night! How often did night find him busy on\nwhat he had begun at dawn! How he delighted in predicting for us solar\nand lunar eclipses long before they occurred! Or again in studies of\na lighter nature, though still requiring keenness of intellect, what\npleasure Naevius took in his _Punic War_! Plautus in his _Truculentus_\nand _Pseudolus_! I even saw Livius Andronicus, who, having produced\na play six years before I was born--in the consulship of Cento and\nTuditanus--lived till I had become a young man. Why speak of Publius\nLicinius Crassus's devotion to pontifical and civil law, or of the\nPublius Scipio of the present time, who within these last few days\nhas been created Pontifex Maximus? And yet I have seen all whom I have\nmentioned ardent in these pursuits when old men. Then there is Marcus\nCethegus, whom Ennius justly called \"Persuasion's Marrow\"--with what\nenthusiasm did we see him exert himself in oratory even when quite old!\nWhat pleasures are there in feasts, games, or mistresses comparable to\npleasures such as these? And they are all tastes, too, connected with\nlearning, which in men of sense and good education grow with their\ngrowth. It is indeed an honourable sentiment which Solon expresses in a\nverse which I have quoted before--that he grew old learning many a fresh\nlesson every day. Than that intellectual pleasure none certainly can be\ngreater.\n\n15. I come now to the pleasures of the farmer, in which I take amazing\ndelight. These are not hindered by any extent of old age, and seem to\nme to approach nearest to the ideal wise man's life. For he has to deal\nwith the earth, which never refuses its obedience, nor ever returns\nwhat it has received without usury; sometimes, indeed, with less, but\ngenerally with greater interest. For my part, however, it is not merely\nthe thing produced, but the earth's own force and natural productiveness\nthat delight me. For received in its bosom the seed scattered broadcast\nupon it, softened and broken up, she first keeps it concealed therein\n(hence the harrowing which accomplishes this gets its name from a word\nmeaning \"to hide\"); next, when it has been warmed by her heat and close\npressure, she splits it open and draws from it the greenery of the\nblade. This, supported by the fibres of the root, little by little grows\nup, and held upright by its jointed stalk is enclosed in sheaths, as\nbeing still immature. When it has emerged from them it produces an ear\nof corn arranged in order, and is defended against the pecking of the\nsmaller birds by a regular palisade of spikes.\n\nNeed I mention the starting, planting, and growth of vines? I can never\nhave too much of this pleasure--to let you into the secret of what gives\nmy old age repose and amusement. For I say nothing here of the natural\nforce which all things propagated from the earth possess--the earth\nwhich from that tiny grain in a fig, or the grape-stone in a grape, or\nthe most minute seeds of the other cereals and plants, produces such\nhuge trunks and boughs. Mallet-shoots, slips, cuttings, quicksets,\nlayers--are they not enough to fill anyone with delight and\nastonishment? The vine by nature is apt to fall, and unless supported\ndrops down to the earth; yet in order to keep itself upright it embraces\nwhatever it reaches with its tendrils as though they were hands. Then\nas it creeps on, spreading itself in intricate and wild profusion, the\ndresser's art prunes it with the knife and prevents it growing a forest\nof shoots and expanding to excess in every direction. Accordingly at the\nbeginning of spring in the shoots which have been left there protrudes\nat each of the joints what is termed an eye. From this the grape emerges and\nshows itself; which, swollen by the juice of the earth and the heat\nof the sun, is at first very bitter to the taste, but afterwards grows\nsweet as it matures; and being covered with tendrils is never without a\nmoderate warmth, and yet is able to ward off the fiery heat of the sun.\nCan anything be richer in product or more beautiful to contemplate?