A Written Republic: Cicero's Philosophical Politics [Course Book ed.] 9781400842162

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A Written Republic

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A Written Republic Cicero’s Philosophical Politics Yelena Baraz

Princeton University Press Princeton and Oxford

Copyright © 2012 by Princeton University Press Published by Princeton University Press, 41 William Street, Princeton, New Jersey 08540 In the United Kingdom: Princeton University Press, 6 Oxford Street, Woodstock, Oxfordshire OX20 1TW press.princeton.edu All Rights Reserved Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Baraz, Yelena, 1975– A written republic : Cicero’s philosophical politics / Yelena Baraz. p. cm. Includes bibliographical references (p. ) and index. ISBN-13: 978-0-691-15332-2 (alk. paper) ISBN-10: 0-691-15332-9 (alk. paper) 1. Cicero, Marcus Tullius—Political and social views. 2. Philosophy, Ancient. 3. Rome—Politics and government—265–30 B.C. I. Title. DG260.C5B29 2012 320.1—dc22 2011029791 British Library Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available This book has been composed in Sabon Printed on acid-free paper. ∞ Printed in the United States of America 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

To Agnes and Suzanne sapientiae studiosissimis amicitiae gratia

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Contents

Acknowledgments

ix

Abbreviations and Translations

xi

Introduction

1

Chapter One Otiose Otium: The Status of Intellectual Activity in Late Republican Prefaces

13

Cicero’s Ennius, or Anxiety about Too Much Philosophy Sallust, or Anxiety about Writing Rhetorica ad Herennium, or Anxiety about Status

15 22 36

Chapter Two On a More Personal Note: Philosophy in the Letters Philosophy as a Basis for Action Philosophy and Politics Writing as a Primary Occupation The Consolation of Philosophy

Chapter Three The Gift of Philosophy: The Treatises as Translations The Shape of Translation: Tusculans I Why Translation? De Finibus I

Chapter Four With the Same Voice: Oratory as a Transitional Space The Philosophizing Orator: A Stoic or an Academic? Cato versus Cicero in the Paradoxa Stoicorum Always Philosophizing: Cicero as the Linchpin in De Natura Deorum I From Oratory to Philosophy: The Logic of Tusculan Disputations I

Chapter Five Reading a Ciceronian Preface: Strategies of Reader Management Making Friends with Strangers: Topica Drawing Strength from Tradition: De Senectute

44 46 67 78 86

96 103 113

128 131 137 140

150 156 173

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Chapter Six Philosophy after Caesar: The New Direction Looking Back: De Divinatione II From the Ides to the De Officiis From Quintus the Elder to Marcus the Younger: The Pattern of Dedications The Final Encounter: De Officiis

187 188 194 204 212

Bibliography

225

Index Locorum

243

General Index

249

Acknowledgments

This book was a long time coming, and I have incurred many debts along the way. The kernel of what would become my dissertation, from which the book developed, was a paper on amicitia and publication for Trevor Murphy’s seminar on Cicero’s rhetorical works at UC Berkeley. The dissertation itself was written under the supervision of Kathleen McCarthy and Erich Gruen, who dispensed advice, inspiration, and warmth in equal measure. William Fitzgerald was an exemplary reader who always pushed me to dig deeper. I am grateful for the support I received from Mark Griffith and Tony Long. Andrew Dyck read the completed dissertation and offered detailed comments and much encouragement. I also owe a great debt to those Berkeley friends who made sure that I emerged at the other end of the dissertation with my wits still largely intact: Elina Alexandrov, James Ker, Melissa Mueller, Jonathan Ready, Sonia Sabnis, Dylan Sailor, and Enrica Sciarrino. Various versions of what eventually became this book were presented at several APA meetings, as well as to audiences at Amherst College, Brooklyn College, Harvard University, the Humboldt University in Berlin, Johns Hopkins University, the University of Colorado at Boulder, the University of Pennsylvania, and Yale University. I am grateful to all the audiences for their questions and comments. The third chapter, on translation, benefited from the feedback of Siobhan McElduff and Enrica Sciarrino, who organized a panel on translation at the 2008 APA meeting in Chicago, and from conversations with Pavlos Avlamis, Lawrence Venuti, and Emily Pillinger at the Author-Translator in the European Literary Tradition conference in Swansea in the summer of 2010. The book took shape over many years and in a variety of places, but it is my current home, the Department of Classics at Princeton University, a place more collegial and intellectually stimulating than anyone outside it is likely to believe, that has made it possible for me to finally bring this project to completion. I made the final revisions during a leave generously supported by Princeton University and a grant from the Loeb Classical Library Foundation, while I was a visitor at the Institute for Advanced Study, a most ideal place to work and think. David Kaufman, my research assistant, lent his philosophical acumen and patiently instructed me in the rules that govern the use of the English article, something I fear I will never fully grasp. Several people read and commented on portions of the manuscript as it was nearing completion and were more than generous

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• Acknowledgments

with their time, providing mentoring and advice. I want to thank John Dugan, Andrew Feldherr, Harriet Flower, Robert Kaster, Joshua Katz, and Stephen Menn. I am also immensely grateful to the two readers for the Press, Cynthia Damon and Barbara Saylor Rodgers, who were thorough and engaged, helpful and constructive. My editor, Rob Tempio, guided me through the process with efficiency and good cheer. I am grateful to my copyeditor, Eva Jaunzems, for her careful and thoughtful work and to my production editor, Karen Fortgang, for her help during the final stages. Kathleen Coleman presided over the committee that awarded me the APA/NEH Thesaurus Linguae Latinae fellowship, carefully guided me through the process of training, and welcomed me into her home. I am grateful for her continuing support. Erich Gruen generously signed on to a literature dissertation at a time when he was inundated with other commitments. His kindness and support over the years mean more to me than words can ever express. I have been lucky in friendship and would like here to offer my gratitude and affection to the following friends: Elizabeth Baughan, Janet Downie, Alan Fishbone, David Goldstein, Constanze Güthenke, Brooke Holmes, Nigel Holmes, Barbara Karger, Joshua Katz, Athena Kirk, Peter Krentz, Peter Mazur, Gillian McIntosh, Michael Preston, Marina Rubina, Kirsten Tranter, Anna Uhlig, Leah Wittington, and last, but never least, Froma Zeitlin. My parents, Lyubov and Eduard Baraz, and grandparents, Bella and Mikhail Baraz, left their lives in Russia in 1993 mainly to give me a chance at a different kind of future. Since then their own lives have been far from easy, but their support and love for me has been unconditional and unstinting. I can never thank them enough. My husband, András Ferencz, in whose field the 1980s count as antiquity, has for over ten years put up with all sorts of classical nonsense and exhibited miraculous patience at locales ranging from conferences to overgrown ancient sites. He also gave me the seven volumes of Shackleton Bailey’s Letters to Atticus as a graduation gift. I cannot imagine a better partner. Our daughters, Julia and Katherine, are a daily source of joy to both of us. Having written about dedications, I am very aware that I am breaking a convention in dedicating this book to friends. But I feel that Cicero would have understood. For more than ten years, my two closest friends, my house philosophers, Agnes Gellen Callard and Suzanne Obdrzalek, not only offered unconditional support, but shared their love for philosophy and their philosophical lives with me. It is to them that I dedicate this book. Y. B. Princeton March 2011

Abbreviations and Translations

ANRW

Aufstieg und Niedergang der römischen Welt. Geschichte und Kultur Roms im Spiegel der neueren Forschung. Berlin 1972–

RE

Real-Encyclopädie der classischen Altertumswissenschaft. Ed. A. von Paully, G. Wissowa, and W. Kroll. Stuttgart 1893–1980.

TLL

Thesaurus Linguae Latinae. Leipzig 1900–

References to Latin texts follow the conventions of the Oxford Latin Dictionary, with the exception of Cicero’s Letters. There, in addition to the vulgate numbering, the numbers in D. R. Shackleton Bailey’s editions are included, as in the following example: Att. 16.5.3 (SB 410) or (Att. 16.5.3; SB 410). I have followed the texts of the most recent editions in the Oxford Classical Texts series and the most recent editions of the Bibliotheca Teubneriana for works not represented in that series. The only exception, once again, is the text of Cicero’s Letters, where I used Shackleton Bailey’s Cambridge editions (see bibliography). All translations are my own.

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A Written Republic

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Introduction

“So this, then, is my life. Everyday I read or write something.”1 This notice, almost absurd in its vagueness, begins the last section of Cicero’s letter to his friend Papirius Paetus, composed towards the end of year 46. There are no letters to Atticus between November of 46 and March of 45, when Cicero, still in deep mourning for his daughter, left Atticus’ house for Astura. This reference to writing, then, may be the only surviving mention in the correspondence of the composition of the protreptic dialogue Hortensius.2 We lack circumstantial information about the composition, the kind of detail that we often find in the correspondence with Atticus and that reveals so much about Cicero’s compositional process (decisions about the title, the dialogue speakers, and the dedication, as well as requests that Atticus check a reference in a book and consultations about the translation of Greek terminology). This lack is more than matched by the dismembered state of the little that survives of the work itself. But the text was crucial to Cicero’s philosophical activity during the difficult years of Caesar’s domination, and it is equally important to our attempts to come to terms with the corpus of writings that he produced during those years, a corpus overwhelming in its ambition and sheer size, hailed as a triumph of the spirit by some and condemned (or pitied) as a failure by others.3 Cicero returned to the Hortensius many times in the prefaces to other philosophical works, for it was there that he had made his case for philosophy in the broadest terms.4 The dialogue inaugurated what has often been called Cicero’s philosophical encyclopedia, a systematic attempt to present the major areas of Greek philosophical thought, reconceived, reworked, and rearranged with an elite Roman reader in mind. That this massive project was very much a product of its author’s particular circumstances is beyond doubt. On the most basic level, Cicero’s forced retirement from politics as a result of Caesar’s new order is what enabled the production of this—the largest—portion of the philosophica by giving him the unoccupied time that he desperately wanted to put to use. But more importantly, the very fact of Caesar’s new position, and the destructive 1 sic

igitur vivitur. cottidie aliquid legitur aut scribitur (Fam. 9.26.4; SB 197). the date, see Ruch 1958b.35–37 and Bringmann 1971.90–93. 3 Steinmetz 1990 provides a useful overview of Cicero’s output during this period. 4 Cf. Bringmann’s (1971.118–19) reconstruction of Cicero’s speech in the dialogue as avoiding engagement with specific views of individual philosophical schools. 2 On

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war that led to his ascendency in the state, revealed to Cicero the weaknesses of the political system that he, in his own way, had consistently supported5 and, to no small degree, had idealized. The fragility of that system, the instability of Roman tradition, was as clear to Cicero as it was to Caesar: both men throughout their careers had exploited traditional ways of doing things as well as the rhetoric of tradition.6 Now Caesar was grasping for ways to remake the Roman state, and Cicero was looking for a solution of his own. For him, the question was, what could stabilize this structure that we call res publica? What could provide a theoretical backbone that would be able to support our traditions, our exempla, in a way that would prevent their being manipulated in the future? Cicero answered these questions by appropriating in a new way yet another segment of Greek cultural capital: philosophy.7 From the very beginning, one of the main ways in which the Roman elite interacted with Greek culture was to excerpt and appropriate pieces of what they encountered that they could immediately exploit to their benefit. Their choice of what to take and what to leave behind was frequently influenced by suspicion of, and even contempt for, those Greek cultural practices that were apparently less relevant to their needs, such as philosophy. Although the discipline was very familiar to many elite Romans by Cicero’s time, it was relegated to a marginal place in their lives: it played an important part in a young man’s education and later acquired a somewhat decorative function. A house philosopher could be a status symbol, but philosophy was, for the most part, kept strictly separate from the arena of public business. Thus, Cicero’s desire to dedicate most of his time to Romanizing a field of study viewed with distrust and approached with great caution by preceding generations, could be construed as contrary to the traditional Roman way of dealing with Greek culture. If his audience were to share that impression, it would be sufficient to throw suspicion on his project. But another interpretation is possible: on a deeper level, what Cicero attempts to do with the philosophica is actually quite consistent with the mos maiorum, is, in fact, a logical extension of earlier Roman ways of approaching Greek knowledge. Just as the maiores assessed the utility of individual elements of Greek intellectual material for their contemporary cultural and political needs, so Cicero, in assessing his own situation, comes to the conclusion that embedding philosophy in 5 See Flower 2006.98–104 on how Cicero’s own actions may have contributed to the destruction of traditional politics; cf. Gotter 1996a. 247–54. 6 Cf. Flower 2010.21: “. . . the dramatic changes Roman society was undergoing produced a discourse of tradition and an insistent claim to a timeless heritage, which should in itself be regarded as a cultural artifact created for a political purpose.” 7 On imperialist ideology in Cicero’s prefaces, see Habinek 1994.

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the Roman cultural fabric will serve the current needs of the state and the elite. Moreover, Cicero presents his project as a response to the abuse of the concept of the mos maiorum that, after several generations, had culminated in civil war and dictatorship. What he is attempting is much more than a comprehensive presentation of Greek philosophical knowledge to a Roman audience. It is an integration of that knowledge with exempla drawn from Roman history and tradition and the values that he believes lie behind them. For such is the peculiar nature of the mos maiorum that it is only the exempla that are stable; no overall conceptual framework restricts their interpretation. This is what made the tradition at once flexible and yet able to present a consistent façade, so that it could survive constant change and innovation.8 But the lack of a conceptual framework was also its weak point. Cicero implies that by placing the exempla into such a framework, one provided by Greek philosophy, his philosophica would prevent misappropriation of the mos maiorum. Of course, it is not the case that, when traditional Roman ideas are embedded in a Greek philosophical frame, some essential true message of the mos maiorum emerges. The ethical and political message that Cicero brings forward is a result of interpretation as well, and that message is geared toward the restoration of the republic in a form that meets with Cicero’s approval and that he believes will be more durable than the one that collapsed in the run-up to the civil war. Anyone familiar with Roman culture knows that philosophy was far from an easy sell. It was still foreign in Cicero’s time: though many a distinguished contemporary would be comfortable stating a philosophical affiliation, philosophy as a discipline was, and would, despite Cicero’s efforts, remain Greek. Proposing a philosophical solution to Roman political troubles could, therefore, be seen as a slap in the face of the proud ancestral tradition. A skilled manipulator of public opinion, Cicero knew this well. That is why the introductory segments of his philosophical works—the relatively short portions of text whose job it is to convince the readers to continue with the text and to allow the possibility that what they are about to read might make a real contribution to restoring their world—are so interesting and so rich. These texts are the subject of my study. 8 On exemplarity and the mos maiorum see, e.g., Roller 2009, 2004; Walter, chs. 2 and 8; and Hölkeskamp 1996. Cf. Wallace Hadrill 2008, ch. 5, esp. 217 on the flexibility of tradition, 225–29 on rhetorical use of the maiores, 229–31 on Cicero on the demise of the tradition. Cicero’s use of exemplarity is studied by van der Blom (2010) in the context of his novitas; on the flexibility of exempla, see 16 in general and her discussion of Cicero’s references to the Gracchi, 103–107.

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Cicero’s response to the challenge that he faced in presenting his philosophical project to the reader was twofold. On the one hand, he had to justify the project as a whole. Why is he, a man of consular rank, writing philosophy at this time? What does he hope to contribute to the state? How will philosophy fit the context of Roman tradition, of elite values? He expected his readers to ask these kinds of questions, and he responded to them explicitly as he introduced each individual work. On the other hand, no one knew better than Cicero that persuasion does not function on the level of explicit pronouncements alone. Everything matters: the tone, the words, the allusions, the associations that hide beneath the surface of words. These two levels of engagement come together seamlessly in the prefaces, intricate little texts, carefully crafted, and highly rhetorical. Exploring how Cicero negotiates his introduction of philosophy with the reader not only contributes to a better understanding of the philosophica as a body of work and Cicero as its author, but also bears on broader cultural and social issues, such as the intercultural relations between Greece and Rome, the place of philosophical discourse and intellectual activity in Rome, and the manipulation of tradition by skillful cultural practitioners in the service of innovation. As much of the scholarly work on the corpus of the philosophica seeks to inscribe Cicero the philosopher within the larger context, both synchronic and diachronic, of Hellenistic philosophy, so I hope with this study to contribute to an understanding of the corpus by exploring its place in a number of other, mainly contemporary, frameworks. Thus, the questions I ask have to do with the cultural, social, and political positioning of the philosophica. On the most basic level, what I am investigating is the very act of producing a body of philosophical work, given the specific cultural and historical circumstances of its author.

Object of Study and Methodology Gérard Genette’s Paratexts: Thresholds of Interpretation treats verbal and non-verbal objects that mediate the presentation of the text and its reception by the public.9 After emphasizing the liminal nature of these elements—quoting others, he refers to the paratext, in turn, as “threshold,” “vestibule,” “undefined zone,” and “fringe”—he gives a definition that crystallizes why the prefaces are the right place to search for answers to the questions I want to ask of Cicero’s project: 9 Genette’s (1997) objects range widely, from features of a printed book’s appearance, such as the title page and the illustrations, to prefaces, dedications, postscripts, and notes, to external objects, such as publicity materials and reviews.

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Indeed, this fringe, always the conveyer of a commentary that is authorial . . . constitutes a zone between text and off-text, a zone not only of transition, but also of transaction: a privileged place of a pragmatics and a strategy, of an influence on the public, an influence that—whether well or poorly understood and achieved—is at the service of a better reception for the text and a more pertinent reading of it (more pertinent, of course, in the eyes of the author and his allies).10 That is, if we are looking for the ways in which an author is trying to condition audience reaction to his text, if we are trying to understand his strategies and investigate their sources, then the paratexual elements are the right place to look. The goal of this book, from its inception, has been to approach the corpus of philosophical works that Cicero produced under Caesar as a whole, as a coherent project. The questions that interest me have to do with writing philosophy as a cultural act specific to its place, its time, and its agent. Given the scale of Cicero’s production during this period, it would, however, be impossible to tackle these questions by engaging with the corpus as a whole: I could not hope to do justice to every dialogue, and a focus on some in favor of others would inevitably result in a skewed picture. But in choosing to explore the prefaces, I have not simply followed the lead of Genette and others who have found these transitional and transactional moments fertile ground for investigation. More importantly, in framing my project in this way I have also taken a cue from Cicero himself. That Cicero thought of the works he was producing as a unified project and that he treated the prefaces as a distinct rhetorical space in which the nature of both the project and the individual work was to be negotiated is abundantly clear. The evidence comes, in the first place, in the preface to the second book of De Divinatione, the first preface composed after Caesar’s death, in which Cicero looks back at the state of his project to date; second, it is demonstrated by the existence of the volumen prohoemiorum, a book of draft prefaces; and, finally, it is inherent in the nature of the prefaces themselves. The first of these is the least decisive proof precisely because it is retrospective: in presenting an overview of what he had accomplished, Cicero reached back and incorporated most of his prior output, including in his list works composed in the 50s, which belong to a different time and a different, if related, set of motivations. The volumen is much more significant.11 We know of its existence only because Cicero made a mistake: in a letter to Atticus, who often acted, in effect, as his publisher, Cicero reports that he noticed that he had accidentally reused one of the prefaces: 10 Genette 11 Cf.

1997.2. Steel 2005.138.

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nunc neglegentiam meam cognosce. de gloria librum ad te misi, et in eo prohoemium id quod est in Academico tertio. id evenit ob eam rem quod habeo volumen prohoemiorum. ex eo eligere soleo cum aliquod suvggramma institui. itaque iam in Tusculano, qui non meminissem me abusum isto prohoemio, conieci id in eum librum quem tibi misi. cum autem in navi legerem Academicos, agnovi erratum meum. itaque statim novum prohoemium exaravi et tibi misi. tu illud desecabis, hoc adglutinabis. (Att. 16.6.4; SB 414) Now learn about how negligent I’ve been. I sent you the book On Glory, and in it a preface, the one that is in the third book of the Academica. This happened because I have a notebook of prefaces. My practice is to choose one from it when I’ve completed a piece of writing. And so, when I was already in Tusculum, since I had no recollection that I had already used that preface, I threw it into that book which I sent to you; but when I was reading the Academica during the sea voyage, I recognized my error. And so right away I drafted a new one and sent it to you. Please cut the other one off, and glue this one on. A comparison of the two prefaces would no doubt illuminate some of the issues raised by this passage. But neither De Gloria nor the third book of the Academica has survived. As a result, the volumen has sometimes been cited as evidence that the prefaces were unimportant—detached throwaway bits of texts. After all, Cicero himself forgot that he had already used one. Recently, Ingo Gildenhard, in his monograph on the Tusculan Disputations, a book centered on incisive readings of the prefaces to that work, has rightly countered this interpretive trend. But in seeking to validate the importance of the prefaces to the Tusculans for our understanding of the work, he downplays the existence of the volumen as meaningful in its own right.12 By contrast, my approach embraces the volumen as a crucial indication that Cicero, during the years of Caesar’s domination, was thinking of his philosophical production as a unified project. We should not imagine Cicero unthinkingly drawing a more or less random preface from his notebooks and affixing it to a freshly completed treatise: his casually self-deprecating rhetoric of cutting and pasting is misleading.13 In fact, as recent work on the Tusculans by Gildenhard and Lefèvre has made clearer than ever before, Cicero did carefully tailor those prefaces whose basic material he may have drawn from the volumen to the individual works in which he placed them. But the fact that he was able to compose some prefatory material without a particular work in mind shows, crucially, 12 Gildenhard

2007.89–90. his similarly dismissive reference to his treatises themselves in another letter to Atticus (12.52.3; SB 294) as transcripts that don’t require much effort: ajpovgrafa sunt, minore labore fiunt; verba tantum adfero, quibus abundo. 13 Cf.