\nIt is not its utility only, as I said before, that charms me, but the\nmethod of its cultivation and the natural process of its growth: the\nrows of uprights, the cross-pieces for the tops of the plants, the tying\nup of the vines and their propagation by layers, the pruning, to which\nI have already referred, of some shoots, the setting of others. I need\nhardly mention irrigation, or trenching and digging the soil, which much\nincrease its fertility. As to the advantages of manuring I have spoken\nin my book on agriculture. The learned Hesiod did not say a single word\non this subject, though he was writing on the cultivation of the soil;\nyet Homer, who in my opinion was many generations earlier, represents\nLaertes as softening his regret for his son by cultivating and manuring\nhis farm. Nor is it only in cornfields and meadows and vineyards and\nplantations that a farmer's life is made cheerful. There are the garden\nand the orchard, the feeding of sheep, the swarms of bees, endless\nvarieties of flowers. Nor is it only planting out that charms: there\nis also grafting--surely the most ingenious invention ever made by\nhusbandmen.\n\n16. I might continue my list of the delights of country life; but even\nwhat I have said I think is somewhat over long. However, you must\npardon me; for farming is a very favourite hobby of mine, and old age is\nnaturally rather garrulous--for I would not be thought to acquit it of\nall faults.\n\nWell, it was in a life of this sort that Manius Curius, after\ncelebrating triumphs over the Samnites, the Sabines, and Pyrrhus, spent\nhis last days. When I look at his villa--for it is not far from my\nown--I never can enough admire the man's own frugality or the spirit of\nthe age. As Curius was sitting at his hearth the Samnites, who brought\nhim a large sum of gold, were repulsed by him; for it was not, he\nsaid, a fine thing in his eyes to possess gold, but to rule those who\npossessed it. Could such a high spirit fail to make old age pleasant?\n\nBut to return to farmers--not to wander from my own metier. In those\ndays there were senators, _i. e_. old men, on their farms. For L.\nQuinctius Cincinnatus was actually at the plough when word was brought\nhim that he had been named Dictator. It was by his order as Dictator,\nby the way, that C. Servilius Ahala, the Master of the Horse, seized\nand put to death Spurius Maelius when attempting to obtain royal power.\nCurius as well as other old men used to receive their summonses to\nattend the Senate in their farm-houses, from which circumstance the\nsummoners were called _viatores_ or \"travellers.\" Was these men's old\nage an object of pity who found their pleasure in the cultivation of the\nland? In my opinion, scarcely any life can be more blessed, not alone\nfrom its utility (for agriculture is beneficial to the whole human\nrace), but also as much from the mere pleasure of the thing, to which\nI have already alluded, and from the rich abundance and supply of all\nthings necessary for the food of man and for the worship of the gods\nabove. So, as these are objects of desire to certain people, let us\nmake our peace with pleasure. For the good and hard-working farmer's\nwine-cellar and oil-store, as well as his larder, are always well\nfilled, and his whole farm-house is richly furnished. It abounds in\npigs, goats, lambs, fowls, milk, cheese, and honey. Then there is the\ngarden, which the farmers themselves call their \"second flitch.\" A zest\nand flavour is added to all these by hunting and fowling in spare hours.\nNeed I mention the greenery of meadows, the rows of trees, the beauty\nof vineyard and olive-grove? I will put it briefly: nothing can either\nfurnish necessaries more richly, or present a fairer spectacle, than\nwell-cultivated land. And to the enjoyment of that, old age does not\nmerely present no hindrance--it actually invites and allures to it. For\nwhere else can it better warm itself, either by basking in the sun or by\nsitting by the fire, or at the proper time cool itself more wholesomely\nby the help of shade or water? Let the young keep their arms then to\nthemselves, their horses, spears, their foils and ball, their swimming\nbaths and running path. To us old men let them, out of the many forms of\nsport, leave dice and counters; but even that as they choose, since old\nage can be quite happy without them.