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that he thought it likely that in negotiation with his readers he would repeatedly face the same kinds of objections and concerns, and that he saw the prefaces as his main opportunity to address them in a coherent way. By “preface” I designate the general remarks that begin the work but stand outside of it. In the case of a dialogue, this means leaving out of consideration the dramatic setting that tells of the place and the circumstances of the characters’ meeting: of great interest in themselves, these introductory texts are not what will concern me here. Hegel’s distinction between the “preface” and the “introduction” to a philosophical work, which Jacques Derrida discusses in his own anti-preface to Dissemination, “Outwork,” is relevant here: The preface must be distinguished from the introduction. They do not have the same function, nor even the same dignity, in Hegel’s eyes, even though the problem they raise in their relation to the philosophical corpus of exposition is analogous. The Introduction (Einleitung) has a more systematic, less historical, less circumstantial link with the logic of the book. It is unique; it deals with general and essential architectonic problems; it presents the general concept in its division and its self-differentiation.14 It is precisely the historical and circumstantial nature of the preface—the fact that it contains “an explanation of the author’s aim, why he wrote the book, and the relationship in which he believes it to stand to other earlier and contemporary treatises on the subject”15 (which Hegel finds “inappropriate and misleading” in a philosophical work”)—that holds the answers to the historically and culturally specific questions that I wish to answer. Unlike the more integrated and embedded introduction, it is also the locus of the most intense and explicit engagement between the author and the reader. While each preface, to a greater or lesser degree, prepares the reader for some of the features of the particular work he is about to experience, the prefaces as a group make the case for the philosophical corpus as a whole. That is why key themes recur in so many of them. Seen in this light, and read together, they are the best window that we can have into Cicero’s thinking about the overall meaning of his project and the best way to achieve success with his audience. Another feature of the prefaces themselves supports this approach to reading them as a corpus: references to specifically philosophical content and motivation are largely absent. And, for the most part, Cicero refrains as well from delving into the doctrinal differences between various philosophical schools as he does in the body of many of the treatises, focusing 14 Derrida 15 Hegel

1981.17. 1977.1, quoted in Derrida 1981.9–10.

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instead on a unified idea of “philosophy.” In offering his work to his Roman audience, however, Cicero does not locate his contribution exclusively, or even primarily, within the field of philosophy. He does not speak of his goals in terms of presenting philosophical ideas, though that is what he actually goes on to do. Instead he locates his work in the realities of his, and his intended readers’, lives. In Cicero’s various accounts of composing the philosophica he situates his motivations and goals—which range from benefiting his fellow-citizens and bettering the Roman state to relieving his personal grief following the death of his daughter—in the extraphilosophical parts of his life and persona: it is Cicero the politician who speaks of his political goals, Cicero the private man who, addressing his audience as a group of friends, grounds his philosophical writings in the personal events surrounding their composition. Following Cicero’s lead, then, I will focus on the rhetoric of the prefaces, broadly understood. I will investigate and evaluate the claims that Cicero makes for himself and his project and seek to illuminate their meaning given Cicero’s position as a Roman writing to a Roman audience on a primarily Greek subject; as a consular forced to withdraw from active politics and writing philosophical works meant to be read by his peers; as a man who, having earned the title parens patriae, now bewails the demise of the political entity he was supposed to have saved. In addition to examining his explicit statements, I will explore the more implicit rhetoric of the prefaces—their structure, quotations, and allusions—for what they reveal about the meaning and the presentation of the whole project.

The Scope The underlying motivation for this book is my interest in philosophy’s place in society, in the tension between the universality of its claims, and the historical and personal constraints on its practitioners. While there is undeniable overlap in how Cicero presents the two categories of his works that we customarily designate as the rhetorica and the philosophica, it is the philosophica, the corpus that has been less studied in its various extra-philosophical contexts, that will be the center of my investigation. The rhetorica have at all times received more attention from scholars interested in socio-historical and cultural questions and have been particularly well served in the past decade, with a proliferation of diverse and excellent studies. Just the last five years have seen the publication of Elaine Fantham’s book on De Oratore, John Dugan’s on the role of novitas in Cicero’s self-fashioning in the rhetorical works, Joy Connolly’s on the place of speech in Cicero’s political thought, and Sarah Stroup’s on

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the dynamics of textual exchange in Cicero and Catullus.16 Among the philosophica, the Tusculan Dispuations have been recently treated in three monographs that range from Bernhard Koch’s philosophical approach to Ingo Gildenhard’s literary and political concerns, with Eckard Lefèvre staking out a middle ground between them.17 Matthew Fox has examined the role of the past in a selection of works that embraces both corpora. In this book I hope to contribute to this growing body of work by showing the ways in which many of the trends that have been treated in the rhetorical works are transformed through the foregrounding of philosophy. I will also expand and modify the claims that have been made for the political and rhetorical workings of the Tusculans by examining the philosophical project as a whole. It will be clear by now that I see the philosophical project as beginning with the composition of the Hortensius, a programmatic defense of philosophy that inaugurated the following series of treatises. The dialogues that Cicero composed in the 50s, De Oratore, De Re Publica, and De Legibus, will therefore not form part of my discussion. The composition of those works is connected to Cicero’s political fortunes as well. He turned to writing as an additional arena for political activity when his freedom of action was curtailed, first, by the increasing pressure in the framework of the renewed compact between Caesar, Pompey, and Crassus, and then by the continuing effects of the prominence of Caesar and Pompey in the ever more strained and divisive political climate that was the result of their rise to prominence. But Cicero at that time was still an active politician, however constrained, and his writings were an extension, or (to quote Catherine Steel) an “aspect” of his political life.18 The situation under Caesar was drastically different. Cicero was forced into inactivity, and the virtual disappearance of the political system that had been a central concern of his life left him distraught. Writing, and the writing of philosophy in particular, became not a facet of his political life, but rather an alternate way of being in politics, a substitution that he struggled to construct as viable.19 The claims he made for his works, and the burden of convincing the reader of their validity, were thus much greater and 16 A

clear and useful overview of scholarly approaches to the study of Roman rhetoric in the preceding decade and a half is Dugan 2007. 17 The surge of interest in this treatise owes much to Margaret Graver’s 2002 translation, with philosophical commentary, of the third and fourth books of the Tusculans. 18 Steel 2005.137 applies this definition to the entire philosophical corpus. Her book is exemplary in integrating Cicero’s writings, in all their generic variety, with his political activity. 19 Opposition to Caesar himself is an important aspect of the political meaning of the philosophica, but I do not see it as being central to the same extent as Strasburger 1990 and Wassmann 1996 do. By contrast, Bringmann 1971.90–91 sees the Caesarian dialogues as a substitution in a different sense: for him Cicero’s goals here are cultural and not political.

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required a different set of rhetorical strategies. Philosophy was as important to him during this time as it would ever be to a Roman politician, and this fact in itself makes the apologia that the prefaces composed under Caesar constitute unique. One final note. The negotiation of the relationship between the vita activa and the vita contemplativa has been part of the ancient philosophical tradition since Plato and Aristotle.20 Cicero’s familiarity with this tradition frequently informs how he thinks about the difficulties inherent in his own attempts to reconcile the philosophical with the political.21 But tracing the genealogy of Cicero’s engagement with particular philosophers’ tackling of these ever-recurring tensions lies largely outside the scope of this book. In line with the synchronic framework of my project, I focus on the contemporary Roman resonance of Cicero’s texts, even when they owe their particular shape to the diachronic line of the tradition.

Chapters The first two chapters provide context for the production of the philosophical corpus by reaching outside the treatises. Chapter 1 examines Cicero’s struggles with Roman anxieties about philosophy and locates them within a broader contemporary discourse that tries to expand the field of acceptable activity to include the intellectual. By reading the prefaces to Sallust’s Bellum Catilinae and Bellum Iugurthinum and the preface to the anonymous Rhetorica ad Herennium alongside the criticisms that Cicero claims are leveled against his project, I present a broader picture of the resistance to intellectual activity that characterized the Roman elite and that Cicero was trying to anticipate. These texts provide a glimpse as well of some potential avenues for Cicero’s response. The contrast between the strategies he used and those employed by these authors reveals the particular difficulties faced by an author of a philosophical project. An interpretation of Cicero’s engagement with a quotation from Ennius that advocates a limited involvement with philosophy introduces the issue of the mos maiorum and philosophy’s relationship to tradition, which is central to Cicero’s self-presentation. 20 See,

e.g., on Plato and Aristotle, Adkins 1978, Nightingale 2004; on Plato, Reeve 1988 ch. 4, Monoson 2000; on Aristotle, Ackrill 1980, Lear 1988.309–20, Kraut 1989, ch. 1, Lawrence 1993, Richardson Lear 2004, ch. 8. 21 He confronts the issue most explicitly in De Officiis; see Dyck 1996.38. The problem permeates most of Cicero’s philosophically tinged writings. I treat it in most detail in the section of ch. 2 that examines the relationship between philosophy and politics in Cicero’s letters.

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Using Cicero’s correspondence as a guide, Chapter 2 attempts to untangle the many reasons for his project that he sets forth, paratactically, in the prefaces. The first section queries Cicero’s belief in the ability of philosophy to influence and improve people’s characters and actions—a belief implicit in the politically motivated goals that he cites in the prefaces. The following sections examine a number of related issues: the potential role that philosophy can occupy in a traditional political framework, a comparison of the ways in which Cicero portrays his intellectual activity in the letters with the picture he projects of that same activity in the prefaces, and the question of how to interpret the references, in both the letters and the prefaces, to philosophy as a means of personal consolation necessary to recover from grief. With the third chapter, I move to the prefaces themselves and engage with Cicero’s claims about the political content of his philosophical writings and their potential benefit to the future of the state. In particular, I examine what he repeatedly identifies as his project’s major contribution: the act of translating philosophy from the Greek and making it accessible in Latin. My focus is on the cultural and political meaning of translation as a patriotic act, as well as on Cicero’s response to the difficulties of presenting works in translation to an audience with a variety of often opposing cultural objectives and prejudices. Chapters 4 and 5 move from Cicero’s explicit claims about his project to the embedded rhetorical work that takes place in the prefaces. Chapter 4 focuses on a strategy of self-justification central to Cicero’s selfpresentation: the emphasis is on the connection between philosophy and rhetoric as disciplines and the continuity between Cicero the orator and statesman and Cicero the philosopher. I examine the role of these connections in allowing Cicero to carve out a place for philosophy within the existing structure of Roman public life by minimizing the novelty of his project and underlining (often specious) similarities between philosophy and traditional Roman concerns. Chapter 5 moves away from the thematic approach and instead focuses on the preface as an interactive process, a journey during which the author strives to win over the reader so as to ensure a favorable reception for his text before the reader actually encounters the body of the work. I discuss the importance of Cicero’s insertion of his project into the social institution of amicitia and the way in which texts associated with circles of amicitia establish relations between an author and his readers. I explore also Cicero’s invoking of tradition in the form of quotations, allusions, and the choice of dialogue characters. As illustrations of Cicero’s overall rhetorical strategy, I offer case studies of the two prefaces that most fully exemplify the tendencies that operate in the entire corpus: I read prefaces

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to the Topica and De Senectute in order to reconstruct the step-by-step progression that Cicero creates for the ideal reader approaching his work. The final chapter also serves as a conclusion. As a way of looking back at the unified philosophical project produced under Caesar, I examine the changes that this project undergoes once assassination changes the political landscape that gave it birth. I begin with a reading of the preface to book two of the De Divinatione, Cicero’s first public reflection on the state of the project at the time of Caesar’s death. I then proceed chronologically through the treatises that followed, arguing for a gradually evolving new direction. An examination of the trajectory in Cicero’s choices of dedicatees provides an additional perspective on the evolution of his thinking about the place of philosophy in his overall plans. I conclude with a reading of the prefaces to the three books of the De Officiis, Cicero’s final work, which was for him, I argue, a first step in a new direction.

CHAPTER ONE

Otiose Otium THE STATUS OF INTELLECTUAL ACTIVITY IN LATE REPUBLICAN PREFACES . . . once you know what leisure is, you still may not want it. Leisure requires a sacrifice. This conclusion will doubtless disappoint many persons. Work is an antonym of free time. But not of leisure. Sebastian de Grazia, Of Time, Work, and Leisure

Cicero begins his preface to book one of De Finibus by saying that the work will inevitably be subject to much criticism. As he proceeds to set out the individual features of the work that he expects will provoke criticism from different quarters, he in effect identifies for us those aspects of writing philosophy that the Roman public could find objectionable. The list of potential critics and their particular preoccupations can, therefore, be read as a list of the various anxieties that Cicero feels he must allay in his readers in order for his project to be successful. The first group, to which he says he responded at length in the lost Hortensius, objects to philosophy altogether.1 The second approves of it, but only if practiced in a limited way, remissius. The third objects to writing philosophy in Latin, rather than in its “native tongue,” Greek, and the last finds that a different literary genre would be preferable to philosophy, because the latter is not compatible with the author’s high social standing, his dignitas.2 Yet, since Cicero is the one voicing these objections for his imaginary critics, it is legitimate to ask to what extent they are concerns unique to Cicero’s perception and presentation of his project and its likely reception. Are the anxieties that surface in this list shared by other authors and do they 1 The objection, presented by Hortensius, is marked as malicious: philosophia . . . esset accusata et vituperata, “philosophy was attacked and disparaged” (Fin. 1.2); cf. Tusc. 2.4: nos autem universae philosophiae vituperatoribus respondimus in Hortensio, “we responded to all who disparage philosophy as a whole in the Hortensius.” 2 Cf. Luc. 5: qui . . . si haec non improbent tamen earum rerum disputationem principibus civitatis non ita decoram putent, “those who do not disapprove of these matters [philosophy and writing in Greek], do not, nonetheless, deem their discussion proper to the leading men of the state.”

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reflect the way in which works of the same general type as Cicero’s treatises were expected to be received? In this chapter I examine texts, both within and outside of Cicero’s corpus, that indicate that the criticisms he ventriloquises in the preface to book one of De Finibus indeed represent real social and cultural pressures. They form part of a discourse shared with other roughly contemporary works that attempt to broaden the field of socially acceptable intellectual inquiry. Thus, I begin my investigation of Cicero’s philosophica by looking at the cultural context within, and against which he is positioning his project. Such perspective will lead to a better understanding of the pressures under which he labors and the forces that stand behind them. For the moment I will set aside the issue of writing in Latin as opposed to Greek, which will be the subject of chapter 3. The rest of the critics’ concerns can be expanded into three broad categories: those having to do with intellectual activity in general, and writing in particular, those regarding the degree of commitment proper to such an activity, and those that result from the conviction that there is a mismatch between the activity and the status of the practitioner. In addition, an anxiety that all the imagined critics and the authors discussed in this chapter seem to share centers on the place of the given intellectual activity in the practitioner’s life. Intellectual pursuits are felt to be more appropriate when they are limited to the sphere of otium, time free from the important business of the state that is expected to occupy most of the time of the elite Roman man.3 Thus, as we shall see, the author of the Rhetorica ad Herennium states emphatically that his writing takes place in a rare and limited space free from regular negotia, while both Sallust and Cicero, who can claim no public negotia of their own at the time of their writing, are engaged in constructing their intellectual occupation as a new type of negotium, functionally similar to the traditional ones, and just as valuable.4 The three authors discussed in this chapter all deal with the same potential objections, because they are writing works that are designed to present to the reading public the fruits of their intellectual activity. Their respective subjects make the task more or less difficult. Cicero’s task as he introduces works arising from a severely marginalized discipline is more difficult 3 See most recently Stroup 2010, ch. 1, on the development of the term and its meaning in Catullus and Cicero. On the semantic development of the term, see also André 1966, summarized in Tiffou 1973, ch. 9, and Laidlaw 1968. On otium in relation to other important concepts, primarily dignitas, see Balsdon 1960, Boyancé 1941, and Wirszubski 1954. On the role of otium and occupations associated with it in Cicero’s political thought, see Perelli 1990.3–15. On otium with a focus on the imperial period, see Fagan 2006; in imperial literature, Connors 2000. 4 Pace Stroup 2010.59–63: I see the abundance of forced otium under Caesar as creating a serious problem for Cicero and leading to intense and recurring attempts at justifying his textual productivity in this period, both to himself and to his readers.

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than that of historians or rhetoricians, who work in fields that fit more readily within the traditional Roman framework. Yet, despite the differences, the shared apologetic impulse that finds expression in their writings will allow them to illuminate each other’s self-justificatory strategies and, at the same time, will expose the concerns the awareness of which puts them on the defensive.

Cicero’s Ennius, or Anxiety about Too Much Philosophy One of the earliest and most important texts that encapsulates Roman reservations concerning the practice of philosophy is transmitted to us by Cicero himself: Neoptolemus quidem apud Ennium philosophari sibi ait necesse esse, sed paucis; nam omnino haud placere: ego autem, Brute, necesse mihi quidem esse arbitror philosophari—nam quid possum, praesertim nihil agens, agere melius?—sed non paucis, ut ille. (Tusc. 2.1) Neoptolemus in Ennius’ play certainly says that it is necessary for him to engage in philosophy, but in a limited way; for it is not pleasing to do so fully. I, however, Brutus, think that for me it is certainly necessary to practice philosophy; for what better thing can I do, especially since I am doing nothing? But not in a limited way, as that one did. This quotation from Ennius expresses well the basic Roman perception of philosophy, a perception that, despite Cicero’s efforts, which are the subject of this study, remained largely unchanged for centuries to come.5 The essence of this view is that philosophy can be an acceptable and even occasionally useful pastime as long as it is kept on the periphery of one’s life.6 At the bottom of this attitude lies the assumption that philosophy is 5 It

is striking that Tacitus’ famous formulation in the Agricola is nearly identical in sentiment to that of Ennius’ Neoptolemus: memoria teneo solitum ipsum narrare se prima in iuventa studium philosophiae acrius, ultra quam concessum Romano et senatori, hausisse, ni prudentia matris incensum ac flagrantem animum coercuisset, “I remember that he himself used to recount how, when he was very young, he could have drunk of philosophy with rather keen enthusiasm, beyond what is allowed to a Roman and a senator . . .” (Agr. 4.3). Cf. also vehementius quam causa postulat in the following note. Roman suspicion of philosophical influences in the context of public life is discussed by Griffin 1989.18–22. She points to three main concerns: 1. that adherence to philosophy would discourage participation in public life; 2. that impractical views would result in behavior inappropriate in political contexts; and 3. that philosophical allegiance would lead to subversive action and rebellion against government authority (20–21). 6 Cf. de Orat. 3.88, where Crassus, in the course of emphasizing that doctrina, if pursued in moderation, does not conflict with public life, compares excessive interest in learning to an inappropriate commitment to ball games or dice: . . . sed si tota vita nihil velis aliud agere,

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ultimately incompatible with public life and, if practiced too seriously, will cause the practitioner to abandon his duties as an (elite) Roman.7 It is this view that is the main obstacle to the success of any philosophical undertaking in Rome. All the negative perceptions that Cicero sets out to overturn in all of his prefaces have their origins in it. Thus, in order to gain approval for his philosophical project as a substitute for regular civic activity, he must convince his readership that this view is erroneous. Cicero’s awareness that this attitude is likely to color any Roman reader’s reception of his work is present throughout the apologetic passages of the prefaces, but it is fitting to begin this discussion at a place where Cicero acknowledges and confronts the prevailing opinion most explicitly.8 The use of an Ennian character as the mouthpiece for this view indicates that Cicero is willing to take the position that he is opposing quite ipsa tractatio et quaestio cotidie ex se gignit aliquid, quod cum desidiosa delectatione vestiges. ita fit, ut agitatio rerum sit infinita, cognitio facilis, si usus doctrinam confirmet, mediocris opera tribuatur, memoria studiumque permaneat. libet autem semper discere; ut si velim ego talis optime ludere aut pilae studio tenear, etiam fortasse, si adsequi non possim, “but if you want to do nothing else in your whole life, the very discussion and investigation will give rise to something every day, which you can track down with idle enjoyment. So it happens that you can contemplate things endlessly, but it is easy to get to know them if practical experience strengthens your learning, a limited effort is expended, and both the memory and the enthusiasm persist. It is, however, pleasant to be always learning: just as if I wished to throw dice very well or was captivated by desire to play ball, even, perhaps, if I could not achieve that goal.” Note the focus on pleasure (delectatione, libet). The relegation of studies to the same sphere as games is underlined by the use of desidiosa. 7 Philosophy seen as leading to idleness: e.g., the Auctor at Rhet. Her. 2.35 dismisses as founded on a false premise the following (presumably common) sentiment: philosophia vitanda est, adfert enim socordiam atque desidiam, “philosophy is to be avoided, for it brings with it laziness and idleness”; Cicero, in a letter to Cato (Fam. 15.4.16; SB 110, discussed in ch. 2) indicates that philosophy, though it may be susceptible to such a charge, has been integrated into public life in their own philosophical practice: soli prope modum nos philosophiam veram illam et antiquam, quae quibusdam oti esse ac desidiae videtur, in forum atque in rem publicam atque in ipsam aciem paene deduximus, “it is virtually we alone who have brought that true and ancient philosophy, which some consider a sign of leisure and laziness, into the forum and into the public business and almost into the very line of battle.” Cf. the discussion of Griffin 1989 of the relationship between philosophy and public conduct in Rome. She sees two conflicting trends: under rubric 4, “Negative Evidence,” she discusses evidence for separation between philosophical views and public practices, and under rubric 5, “Positive Evidence,” evidence for grounds on which philosophy was feared in the public context. Rather than treating these two groups of evidence as necessarily pointing in different directions, I suggest that the desire to effectively separate philosophy from public life and/or treat it as insignificant can be seen as the result of an attempt to create some space for philosophical practice by stressing its marginal character and limited influence: such rhetoric is then directed against the perception of philosophy as potentially destructive to public pursuits. 8 An extended confrontation of hostility to philosophy in the Hortensius is lost to us. For reconstructions of the dialogue based on surviving fragments, see Ruch 1958b, Grilli 1962, and Straume-Zimmermann 1976.