\n\n17. Xenophon's books are very useful for many purposes. Pray go on\nreading them with attention, as you have ever done. In what ample\nterms is agriculture lauded by him in the book about husbanding one's\nproperty, which is called _Oceonomicus_! But to show you that he thought\nnothing so worthy of a prince as the taste for cultivating the soil, I\nwill translate what Socrates says to Critobulus in that book:\n\n\"When that most gallant Lacedaemonian Lysander came to visit the Persian\nprince Cyrus at Sardis, so eminent for his character and the glory of\nhis rule, bringing him presents from his allies, he treated Lysander\nin all ways with courteous familiarity and kindness, and, among other\nthings, took him to see a certain park carefully planted. Lysander\nexpressed admiration of the height of the trees and the exact\narrangement of their rows in the quincunx, the careful cultivation\nof the soil, its freedom from weeds, and the sweetness of the odours\nexhaled from the flowers, and went on to say that what he admired was\nnot the industry only, but also the skill of the man by whom this had\nbeen planned and laid out. Cyrus replied: 'Well, it was I who planned\nthe whole thing these rows are my doing, the laying out is all mine;\nmany of the trees were even planted by own hand.' Then Lysander, looking\nat his purple robe, the brilliance of his person, and his adornment\nPersian fashion with gold and many jewels, said: 'People are quite\nright, Cyrus, to call you happy, since the advantages of high fortune\nhave been joined to an excellence like yours.'\"\n\nThis kind of good fortune, then, it is in the power of old men to enjoy;\nnor is age any bar to our maintaining pursuits of every other kind, and\nespecially of agriculture, to the very extreme verge of old age. For\ninstance, we have it on record that M. Valerius Corvus kept it up to his\nhundredth year, living on his land and cultivating it after his active\ncareer was over, though between his first and sixth consulships there\nwas an interval of six and forty years. So that he had an official\ncareer lasting the number of years which our ancestors defined as coming\nbetween birth and the beginning of old age. Moreover, that last period\nof his old age was more blessed than that of his middle life, inasmuch\nas he had greater influence and less labour. For the crowning grace of\nold age is influence.\n\nHow great was that of L. Caecilius Metellus! How great that of Atilius\nCalatinus, over whom the famous epitaph was placed, \"Very many classes\nagree in deeming this to have been the very first man of the nation\"!\nThe line cut on his tomb is well known. It is natural, then, that a man\nshould have had influence, in whose praise the verdict of history is\nunanimous. Again, in recent times, what a great man was Publius Crassus,\nPontifex Maximus, and his successor in the same office, M. Lepidus! I\nneed scarcely mention Paulus or Africanus, or, as I did before, Maximus.\nIt was not only their senatorial utterances that had weight: their least\ngesture had it also. In fact, old age, especially when it has enjoyed\nhonours, has an influence worth all the pleasures of youth put together.\n\n18. But throughout my discourse remember that my panegyric applies to\nan old age that has been established on foundations laid by youth. From\nwhich may be deduced what I once said with universal applause, that\nit was a wretched old age that had to defend itself by speech. Neither\nwhite hairs nor wrinkles can at once claim influence in themselves: it\nis the honourable conduct of earlier days that is rewarded by possessing\ninfluence at the last. Even things generally regarded as trifling and\nmatters of course--being saluted, being courted, having way made for\none, people rising when one approaches, being escorted to and from the\nforum, being referred to for advice--all these are marks of respect,\nobserved among us and in other States--always most sedulously where the\nmoral tone is highest. They say that Lysander the Spartan, whom I have\nmentioned before, used to remark that Sparta was the most dignified home\nfor old age; for that nowhere was more respect paid to years, no-where\nwas old age held in higher honour. Nay, the story is told of how when\na man of advanced years came into the theatre at Athens when the games\nwere going on, no place was given him anywhere in that large assembly\nby his own countrymen; but when he came near the Lacedaemonians, who as\nambassadors had a fixed place assigned to them, they rose as one man out\nof respect for him, and gave the veteran a seat. When they were greeted\nwith rounds of applause from the whole audience, one of them remarked:\n\n\"The Athenians know what is right, but will not do it.\" There are many\nexcellent rules in our augural college, but among the best is one which\naffects our subject--that precedence in speech goes by seniority; and\naugurs who are older are preferred only to those who have held higher\noffice, but even to those who are actually in possession of imperium.