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seriously.9 On other occasions he shows a tendency to choose a clearly inferior opponent, an easy target, as a representative of whatever view or school of thought he wants to dismiss. He then uses that representative’s obvious shortcomings to make the entire group and its beliefs look ridiculous.10 The present passage takes the opposite approach, and with good reason. The opinion that Cicero wants to overturn here is not that of some fairly marginal group; it is a widely held and respected one. In order to succeed in convincing his readers, many of whom are likely to share this view, to change or at least open their minds, it is wise to treat the view (and by extension, those who share it) with respect. A further difficulty in opposing this position is due to the fact that Cicero himself had approved several versions of the view that philosophy is of limited utility, both in his speeches11 and in his earlier treatises, whose emphasis was on rhetoric (De Oratore) or statecraft (De Re Publica, De Legibus). Thus, when he argues for a more open attitude towards the adoption of philosophy, he is also arguing against his earlier position. This extra dimension of his argument is underlined by his choice of the Ennian line. Cicero had used it twice before, to a rather different end. In the other two instances, in De Oratore and De Re Publica,12 written in the fifties, the words of Neoptolemus appear in arguments urging a modest role for philosophy in contrast to the outright hostility of Pacuvius’ Zethus,13 whereas in the passage from the Tusculans Neoptolemus’ sentiments serve 9 On Ennius’ place in the later tradition and his status as the mouthpiece of Roman tradition, see Prinzen 1998, on Cicero’s deployment, 161–85, with further bibliography; for a concise survey, Skutsch 1985.8–46, on Cicero, 26–29. See Zetzel 2007 on the difficulty of using Cicero as evidence for Ennius. 10 A good example is his treatment in the prefaces of contemporary Epicurean prose writers, discussed in ch. 3, and the corresponding omission of Lucretius, see ch. 3, n.26. 11 E.g., his treatment of Cato’s Stoicism in Pro Murena 60–66, with Craig 1986 and Stem 2006. Cf. the attacks on Piso’s Epicureansim in In Pisonem. In both cases the criticism was directed at the limitations of these schools as well as these adherents, but it is still significant in light of Cicero’s unified presentation of philosophy in the majority of the prefaces. 12 de Orat. 2.156, where Antonius endorses Neoptolemus’ position, and Rep. 1.30, where Laelius attributes the quotation to Sextus Aelius Paetus’ argument for moderate learning. Zetzel 1995 ad loc. discusses the similarity between the roles of Antonius and Laelius brought out by Cicero’s use of the Ennian line. 13 I agree with the suggestion in Leeman et al. 1989, ad de Orat. 2.156, that the line of Pacuvius quoted by Aulus Gellius (13.8.4) and unassigned in Ribbeck 1897, odi ego homines ignava opera et philosopha sententia, “I hate men whose days are idle and whose opinions are philosophical” (Pac. trag. 348), should be assigned to Zethus on the evidence of the two Ciceronian references. Zethus’ anti-philosophical stance, as articulated in Euripides’ Antiope, is adapted by Callicles in Plato’s Gorgias in an attempt to turn Socrates himself away from a full-scale commitment to philosophy; see Dodds 1959.275–76. Nightingale 1995.67–92 is an illuminating discussion of Plato’s intertextual engagement with Euripides’ text.

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as a foil for Cicero’s appeal, in his own voice, for a holistic approach to the discipline.14 A couple of details further indicate that this passage is one where the author expects a particularly strong engagement on the part of the reader. The use of quidem in the first and autem in the second sentence indicates that Cicero positions his view in opposition to the one expressed in the first sentence through the words of Neoptolemus.15 The fact that the second sentence undoubtedly expresses Cicero’s own view (ego autem), leads to the question of who is the focalizer of the previous sentiment; that is, who does Cicero imagine as thinking of the Ennius quotation in the context of the Tusculans. The most obvious candidate is Brutus, the dedicatee, and thus the implied interlocutor of the preface, who is explicitly addressed in the second sentence. Yet we know enough of Brutus’ own engagement with philosophy, often cited in Cicero’s very prefaces,16 to know that, while it may not qualify for the description of omnino, it certainly went far beyond paucis:17 Brutus was the author of a philosophical work himself. It is natural then to assume that the focalizer of the sentiment is the anonymous reader of the work: both the general acceptance of the opinion and Cicero’s tendency to relate to the reader through the dedicatee, which I will discuss in detail in chapter 5, point in this direction. Thus, it appears that Cicero here voices the reader’s potential objection, and in the strongest possible terms—by invoking the Roman literary tradition—because doing so gives him an opportunity to address and refute it as fully as he can. Quidem in the first sentence further adds to the reader’s sense of involvement in the passage. At the same time as it anticipates a contrast, it can also look backwards with an adversative force, signposting a response meant to contradict a previously expressed opposing view.18 However, in our passage nothing of the sort has been explicitly expressed: quidem is located in the very first sentence of book two of the Tusculans. I suggest 14 For the Tusculans passage as the only example in which Neoptolemus’ position is opposed, cf. Prinzen 1998.47, 175. 15 On “contrasting quidem,” see Solodow 1978.30–53, with autem 32. For a further analysis of how Cicero frames the contrast between his and Neoptolemus’ views, see Gildenhard 2007.159–61. 16 For Brutus’ philosophical views, see Sedley 1997. 17 Paucis here corresponds exactly to remissius in the imaginary criticism in Fin. 1.1. In fact, both the criticism on this point and Cicero’s response are based on the Ennius line: the opinion of the critics is rendered as totum hoc displicet philosophari, where totum corresponds to omnino, displicet to haud placere, and philosophari is retained. Cicero’s response at 1.2 reflects paucis in the language of limitation: moderatius, temperantiam, modum, mediocritatem, a form of placere is used, and omnino, in a reversal, is reassigned to the first group of critics who require a total abstention from philosophy. 18 Solodow 1978.60–61.

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that quidem does nevertheless have adversative force here. Cicero, in his attempt to carefully manage the reader’s reaction, imagines him responding to book one, which he has just finished reading. Seen in this light, the reference to Ennius following the experience of the philosophical discussion presented in the previous book gives voice to the reader’s resistance to the Tusculans—and, by implication, to the entire philosophical project— as anticipated and imagined by Cicero. What follows is a serious attempt on his part to respond to this resistance and demonstrate that the traditional view is flawed and, ultimately, destructive for those who hold it. Yet, before he expresses his views, he qualifies them, and the qualification is one that recurs again in the prefaces and is important for understanding Cicero’s presentation of his project. He hastens to ascribe his need to do philosophy to the situation in which he finds himself—a state of forced inactivity in his usual, public, areas of engagement. He plays with the different meanings of agere, indicating any action, and referring specifically to acts that accomplish visible results, while an even more particular meaning of legal process is present in the background: quid possum agere melius, “what better thing can I do, accomplish,” nihil agens, “given that I am not acting, pleading no cases.”19 The fact that Cicero feels the need to qualify his defense of a serious engagement with philosophy shows, on the one hand, his awareness that special pleading will be required to convince (some of) his readers to reconsider their deep-seated distrust of that discipline. At the same time, and more importantly, it reveals his own ambivalence about the project he is undertaking. As his actions would eventually show, given an opportunity, he preferred agere in its active sense, returning to an active political life as soon as he was able after Caesar’s assassination.20 Yet, despite his ambivalence, he did choose philosophy as his main arena of activity during the Caesarian years and used the prefaces to his works to defend his choice. With his own reservation thus stated, he proceeds to explain why he finds the traditional view of philosophy and the limits it imposes on philosophical engagement by the members of the elite to be problematic and counterproductive: difficile est enim in philosophia pauca esse ei nota cui non sint aut pleraque aut omnia. nam nec pauca nisi e multis eligi possunt nec, qui 19 Cf.

Grilli 1987.172 ad loc., who notes that the contrast between the “significato politico” and the “valore generico del verbo” is further emphasized by the chiasmus. 20 By calling the name of Cicero after the assassination (Phil. 2.28) Brutus symbolically dedicated that act to Cicero, in what may be seen as a fitting reciprocation for the series of treatises Cicero dedicated to him in the years preceding the event. For discussion of the dedications, see ch. 6. For Antony’s characterization of Cicero as the force behind the conspiracy against Caesar, cf. Fam. 12.3.2 (SB 345).

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pauca perceperit, non idem reliqua eodem studio persequetur. sed tamen in vita occupata atque, ut Neoptolemi tum erat, militari, pauca ipsa multum saepe prosunt et ferunt fructus, si non tantos quanti ex universa philosophia percipi possunt, tamen eos quibus aliqua ex parte interdum aut cupiditate aut aegritudine aut metu liberemur. (Tusc. 2.1–2) For it is difficult in philosophy for a man to know a few things without knowing either most or all. For a few things cannot be selected except out of many, nor will the same man who has thoroughly understood a few things omit to pursue the rest with the same eagerness. But nevertheless, in a life that is busy and, as that of Neoptolemus was at the time, spent in the military, even a few things often are quite beneficial and produce advantages, if not as many as can be drawn from all of philosophy, nevertheless those by which we can be sometimes liberated in some way either from desire / greed or grief or fear. The argument that he is making is based on the conception of philosophy as a highly cohesive discipline in which all the parts are interdependent and any selection and exclusion does violence to the integrity, and consequently utility, of the subject. As a retort to the imaginary reader who brought up the line of Ennius, this passage relies entirely on the formal, structural attributes of philosophy. With his superior knowledge of the subject, Cicero tells the reader that the restrictive view of philosophy is based on a misapprehension of how it ought to function. Such a response reproaches the reader only (and rather gently) for making a judgment based on insufficient evidence. It does nothing to antagonize the reader, and so serves Cicero’s purpose well. Yet, it refuses to challenge those aspects of the common view that pose more serious problems for his project, and therein lies its weakness. Only the surface level of the quotation, paucis vs. omnino, is addressed directly, that is, the issue of the proper degree of commitment and not the underlying assumption of philosophy’s general incompatibility with participation in public life, a much more difficult issue to resolve in a way mutually satisfactory to the author and his audience. It becomes apparent that it is this particular phrasing of the line with its emphasis on the level of commitment that allows Cicero, who is ultimately unable to address the deeper issues surrounding the status of philosophical activity because of his own ambivalence, to pretend to dispel this basic Roman anxiety. Cicero also employs the identity of the character who speaks the line in Ennius’ play to modify the impact of the opinion he expresses.21 By ac21 The fragment (also quoted by Apuleius, Apol. 13, as an injunction against philosophizing at length and by Aulus Gellius (5.15.9 and 5.16.5), who uses it to dismiss excessive philosophical quibbling) is assigned to the Andromacha, but we lack the contextual information that contemporary Roman readers would have had, which would undoubtedly en-

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knowledging that limiting the role of philosophy in his life is an appropriate course for Neoptolemus, he avoids what could otherwise have been seen as an attack on Ennius as the mouthpiece of Roman tradition. At the same time he contrasts himself and the reader with Neoptolemus.22 The reason Cicero allows Neoptolemus limited involvement with philosophy is that his life is occupata and militaris. The latter is not applicable to his potential reader, for members of the republican elite saw their military service as only one part in a life devoted to a variety of public duties and did not perceive themselves as professional soldiers. Occupata, however, is much broader and implies a life of negotia and officia more generally. A contrast with Cicero’s description of his own life at the moment of writing, nihil agens, is obvious. The fact that he seems to assume that the reader will respond to this comparison and realize that he too could use philosophy more than he had previously believed, reveals Cicero’s expectation that the members of his target audience find themselves in more or less the same position of inactivity, or possibly circumscribed activity. Thus, on one level he seems to be again acknowledging that the applicability of his view, that philosophy is more important than has been generally agreed, is limited, its current appeal due mainly to transient features of the political situation. The last part of the passage, however, goes further than this. It implies that, while restricted practice of philosophy is acceptable for men actively engaged in public life, they can derive from it only negative benefits: the partial philosopher is portrayed as released from destructive influences in his life, such as greed, grief, and fear. It is not coincidental that all these are states that can impair a man’s ability to perform his public duties properly.23 Thus, even at this limited level, philosophy, far from interfering with the ability to participate in public life, is portrayed by Cicero as helpful, and therefore unlikely to raise objections. Yet even these negative contributions that philosophy makes to the life of a busy man are not complete: Cicero includes two qualifiers, interdum and ex aliqua parte, whose combined force is to indicate quite strongly that one who wishes to have a rich our understanding of Cicero’s deployment of this quotation. As it is, we are limited to what the author himself supplies in each case. On the Andromacha see Jocelyn 1967.234– 37, 252 on our fragment. Cicero paraphrases, while Gellius’ version at 5.15.9 preserves the actual text. 22 Pace Gildenhard’s (2007.158–59) plausible identification of the line as coming from an exchange between young Neoptolemus and Nestor. While this power dynamic works well for the didactic context of the Tusculans (though even in this context it leaves the explicitly named reader, the philosophically canny dedicatee Brutus, out of the picture), it would seem to undermine the authority assigned to the same line in Cicero’s earlier deployments, n.12. 23 Greed leads to corruption (e.g., Sall. Cat. 11.1 on avaritia and its destructive effect on Rome, with Earl 1961.13–15), fear to excessive caution or cowardice in many contexts, but especially in warfare. For grief as interfering with the performance of public duties see ch. 2.

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thorough and lasting experience of these benefits should go further in his involvement with philosophy. A further implication of the focus on the negative benefits that accrue to the partial philosopher is that he is unable to derive from philosophy any of the positive benefits that full and proper engagement might provide. Since even negative benefits are portrayed as contributing significantly to one’s ability to serve the state (given that they can remove possible impediments), it is natural to infer that the positive benefits that come from a full-scale participation in the discipline, tantos quanti ex universa philosophia percipi possunt, would further improve one’s potential and thus be of direct use to the commonwealth.24 Viewed in this way, the elite Romans’ unwillingness to fully engage with philosophy becomes a disservice not only to the individual, but also to the state, a doubly shortsighted and destructive choice.

Sallust, or Anxiety about Writing Sallust’s prefaces can serve as a useful comparandum for understanding some of the forces that Cicero struggles against in his prefaces.25 Both men turned to writing when external circumstances forced them to retire from active careers in public life. Like Cicero, Sallust is very aware of the problematic nature of writing versus action in Roman consciousness and uses his prefaces to deal with the anxieties that writing evokes.26 This general anxiety provides background for understanding Cicero’s more specific concerns about writing philosophy. Sallust’s perspective is also 24 For a similar balance of benefit obtained from following praecepta and harm derived from neglecting them, cf. Hor. Ep. 1.1.24–26: id quod / aeque pauperibus prodest, locupletibus aeque / aeque neglectum pueris senibusque nocebit, “a thing which is of equal benefit to the poor and the rich, and, when neglected, equally harmful to the young and the old.” 25 A great deal of scholarly work has been done on Sallust’s prefaces, especially in the first half of the last century. Much attention has been devoted to responding to Quintilian’s comment (3.8.9) that the prefaces are not themselves historical, and the debate has therefore focused largely on investigating the connections between the ideas of the prefaces and the monographs themselves (the most recent contribution to the debate is Franzoi 1997). The other major direction has been identifying sources for the prefaces. A concise summary of previous work on the prefaces is provided by Paul 1984.9–11 and Koestermann 1971.23–26. 26 Historiography is the least problematic genre for an elite man in the late republic due to the existence of a prior tradition of history-writing validated by the name of Cato the Elder, among others. Yet most of Sallust’s Roman predecessors wrote while at the same time pursuing a busy public career. Writing history as a primary occupation for a member of the elite still required justification. On the early historiographical tradition in Rome, see Beck 2007, cf. Badian 1966; in the late republic, Levene 2007, Rawson 1985.91–92, 215–32; in relation to Sallust, Syme 1964.43, La Penna 1959.29; on Sallust’s engagement with the figure of Cato, Levene 2000.

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useful because he is very explicit about things that Cicero prefers to mask.27 At the same time, there are important differences between the two that need to be kept in mind. Sallust’s position as a senator who was once struck off the senate rolls and retired from public life following an extortion trial creates an anxiety about honor and respectability that is peculiar to him and his circumstances. It has to be considered separately from the more broadly applicable cultural issues that also find reflection in his prefaces.28 The third section of the preface to the Bellum Catilinae addresses the different cultural status of the writer and the man of action in Rome directly: Sed in magna copia rerum aliud alii natura iter ostendit. pulchrum est bene facere rei publicae, etiam bene dicere haud absurdum est; vel pace vel bello clarum fieri licet; et qui fecere et qui facta aliorum scripsere multi laudantur. ac mihi quidem, tametsi haudquaquam par gloria sequitur scriptorem et actorem rerum, tamen in primis arduom videtur res gestas scribere: primum, quod facta dictis exaequanda sunt, dehinc quia plerique, quae delicta reprehenderis, malevolentia et invidia dicta putant, ubi de magna virtute atque gloria bonorum memores, quae sibi quisque facilia factu putat, aequo animo accipit, supra ea veluti ficta pro falsis ducit. (Cat. 3) But in the great abundance of things nature shows different paths to different men. It is noble to do well for the state; also to speak well is hardly without merit; one can become famous either in peace or in war; and many of those who acted and many of those who wrote about the deeds of others receive praise. And although it is scarcely equal glory that redounds to the one who writes and the one who acts, nonetheless it seems to me especially difficult to write about historical events: first, because deeds must be equaled by words; then, because most men, as regards shameful acts which you subject to censure, think that your words stem from ill-will and envy, whereas when you speak of the great excellence and glory of the good men, each accepts unperturbed what he thinks he himself could easily do, but above that considers all things to have been invented, and therefore false. The first thing to note about this passage is the degree to which Sallust (and this of course reflects his expectation of his readers’ reactions) assumes 27 For

a different reading that sees Sallust’s comments, on retirement in particular, as responding to Cicero and concealing the author’s frustrations, see Osgood 2006.290–92. 28 On Sallust’s career, see Syme 1964.29–42; Paul 1966.85–89; Earl 1966. Malitz 1975 is a largely speculative reconstruction. The main source for both episodes is Dio, 42.52.1 and 43.2 respectively.

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the nobility and superiority of action. The general statement that he starts from is quite neutral: the nature of the double alius construction does not allow anything but the fact of difference to be expressed. It is significant that this difference is formulated in terms of natura: people are born with particular inclinations that do not in themselves carry value-markers. The next sentence, however, changes the framework. From natura we move to res publica, and here the difference is no longer neutral. In the world conceptualized through the prism of the Roman state there is a clear distinction based on value: benefiting the state through one’s actions holds pride of place and requires no qualifications.29 The phrasing of the first clause (and the sharply antithetical style of the preceding sections of this preface) sets up the expectation of an antithesis in which speaking will provide a negative counterpart to acting. It is the use of bene that allows Sallust to foil that expectation and instead present speaking not as an opposite of acting in the realm of the state, as the topos would require, but as an inferior, yet still similar type of activity.30 The repeated use of bene and the dative of advantage rei publicae in the two clauses highlight the end result of an action—benefit to the state— and privilege the identity of outcome over the content of the action and its independent value. Yet even so the case for speech is made in highly defensive terms: it is haud absurdum, and the choice of negating an extremely unflattering adjective makes a positive statement in terms so restricted as to ensure that most potential readers will at the very least concede a lesser value to speaking. The choice of adjective associated with sound as opposed to action serves to emphasize that speaking belongs naturally in the world of republican activity.31 The next part of the argument is based on a distinction between war and peace as areas of activity and the achievement of glory. This distinction was established earlier in the preface, which allows Sallust to reintroduce it here very briefly. The implication is that the war and peace distinction corresponds exactly to the action and speech distinction, that is, just as glory can be attained in peace and in war, so it can be attained by speaking (in peacetime) as well as acting (in wartime). This implication is false, for peacetime activities are by no means all verbal, and speech has an important role to play in wartime, but the flow of antitheses thus far 29 Cf. the comparison between Cato the Elder and Socrates in Amic. 9, based on the superiority of action to words: cave Catoni anteponas ne istum quidem ipsum quem Apollo, ut ais, sapientissimum iudicavit: huius enim facta, illius dicta laudantur, “be careful not to put ahead of Cato even that one, whom Apollo, as you say, judged to be the most wise: for we praise Cato for his deeds, Socrates for his words.” 30 Levene 2000.172 shows that bene facere here is an allusion to the fragment of Cato the Elder’s speech De Sumptu Suo, and argues that Sallust sets himself against Cato, both an actor and a scriptor, as one to whom the sphere of facere was closed off by corrupt times. 31 absurdus is used predominantly to describe utterances (TLL s.v. II.1).

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established in the preface is strong enough to carry the reader along to the conclusion that the place for speaking that Sallust is constructing here is as natural, and, possibly, as desirable, as peace, and that the relationship between action and speech is complementary, not mutually exclusive. One may wish to ask at this point why Sallust is working so hard to carve out a place for speech. After all, much traditional highly respectable Roman public activity consists of speaking: speaking in the senate, speaking before the people in the contio and in the assembly, speaking in the courts.32 Sallust would seem to be fighting against straw men in so laboriously setting up a positive space for speech. The purpose of this construction becomes evident, however, in the next section, where Sallust replaces dicere with scribere.33 If it is writing that is problematic, not verbal activity in general, then Sallust gets a head start in his argument for the value of writing by beginning it as an argument about speaking. The other advantage of this device is that by the time that the topic of writing is explicitly introduced, the hierarchical relationship from which the argument began has shifted. No longer superior, action appears alongside writing as an equal alternative, equally praised. Finally, the use of multi sets up a movement towards the total inversion of the original hierarchy: Sallust begins the next sentence with a very emphatic mihi, taken out of its own clause to stand in opposition to the preceding multi: this part of the argument, which will actually be controversial, Sallust makes in his own voice.34 Acknowledging once again that, as things stand, more glory follows the actor than the scriptor, he goes on to counteract the implied view that the reason for this situation is that writing, unlike action, is easy and therefore less deserving of renown. His choice of adjective to express the difficulty of writing is noteworthy: arduum, a word with the basic meaning “high and therefore hard to climb,” when applied to action conveys 32 Cf.

Leeman 1954.329: “Bei diesem bene dicere muss ein römischer Leser natürlich zuerst an die politische Beredsamkeit und das forum gedacht haben.” On the “importance of public speaking and public listening” in late republican Rome, cf. May 2002b, 53–60; on the contio, see Morstein-Marx’s 2004 study. The centrality of verbal communication to Roman civic life is at the heart of Connolly’s 2007 treatment of Ciceronian rhetoric. Rhetoric as theoretical ars dicendi can be suspect if it is perceived as divorced from the actual practice of oratory and active engagement in public life: cf., e.g., Dugan’s (2005.24–31) discussion of epideictic, the most rhetorical genus dicendi, and the cultural anxieties resulting from its associations with otium. 33 Tiffou 1973.197 sees this not as a rhetorical device but as a natural continuation of Sallust’s thought in the earlier part of the section and argues that the transition from dicere to scribere shows that for Sallust in writing “la parole est directe et constitue, pour ainsi dire, une action.” That what he identifies is in fact the effect desired by Sallust is indisputable, but his assumption that Sallust is not being innovative and going against the grain of Roman thought seems to take the historian too much at his own word. In a similar vein, Mariotti ad loc. (2007.175) takes dicere to be general enough to include writing. 34 Cf. Mariotti 2007.179.

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the sense of considerable physical exertion and so belongs more in the world of facere than of scribere.35 The use of this adjective contributes to the overall momentum in this section towards erasing the distinction between the two spheres.36 Of course, just like Cicero in his focus on writing philosophy, Sallust is making a case for a particular genre of writing, the one he is engaged in, namely, history. The generically specific details of his argument for the difficulty of writing history do not contribute much to our understanding of Cicero’s parallel strategies. But within this explanation Sallust makes explicit a principle that stands behind his arguments for the value of writing in general throughout the preface: namely, the importance of memoria in Roman society and the contribution of writing to the creation of memoria.37 After all, writing books is not the only kind of writing, and deeds in Rome are almost always followed by words whose function is to ensure that the deeds are preserved in the memory of generations to come.38 The accomplishments of a person’s life are commemorated orally in a funeral oration, the laudatio funebris famously described by Polybius in book six (6.53-54),39 and in written form in an epitaph. Roman victories and building projects are recorded in a variety of public documents, from senatorial decrees of thanks and grants of triumphs to monumental inscriptions.40 Gloria, a concept of universal appeal to the elite Roman, and used as such by Sallust, is also dependent on words and memory.41 The worst fate that can befall a deed or a person is silence, and Sallust gives silence (and therefore memory) prominence by placing it at the very start of his preface as the salient distinction between men and beasts: 35 For this literal meaning cf., e.g., Var. R. 1.14.3, agger is bonus qui intrinsecus iunctus fossa aut ita arduus ut eum transcendere non sit facile, “that kind of mound is good that is joined to the trench on the inside or is so steep that it is not easy to cross over it.” In the figurative sense it is paired with difficilis (e.g., Cic. Inv. 2.163: rerum arduarum et difficilium) and plenus laborum (e.g., Cic. Off. 1.66). 36 Cf. Moatti 1997.159–61 on the redefinition of “writing” as “action” in the period shared by Sallust, Cicero, and Varro. 37 On Roman ideas of historical memory and commemoration strategies, see Walter 2004. 38 See Walter 2004, ch. 6; cf. Flower 2009 on alternate ways of commemorating historical events and actors. 39 For a discussion of Polybius’ account in conjunction with other sources on laudatio, see Walbank 1957 ad loc; an essential discussion of laudationes, both spoken and published, is Flower 1996, ch. 5. 40 On Roman archives and the documents deposited in them, as well as posted documents, see Culham 1989; on senatorial documents, Coudry 1994; on funerary inscriptions, Flower 1996, ch. 6. 41 Cf. Earl 1961.8–9. For a brief overview of the concept of glory in Greek and Roman culture and a comparison of the use of the concept by Sallust and Cicero, see Tiffou 1973.75–117; cf. Hellegouarc’h 1963.369–83, in large part focused on Cicero’s usage. On Cicero’s attack on his peers’ excessive desire for glory in Off., see Long 1995.224–33.

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Omnis homines qui sese student praestare ceteris animalibus summa ope niti decet ne vitam silentio transeant veluti pecora . . . . “All men, who are eager to stand before other animals, ought to strive with every resource not to go through their lives in silence just like cattle . . . .” (Cat. 1). The role of writers in enhancing the reputation of their state is brought out later on, in the so-called “archaeology,” when Sallust asserts that the deeds of the Athenians have received a greater share of glory than they deserved because of the talent (magna ignenia) of their writers, while Rome’s reputation has suffered, paradoxically, because its best men have focused exclusively on action (Cat. 8). In this context writing, and writing history in particular, is aligned with other kinds of public acts directed towards the preservation of memoria, including the verbal acts mentioned above, as well as the erection of various types of physical monumenta. And the creation of memoria is presented by Sallust as his main goal in writing: mihi rectius videtur . . . memoriam nostri quam maxume longam efficere, “it seemed more fitting to me  . . . to make the memory of us as long lasting as possible.”42 In the same way, the benefits of history-writing described in the passage quoted above, de magna virtute et gloria bonorum memores, could also be applied to any of the other traditional commemorative actions.43 The theme of the importance of memory and the contribution that writing makes to its creation and maintenance, as well as the antithesis between silentium and memoria, continues to play an important part in the preface to the Bellum Iugurthinum. In addition, Sallust here focuses more explicitly on the desired result of producing memoria, namely immortality, and consequently the distinction that takes center stage here is that between mortality and eternal fame. The highest possible achievement for mankind is expressed in these terms: eo magnitudinis procederent ubi pro mortalibus gloria aeterni fierent, “they may reach the point of greatness where through glory they would become eternal instead of mortal” (Jug. 1). This statement conceives of a human life as a struggle for immortality, in which the necessary condition for success is greatness and the means of attaining it is glory. The important consequence of this formulation is that greatness itself is insufficient for immortality; only glory, 42 ibid. For a reading that focuses on the gaps and difficulties in Sallust’s presentation of gloria, fama, and memoria in this preface as appropriate to a narrative of conspiracy, see Batstone 1990. For a different take on the ambiguities of the preface and the narrative that follows, that sees a failure of Sallust’s conceptual apparatus, see Gunderson 2000b, esp. 87–91. 43 The rhetorical potential of this emphasis on memory is by no means limited to historywriting. Gowing 2000 demonstrates that Cicero’s central arguments in the Brutus emphasize memoria and its importance in opposition to silentium in a way similar to Sallust’s in his prefaces. The structural position of the historian in Sallust’s scheme is in the Brutus naturally occupied by the orator.

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which is based on words and memory, which can be supplied by a writer of history, can make one immortal. Writing itself, on the other hand, does not need an intermediary to escape oblivion. It belongs entirely in the sphere of the spirit: ingeni egregia facinora sicuti anima immortalia sunt, “the outstanding acts of talent, just like the soul, are immortal” (Jug. 2). From this point of view writing is actually superior to action—the hierarchy comfortably asserted in the beginning has been inverted. Further on in the preface Sallust locates his emphasis on the importance of memory explicitly in the context of Roman tradition when he describes the chain of virtus created in Roman men through their meditations on their ancestors: nam saepe ego audivi Q. Maximum, P. Scipionem, alios44 praeterea civitatis nostrae praeclaros viros solitos ita dicere, quom maiorum imagines intuerentur, vehementissime sibi animum ad virtutem accendi. scilicet non ceram illam neque figuram tantam vim in sese habere, sed memoria rerum gestarum eam flammam egregiis viris in pectore crescere neque prius sedari quam virtus eorum famam atque gloriam adaequaverit. (Jug. 4) For I have often heard that Quintus Maximus, Publius Scipio, and, in addition, other famous men of our state were accustomed to saying that when they looked upon the busts of their ancestors, their spirit was enflamed most powerfully with desire for excellence. And certainly it was not the wax or the shape that had in it such great power, but through the memory of the ancestors’ deeds that flame grew in the hearts of these outstanding men; nor was it checked until their excellence equaled the reputation and glory of those earlier men. In this passage Sallust’s act of writing historical works to produce memoria, the focus of the preface, is assimilated to one of the most powerful traditional elements of Roman elite culture, the veneration and ideological employment of ancestor masks representing renowned family members, which were exhibited prominently in the atria of Roman houses. The function of the masks, both in their permanent place and when displayed in the course of a funeral, as Polybius’ famous analysis demonstrates, was to showcase the family’s accomplishments over the generations and, exactly as Sallust’s description shows, to inspire the younger members of the family to live up to the promise of their birth.45 Thus, the social ap44 alios

is not part of the transmitted text; first proposed by T. Halbertsma, it is adopted by L. D. Reynolds in his OCT. 45 Cf. Dugan’s (2005, ch. 1) reading of Cicero’s construction of literature as inspiring emulation in the Pro Archia on the same model. On imagines, wax ancestor masks, see the definitive study of Flower 1996 (ch. 4 on the funeral procession; ch. 7 on domestic display,

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paratus to which Sallust chooses to compare his undertaking is one seen commonly as responsible for the continuous production of excellence among the leaders of the Roman state. It is implicit in his presentation that anything capable of performing a function similar to that ascribed to the ancestor masks is of value to the state. What follows is an obvious, but effective rhetorical move meant to strengthen the implied equivalence of writing history and preserving the memory of the ancestors. Sallust separates the meaning of the imagines from the medium through which it is expressed: thus, the distinction is established between memoria rerum gestarum, the content that applies equally to written history, a genre that is referred to in Rome as res gestae, and the outward characteristics of the masks, their shape and material. The latter carry no value in themselves and can be replaced by a different medium, such as words, with no harm to the content.46 Concerns resulting from the association between philosophy and otium constitute another major anxiety that repeatedly makes its way into the prefaces to the philosophica, and nowhere is it more clearly expressed than in the view of Hortensius47 in the fragment, transmitted by Lactantius, from the eponymous treatise: non ergo utilitatem ex philosophia sed oblectationem petunt. quod quidem Cicero testatus est. profecto, inquit, omnis istorum disputatio quamquam uberrimos fontes virtutis et scientiae continet, tamen conlata cum eorum actis perfectisque rebus vereor ne non tantum videatur utilitatis adtulisse negotiis hominum quantum oblectationem otiis. (Hort. fr. 4248) esp. 220–21 on the role of the imagines within aristocratic families). On Roman use of the maiores in a variety of cultural domains, see Wallace-Hadrill 2008, ch. 5. 46 Cicero uses the same strategy in Arch. 14, when he invokes the power of written imagines to inspire emulation: quam multas nobis imagines non solum ad intuendum verum etiam ad imitandum fortissimorum virorum expressas scriptores et Graeci et Latini reliquerunt! quas ego mihi semper in administranda re publica proponens animum et mentem meam ipsa cogitatione hominum excellentium conformabam, “how many images depicted not only for us to contemplate, but also to imitate the most valiant men, have the writers, both Greek and Latin, left us! I always, when engaged in administering public business, put them before me and tried to shape my mind and intellect by consideration of excellent men.” 47 Ruch 1958b.113–14 discusses the difficulty in attributing the fragment to either Cicero or Hortensius within the dialogue and concludes that it is to be assigned to De Re Publica. Straume-Zimmermann assigns it to the Hortensius and attributes it to Hortensius, while allowing for the possibility (1976.59) that it comes from the preface and belongs to Cicero’s authorial voice. In the context of the Hortensius, I find this second option to be unconvincing, as the highly negative sentiment is at odds with the picture that Cicero consistently presents in his other prefaces. 48 Ruch 1958b.51, Grilli 1962.55, Straume-Zimmermann 1976.18. Lact. inst. 3.16.5.

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Therefore they seek not utility, but pleasure from philosophy. Cicero in fact attests to this. Indeed, he says that, although all the discussions of those [philosophers] do contain very fertile sources of virtue and knowledge, nonetheless, when they are put side by side with what they have done and accomplished, I fear that they have not brought so much utility to men’s business as they have delight to their leisure. The value of an endeavor is here defined quite sharply by where it falls on the otium/negotium scale. The latter is associated with the practical instantiation of virtue and knowledge in action, and the former with idleness and pleasure, while idle philosophers are branded as hypocrites. Sallust’s enunciation of the role that otium plays in the composition of his works provides a context for the self-justificatory remarks Cicero makes in responding to this type of attitude. The following section of the preface to the Bellum Catilinae deals with the appropriateness of writing as the main occupation for Sallust’s retirement, once again an important reference point for Cicero’s anxiety regarding the same issue: igitur ubi animus ex multis miseriis atque periculis requievit et mihi reliquam aetatem a re publica procul habendam decrevi, non fuit consilium socordia atque desidia bonum otium conterere, neque vero agrum colundo aut venando, servilibus officiis, intentum aetatem agere; sed, a quo incepto studioque me ambitio mala detinuerat, eodem regressus statui res gestas populi Romani carptim, ut quaeque memoria digna videbantur, perscribere, eo magis, quod mihi a spe metu partibus rei publica animus liber erat. (Cat. 4) Therefore, when my spirit found rest from many misfortunes and dangers and I decided that I ought to spend the rest of my life away from the concerns of the state, it was not my intention to waste honorable leisure in idleness and sloth, nor indeed to spend the age full of vigor in tilling the fields or hunting, those occupations that befit slaves;49 having turned back to that very undertaking and pursuit from which bad ambition had kept me away, I decided to write a thorough account of the history of the Roman people piecemeal, as each thing seemed worthy of remembrance, so much more so as my spirit was free from the hopes, fears, and factions of the state. Sallust’s discussion here is especially valuable because it presents us with a number of choices open to a man with otium. While the negative formulation of the options Sallust dismisses has to be discounted as a result of his peculiar position as a disgraced senator, it is still possible to get at 49 Delz 1985 offers a different interpretation of this phrase, not in apposition to agrum colundo aut venando, but depending on intentum, meaning “focused on supervising slaves.”

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real possibilities open to elite men in retirement. That retirement is meant, and not intermittent moments of leisure in an otherwise busy life, is made clear by the nature of the options discussed.50 The first option is represented by a complex of highly negative moralizing language. Conterere is often used of wasteful behaviors and in particular of wasting time;51 socordia, avoided by Cicero, is a favorite of Sallust’s and is used to describe lack of action, often with disastrous consequences;52 desidia, always highly negative, brings additional associations with luxuria and active avoidance of labor.53 In effect, this amounts to (debilitating) idleness. Freed from the trappings of disapproval, however, it corresponds directly to the basic meaning of otium as freedom from activity.54 I would suggest that the reason why Sallust assigns such negative connotations to the otherwise standard, and therefore neutral, definition of otium is precisely because it is applied here to otium as retirement. Idleness against the continuous background of public service is one thing; idleness as the entire content of one’s life, another. An idle retirement was a choice one could make, but then one became an easy target for the moralist. The reputation that quickly attached to Lucullus, who, upon being forced out of the position he felt he had earned, energetically engaged in activities traditionally seen as luxurious and self-indulgent, abundantly demonstrates the dangers of this option.55 For Sallust who, like Cicero and unlike Lucullus, wants to construct his forced retirement not as an opposite to, but as a valid substitute for (or, given Sallust’s moralizing about his own past, perhaps an improvement on) his previous public career, a retirement 50 For the latter meaning of otium and the possibilities it offers, see the discussion of the preface to Rhetorica ad Herennium in the next section. 51 Cf. TLL s.v. II B 1: tempus, aetatem, vitam consumere. It is used negatively of philosophical practice (associated with otium) by Antonius in De Oratore. He distinguishes philosophy, quo in studio hominum ingeniosissimorum otiosissimorumque totas aetates videmus esse contritas, “in that pursuit we see that whole lives of very clever and very leisurely men were worn away,” from the active life of men like himself, qui in hoc populo foroque versamur, “who spend their time with the people and in the forum” (1.219). 52 It is frequently coupled with other negative qualities, most commonly ignavia (Cat. 52.29, 58.4, Jug. 31.2). The pairing is picked up by the imitator in Rep. 2.6.2 and 2.10.9. Cf. Syme 1964.328 on the overuse of “typical Sallustian words,” including socordia, in the Epistulae. 53 Cf., e.g., Cicero’s description of ways in which the Sicilians are unlike the decadent Greeks, nulla desidia, nulla luxuries, contra summus labor in publicis privatisque rebus, summa parsimonia, summa diligentia, “no idleness, no luxury, on the contrary, intense effort in private and public affairs, highest frugality, highest diligence” (Ver. 2.7), and the opposition between inertia and desidia on the one hand and otium moderatum atque honestum on the other in Brut. 8. 54 Cf. n.3 and Fagan 2006.370. 55 The main source is Plutarch’s Life of Lucullus, as well as references to his individual luxurious habits in, among others, Cicero, Varro, and Pliny the Elder. For an account of activities that earned him this reputation, see Keaveney 1992.143–65.

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that is primarily perceived as idleness is obviously to be discarded and ridiculed.56 By contrast, the rejection of the second option, which was probably shocking to a Roman reader, requires more of an interpretation.57 It is surprising that Sallust here unites cultivating the fields and hunting into one category. Although the two activities do have a natural connection, since both are linked to the countryside, the differences between them, especially in the context of a discussion of otium, are more striking than their similarities. While hunting is an activity that is frequently associated with an elite man’s leisure,58 anyone with even a superficial familiarity with Roman literature is aware of the symbolic place farming occupies in Roman discourse as the idealized morally sound occupation.59 It is thus rather striking when Sallust goes on to label both activities as servilia officia, duties appropriate for slaves. Commenting on this passage, J. T. Ramsey suggests two possible explanations for Sallust’s rejection of the traditional view of farming.60 The first is that Sallust, having argued earlier in the preface for the superiority of tasks that involve animus over those that are limited to corpus, is contemptuous of farming as a physical occupation.61 The second is that the moralizing disdain of the passage has to do with the association of these country pursuits with the luxury 56 Cf. Leeman 1954.335–37 on Sallust’s need to present his otium as potentially productive of gloria. 57 Syme 1964.44 refers to this as “a peculiar outburst,” and to the dismissal of farming as “a paradox and a scandal.” Levene 2000.174 reads the reference in the context of Sallust’s self-positioning against Cato the Elder. 58 On hunting as a leisure activity of Greek origin practiced by Roman nobles, see J. Aymard (Essai sur les chasses romaines, 1951.43ff.), cited in Tiffou 1973.216. The latter takes the Greek origin as part of the reason for Sallust’s rejection of hunting. Bianco 1979 finds that Sallust’ view of hunting as servile is contradicted by contemporary evidence, including that of Sallust’s own monographs. His focus on the literal meaning of servile, however, is misleading, and he ignores the moralistic tone and, consequently, largely moral implications of Sallust’s remark. For a different view that emphasizes the use of slave labor in the Roman hunt, see Mariotti ad loc. 2007.199. 59 On farming as a supremely noble occupation, see, e.g., Cicero Off. 1.151, Sen. 56; Cato Agr. preface. Büchner 1960.102 considers the phrase servilia officia ironic, but nothing in the tone of the rest of the preface justifies resorting to irony, not a device favored by Sallust, as an explanation. Levene 2000.173–74 interprets it as one of Sallust’s devices designed to indicate paradoxes in the life and character of Cato the Elder by labeling one of Cato’s known activities as inappropriate to a man of his class. 60 Ramsey 1984.67–68. 61 Bianco 1979 argues that the Greek philosophical equation of the corporeal and the servile is the only factor responsible, in light of the corpus/animus distinction made earlier in the preface, for Sallust’s use of servilia. I find his argument, as any argument that wants to explain Roman literary behavior entirely in terms of Greek models, unconvincing.

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villa.62 Both suggestions, in my opinion, point to something important, but require further elaboration.63 The corpus/animus distinction is certainly relevant to the dismissal of farming, but in a very specific way. One has to keep in mind that Sallust develops that distinction with great care and at considerable length not as an end in itself, but to serve a specific purpose, namely construction of a space in which writing, an activity that belongs entirely within the sphere of the animus, is valued. Given this background, we can make more sense of Sallust’s options. The first, idleness, is lack of action; the second, farming and hunting, is physical activity; and the final, his choice, is an intellectual pursuit. In this framework physical activity must be rejected to leave the field open for writing. Yet a question remains: why did Sallust choose farming, a universally honored occupation, and not something less controversial, as one of his examples of physical tasks? A reason that can justify this inclusion is that it must have been unavoidable, that the Roman reader would inevitably think of farming as a possible honorable way to spend one’s retirement. And in fact, one of the most idealized retired gentlemen of the republic, Scipio Africanus, used as an exemplum by Sallust himself in the Jugurtha passage discussed above, was said to have spent his retirement engaged in agricultural labor.64 This same paradigm was exploited by the late republican elite to deflect criticism of their villa lifestyle.65 I would further 62 A similar suggestion, seconded by Tiffou 1973.216, is made by Syme 1964.45, with additional emphasis on the moral distinction between small-scale farming and the large estates of Sallust’s contemporaries. This entire line of argument is rejected by Bianco 1979, based on the positive statement about agriculture and land tenure found elsewhere in the monograph. Syme’s other suggestion, that Sallust was irritated at a friend’s advice that he take up gardening in retirement on the model of Cicero’s Cato in De Senectute, is too speculative and places too much emphasis on biographical detail as a source of the work (Tiffou finds it “très intéressante,” but “très subtile”). 63 Cf. Leach 1974.66–69, who discusses Sallust’s portrayal in the context of other, positive, depictions of agricultural labor in late republican texts and sees it as his refusal to abandon his “involvement in Roman affairs.” 64 The only source is Seneca, Ep. 86. Seneca emphasizes both the physicality of Scipio’s occupation (86.5) and his status as an exemplum typical of the best of the maiores: . . . abluebat corpus laboribus rusticis fessum. exercebat enim opere se, terramque (ut mos fuit priscis) subigebat, “[here] he used to wash his body, exhausted from agricultural work. For he kept himself busy with work, and cultivated the earth.” On how Seneca manipulates the myth of Scipio’s retirement, see Henderson 2004, chs. 9–12 (esp. ch. 9). 65 See, e.g., the argument between Q. Axius, Appius Claudius, and L. Merula about the proper type of villa in Varro’s De Re Rustica 3.1.9–3.2.18. Kronenberg 2009 argues that Varro’s treatise is a satire that exposes the hypocrisy of Roman discourse about farming; see 102–106 and 116–29 for her discussion of book 3. On the attacks of Roman moralists on luxurious buildings, see Edwards 1993.137–72, esp. 159 on moralizing agricultural writers’ condemnation of luxury villas that serve no real agricultural purpose.