\nWhat then are the physical pleasures to be compared with the reward of\ninfluence? Those who have employed it with distinction appear to me to\nhave played the drama of life to its end, and not to have broken down in\nthe last act like unpractised players.\n\nBut, it will be said, old men are fretful, fidgety, ill-tempered, and\ndisagreeable. If you come to that, they are also avaricious. But these\nare faults of character, not of the time of life. And, after all,\nfretfulness and the other faults I mentioned admit of some excuse--not,\nindeed, a complete one, but one that may possibly pass muster: they\nthink themselves neglected, looked down upon, mocked, Besides with\nbodily weakness every rub is a source of pain. Yet all these faults are\nsoftened both by good character and good education. Illustrations of\nthis may be found in real life, as also on the stage in the case of\nthe brothers in the _Adeiphi_. What harshness in the one, what gracious\nmanners in the other The fact is that, just as it is not every wine, so\nit is not every life, that turns sour from keeping, Serious gravity I\napprove of in old age, but, as in other things, it must be within due\nlimits: bitterness I can in no case approve. What the object of senile\navarice may be I cannot conceive. For can there be anything more absurd\nthan to seek more journey money, the less there remains of the journey?\n\n19. There remains the fourth reason, which more than anything else\nappears to torment men of my age and keep them in a flutter--THE\nNEARNESS OF DEATH, which, it must be allowed, cannot be far from an old\nman. But what a poor dotard must he be who has not learnt in the course\nof so long a life that death is not a thing to be feared? Death, that is\neither to be totally disregarded, if it entirely extinguishes the soul,\nor is even to be desired, if it brings him where he is to exist forever.\nA third alternative, at any rate, cannot possibly be discovered. Why\nthen should I be afraid if I am destined either not to be miserable\nafter death or even to be happy? After all, who is such a fool as to\nfeel certain--however young he may be--that he will be alive in the\nevening? Nay, that time of life has many more chances of death than\nours, Young men more easily contract diseases; their illnesses are more\nserious; their treatment has to be more severe. Accordingly, only a few\narrive at old age. If that were not so, life would be conducted better\nand more wisely; for it is in old men that thought, reason, and prudence\nare to be found; and if there had been no old men, States would never\nhave existed at all. But I return to the subject of the imminence of\ndeath. What sort of charge is this against old age, when you see that it\nis shared by youth? I had reason in the case of my excellent son--as you\nhad, Scipio, in that of your brothers, who were expected to attain the\nhighest honours--to realise that death is common to every time of life.\nYes, you will say; but a young man expects to live long; an old man\ncannot expect to do so. Well, he is a fool to expect it. For what can be\nmore foolish than to regard the uncertain as certain, the false as true?\n\"An old man has nothing even to hope.\" Ah, but it is just there that\nhe is in a better position than a young man, since what the latter only\nhopes he has obtained. The one wishes to live long; the other has lived\nlong.\n\nAnd yet, good heaven! what is \"long\" in a man's life? For grant\nthe utmost limit: let us expect an age like that of the King of the\nTartessi. For there was, as I find recorded, a certain Agathonius at\nGades who reigned eighty years and lived a hundred and twenty. But to my\nmind nothing seems even long in which there is any \"last,\" for when that\narrives, then all the past has slipped away--only that remains to which\nyou have attained by virtue and righteous actions. Hours indeed, and\ndays and months and years depart, nor does past time ever return, nor\ncan the future be known. Whatever time each is granted for life, with\nthat he is bound to be content. An actor, in order to earn approval,\nis not bound to perform the play from beginning to end; let him only\nsatisfy the audience in whatever act he appears. Nor need a wise man go\non to the concluding \"plaudite.