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suggest that the surprising coupling of farming and hunting is Sallust’s way of tainting farming by association: in his presentation farming, highlighted as a physical activity, is to be seen primarily as similar to hunting, a frivolous pastime, as opposed to writing, a serious intellectual pursuit. To add to the second of Ramsey’s suggestions, this conjunction with hunting can be seen as an indication of Sallust’s refusal to take seriously his contemporaries’ claims that they are actively engaging in agriculture in their spare time. Labeling farming and hunting servilia officia breaks through the hypocrisy of their self-presentation by identifying who it is that does the actual work—their slaves.66 It is noteworthy that the choice that Sallust settles on, writing history, is presented much as Cicero frequently presents his choice of writing philosophy, not as a new occupation, but as a return to an earlier interest. Unlike Cicero, Sallust is not able to portray an interrupted engagement with historiography but chooses instead to depict his career in the intervening years in highly negative terms. Yet the coincidence between the two strategies is sufficient to demonstrate that, in line with general Roman conservatism, it is more profitable to represent a new field of endeavor as a return rather than a departure. The final section of the preface to the Bellum Iugurthinum deals also with the issue of writing as the product of otium, but Sallust now approaches the question from the opposite direction. In the passage discussed above, the issue is that of choosing the right way to spend one’s retirement; that the otium in question is bonum, “good,” “wholesome,” is assumed. In the following passage, conversely, Sallust treats the problematic status of writing that results from its being a product of otium, the ambiguous moral status of which he explicitly confronts: ceterum ex aliis negotiis quae ingenio exercentur in primis magno usui est memoria rerum gestarum . . . atque ego credo fore qui, quia decrevi procul a re publica aetatem agere, tanto tamque utili labori meo nomen inertiae inponant, certe quibus maxuma industria videtur salutare plebem et conviviis gratiam quaerere. qui si reputaverint et quibus ego temporibus magistratus adeptus sum [et] quales viri idem assequi nequiverint et postea quae genera hominum in senatum pervenerint, profecto existimabunt me magis merito quam ignavia iudicium animi mei mutavisse maiusque commodum ex otio meo quam ex aliorum negotiis rei publicae venturum. (Jug. 4) But of the rest of the occupations that are performed by the mind it is especially the memory of deeds/history that is of great benefit. . . . And I 66 Cf. Mariotti ad loc. (2007.195–98) on the hypocrisy of the late republican discourse on farming.

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believe that there will be those who, because I decided to spend my life far away from the state, will attach the name of inactivity to my labor, so great and so useful, men to whom it clearly seems that the pinnacle of industry is to greet the plebs and to curry favor at dinner parties. But if they think over both what the times were like during which I attained my magistracies and what kinds of men were then unable to reach them, and what types of men got into the senate afterwards, surely they will judge that I changed my mind with reason rather than because of cowardice and that a greater profit will come to the state from my leisure than from others’ business. When Sallust calls memoria a negotium, it is clear that he is referring not to the abstract concept of memory but to the means of its production, in  particular history-writing. It is clearly of importance for his selfpositioning that he identify writing squarely as a type of intellectual negotium and not as an inconsequential leisure activity. The point is reinforced throughout the passage: in addition to negotium, Sallust calls his occupation labor, characterizes it as utilis, and expects that it will produce a commodum for the republic. The resulting paradox is that his otium is construed as occupied with a true negotium, while his imagined critics’ activities, which are more normally seen as the negotia of a Roman senator, appear frivolous.67 The particular activities that he chooses are ones that are associated with ambitus and center on the personal advantage of the senator in question;68 as a result, not only do they not contribute anything of value to the state, but they are actually harmful. The reference to the degeneration of the senatorial body (even those men who were not able to make it into the senate in Sallust’s time deserve to be called viri; those at the time of his writing, merely homines) casts further doubt on the motives of those who are involved in traditional negotia and by contrast elevates Sallust who, like Cicero under Caesar, refuses to participate in the debased state and instead creates a new arena for public service.69 67 Cf. Hirtius at the start of the preface to book eight of BG: coactus adsiduis tuis vocibus, Balbe, cum cotidiana mea recusatio non difficultatis excusationem sed inertiae videretur deprecationem habere, difficillimam rem suscepi, “Compelled by your continuing urgings, Balbus, when my daily refusals began to seem to offer not an excuse based on the difficulty of the task, but a plea founded in my idleness, I have undertaken this most difficult task.” Hirtius, who is engaged in active political life, still presents the task of writing as very difficult and implicitly characterizes it as negotium in expressing the fear that his refusal will be taken to be a sign of inertia. 68 See Paul 1984 ad loc. 69 Syme 1964.2 places Sallust together with “other senatorial writers, [who] took up the pen only when the career of action ended, for refuge and for consolation.” Yet the language that would identify writing as consolatio, present in some Ciceronian prefaces, is emphati-

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RHETORICA AD HERENNIUM, or Anxiety about Status Issues that surround intellectual activity and the leisure that enables and potentially taints it are also at the center of the self-presentational strategies employed by the author of the anonymous Rhetorica ad Herennium.70 From the very beginning of the work, he focuses on managing the readers’ reaction to the fact that he has found enough free time to engage in writing a rather sizable treatise on all aspects of rhetoric:71 etsi negotiis familiaribus inpediti vix satis otium studio suppeditare possumus, et id ipsum quod datum otii libentius in philosophia consumere consuevimus, tamen tua nos, Gai Herenni, voluntas commovit ut de ratione dicendi conscriberemus, ne aut tua causa noluisse aut fugisse nos laborem putares. et eo studiosius hoc negotium suscepimus, quod te non sine causa velle cognoscere rhetoricam intellegebamus; non enim in se parum fructus habet copia dicendi et commoditas orationis, si recta intellegentia et definita animi moderatione gubernetur. (Rhet. Her. 1.1) Although, hindered by family affairs, I am hardly able to provide enough leisure time for study, and that leisure itself which I do have, I am accustomed to spend with more pleasure in philosophy, nonetheless your desire, Gaius Herennius, moved me to write about the discipline of speaking, lest you think that in your case I was either unwilling or avoided work. And I undertook this task the more eagerly since I understood that it was not without reason that you wanted to learn about rhetoric; for abundance and appropriateness of speech contains in it not insufficient advantages if it is governed by upright intelligence and established moderation of the spirit. In its strategies and topoi, this preface is strikingly similar to many of Cicero’s prefaces, and in particular, in its focus on a friend’s voluntas as the motivating force for the project, to the preface to his Topica, which I discuss in detail in chapter 5.72 Both authors recognize their treatise as a cally absent from Sallust. He presents his writing not as a distraction, but as a new kind of life of action. 70 For a discussion of Rhetorica ad Herennium in its historical and intellectual context, see Sinclair’s 1993 study of sententia, and a recent treatment, together with Cicero’s De Inventione, in Connolly 2007.65–76. 71 For the claim to completeness, see the next to last sentence of the work, 4.69: ergo amplius in arte rhetorica nihil est. 72 The first known appearance of the basic form of this topos is in two prefaces of Archimedes addressed to Dositheus, Janson 1964.21–22, 33. On the function of the topos, “given more weight” in this preface than in the Greek antecedents, cf. Janson 27–30. See 45–48 for

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product of otium, but describe it in ways that are calculated to move it as much as possible into the realm of negotium. In this passage both terms are used in reference to the production of the treatise, and, in addition, the work of composition is described as labor, “toil,” which further links it to negotium and implicitly denies connection to the negatively conceived otium that can be defined as fuga laboris. So much more important in light of these similarities is the basic difference between the two authors’ attitudes toward writing as a leisure activity. In the first place, the very meaning of the term otium is different for the two writers. For Cicero, as for Sallust, the otium that allows him to produce the treatises is a protracted forced retirement with no definite end in sight and with no other negotium-like activities from which it can be differentiated. In other words, otium, from a traditional viewpoint, is the entire content of Cicero’s life at the time of writing. The contrast with the Auctor of Ad Herennium is instructive. For him otium is a highly circumscribed portion of his total time that is precious precisely because it is limited and must, for that reason, be spent wisely.73 Unlike Cicero, he does not talk so much about his otium, as about quod datum otii, a given segment of otium.74 When Cicero in the preface to the Topica wants to represent himself as dropping his other activities in order to write the work for Trebatius, he has no negotia to invoke and portrays himself as interrupting work on another, more serious, treatise. The Auctor, on the other hand, is overcrowded by negotia. His otium, by definition time free from public business, is further restricted by the encroachment of familiaria negotia on his free time. His self-presentation thus offers to the reader a proper member of the elite, whose life is mostly spent in the business of the state and of the family, and for whom things like writing and philosophy, summed up in his use of the word studium (which he seems to naturally connect with otium) come last.75 Yet even in these circumstances, the expenditure of time on intellectual activity seems to require a constant apologia on the part of the author. That this is a persistent anxiety for the Auctor is revealed by the frequency with which he appeals to the language of negotium in his prefatory and concluding remarks and the repetitive quality of those remarks. In addition to the explicit references a general discussion of the type as it appears in this preface and in Cicero’s De Oratore and Orator, as well as remarks on its possible origins. 73 On disciplined otium in the prefaces to de Orat., see Connolly 2007.101–104. On the idea of productive otium of the wise in imperial literature see Connors 2000, esp. 211–12. See also Leach 2003 on Pliny’s depiction of his hard-to-obtain productive otium as a luxury. 74 Cf. Pliny the Younger’s si quid otii, in justification of his turn to writing occasional poetry (7.4.8). 75 Cf. Janson’s discussion of the first sentence of 1.1 (1964.27–30), in particular his focus on strategies designed to protect the Auctor’s standing from negative associations with writing.

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already mentioned, the beginning section of book 1 makes reference to the fact that oratory is a productive activity (non enim parum fructus habet copia dicendi). The litotes non parum and fructus in conjunction with copia further evoke the image of cornu Copiae, the horn of plenty associated with prosperity and good fortune, promising continuing productivity.76 Another conceivable danger that intellectual activity appears to present to its critics is the fact that it is potentially unlimited and could eventually draw one who engages in it away from his public duties—a concern voiced by Crassus in De Oratore 3.88.77 The Auctor appears to be responding to such concerns when he emphasizes the circumscribed nature of his project: Herennius will know all there is to know about rhetoric once he has read this treatise,78 and the end of the above passage reinforces the sense of limitation and control through its choice of language: definita, moderatio, gubernetur. Rhetoric approached in this spirit will not get out of control and take over the lives of the teacher and of the students, he seems to be saying.79 Varro responds to the same type of pressure differently in the conclusion to book seven of De Lingua Latina: sed quod vereor ne plures sint futuri qui de hoc genere me quod nimium multa scripserim reprehendant quam quod reliquerim quaedam accusent, ideo potius iam reprimendum quam procudendum puto esse volumen. nemo reprensus qui e segete ad spicilegium reliquit stipulam. (Var. L. 7.109) But because I am afraid that there will be more of those who will chastise me for having written too much than those who will accuse me of having left certain things out, therefore I deem that this book must be 76 A solitary early reference to the horn of plenty in Latin literature is Plaut. Ps. 671, in reference to a letter fortuitously delivered to the main character: haec allata cornu copiaest, ubi inest quidquid volo, “this horn of plenty has been brought, wherein lies everything I want.” The next appearance is in Horace, who uses the image of personified copia with a horn three times. Especially noteworthy is Saec. 60, where Copia with a full horn makes an appearance in the procession alongside Fides, Pax, Honos, Pudor, and Virtus. While there are no attestations of the phrase in surviving late republican texts, the iconographic tradition of the cornucopia in representations of Fortuna, based on Greek Tyche, is more continuous; see Kajanto 1981.518–21. 77 Quoted in n.6 above. 78 Cf. n.71. 79 Janson 1964.30–31 locates the source for this carefully circumscribed expression in the anxieties surrounding the practice of rhetoric in Latin following the censors’ edict against the rhetores Latini (Suet. Rhet. 25.2, Gell. 15.11.2; cf. Cic. de Orat. 3.93–95); cf. Moatti 1997.193–94. For the censors’ motivations and the historical context, see Gruen 1990.179–91; see also Stroup’s analysis (2007.28–33) with close attention to the language of the edict.

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curtailed rather than prolonged. No one who has left a cornstalk for the gleaning is reproached. Varro portrays himself as conforming to the desires of the majority of his potential readers. He chooses to cater to the many who are put off by excess rather than the few specialists who might be aware of omissions. His response is thus markedly unlike Cicero’s, who in the preface to book two of the Tusculans confronts the readers’ potential resistance to an exhaustive treatment of his subject matter head on and tries to persuade them of the benefits of the full embrace of philosophy. Varro, in deciding to leave things out, and the Auctor, in presenting his work as a carefully trimmed and fully self-contained treatise on his subject, appear to take opposite approaches. Yet comparing their treatments of this issue to Cicero’s reveals that what they have in common is more significant: both acknowledge the pressure to curtail their subject as valid and present their work as addressing the concerns that motivate that pressure. In fact, Varro goes further than the Auctor: through his use of the agricultural metaphor at the end of this passage to describe his method of selecting material for discussion, he legitimates both the putative majority’s concern for the preservation of practical limits and at the same time his entire project. Comparing the parts of the subject-matter that are left out of his account to the stalks left behind for gleaning diminishes their value and puts emphasis on the author-farmer’s correct judgment in not expending his resources foolishly.80 The Auctor, for his part, attempts to exorcize the possibility of descent into impractical, excessive theorizing by introducing and castigating a group that can be portrayed both as guilty of it and as demonstrably distinct from the author and his audience, namely, Greek rhetorical theorists:81 quas ob res illa, quae Graeci scriptores inanis adrogantiae causa sibi adsumpserunt, reliquimus. nam illi, ne parum multa scisse viderentur, ea conquisierunt quae nihil adtinebant, ut ars difficilior cognitu putaretur; nos autem ea quae videbantur ad rationem dicendi pertinere, sumpsimus. non enim spe quaestus aut gloria commoti venimus ad scribendum quemadmodum ceteri, sed ut industria nostra tuae morem geramus voluntati. nunc, ne nimium longa sumatur oratio, de re dicere incipiemus, si te unum illud monuerimus, artem sine adsiduitate dicendi non multum iuvare, ut intellegas hanc rationem praeceptionis ad exercitationem adcommodari oportere. (Rhet. Her. 1.1) 80 On gleaning cf. Var. R. 1.53 with its emphasis on the difficulty of extracting profit from the stalks left behind after the harvest. 81 Moatti 1997.50 sees this move as part of the innovative tendency in Roman rhetoric that was directed against tradition, “qu’il fût grec ou romain.” Cf. also 194.

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Therefore those matters that the Greek writers took to be their domain due to arrogance, I have left out. For they, lest they seem not to know sufficiently many things, investigated subjects that were of no relevance in order to have their art be considered more difficult to learn; I however, undertook to deal with what seemed to pertain to the study of oratory. For I have not come to this project moved by hope of profit or glory, as the rest, but in order to gratify your wish through my diligence. Now, lest I embark on too long a speech, I shall begin to discuss my subject matter, if I may, by warning you of this one thing, that art without constant practice in speaking helps little, so that you understand that this account of theory ought to be applied to practice. The Greeks are a perfect foil for the Auctor for several reasons. Given that there is no prior Roman tradition of rhetorical handbooks and that teachers of rhetoric in Rome are overwhelmingly Greek, the Auctor is putting his dignitas in danger by joining their ranks.82 Thus, it is clearly important that he distance himself from them in no uncertain terms. His choice of how to frame this distancing further serves to address concerns regarding the incompatibility of such theoretical investigation and committed public service. By eschewing an overly wide-ranging exploration of his subject matter, he distances himself from the excess that characterizes the Greeks, who—luxurious and leisurely in all that they do (according to the common stereotype)—go beyond the natural boundaries of the discipline to elevate themselves by making their subject appear more difficult than it is.83 How unlike the Auctor, who even disclaims gloria as his goal84 and avoids all excess: he is careful to make sure that his introduction is no longer than is strictly necessary (nimium longa oratio).85 His use of oratio to describe the section that he is concluding is another in the series of devices meant to characterize the production of the main body of his treatise as a negotium; a reference to his industria is another. But most significant is the appeal to exercitatio to distinguish his approach to rhetoric from that of the Greeks. This semantic cluster appears over and over in the prefaces and conclusion to Ad Herennium, marking the desire to dissociate his work from pure theory produced in luxurious idleness as 82 Dignitas

is connected to the correct practice of rhetoric at 4.69. Janson 1964.31 explains this rejection as primarily a bid for originality. 83 The language employed here recalls moralizing about the unnatural use of bodies and landscapes that is connected with luxuria and often with Greek culture. 84 That this disclaimer is conditioned by the focus of the surrounding passage is revealed by his more traditional desire for praise expressed in the conclusion to the second book, tute nostram diligentiam laudabis (2.50). 85 It is no coincidence that his only extended prefatory discussion is a methodological argument with “the Greeks”: 4.1–10.

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the primary concern in the author’s self-presentation.86 The pressure to dress one’s otium up as work thus appears to be almost equally strong for the Auctor, who can fall back on his other negotia, as it is for Cicero and Sallust who have none left to them. The justificatory power of his other occupations helps to validate his life,87 but not the product of his intellectual labors. A further point of interest that emerges in the course of comparison between the leisure discourse of Cicero and the Auctor is their apparent concurrence in giving priority to philosophy over rhetoric. Just as Cicero in the preface to the Topica privileges his philosophical work over the rhetorical treatise, the Auctor, at 1.1 above, also claims philosophy as the preferred occupation of his otium. Yet what the Auctor means here is not that writing about philosophy is preferable to writing about rhetoric, which is Cicero’s point, but that philosophy provides a better means of relaxation, perhaps precisely because it is further removed than rhetoric from what constitutes a senator’s negotium.88 The language used to talk about philosophy is strikingly different from that used for rhetoric, with its emphasis on labor. Both consumere and libentius locate philosophy in the realm of idle pleasures, so that philosophy joins the Greek rhetoricians as a foil for the Auctor’s sensible practice-based undertaking in his rhetorical treatise.89 86 At the end of book two (2.50) diligenter is used to describe the dedicatee’s approach to the teaching: the author will receive industriae fructus, and the student will praise his diligentia. In concluding the third book with a discussion of memory and how his approach to this subject differs from that of the Greeks, the Auctor reaffirms the emphasis on practice expressed in the preface to book one: cum in omni disciplina infirma est artis praeceptio sine summa adsiduitate exercitationis, tum vero in mnemonicis minimum valet doctrina, nisi industria, studio, labore, diligentia conprobatur, “just as in every discipline the grasp of the skill is weak without constant practice, so indeed in the art of memory the teachings alone have little effect unless they are supported by activity, enthusiasm, hard work, and diligence” (3.40); the point is further reinforced in the last sentence of the book, exercitatione confirma, “strengthen with practice.” The use of infirma in the earlier passage dismisses the Greek practice as effeminate and impractical, allowing for the affirmation of the masculine Roman values in the tum clause. The concatenation of four nearly synonymous positive values, however, is in itself excessive, potentially subverting the author’s intent as it does more to reveal his anxiety than to counteract it. The same themes reoccur in the conclusion to the entire work, 4.69: si te diligentius exercueris; ut frequenter et adsidue consequamur artis rationem studio et exercitatione, “if you practice diligently”; “let us pursue the understanding of this art with uninterrupted enthusiasm and practice,” and the final sentence: haec omnia adipiscemur, si rationes praeceptionis diligentia consequemur exercitationis, “We shall achieve all these goals if we follow our understanding of the teaching with diligent practice.” 87 Negotiis familiaribus of 1.1 is echoed by nostris occupationibus of 1.27. 88 Cf. Crassus in De Oratore 2.22: verum oti fructus est . . . animi . . . relaxatio, “but the product of leisure is the relaxation of the spirit.” 89 On the Auctor’s attitudes to philosophy as well as the intellectual aspects of rhetoric as conditioned by anti-philosophical pressures, cf. Sinclair 1993.564–65.

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The preface to the Rhetorica ad Herennium provides insights as well for understanding the thinking of those whom Cicero expects to criticize him because his new occupation is not consistent with his dignitas. Such men, used to seeing writing and philosophy as occupations fit only for the lower classes and foreigners (teachers, that is, and Greeks)90 or for the leisure time of the Roman elite, would find serious dedication to writing philosophy by one of their social equals inappropriate and incompatible with preserving his dignitas.91 •

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The prefaces discussed in this chapter all point to the same pressures surrounding the public presentation of the products of intellectual activity. Philosophy is only one example of an intellectual pursuit that runs the risk of being seen as deficient or even subversive simply because it is the opposite of action, an unambiguous and unassailable value in the Roman cultural landscape. An additional, but not unconnected aspect that makes the intellectual suspect is the fact that it is usually conceived of as a product of otium, a sphere that is not expected to be productive of things to be taken seriously. In view of the pressures surrounding his activity, a writer can go in one of two ways. He can endorse the view that devalues his intellectual activity. Thus, the Auctor of Ad Herennium makes it abundantly clear that the source of his motivation is external—a friend’s request—and that the otium that allows time for his writing is the least important segment of his life. Another approach is to face the difficulty directly and, while explicitly acknowledging the cultural prevalence of values opposing writing, try to overturn the paradigm in the service of one’s project. That is Sallust’s approach: he exploits the fact that the dominant paradigm’s fixation on glory through action is dependent on memory, which, in turn, is largely produced and sustained through verbal means. Cicero, partly as a result of his own ambivalence, partly because of a persistent desire (and need) to appeal to multiple audiences at the same time, will be seen to vacillate between the two approaches. Thus, in his response to the quotation from Ennius, he is motivated, on the one hand, by a desire to show respect for tradition and demonstrate that he basically shares his readers’ values (unlike Sallust, who is permanently excluded from the charmed senatorial circle, Cicero’s identity under Caesar is still largely based on his member90 The

two categories obviously often overlapped. On the status of the teachers of rhetoric and philosophy, and other intellectuals, see Rawson 1985. 91 The constraints on senators’ involvement in business as not befitting their status, though not entirely parallel, provide a suggestive analogy. On the relationship between status and commercial activity, see D’Arms 1981, esp. chs. 1 and 2.

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ship in the elite). On the other hand, like Sallust, he is invested in the potential success of his work, which requires that the dominant paradigm be, if not overturned, then at least significantly modified and expanded to make room for intellectual activity. A feature that emerged as particular to Cicero is his tendency to think of the individual always as an active citizen, that is, in terms of the contribution that he makes to the wellbeing of the state. The importance of the state’s role in providing a legitimate framework for a pursuit as seemingly personal as philosophy will be one of the subjects of chapter 3. Before returning to Cicero’s treatises in that chapter, however, it will be useful to take a look at different facets of Cicero’s relation to philosophy as they emerge in his contemporary correspondence.

CHAPTER TWO

On a More Personal Note PHILOSOPHY IN THE LETTERS Cicero tells only important things. Michel Foucault, Technologies of the Self I would not send you a letter so full of myself except that I long to have you understand . . . . Caroline C. Briggs

An examination of Cicero’s own reasons for writing the philosophical treatises is an essential part of any attempt to understand this body of work. In trying to consider his motivation, however, we are faced with an often confounding multiplicity of goals that he presents in the treatises themselves. He alternately assigns the impulse behind these compositions variously to his desire to benefit his fatherland and fellow-citizens, his need for activity in the absence of a public career that had previously occupied his days, and his desire to find consolation after the devastating loss of his daughter. The differences between these claims make it virtually impossible to take all of the professed goals as equally accurate representations of Cicero’s actual motivation.1 Moreover, the decision as to which claims are to be taken more seriously and which interpreted primarily as rhetorical devices directed at forming audience reaction significantly affects how we understand the production of the corpus. Thus, if one thinks that the main reason behind the mass production of the more technically philosophical works of 45–44 was the need to take consolation in philosophy following the death in February 45 of Tullia, Cicero’s beloved daughter, then the author’s claims that the corpus was meant to be an important contribution to the future of the republic are bound to be taken less seriously, as secondary and rhetorical. Conversely, taking at face value the more state-oriented claims regarding motivation would mean giving less weight to the notion that the works were written as consolation in a time of personal suffering. While it would be naïve, and fruitless, to deny that there was a real multiplicity of reasons behind the 1 Wassmann 1996, ch. 2 considers the main possibilities. Cf. Griffin 1997 on the complex and often contradictory motivation for the composition of the Academica.

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creation of a corpus as large and diverse as Cicero’s philosophical works, an attempt to determine which of the reasons the author alleges are more likely to be rhetorical exaggerations, and why, should contribute to a better understanding of the corpus as a whole. Yet, judging the validity of individual reasons as well as their relative importance is no easy task. Cicero himself never explicitly examines the interrelations among the various motivations that he invokes in the prefaces. In fact, as will become clear in my discussion of individual prefaces in the following chapters, he often leverages mutually contradictory positions against each other when it is rhetorically convenient. Avoiding explicit statements about the hierarchy of the forces that motivate his project was clearly very much to his advantage in communicating with a heterogeneous potential audience. That is, Cicero may have discussed different reasons for writing philosophy in the prefaces to his treatises not because they accurately represented his actual motivations, but because they served an important rhetorical function, helping him to represent himself and his project so as to appeal to his readers. They were, thus, an essential part of the self-justification that the prefaces perform. In addition to Cicero’s need to justify different aspects of his project with different motivational accounts, the variety of potential prejudices in the audience itself no doubt further complicated this representational process, even to the extent of introducing contradictory reasons. Given, then, that the author had a vested interest in obscuring much that was relevant to understanding his motivation in the interest of improving his works’ chances at positive reception, it is difficult to come to any conclusions based exclusively on Cicero’s own claims in the prefaces. If we conduct our investigation exclusively in the realm of the treatises, coherent arguments can be (and have been) advanced for either of the proposed motivations behind the writing of these works, and little basis will be available for evaluating the strength of these respective arguments save one’s personal inclination and intuition.2 Thus, in trying to do justice to Cicero and his philosophical output, it is important to find a vantage point outside the treatises themselves from which the various competing claims can be evaluated. Such a perspective can be gained by examining the references to philosophy, writing, and intellectual life more generally that are to be found in Cicero’s correspondence. Given the highly rhetorical nature of the letters and, in particular, Cicero’s care in adapting each letter to the perceived expectations of the addressee, the addressee’s own 2 E.g.,

Strasburger 1990 and Wassmann 1996 argue that the treatises are not just politically engaged, but an act of pointed resistance against Caesar; advocacy of the consolatory function for the treatises is quite pervasive and will be discussed later in the chapter. Three recent books on the Tusculans demonstrate the variety in their titles: Gildenhard’s focus is on the didactic, Koch’s on the therapeutic, and Lefèvre’s on the political.

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views on these matters will function as constraints on Cicero’s expression, as will the particular persuasive goals that he is pursuing in each individual letter.3 Yet, although we can never know what the historical Cicero truly thought about philosophy’s potential in public, as well as his own, life, we can nonetheless measure the more abstract hortatory claims that the prefaces make about philosophy against the more practically engaged function that philosophy plays in the letters.4 My discussion of the correspondence falls into four sections. The first looks at Cicero’s recourse to philosophy as a deliberative resource in times when important decisions have to be made, and discusses a complex series of interactions that showcases Cicero’s beliefs about philosophy’s potential for improving character. The second examines how he constructs the relationship between philosophy and politics. The third moves to consider his representation of philosophy, and writing more generally, in relation to the traditional division of elite activities between the spheres of otium and negotium. The final section treats the issue of philosophy as consolation and confronts the view that Cicero’s grief for Tullia motivated his philosophical writings.

Philosophy as a Basis for Action If we are to evaluate Cicero’s claim that he wrote philosophy as a service to the well-being of the state, one issue needs to be illuminated, namely, the question of philosophy’s ability to actively influence people’s beliefs and actions.5 That is, if the goal of writing philosophical treatises is, by 3 On the rhetorical nature of the letters and their influence of the addressee, see Leach 1999, esp. 143–50, the discussion of ethos as applied to the correspondence (cf. Meyer 1999); Wilcox 2002. See also Hall 2009a (cf. 1996a), who uses politeness theory to illuminate the rhetoric of the letters in terms of aristocratic etiquette and the expectations it creates for both the writer and the addressee. On the tension between “documentary” and “literary” readings, Gunderson 2007. Griffin 1995 uses philosophical allusions in the letters to gauge the level of philosophical knowledge of Cicero’s correspondents (cf. Boyancé 1936.302–306). 4 On the sincerity of Cicero’s letters and their utility for ascertaining his motives, cf. Brunt 1986.12 on the group of letters surrounding Cicero’s deliberations at the start of the civil war: “There are . . . phases in Cicero’s life when his intimate correspondence discloses the real beliefs and feelings present to his conscious mind and no doubt often enough the unconscious prejudices and interests from which they emanated.” 5 The title of this section refers to the title of Jean Boes’ 1990 study of philosophy in Cicero’s letters, La philosophie et l’action dans la correspondance de Cicéron. Boes, in part responding to Carcopino’s attack on Cicero, uses the letters to recover the Cicero whose actions are largely in accord with his philosophical views. His tendency is to generalize the “philosophical” to include anything that can be characterized as moral or decent, which allows him to construe many actions that are comprehensible within a traditional Roman

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educating men about ethics and knowledge, to change their relationship to the republic and turn them into loyal citizens of a Ciceronian bent, thus improving the condition of the state, then the author must necessarily believe in philosophy’s power to produce such change.6 I will in fact argue that a number of letters from different periods demonstrate Cicero’s persistent belief in philosophy, on the one hand, as a tool that men can use in making decisions with implications for the state, and, on the other hand, as a force that can affect and change an individual’s character for the better. But the way in which philosophy is drawn into Cicero’s deliberation shows development: philosophical models start out as relatively inert references and, as the ever-worsening political situation reveals the failure of traditional structures, gradually become more integrated into practical decision-making. The letters in which references to philosophical deliberation as a basis for action occur are addressed, not unexpectedly, to men whom Cicero could expect to be generally sympathetic to philosophical argumentation. Thus, the tone is never exhortatory, as it is in the prefaces to the philosophica; rather, the references appear within the framework of Cicero’s providing his correspondents with an account of his thinking on particularly important issues. This presentation not only provides a great point of access to how Cicero perceives the political forces in play on a given issue, but also reveals what types of deliberative resources and strategies he deems relevant to political deliberation at different times. His heightened awareness of his own thought processes and his resulting double function as both the agent and an observer of his own actions lead to his being explicit about what he is thinking and also about how he is framing those thoughts. The resulting layer of built-in self-analysis is extremely valuable: it identifies the deliberative resources he employs at times when important decisions have to be made, and it reveals that his use of particular types of resources is highly self-conscious. The focus of the discussion that follows will be on letters from the period leading up to and contemporaneous with the production of the philosophical treatises that are at the center of this study, the period in which philosophy becomes more central to Cicero’s thinking. I begin, however, by looking at a letter that significantly predates this period; this letter will both demonstrate the presence of intellectual motivation in Cicero’s deliberation before the civil war and allow us to see how his use of this type of deliberative resource evolves over time. political and social framework as derived from Cicero’s philosophical views; at the same time he often ignores the occasions on which Cicero’s actions seem to be entirely motivated by self-interest. 6 For an excellent discussion of the controversial issues surrounding the relationship between the philosophical views and actions of Roman politicians, see Griffin 1989.

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The close of year 60 found Cicero in a precarious position. He had been riding high following his disclosure of the Catilinarian conspiracy in 63, but was not able to consolidate his influence in the changing political landscape. His testimony in the Bona Dea trial made a dangerous and implacable enemy of Publius Clodius Pulcher.7 He looked for support to Pompey, recently returned from the East, but his cautious support for the land bill to benefit Pompey’s veterans may not have been satisfactory in the general’s eyes. Caesar, who was to be consul for the following year, was cementing his relationship with Pompey, and planning to introduce an agrarian bill that Cato and his allies were set to oppose bitterly. Cicero was facing a series of important political choices, the first having to do with the upcoming agrarian bill.8 In a letter to Atticus written during this period, in which he tries to evaluate his political options and think through the likely consequences of each for his career, Cicero makes clear that the method he is going to use for organizing and presenting his thoughts lies in the extra-political, intellectual sphere. This he identifies as the Socratic method, but in fact his discussion ranges much more widely:9 Venio nunc ad mensem Ianuarium et ad uJpovstasin nostram ac politeivan, in qua Swkratikw`~ eij~ eJkavt eron, sed tamen ad extremum, ut illi solebant, th;n ajrevskousan. est res sane magni consili. nam aut fortiter resistendum est legi agrariae, in quo est quaedam dimicatio sed plena laudis, aut quiescendum, quod est non dissimile atque ire in Solonium aut Antium, aut etiam adiuvandum, quod a me aiunt Caesarem sic exspectare ut non dubitet. nam fuit apud me Cornelius, hunc dico Balbum, Caesaris familiarem. is adfirmabat illum omnibus in rebus meo et Pompei consilio usurum daturumque operam ut cum Pompeio Crassum coniungeret. hic sunt haec: coniunctio mihi summa cum Pompeio, si placet, etiam cum Caesare, reditus in gratiam cum inimicis, pax cum multitudine, senectutis otium. sed me kataklei;~ mea illa commovet quae est in libro tertio: ‘interea cursus, quos prima a parte iuventae quosque adeo consul virtute animoque petisti, hos retine atque auge famam laudesque bonorum.’ haec mihi cum in eo libro in quo multa sunt scripta ajristokratikw`~ Calliope ipsa praescripserit, non opinor esse dubitandum quin semper 7 On

Clodius and his relationship with Cicero, see Tatum’s 1999 study. a discussion of the political issues surrounding agrarian legislation during this period, see Gruen 1974.387–404 (397–401 on Caesar’s bill); in the context of other agrarian measures, Gargola 1995, ch. 9, esp. 176–79. 9 Rawson 1983.106–107 treats the letter in its political context and sees it as a moment when Cicero begins “to think a little more deeply about the subject [of Greek political philosophy].” 8 For

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nobis videatur ÔeiJ~ oijwno;~ a[risto~ ajmuvnesqai peri; pavtrh~Δ. (Att. 2.3.3-4; SB 23) I come now to the month of January and to my political plans, in which matter I will discuss each side, in the Socratic way, but at the end, as his followers used to, will lay out the side that pleases me. It is certainly a matter that deserves serious thought; for either I must strongly resist the agrarian law, in which case it will be contentious, but full of glory, or I must be quiet, which is not so different from going to Solonium or Antium, or I must even help it along, which they say is what Caesar expects me to do, with no doubt in his mind. For Cornelius came to see me, I mean that Balbus, Caesar’s friend. He insisted that Caesar would use my and Pompey’s advice in all things and work to join Crassus with Pompey. Here I would get the following: real closeness to Pompey, and if I want it, with Caesar too, reconciliation with my enemies, peace with the people, rest for my old age. But the conclusion I wrote for book three unsettles me: Meanwhile the path which from your earliest youth and as a consul you pursued with virtue and spirit, continue to follow and increase your fame and praise of all good men. Since it was Calliope that recommended this to me in that book, in which much was written in a properly aristocratic way, I think I cannot doubt that this must always be deemed the best way: “One omen is best: to defend one’s country.” The deliberation is presented as formally derived from the school of Socrates; that is, for Cicero, from the New Academy. What Cicero is promising is a rational discussion of the pros and cons of the two positions in similar terms that will result in a preference for one of the two. That, however, is not what he proceeds to do. Instead, he presents three options: resistance, neutrality, and support. Neutrality receives only a cursory consideration that equates it with a voluntary withdrawal from political life.10 Support for Caesar is considered at great length, with the focus on its practical advantages, outlined first by Balbus in terms that are flattering to Cicero in that they highlight his political influence and then, more frankly, by Cicero himself in a way that takes his political status into account but is also concerned with his safety and security. Resistance, the position Cicero chooses, is not discussed with the same parameters in mind. Apart from the brief mention of dimicatio, struggle, that would be involved and that provides a counterpoint to pax and otium, 10 Leonhardt

1999.27 does not consider it a third option.

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peace and leisure, in the discussion of the advantages to be derived from supporting Caesar’s law, the focus here is not on practical consequences, but rather on the projected external reactions, both the immediate (praise), and the more long-term (glory). This direction is signaled in the first mention, plena laudis, and is developed at the end of the passage with the support of literary quotations. The form of deliberation followed here, then, does not conform fully to arguing in utramque partem. Instead, the decisive factor appears to be rather traditional: Cicero turns to an exemplum to guide him to proper action. What is far from traditional, however, is the extreme circularity of this appeal. It is not unusual for an outside observer or advisor to recall a man’s earlier achievements in an effort to inspire him to new actions.11 Here, however, Cicero seeks to inspire himself not by looking back on his great deeds, but on a representation of his character by Calliope as imagined by him in a poem that celebrates his consulship. This he presents as an external exhortation, emphasizing the authority of Calliope ipsa, and the normative nature of her address, praescripserit, as well as justifying his inclination to obey her call by the presence of other sentiments expressed ajristokratikw`~ in the poem.12 Why does Cicero appeal to a philosophical method of decision-making, but then fail to follow through and resort instead to a highly externalized self-image to guide him? While the two modes do not coalesce into a coherent deliberative model, they do share a normative, prescriptive quality, and would thus seem to indicate a desire on Cicero’s part to lock himself into a decision guided by externally imposed modes of thought that he approves of apart from any specific situation. The practical advantages that would accrue to him from supporting Caesar are clearly very appealing, and so it would seem that he needs the force of a philosophical framework and an exaggerated version of himself in a poem of praise to resist 11 E.g., Servius Sulpicius’ exhortation in his letter of consolation to Cicero following his daughter’s death, Fam. 4.5.5 (SB 248): noli te oblivisci Ciceronem esse, “do not forget that you are Cicero.” 12 Cf. the remarks of P. White 2010.109–10 on Cicero’s confidence in the influence of texts on their authors. He cites this letter as well as Att. 8.11 (and the self-addressed Consolatio, the culminations of this tendency), a letter of February 49 that discusses the situation and the characters of Pompey and Caesar. The beginning of this letter makes similar use of an externalized form of his own views to judge his present circumstances. Cicero tells Atticus that he has been reflecting on the figure of the moderator rei publicae that he produced in De Re Publica, proceeds to quote his Scipio from book five, and then chastises Pompey (Gnaeus noster) for failing to ponder such issues and accuses both Pompey and Caesar of aiming at dominatio only (Att. 8.11.1–2; SB 161). As in the case of his appeal to Calliope in his poem, his own thoughts and opinions seem to acquire extra normative force when they are given literary shape. The move from using a poem to using a treatise is symptomatic of the development in Cicero’s thought and his greater focus on philosophy in the civil war and Caesarian years.

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them. The ambivalence that he still feels is apparent in the final quote he chooses to state his decision. Hector is here speaking to Polydamas in book twelve of the Iliad. The context surrounding Hector’s noble sentiment is his refusal to listen to Polydamas’ interpretation of the portent of the eagle and the snake, but the reader is likely to remember that his resistance to Polydamas’ cautious advice not to push further towards the Greek ships will ultimately prove disastrous.13 The choice of this quotation thus reflects Cicero’s own ambivalence about the wisdom of his apparently noble choice.14 What about the collection of resources Cicero uses to direct himself to a decision, or, at least, to present the process of his decision-making to Atticus? It is rather eclectic, but the extra-political, nontraditional models dominate and ultimately prevail. Even the traditional paradigm of appealing to an exemplum is employed in a way that is generalized through the use of the muse of history as the mouthpiece, rather than specific, and intellectualized, as it appeals to Cicero the thinker instead of directly summoning Cicero the consul, the agent. This assemblage, though lacking internal consistency, outweighs the practical political considerations on this occasion by virtue of its intellectual pedigree. Cicero goes where the invocation of Socrates and Hector summon him, though well aware of the danger inherent in his choice. The very framework carries weight in that these sources seem to be used deliberately to give him the extra push towards what he sees as a difficult, but honorable decision. An appeal to intellectual and, more specifically, philosophical resources in deliberation about a proper course of actions is most frequent in the letters of the civil war and Caesarian period. It was a time when the need to make difficult choices in unpredictable circumstances was becoming more common, and Cicero’s need to place his choices of the moment into a larger framework seems to increase correspondingly. The prominence of intellectual and philosophical means in providing this larger framework is particularly significant for understanding his thought during this time. My first example comes in a series of letters addressed to Servius Sulpicius Rufus in late April of year 49, when both men found themselves 13 Cf.

Redfield’s reading of Polydamas’ role as Hector’s “alter ego, the voice in his ear of warning or restraint,” whose abandonment in the case of this portent signals the beginning of Hector’s tragic failure (1975.143–47). See also Bushnell 1988.31–35 on Hector’s resistance to Polydamas’ interpretation because it “conflicts with the sense of his duty to defend his city” (34). 14 Cicero associates himself with Hector frequently in the letters, and Polydamas is explicitly evoked twice as the voice of Hector’s conscience right before his final encounter with Achilles (Il. 22.100). On the first occasion, the legation to Egypt that was offered to Cicero in 59 (Att. 2.5.1; SB 25), Cato, the conscience of the optimates, who would disapprove, is cast as Polydamas; on the second, how to address the issue of Caesar’s standing for the consulship in absentia in 50 (Att. 7.1.4; SB 124), it is Atticus himself.

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in a similar situation following the departure of Pompey from Italy and Caesar’s occupation of Rome. In a personal meeting at the end of March, Cicero had refused Caesar’s request to appear in the senate and speak favorably or, at least, to remain neutral.15 Servius, who did attend the meeting, spoke in a manner that was not to Caesar’s liking. The two consulars sought each other’s advice on whether to follow Pompey or remain in Italy. The first letter that Cicero wrote to Servius followed Servius’ inquiry, made through a close friend, as to Cicero’s whereabouts. In the course of the letter Cicero outlines the situation, both personal and political, and presents possible ways in which the deliberation could proceed. The passage central to my purposes follows Cicero’s identification of Servius as the perfect partner for considering the question. Its immediate goal is to explain what makes Servius the right man with whom to deliberate (and to flatter him through the approbation implied in the description). At the same time, the statement’s implications are more general: the sources that Cicero identifies as necessary for correct deliberation can only fulfill their function of flattering the addressee if the addressee recognizes them as drawing on a more general ideal: nec enim clarissimorum virorum, quorum similes esse debemus, exempla neque doctissimorum, quos semper coluisti, praecepta te fugiunt. (Fam. 4.1.1; SB 150) For neither the examples of the most renowned men, whom we ought to resemble, nor the teachings of the most learned, whom you have always cultivated, escape your notice. In this rather brief summary of Servius’ deliberative qualifications, the first element, exempla clarissimorum virorum, refers to the traditional view that what should guide the Roman citizen in his decisions, if he is to achieve fame and immortality, is the mos maiorum, contained in the actions of the ancestors transmitted in history.16 What makes even this part of the statement less traditional, however, is the fact that Cicero puts it on an equal footing with another set of deliberative resources: in the conven-

15 The

meeting is described in Att. 9.18. Tacitus’ definition of the role of history in the first sentence of the Agricola: clarorum virorum facta moresque posteris tradere, “to hand down to posterity the deeds and characters of illustrious men.” On the functioning of mos maiorum, see Roller 2009.214– 15: “The past is regarded as offering lessons and models (exempla) to guide the reader in his own day; actors in any given present can discover from the successes and failures of past actors what their own duties and obligations are, and how to fulfill them.” See further Roller 2009, 2004; Walter 2004, chs. 2 and 8; Hölkeskamp 1996. On Cicero’s own use of exempla, see van der Blom 2010; in the letters, Oppermann 2000; cf. Walter 2004.66–70 on the entire corpus. 16 Cf.