\" For a short term of life is long enough\nfor living well and honourably. But if you go farther, you have no more\nright to grumble than farmers do because the charm of the spring season\nis past and the summer and autumn have come. For the word \"spring\" in a\nway suggests youth, and points to the harvest to be: the other seasons\nare suited for the reaping and storing of the crops. Now the harvest of\nold age is, as I have often said, the memory and rich store of blessings\nlaid up in easier life. Again, all things that accord with nature are to\nbe counted as good. But what can be more in accordance with nature\nthan for old men to die? A thing, indeed, which also befalls young men,\nthough nature revolts and fights against it. Accordingly, the death of\nyoung men seems to me like putting out a great fire with a deluge of\nwater; but old men die like a fire going out because it has burnt down\nof its own nature without artificial means. Again, just as apples when\nunripe are torn from trees, but when ripe and mellow drop down, so it\nis violence that takes life from young men, ripeness from old. This\nripeness is so delightful to me, that, as I approach nearer to death,\nI seem as it were to be sighting land, and to be coming to port at last\nafter a long voyage.\n\n20. Again, there is no fixed borderline for old age, and you are making\na good and proper use of it as long as you can satisfy the call of duty\nand disregard death. The result of this is, that old age is even more\nconfident and courageous than youth. That is the meaning of Solon's\nanswer to the tyrant Pisistratus. When the latter asked him what he\nrelied upon in opposing him with such boldness, he is said to have\nreplied, \"On my old age.\" But that end of life is the best, when,\nwithout the intellect or senses being impaired, Nature herself takes\nto pieces her own handiwork which she also put together. Just as the\nbuilder of a ship or a house can break them up more easily than any one\nelse, so the nature that knit together the human frame can also\nbest unfasten it. Moreover, a thing freshly glued together is always\ndifficult to pull asunder; if old, this is easily done.\n\nThe result is that the short time of life left to them is not to be\ngrasped at by old men with greedy eagerness, or abandoned without cause.\nPythagoras forbids us, without an order from our commander, that is God,\nto desert life's fortress and outpost. Solon's epitaph, indeed, is that\nof a wise man, in which he says that he does not wish his death to be\nunaccompanied by the sorrow and lamentations of his friends. He wants, I\nsuppose, to be beloved by them. But I rather think Ennius says better:\n\nNone grace me with their tears, nor weeping loud Make sad my funeral\nrites!\n\nHe holds that a death is not a subject for mourning when it is followed\nby immortality.\n\nAgain, there may possibly be some sensation of dying and that only for\na short time, especially in the case of an old man: after death, indeed,\nsensation is either what one would desire, or it disappears altogether.\nBut to disregard death is a lesson which must be studied from our youth\nup; for unless that is learnt, no one can have a quiet mind. For die we\ncertainly must, and that too without being certain whether it may not be\nthis very day. As death, therefore, is hanging over our head every hour,\nhow can a man ever be unshaken in soul if he fears it?\n\nBut on this theme I don't think I need much enlarge: when I remember\nwhat Lucius Brutus did, who was killed while defending his country; or\nthe two Decii, who spurred their horses to a gallop and met a voluntary\ndeath; or M. Atilius Regulus, who left his home to confront a death of\ntorture, rather than break the word which he had pledged to the enemy;\nor the two Scipios, who determined to block the Carthaginian advance\neven with their own bodies; or your grandfather Lucius Paulus, who\npaid with his life for the rashness of his colleague in the disgrace at\nCannae; or M. Marcellus, whose death not even the most bloodthirsty of\nenemies would allow to go without the honour of burial. It is enough to\nrecall that our legions (as I have recorded in my _Origins_) have\noften marched with cheerful and lofty spirit to ground from which they\nbelieved that they would never return. That, therefore, which young\nmen--not only uninstructed, but absolutely ignorant--treat as of no\naccount, shall men who are neither young nor ignorant shrink from in\nterror? As a general truth, as it seems to me, it is weariness of all\npursuits that creates weariness of life. There are certain pursuits\nadapted to childhood: do young men miss them? There are others suited\nto early manhood: does that settled time of life called \"middle age\" ask\nfor them? There are others, again, suited to that age, but not looked\nfor in old age. There are, finally, some which belong to Old age.