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tional framework, the mos maiorum is all-embracing and self-sufficient; nothing beyond it is necessary to make the right choice.17 Cicero’s second element, doctissimorum praecepta, is a reference to philosophy, and, faute de mieux, Greek philosophy.18 I have already discussed in chapter 1 the difficulty in presenting philosophy as a positive force in Roman public life. Cicero’s struggles with the ingrained perception of philosophy as incompatible with productive service to the state, and, by implication, with the mos maiorum that motivates citizens in that service, will also constitute an important part of my discussion of the prefaces to the philosophica. It is thus particularly significant to find this pairing of tradition and philosophy in his private correspondence as the combination that he and men like him need to act well. That this combination is mirrored by the content of Cicero’s treatises, works that illustrate Greek philosophical thought with Roman exempla, further suggests the importance of joining the two in Cicero’s thought.19 In addition to the treatises themselves, the letters provide an example of Cicero’s blending of the two types of resources, albeit in modified form, in his analysis of his own situation. In a letter to Papirius Paetus composed in the summer of 46 he describes the indignities and uncertainties of life under Caesar.20 In concluding the description, Cicero writes: etenim, cum plena sint monumenta Graecorum quem ad modum sapientissimi viri regna tulerint vel Athenis vel Syracusis, cum servientibus suis civitatibus fuerint ipsi quodam modo liberi, ego me non putem tueri meum statum sic posse ut neque offendam animum cuiusquam nec frangam dignitatem meam? (Fam. 9.16.6; SB 190) And indeed, since the records of the Greeks are full of how very wise men endured kingship, whether in Athens or in Syracuse, when, though their states were enslaved, they themselves somehow remained free, 17 Cf. Moatti 1997.191 on Servius’ own more radical departure from tradition in his famous legal opinion: he cites no authority or precedent and relies entirely on logic. 18 See Brunt 1986 for a discussion of Cicero’s conception of his duty in the correspondence from this period in light of his views as articulated later in De Officiis, as well as a detailed overview of his actions and motivations. 19 For a similar equal pairing of the traditional and the intellectual, cf. Fam. 7.3.4 (SB 183), a letter written in 46, in which Cicero justifies his actions during the civil war to M. Marius: sed tamen vacare culpa magnum est solacium, praesertim cum habeam duas res, quibus me sustentem, optimarum artium scientiam et maximarum rerum gloriam, “but nevertheless it is a great solace to be without fault, especially since I have two things that sustain me, the knowledge of the best arts and the glory of the greatest deeds.” 20 Not much is known about Paetus, but the correspondence reveals a close and comfortable relationship between the two men and a commonality of pursuits. For an analysis of the correspondence with Paetus, see Leach 1999, and the detailed study of Demmel 1962. See Griffin 1995.335–39 for an exploration of the philosophical dynamics in Fam. 9.16 (SB 190) and 9.24 (SB 362).

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shouldn’t I think that I can preserve my position in such a way that I neither offend anyone nor break down my dignity? What Cicero is appealing to here is a conflation of the two paradigms he offered Servius. Instead of using the examples of great statesmen and the teachings of philosophers, he is invoking what may be termed virorum sapientissimorum exempla. Practicing philosophy well under conditions of tyranny has been elevated to the same exemplary status as active participation in the political process, and is seen as providing a way of transcending the enslaved condition. Greek philosophers here serve as models for a Roman statesman forced to become a full-time philosopher. Returning to the correspondence with Servius, we see that while the first letter sets out the general parameters of the decision to be made, the following letters, which contain actual reflections on the matter, provide a number of examples of Cicero’s use of philosophical argumentation in the deliberative process. Ad Familiares 4.2.2 (SB 151) frames the discussion in terms of the honorable (honestum, rectum, rectissimum), and the expedient (quid expediat), concluding that the two are identical for those who desire to be honorable themselves (ii qui esse debemus, boni). (Virtually the same terms are used in a letter on the same subject to L. Mescinius Rufus, 5.19.1-2 [SB 152].) The philosophical argument between what is right and what is profitable is at least as old as Plato’s Republic,21 and the identity of the two is uniformly advocated by those who champion virtue as the highest good.22 At the same time, it is significant that we find Cicero using boni in this context. While the term has philosophical currency, its presence in this passage cannot be divorced from Cicero’s continuous politically charged use of boni in promoting his vision of the positive elements within the state.23 The political and the philosophical seem to overlap in Cicero’s thought here. We can see, moreover, how the philosophical can in fact be potentially useful to Cicero’s political goals. While his use of the term in a political context is so flexible as to be almost arbitrary,24 giving boni a philosophical basis by connecting it with the 21 For

a detailed discussion of Cicero’s use of honestum and utile in the letters to Atticus from the same period and its value for his deliberation, see Leonhardt 1995. Cf. Michel’s (1977) discussion of philosophical and rhetorical elements in this group of letters. 22 E.g., Brutus in de Virtute, quoted by Cicero Tusc. 5.1: virtutem ad beate vivendum se ipsa esse contentam, “virtue is sufficient for living a happy life.” This is a view shared by all the major dogmatic schools of Hellenistic philosophy with the exception of Epicureanism, to which Cicero is consistently hostile. 23 For a discussion of how this political usage of boni develops, see Hellegouarc’h 1963. 484–93. 24 Cf. Cicero’s frustrated response to Atticus’ generic reference to the expectations of the boni in Att. 7.7.5 (SB 130): nam quod scribis mirificam exspectationem esse mei neque tamen quemquam bonorum aut satis bonorum dubitare quid facturus sim, ego quos tu bonos esse dicas non intellego. ipse nullos novi, sed ita, si ordines bonorum quaerimus. nam

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abstract concept of the “good” that can be assumed to have a firm definition within a coherent system of thought in effect creates the illusion that its meaning in political contexts is more stable as well.25 Another letter that preceded the exchange with Servius by a month and a half, Ad Atticum 9.4 (SB 173), shows Cicero himself appealing to philosophy as a way to determine the correct way to act. While any letter penned by Cicero cannot be taken to present the author’s thought in an entirely direct and unmediated way, it is in the letters to Atticus, the man who comes closest to fulfilling the Aristotelian (and the Ciceronian) definition of a friend as alter ego, that we find Cicero at his most sincere.26 singulares sunt boni viri; verum in dissensionibus ordines bonorum et genera quaerenda sunt. senatum bonum putas, per quem sine imperio provinciae sunt . . . an publicanos, qui numquam firmi sed nunc Caesari sunt amicissimi, an faeneratores, an agricolas, quibus optatissimum est otium? “As to what you write, that there are tremendous expectations of me, but that, nonetheless, none of the good, or the good enough men have any doubts about what I am going to do, I do not understand who are the men that you call good. I myself don’t know of any, at any rate, if we are thinking in terms of groups; for there are good individuals, but in conflicts one has to look for groups and types of good men. Do you consider the senate to be good, when because of them the provinces are without governors, or the tax collectors, who are never reliable, but are now most friendly to Caesar, or the money-lenders, or the farmers, whose dearest desire is peace?” Note that both versions of Cicero’s policy of political unity, concordia ordinum and consensus omnium bonorum, are alluded to in this portion of the letter as it deconstructs the vagueness of those concepts by questioning what makes a man bonus. Cicero doubts that such good men occur in large numbers and focuses on the specific kind of self-interest that disqualifies each ordo, from the top down. 25 Cf. Att. 10.4.4 (SB 195), where Cicero criticizes both Pompey and Caesar at length, and then writes: et si, ut nos a te admonemur, recte in illis libris diximus nihil est bonum nisi quod honestum, nihil malum nisi quod turpe sit, certe uterque istorum est miserrimus, quorum utrique semper patriae salus et dignitas posterior sua dominatione et domesticis commodis fuit, “And if, as we are admomished by you, we were right to say in those books that nothing is good, except what is honorable, nothing evil, except what is disgraceful, certainly both of those two are most wretched, since both have always ranked the safety and dignity of their country below their own ascendancy and private advantages.” He appeals to a definition he gave of bonum in his De Re Publica as necessarily honestum and uses this definition to render a moral judgment on the two dynasts. On the flexibility and range in the use of Roman political nomenclature, see Lacey 1970, esp. 10–16 on boni (also Gildenhard 2011.74–80 on the meaning of vir bonus in Cicero’s speeches). Particularly relevant is Lacey’s discussion of the shifting categories of boni to be found in the correspondence with Atticus at the start of the civil war (10–11). On the flexibility of the term, see also Hellegouarc’h 1963, esp. 492; on the philosophical influences that informed Cicero and Sallust’s use of the term, 487; on the blend of the ethical and political in such terminology, cf. Earl 1967.19–20. 26 This is particularly true of letters, like the one I am about to discuss, in which nothing is asked of Atticus except, perhaps, advice, and where he is addressed primarily as a confidant. The letters that are addressed to Atticus asking for various favors—financial, business, editorial, or familial—not unexpectedly show a more rhetorical quality directed at persuasion, especially in those cases where Cicero anticipates reluctance on Atticus’ part. See Hall’s (2009a.64–65) analysis of one such more formal letter occasioned by Quintus’ rude

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The letter starts out with Cicero lamenting the state of affairs that precludes the two friends from engaging in their accustomed discourse (familiariter) and leaves him at a loss for subject matter (egeo argumento epistolarum). He then proceeds to list a series of questions that are on his mind regarding the decision he is facing in view of the conflict between Pompey and Caesar:27 Eij menetevon ejn th/` patrivdi turannoumevnh~ aujth`~. eij panti; trovpw/ turannivdo~ katavlusin pragmateutevon, ka]n mevllh/ dia; tou`to peri; tw`n o{lwn hJ povli~ kinduneuvsein. eij eujlabhtejon to;n kataluvonta mh; aujto;~ ai[rhtai. eij peiratevon ajrhvgein th/` patrivdi turannoumevnh/ kairw/` kai; lovgw/ ma`llon h] polevmw/. eij politiko;n to; hJs ucavzein ajnacwrhvsantav poi th`~ patrivdo~ turannoumevnh~ h] dia; panto;~ ijt evon kinduvnou th`~ ejleuqeriva~ pevri. eij povlemon ejpaktevon th/` cwvra/ kai; poliorkhtevon aujth;n turannoumevnhn. eij kai; mh; dokimavzonta th;n dia; polevmou katavlusin th`~ turannivdo~ sunapograptevon o{mw~ toi`~ ajrivstoi~. eij toi`~ eujergevtai~ kai; fivloi~ sugkinduneutevon ejn toi`~ politikoi`~ ka]n mh; dokw`s in eu\ bebouleu`sqai peri; tw`n o{lwn. eij oJ megavla th;n patrivda eujergethvsa~ diΔ aujtov te tou`to ajnhvkesta paqw;n kai; fqoneqei;~ kinduneuvseien a]n ejqelonth;~ uJpe;r th`~ patrivdo~ h] ejfetevon aujtw/` eJautou` pote kai; tw`n oijkeiotavtwn poiei`sqai provnoian ajfemevnw/ ta;~ pro;~ tou;~ ijscuvonta~ diapoliteiva~. (Ad Att. 9.4.2: SB 173) Whether one should remain in one’s country when it is under a tyranny; whether one should work to bring about the overthrow of the tyranny in every way possible, even if on account of it every part of the state will be put at risk; whether one should beware of the one overthrowing (the tyranny) lest he take it upon himself; whether one should try to help his country, which is under tyranny, by choosing the right time for diplomacy rather than making war; whether living in peace having found a place to retire somewhere in his country, which is under a tyrant, befits a statesman, or whether one should instead undergo every danger for the sake of freedom; whether one should bring war upon his land and besiege it, when it is under tyranny; whether even if one does not approve of the overthrow of tyranny through war, one should nevertheless support the best men; if in political matters one must face danger together with one’s benefactors and friends, even if they do not seem to have reached good decisions in all matters; if a man who benefited his country greatly and on account of that very fact suffered irreparable damage and incurred ill-will should invite danger behavior towards Atticus and Cicero’s need to make amends. For a brief consideration of the complex relationship between Cicero and Atticus in a pedagogical context, see Citroni Marchetti 2009. 27 For a brief discussion of this letter in the context of other letters on the subject from the first half of 40, see Michel 1977.395.

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on behalf of his country or one should allow him at some point to take thought for himself and his household, letting go of political resistance against those in power. The relevance of these questions to Cicero’s situation and the decision over which he agonizes during this time is clear: the reader can supply the names of Pompey and Caesar as the tyrant and the liberator, who may well turn into a tyrant, and will see clearly the reference to Cicero’s suppression of the Catilinarian conspiracy and the exile that followed the great statesman’s benefaction to his ungrateful country. Despite this transparency, a number of features significantly distinguish this letter from other discussions of the current political circumstances in the letters of this time-period. In the first place, it is noteworthy that Cicero chooses to phrase his questions in a generalized normative manner, instead of openly referring to the specifics. The consistent use of the Greek verbal adjective, an impersonal and abstract way of expressing obligation, emphasizes Cicero’s goal in attempting this mode of deliberation: he wants to universalize the issues so that he can arrive at the most proper decision. As we know, Cicero did in this case follow the philosophical imperative and chose the side to which his loyalty and his sense of right directed him instead of the course of neutrality and safety. He almost immediately realized that it was a disaster in practical terms and left Pompey’s camp as soon as he felt that he had fulfilled what duty required, but, in the years that followed, he remained content in the realization that on this occasion he chose to follow his convictions. Here, in his quest for the moral imperative, Cicero does not follow the familiar path of Roman tradition that he demonstrated on many occasions in his speeches by recalling to mind how famous Romans of the past had acted in similar situations and extracting lessons from their behavior.28 Thus, his choice of language is significant and conscious: the entire list is presented in Greek, the language proper to the type of philosophical discourse that Cicero is invoking by framing the questions abstractly.29 28 A

famous example of the appeal to the mos maiorum as a guide to contemporary behavior is Cicero’s resurrection, through personificatio, of Appius Claudius Caecus to reproach his dissolute descendent, Clodia, in the Pro Caelio, 33–35. 29 Nicholson 1994 suggests that the need for heightened secrecy explains Cicero’s use of Greek on many occasions, this one included. However, given both the general transparency of this passage’s contemporary implications and the number of people who would easily understand this kind of Greek, that does not seem a sufficient explanation here. Cf. Adams 2003.329–30, whose examples show that when secrecy is the object, switching to Greek is not sufficient by itself, as Cicero in addition uses “literary or allusive terminology within the Greek,” which is not the case in this letter. Gildenhard 2006 traces the progress in Cicero’s feelings about Caesar as tyrant in the correspondence with Atticus in 49, focusing on the

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What we see here is Cicero practicing what he is later going to preach in the treatises: the application of philosophy to decision-making in matters important to the state.30 In those later years, we see Cicero, no longer capable, in his new circumstances, of following the call of virtue, trying to inspire his readers, and especially the younger generation, to incorporate philosophical thinking into their deliberations. The questions set out by Cicero remind one, in their phrasing, not only of a philosophical search for truth, but also of the kinds of questions posed as exercises in rhetorical declamation.31 And in fact, in the section that follows the list of questions, Cicero tells Atticus that he has been thinking about these issues and arguing opposing positions one after the other (in his ego me consultationibus exercens et disserens in utramque partem tum Graece tum Latine). Far from diminishing the philosophical value of his deliberation,32 this constitutes a further foreshadowing of the philosophical treatises of the 40s, in many of which Cicero will present opposing philosophical arguments in a consciously rhetorical manner, through the use of different speakers and a dialogue form.33 It is tempting to speculate about what use Cicero made of the two languages on this occasion. Did he alternate from question to question? Did he choose a language for each side, and if so, was he consistent? We cannot know what his practice actually was, but the occasion is significant, for we find Cicero, in a time of serious personal and political crisis, expressing Greek philosophical ideas in Latin. This letter represents, moreover, a further development in Cicero’s use of the deliberative mode in utramque partem. In the first instance, in the letter from 60 discussed above, we saw Cicero alluding to the method of deliberating Swkratikw`~ eij~ eJkavteron, but not actually applying the paradigm rigorously. An intermediate stage, also dealing with the issue of role of Greek exempla. He treats Cicero’s choice of Greek in this letter (203) in the context of this broader pattern. 30 Cf. Griffin 1989.34, who emphasizes that philosophy provides Cicero with a framework and the language that he needs but does not in itself supply a clear decision and adduces further examples. On the peculiarly formal and methodological nature of the Roman “intellectual revolution,” see Moatti 1997, ch. 5. 31 For a discussion of this letter as an example of proto-declamatio directly preceding and related to the more formalized imperial declamation, see Gunderson 2003.104–10. 32 Cf. de Orat. 3.107 where disputationes in utramque partem are treated as belonging both in the sphere of eloquentia and philosophia. 33 Cicero treats this method as both rhetorical and philosophical. Cf. Schofield 1986.47: “Cicero found himself freshly attracted to the skeptical philosophy of the new Academy at the time he composed his philosophical encyclopedia precisely because it gave him as encyclopedist the great rhetorical and expository advantage of argumentum in utramque partem.” See also Leonhardt’s 1999 study. More generally, the desire to heal the separation between rhetoric and philosophy is a constant in Cicero’s thought. I discuss the issue of philosophy vis-à-vis oratory in ch. 4.

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deciding on the appropriate course given the conflict between Pompey and Caesar, can be seen in a letter to Atticus written in mid-February of 49, asking for advice: maximis et miserrimis rebus perturbatus, cum coram tecum mihi potestas deliberandi non esset, uti tamen tuo consilio volui. deliberatio autem omnis haec est, si Pompeius Italia excedat, quod eum facturum esse suspicor, quid mihi agendum putes. et quo facilius consilium dare possis, quid in utramque partem mihi in mentem veniat explicabo brevi. (Att. 8.3.1; SB 153) Disturbed by my truly terrible situation, although I have no ability of deliberating with you face to face, nonetheless I wanted to make use of your counsel. But the entire deliberation lies in the following question: if Pompey leaves Italy, which I suspect he will, what do you think I must do? And in order to allow you better to give your advice, I will briefly lay out what comes into mind in favor of each course of action. In this case, Cicero proceeds in the way he formally outlines in the beginning, summarizing in turn the arguments in favor of each choice, discussing the likely consequences of either decision should Pompey or Caesar emerge victorious in the end,34 and coming back again and again to the limitation imposed on his freedom of action by the fact that he is still in possession of the fasces in expectation of his Cilician triumph.35 The form that his presentation takes is a combination of the particular and the general. For the most part, specifics of his situations are referred to and the main players are mentioned by name. He also frames his case in the traditional way, by invoking exempla from the Roman past:36 he appeals 34 Cf.

Leonhardt 1999.31. the issues surrounding Cicero’s triumph, see the detailed study of Wistrand 1979 and, most recently, Beard 2007.187–96. 36 A good example of such application of mos maiorum to evaluate behavior is found in a letter of Quintus Metellus Celer to Cicero, complaining of the latter’s treatment of his brother, which he portrays as violating the bonds of amicitia between them. He claims that he, though in command of a province, is forced by the actions of Cicero and his supporters to put on mourning: quae quoniam nec ratione nec maiorum nostrum clementia administrastis, non erit mirandum si vos paenitebit, “and since you have conducted these matters neither in accordance with reason nor with the leniency of our ancestors, it will not be surprising if you come to regret it” (Fam. 5.1.2; SB 1). Metellus’ argument that the circumstances call for clementia is based on the traditional behavior of the ancestors in similar situations. The expected force of such an invocation is both to exhort the addressee to imitate the maiores and to accuse him of un-Roman behavior. In this case, especially given Metellus’ reference to familiae nostrae dignitas earlier in the letter, there is the additional implication that Cicero’s behavior is not up to the standards of Metellus’ maiores due to Cicero’s being a novus homo (cf. Hoffer 2003.96). For recent discussions of this exchange, see Hall 2009a.53–60 and Hoffer 2003; on Cicero’s correspondence with the Metelli, Schneider 1998, ch. 3. On clementia as a republican virtue, see Konstan 2005. 35 On

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to the precedent of Lucius Philippus, Lucius Flaccus and Quintus Mucius, who remained in Rome under Cinna’s dominatio.37 He singles out Mucius as the one who articulated his desire to sacrifice himself rather than bear arms against his country. A counterexample is provided not by a Roman, but by a Greek: Thrasybulus, who was exiled by the Thirty Tyrants but then defeated the Thirty and their Spartan supporters, eventually restoring democratic government to Athens.38 Cicero is using the exempla, whose range he expands to include Greek figures, to think about the analogous decision that he must make, either to leave his fatherland to join the party whose goals are closest to his own or to reject the horrible option of taking up arms against Rome.39 Yet within this discussion a more generalized type of deliberation also takes place, which anticipates the fully generalized questions of Att. 9.4 (SB 173): Cicero switches from considering his obligation to Pompey as an amicus to thinking about what is expected of a man like him, a vir fortis et bonus civis.40 In a similar move, in another letter to Atticus written a week and a half later Cicero quotes Scipio’s description (in book five of his De Re Publica) of the ideal statesman, moderator rei publicae, measures Pompey against that standard, and finds him lacking.41 We can then see 9.4 as a culmination of Cicero’s gradual integration of a philosophical mode of deliberation into his practical thinking. First alluded to and carrying some weight by virtue of its association with the philosophical way of thinking, then applied more formally as a framework when he asks the philosophicallyminded Atticus for advice, until finally, penetrating into the body of the discussion itself through a more generalized look at his situation, the phil37 Att.