\nTherefore, as the pursuits of the earlier ages have their time for\ndisappearing, so also have those of old age. And when that takes place,\na satiety of life brings on the ripe time for death.\n\n21. For I do not see why I should not venture to tell you my personal\nopinion as to death, of which I seem to myself to have a clearer vision\nin proportion as I am nearer to it. I believe, Scipio and Laelius, that\nyour fathers--those illustrious men and my dearest friends--are still\nalive, and that too with a life which alone deserves the name. For as\nlong as we are imprisoned in this framework of the body, we perform a\ncertain function and laborious work assigned us by fate. The soul, in\nfact, is of heavenly origin, forced down from its home in the highest,\nand, so to speak, buried in earth, a place quite opposed to its divine\nnature and its immortality. But I suppose the immortal gods to have sown\nsouls broadcast in human bodies, that there might be some to survey\nthe world, and while contemplating the order of the heavenly bodies to\nimitate it in the unvarying regularity of their life. Nor is it only\nreason and arguments that have brought me to this belief, but the great\nfame and authority of the most distinguished philosophers. I used to\nbe told that Pythagoras and the Pythagoreans--almost natives of\nour country, who in old times had been called the Italian school of\nphilosophers--never doubted that we had souls drafted from the universal\nDivine intelligence. I used besides to have pointed out to me the\ndiscourse delivered by Socrates on the last day of his life upon the\nimmortality of the soul--Socrates who was pronounced by the oracle at\nDelphi to be the wisest of men. I need say no more. I have convinced\nmyself, and I hold--in view of the rapid movement of the soul, its vivid\nmemory of the past and its prophetic knowledge of the future, its many\naccomplishments, its vast range of knowledge, its numerous discoveries\n--that a nature embracing such varied gifts cannot itself be mortal.\nAnd since the soul is always in motion and yet has no external source of\nmotion, for it is self-moved, I conclude that it will also have no end\nto its motion, because it is not likely ever to abandon itself. Again,\nsince the nature of the soul is not composite, nor has in it any\nadmixture that is not homogeneous and similar, I conclude that it is\nindivisible, and, if indivisible, that it cannot perish. It is again\na strong proof of men knowing most things before birth, that when mere\nchildren they grasp innumerable facts with such speed as to show that\nthey are not then taking them in for the first time, but remembering and\nrecalling them. This is roughly Plato's argument.\n\n22. Once more in Xenophon we have the elder Cyrus on his deathbed\nspeaking as follows:--\n\n\"Do not suppose, my dearest sons, that when I have left you I shall be\nnowhere and no one. Even when I was with you, you did not see my soul,\nbut knew that it was in this body of mine from what I did. Believe then\nthat it is still the same, even though you see it not. The honours paid\nto illustrious men had not continued to exist after their death, had\nthe souls of these very men not done something to make us retain our\nrecollection of them beyond the ordinary time. For myself, I never could\nbe persuaded that souls while in mortal bodies were alive, and died\ndirectly they left them; nor, in fact, that the soul only lost all\nintelligence when it left the unintelligent body. I believe rather that\nwhen, by being liberated from all corporeal admixture, it has begun to\nbe pure and undefiled, it is then that it becomes wise. And again,\nwhen man's natural frame is resolved into its elements by death, it is\nclearly seen whither each of the other elements departs: for they all go\nto the place from which they came: but the soul alone is invisible alike\nwhen present and when departing. Once more, you see that nothing is so\nlike death as sleep. And yet it is in sleepers that souls most clearly\nreveal their divine nature; for they foresee many events when they are\nallowed to escape and are left free. This shows what they are likely to\nbe when they have completely freed themselves from the fetters of the\nbody. Wherefore, if these things are so, obey me as a god. But if my\nsoul is to perish with my body, nevertheless do you from awe of the\ngods, who guard and govern this fair universe, preserve my memory by the\nloyalty and piety of your lives.\"\n\n23. Such are the words of the dying Cyrus. I will now, with your good\nleave, look at home. No one, my dear Scipio, shall ever persuade me that\nyour father Paulus and your two grandfathers Paulus and Africanus, or\nthe father of Africanus, or his uncle, or many other illustrious men\nnot necessary to mention, would have attempted such lofty deeds as to be\nremaindered by posterity, had they not seen in their minds that future\nages concerned them. Do you suppose--to take an old man's privilege of\na little self-praise--that I should have been likely to undertake\nsuch heavy labours by day and night, at home and abroad, if I had been\ndestined to have the same limit to my glory as to my life? Had it not\nbeen much better to pass an age of ease and repose without any labour\nor exertion? But my soul, I know not how, refusing to be kept down, ever\nfixed its eyes upon future ages, as though from a conviction that it\nwould begin to live only when it had left the body. But had it not been\nthe case that souls were immortal, it would not have been the souls of\nall the best men that made the greatest efforts after an immortality of\nfame.\n\nAgain, is there not the fact that the wisest man ever dies with the\ngreatest cheerfulness, the most unwise with the least? Don't you think\nthat the soul which has the clearer and longer sight sees that it is\nstarting for better things, while the soul whose vision is dimmer does\nnot see it? For my part, I am transported with the desire to see your\nfathers, who were the object of my reverence and affection. Nor is it\nonly those whom I knew that I long to see; it is those also of whom I\nhave been told and have read, whom I have myself recorded in my history.\nWhen I am setting out for that, there is certainly no one who will find\nit easy to draw me back, or boil me up again like second Pelios. Nay, if\nsome god should grant me to renew my childhood from my present age and\nonce more to be crying in my cradle, I would firmly refuse; nor should\nI in truth be willing, after having, as it were, run the full course, to\nbe recalled from the winning--crease to the barriers. For what blessing\nhas life to offer? Should we not rather say what labour? But granting\nthat it has, at any rate it has after all a limit either to enjoyment\nor to existence. I don't wish to depreciate life, as many men and good\nphilosophers have often done; nor do I regret having lived, for I have\ndone so in a way that lets me think that I was not born in vain. But I\nquit life as I would an inn, not as I would a home. For nature has given\nus a place of entertainment, not of residence.\n\nOh glorious day when I shall set out to join that heavenly conclave and\ncompany of souls, and depart from the turmoil and impurities of\nthis world! For I shall not go to join only those whom I have before\nmentioned, but also my son Cato, than whom no better man was ever born,\nnor one more conspicuous for piety. His body was burnt by me, though\nmine ought, on the contrary, to have been burnt by him; but his spirit,\nnot abandoning, but ever looking back upon me, has certainly gone\nwhither he saw that I too must come. I was thought to bear that loss\nheroically, not that I really bore it without distress, but I found my\nown consolation in the thought that the parting and separation between\nus was not to be for long.\n\nIt is by these means, my dear Scipio,--for you said that you and Laelius\nwere wont to express surprise on this point,--that my old age sits\nlightly on me, and is not only not oppressive but even delightful.\nBut if I am wrong in thinking the human soul immortal, I am glad to be\nwrong; nor will I allow the mistake which gives me so much pleasure\nto be wrested from me as long as I live. But if when dead, as some\ninsignificant philosophers think, I am to be without sensation, I am not\nafraid of dead philosophers deriding my errors. Again, if we are not to\nbe immortal, it is nevertheless what a man must wish--to have his\nlife end at its proper time. For nature puts a limit to living as to\neverything else. Now, old age is as it were the playing out of the\ndrama, the full fatigue of which we should shun, especially when we also\nfeel that we have had more than enough of it.\n\nThis is all I had to say on old age. I pray that you may arrive at it,\nthat you may put my words to a practical test.","title":"Treatises on Friendship and Old Age","tradition":"philosophy-ethics","translated_text":null,"word_count":29773}