8.3.6. On the historical background, see Badian 1964.215–16; on Cicero’s focus on Mucius, killed in 82, as indicating the danger of this choice, Oppermann 2000.186. 38 For a contemporary Latin account, see Nep. Thr. Oppermann 2000.186–87 finds the recourse to a Greek example here surprising and offers possible reasons; unnecessarily in my view, since she herself shows (299) that Cicero generally uses both Greek and Roman exempla in the letters, even if the Roman do outnumber the Greek in 50 and 49. 39 On Cicero’s use of these exempla, cf. Michel 1977.396. 40 sitne viri fortis et boni civis esse in ea urbe in qua cum summis honoribus imperiisque usus sit, res maximas gesserit, sacerdotio sit amplissimo praeditus, non futurus , subeundumque periculum sit cum aliquo † fore dedecore, si quando Pompeius rem publicam reciperarit, “Is it expected of a brave man and a good citizen that he remain in that city in which he enjoyed the highest honors and commands, conducted affairs of utmost importance, was endowed with the most splendid priesthood, when he will not have the stature he used to have and will be in danger of being in some disgrace if ever Pompey recovers the republic” (Att. 8.3.2; SB 153)? 41 Att. 8.11.1–2 (SB 161), discussed in n.12. In the concluding paragraph of the same letter, Cicero asks Atticus for a copy of Peri; ÔOmonoiva~, On Concord, by Demetrius of Magnesia, in preparation for a peace initiative of some sort: another example of Cicero’s recourse to theoretical intellectual resources in the service of practical political ends (in the end, events ruled out whatever Cicero had in mind and he returned the book to Atticus: Att. 9.9.2; SB 176).

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osophical model emerges as in itself sufficient to guide his actions without any need to deal directly with specifics. The philosophical model seems to prove more appealing as the particulars of the situation become increasingly uncertain and difficult to control. Along these same lines, there are moments when Cicero’s despair at his inability to come to the right decision using rational means leads him to outbursts of frustration because intellectual resources seem to be failing him. A letter of mid-March 49, written shortly after Pompey left Italy, Att. 9.10, shows him angry at his decision not to follow Pompey (amens) and so overcome by longing that he is led to compare his relationship with Pompey to a love-affair (sicut ejn toi`~ ejrotikoi`~): nunc emergit amor, nunc desiderium ferre non possum, nunc mihi nihil libri, nihil litterae, nihil doctrina prodest, “now my love bursts forth, now I can not endure the longing, now books, letters, learning are of no use to me” (Att. 9.10.2; SB 177). A bitterly ironic reference to exactly the kind of philosophical deliberation that Cicero once employed in making his decision and later found insufficient comes in a letter addressed to Paetus, written at a very different time, late in the year 46, when the political situation following Caesar’s departure for Spain seemed stable and, thus, to Cicero, hopeless (nor is he very proud of his own conduct during this time):42 miraris tam exhilaratam esse servitutem nostram? quid ergo faciam? te consulo, qui philosophum audis. angar, excruciem me? quid assequar? deinde quem ad finem? (Fam. 9.26.1; SB 197) You wonder that our slavery is so cheery? What am I to do then? I ask you for advice; you are the one who listens to a philosopher. Should I suffer? Should I torment myself? What would I accomplish? Then to what end? The normative tone of the Latin deliberatives here is reminiscent of the verbal adjectives of Att. 9.4.2 (SB 173), discussed above. In that earlier letter the phrasing of the questions suggested the author’s inclination towards the imperative of virtue dictated by Greek philosophy. Here he implies negative answers and emphasizes the self-destructiveness and futility of trying, in his present circumstances, to come to terms with the philosophically motivated course of action. He pushes against Paetus’ imagined disapproval by directing him to the content of the lectures he is 42 A

self-deprecating comment in a letter from a later period, August 45, to the effect that Caesar could not perceive Cicero as dangerous because he knew that the latter had no courage left in him (scire regem me animi nihil habere, Att. 13.37.2; SB 346) is representative of his self-perception as presented in letters to close friends throughout the period between his return to Italy after Pompey’s defeat and Caesar’s assassination.

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probably attending in Naples: Cicero is enjoying himself, so Paetus the Epicurean should be pleased. Instead, the imaginary Paetus exhorts Cicero to live in litteris. This occasions a new burst of frustration with intellectual life as having a modus: one has to do something else, so Cicero is dining with friends. The tone of this letter is in sharp contrast to that of the treatises, especially to the prefaces in which Cicero consistently emphasizes philosophy’s potential to be useful in all eventualities and the imperative to follow its precepts regardless of circumstances. At this later stage the philosophically based action has been displaced from Cicero’s life, where due to his helpless circumstances it is of little use, into his writing. Unable to practice virtue in the way philosophy dictates, he can at least teach virtue in the hopes of inspiring his readers to know and follow what is proper better than he can himself.43 I conclude this section by looking at another intriguing piece of evidence, provided by Ad Atticum 16.5 (SB 410), a letter that will move our focus from deliberative modes to the role of philosophy in the formation and improvement of character. This letter describes the character transformation undergone by Quintus the Younger, the wayward nephew of both Cicero and Atticus. The description is a deliberate fake, as we know from an earlier letter that Cicero sent to Atticus by special courier and which is fortunately preserved as well, Ad Atticum 16.1 (SB 409). This letter indicates that Quintus, who was staying with Cicero and visited Brutus with him, was putting pressure on his uncle to use him as a courier and send a letter to Atticus, to whose house he was traveling next. The young man’s excessive eagerness aroused Cicero’s suspicions that the letter would not reach Atticus unread; thus, he penned the false praise of Ad Atticum 16.5.44 Shackleton Bailey’s comment on Ad Atticum 16.5.2 expresses surprise that Cicero would expect someone of Quintus’ intelligence to be taken in by the letter given the “stilted style of this paragraph.” Yet Quintus’ father had accepted his transformation as genuine, and Cicero’s decision to send a letter to warn Atticus indicates that he expected that Atticus himself might be taken in. Thus, though we may feel that, had the letter been genuinely meant, Cicero would have demonstrated a shocking level of credulity, it must nevertheless be acknowledged in its general lines to have been sufficiently in character and reflective of his thought to appear plausible to Atticus and to the expected over-reader, Quintus himself. Before I discuss the content of the letter, some background is in order. Quintus the Younger occupies a special place in the correspondence be43 I

discuss Cicero’s multiple dedications to Brutus in this light in ch. 6. Quintus’ pressure and Cicero’s decision to send a courier in advance, see Att. 16.1.6 (SB 409). On the logistics of delivering Cicero’s letters and issues of confidentiality, see P. White 2010.11–15 and Nicholson 1994. 44 For

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tween Cicero and Atticus, because the two men have the same blood relationship to him and in particular because he is the offspring of a marriage that they arranged and repeatedly patched up. Unlike the letters about Quintus the Elder and Pomponia, the young man’s parents, in which each correspondent predictably takes a defensive stance on behalf of his sibling, Cicero’s references to the younger Quintus show his expectation that he and Atticus are in full agreement about the young man. The relationship between Quintus and his two uncles goes through a number of stages. He first appears in letters from Cilicia, traveling to and within the province in the company of his younger cousin, Marcus. Cicero the unwilling governor is making the best of his year of exile, as he perceives it, by at least providing an educational opportunity for his son and nephew. The two boys are often treated identically, though there are indications that Quintus is in need of some guidance. Cicero’s paternal attitude towards Quintus at this point can be taken for granted.45 A letter of April 49, however, makes a reference to Quintus’ problematic character as a familiar topic of discussion (nosti reliqua) between the two men.46 It is clear that Quintus is now seen as a potential source of danger to Cicero, but that the latter is still trying to take him in hand. The danger became realized when Quintus, having followed Pompey to Greece with his father and having been pardoned by Caesar following Pompey’s defeat, took it upon himself to slander his uncle Cicero in the Caesarian circles given the slightest opportunity. Even before he was received by Caesar, young Quintus presented himself as Cicero’s professed enemy (se mihi esse inimicissimum) and prepared to accuse his uncle in Caesar’s presence.47 As late as August of 45, he is still found portraying his uncle (and, now, his father as well) as dangerous enemies of Caesar and his regime (Att. 13.37.2; SB 346). So it was that in the years immediately before and after the civil war, Quintus the Younger proved first a painful disappointment, then a source of embarrassment, and at last a potential danger to his uncles.48 45 Before

Cilicia, reference to Quintus with Atticus: Ciceronem suavissimum (Att. 4.8.2; SB 79). Quintus and Marcus referred to together in Cilicia: Ciceronibus (Att. 5.20.9; SB 113), Cicerones pueri amant inter se, discunt, exercentur (Att. 6.1.12; SB 115); cf. back in Italy in early 49: de Ciceronibus nostris (Att. 7.13.3; SB 136), uxor, filia, Cicerones pueri (Att. 9.6.4; SB172); Quintus in need of guidance: cui moderabor diligentius (Att. 5.20.9; SB 113), quod [ingenium Quinti] regendo habeo negoti satis (Att. 6.2.2; SB 116). 46 “you know the rest” (Att. 10.6.2; SB 197). 47 Quintus’ intentions before actually receiving pardon, Att. 11.10.1 (SB 221). 48 Among letters that make passing references to Quintus and his outrageous behavior, Att. 13.9.1 (SB 317) stands out: ventum est tamen ad Quintum. multa a[fata ajdihvghta, sed unum eius modi quod nisi exercitus sciret, non modo Tironi dictare sed ne ipse quidem auderem scribere. . . . sed hactenus, “Then the conversation turned to Quintus. Many things unspeakable, beyond description, but one was of such a sort that, if it weren’t for the fact

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The situation remained unchanged in the months directly following Caesar’s assassination. Quintus expressed his loyalty to the dictator’s memory in an ostentatious manner that upset and worried his relatives, and then he found a place for himself at Antony’s side.49 The surprising change in Quintus’ attitude and behavior is first mentioned in the letter of June 44, and his reported protestations of dislike for Antony’s regime are initially met with suspicion both by Cicero and Quintus the Elder. However, the latter, to his brother’s dismay, is quickly won over by expressions of filial duty and affection.50 On July 3rd Quintus appeared at his uncle’s house and a couple of days later accompanied him to Puteoli to reconcile with Brutus.51 It is against this background that the letter praising Quintus needs to be read. I will quote the relevant section in its entirety: nunc audi quod pluris est quam omnia. Quintus filius52 fuit mecum dies compluris et, si ego cuperem, ille vel pluris fuisset; sed quam diu fuit, incredibile est quam me in omni genere delectarit in eoque maxime in quo minime satis faciebat. sic enim commutatus est totus et scriptis meis quibusdam quae in manibus habebam et adsiduitate orationis et praeceptis ut tali animo in rem publicam quali nos volumus futurus sit. hoc cum mihi non modo confirmasset sed etiam persuasisset, egit mecum accurate multis verbis tibi ut sponderem se dignum et te et nobis futurum; neque se postulare ut statim crederes sed, cum ipse that the army knows about it, not only would I not dare dictate it to Tiro, I wouldn’t even write it myself . . . . But enough of these things.” Lehmann, Woch. f. Kl. Phil. 13 (1896.56), quoted by Shackleton Bailey 1966.316 ad loc., posited an erasure by the editor of the letters following scribere. Shackleton Bailey believes that Atticus himself erased the passage, which compromised his nephew. While not entirely impossible, it seems surprising then that so many other highly unflattering references to Quintus have remained untouched. P. White 2010.42 accepts this lacuna as one of four certain examples of deletions in the correspondence, which he thinks could be the work of the anonymous editor. I have not come across any suggestion concerning the nature of the episode, but one must imagine something that went far beyond simple family disloyalty to justify this singular erasure. 49 Quintus wearing a wreath in honor of Caesar at a festival celebrating a civil war victory at Munda, Att. 14.14.1 (SB 368) and 14.19.3 (SB 372). His expressions of loyalty and gratitude to Caesar, 14.17.3 (SB 371) and 14.19.3 (SB 372). Antony’s partisan, 14.20.5 (SB 374). The word Cicero uses to describe Quintus in the last of these, dextella, is only attested here and is a pejorative diminutive of dextra. The passage also contains a bitterly sarcastic reference to the advantages that Cicero and Atticus can expect from their nephew’s new position. 50 First mention of Quintus’ change, Att. 15.19.2 (SB 396); Quintus senior’s suspicions dispelled, 15.21.1 (SB 395); Quintus’ arrival at Cicero’s, 15.27.3 (SB 406); visit to Brutus, 16.5.2 (SB 410). 51 Hall 2009a.40–41 discusses this aspect of the letter, although he takes no account of its relationship to Att. 16.1 (SB 409). 52 filius was added by Tyrrell and is adopted by Shackleton Bailey.

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perspexisses, tum ut se amares. quod nisi fidem mihi fecisset iudicassemque hoc quod dico firmum fore, non fecissem id quod dicturus sum. duxi enim mecum adulescentem ad Brutum. sic ei probatum est quod ad te scribo ut ipse crediderit, me sponsorem accipere noluerit eumque laudans amicissime mentionem tui fecerit, complexus osculatusque dimiserit. quam ob rem etsi magis est quod gratuler tibi quam quod te rogem, tamen etiam rogo ut, si quae minus antea propter infirmitatem aetatis constanter ab eo fieri videbantur, ea iudices illum abiecisse mihique credas multum adlaturam vel plurimum potius ad illius iudicium confirmandum auctoritatem tuam. (Att. 16.5.2: SB 410) Now hear what is worth more than all else. Quintus was with me for a number of days, and, if I wanted, would have stayed even longer; but as long as he was here, it is amazing how he pleased me in everything and especially in that respect in which he used to be the least satisfactory. For he is so entirely transformed both by certain writings of mine which I happened to have with me, and by my uninterrupted discourse and teachings that he will have such disposition towards the republic as we desire him to have. After he had not only assured me of this, but also convinced me, he pleaded with me insistently in many words to assure you that he would be worthy of both you and me; and he was not asking that you believe (in his changed attitude) straightaway, but, that once you yourself observed it, you treat him with affection. And unless he had convinced me of this and I had judged that the transformation I am describing would remain firm, I wouldn’t have done what I am about to narrate. For I took the young man with me to Brutus. And he (Brutus) was so persuaded of what I’ve been telling you that he in his own right trusted (Quintus), wasn’t willing to accept me as a guarantor, and, in praising him, made a most friendly mention of you, then, having embraced and kissed him, let him go. For this reason, although there is more to congratulate you on than to ask you for, nonetheless I do ask you that, if any of his previous actions, on account of the weakness of his age, seemed to be rather inconstant, you judge that he has cast them off and believe me that the weight of your opinion will add much, or, rather, the most significant, influence towards confirming his new judgment. Cicero’s goal, as we know, is to write a letter that will convince the snooping Quintus that his uncle was thoroughly taken in by his professions of change. What is significant for my purposes are the types and the hierarchy of reasons Cicero advances to justify this apparent change to Atticus. Even though both Cicero and Atticus, as Quintus must have been aware, were already informed of his intention to change sides, Cicero represents the change as having largely occurred under his roof and through

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his personal influence. This in itself would not seem suspicious to Quintus or Atticus, as this is not a simple exaggeration, but rather a convention common to the genre of litterae commendaticae, which locates the request made of the addressee entirely within the relationships between the writer and the addressee, on the one hand, and the writer and the man recommended in the letter, on the other.53 Within the functioning of this generic convention, the author of a letter would normally place emphasis on the particular aspects of the relationships involved that he expected would appeal to his correspondent.54 In this case, however, the existence of a specific expected over-reader, who was in fact the more important addressee, rather complicates the situation. Cicero writes what he expects will appear plausible to Quintus. That, in turn, is his perception of what Quintus sees as important to Cicero in his relationship with Atticus. The influences Cicero specifies as having affected change in Quintus are his own writings, scriptis meis, his conversation, adsiduitate orationis, and his teachings, praecepta. The arrangement of the three elements in a descending tricolon puts the most weight on the first element. Thus, the oratio and the praecepta in question must be related to, and follow from, the content of whatever work(s) Cicero gave Quintus to read. These are likely to be texts that he was working on at the time: the two possibilities that are cited by Shackleton Bailey are the lost De Gloria and De Officiis. De Officiis is a particularly tempting suggestion because of its prescriptive ethical content and explicit didactic intent: after all, the work is dedicated to Quintus’ cousin, Cicero’s son Marcus.55 While the account of how Cicero influenced Quintus through these means is insincere, the fact of Quintus’ expected over-reading assures the accuracy of the description of the interaction that took place between uncle and nephew. Cicero must in fact have given Quintus some of his writings to read and then discussed their implications for Quintus’ own 53 Amanda

Wilcox in her 2002 dissertation has discussed the triangular space created in Roman letters between the sender, the addressee, and a number of potential third points provided by the subject matter of the letter; in letters of recommendation, the recommended. In the letter under discussion the triangle is expanded into a square by the addition of another participant, Brutus. Brutus’ alleged acceptance of Quintus, demonstrated in his farewell embrace and kiss, is put in contact with Brutus’ relationship with Atticus, activated within the letter by Cicero’s reference to Brutus’ mention of Atticus. 54 See Wilcox 2002, ch. 2. On litterae commendaticae, see also Hall 2009a.30–34, Cotton 1985 and 1986, and Deniaux 1993. 55 Dyck (1996.8–9, with n.20) dates the composition of De Officiis several months later, around the first specific mention in a letter to Atticus of October 28. For more on the composition and nature of this treatise, see ch. 6. Boes 1990.313 emphasizes the presence of De Gloria on this occasion, a work that is central to his understanding of Cicero’s philosophy, and especially, given the importance of the achievement of immortality to the Roman idea of glory, to what he sees as Cicero’s Platonism.

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behavior. That means that Cicero felt that his works did have potential for use as a pedagogical and deliberative tool.56 He viewed the younger Quintus as a man without ethical potential and did not believe that philosophy alone could reform his character, but nonetheless offered his writings to Quintus with the avowed goal of improving his character. This lends credence to Cicero’s hope, expressed in the prefaces to the treatises, that his work of making philosophy available and sufficiently Roman might affect a change in the younger generation of the elite. For, after all, he felt that philosophy was able to influence him in no small matter, his regard for his own reputation: de fama nihil sane laboro; etsi scripseram ad te tunc stulte ‘nihil melius’; curandum enim non est. atque hoc ‘in omni vita sua quemque a recta conscientia traversum unguem non oportet discedere’ viden quam filosovfw~? an tu nos frustra existimas haec in manibus habere? (Att. 13.20.4; SB 328) I certainly don’t worry at all about my reputation; although I had written to you stupidly back then that “nothing is better”; for one must not concern oneself with it. And this, “no one should depart from his upright conscience even a nail’s breadth in all of his life,” do you see how philosophically it is expressed? You don’t think that I’ve been busying myself with these things in vain, do you?

Philosophy and Politics A number of letters touch on Cicero’s views of the relationship between philosophy, as a discipline and a practice, and political life. This is an issue of central importance for contextualizing the claims that Cicero makes in the prefaces to the philosophica about philosophy’s potential as an alternative to traditional public life under circumstances of forced political inactivity. Specifically, the notion that there is a complementary and mutually dependent relationship between traditional political activity and intellectual activity broadly defined (studia), and philosophy in particular, is in evidence in Cicero’s earliest surviving correspondence with Atticus. This early appearance of the pattern whereby disappointment or 56 On

the educational potential of his works, cf. Fam. 6.18.4 (SB 218) to Lepta about Orator, in which Cicero thanks Lepta for his approval of the treatise and proceeds to comment on the educational potential of the treatise with Lepta’s young son in mind: Leptam nostrum cupio delectari iam talibus scriptis. etsi abest maturitas aetatis, tamen personare auris eius huiusmodi vocibus non est inutile, “I want our little Lepta to be enjoying such writings already; although he is not yet of a mature age, nonetheless it is not without profit to fill his ears with such words.”

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restriction in the political arena leads to a greater investment in intellectual life could be seen as corresponding to the traditional otium/negotium paradigm, though it exhibits significant differences from the Ciceronian take on that model as presented in a more public context, the Pro Archia being the best example. That speech argued for greater recognition of the importance of intellectual engagement—in this case with poetry in particular— but nonetheless assigned it a decidedly secondary position. It was a way for the statesman to recharge so that he could return to his traditional negotia refreshed and better able to fulfill his duty to the state.57 What we see in the letters differs in that the two types of activity are posited as choices, so that a statesman who is unable to perform his functions as desired can imagine redirecting his energies into intellectual life. In the summer of 61, in the aftermath of Clodius’ trial and in anticipation of the consular elections on July twenty seventh, Cicero’s position was somewhat precarious, and he felt this state of affairs particularly acutely, coming as it did so soon after his triumphant consulship. At the end of a long letter addressed to Atticus in early July, he discussed, among other things, the lex de ambitu proposed by Lurco, one of the tribunes.58 The bill stipulated that those who promised bribes in a tribe would only be punished if money actually changed hands. Cicero found the proposal absurd. At the end of the discussion of the matter, his indignation seems to overflow, his irritation with the bill compounded by frustration at Pompey’s promotion of Afranius’ candidacy for the consulship, a travesty in Cicero’s view: sed heus tu, videsne consulatum illum nostrum, quem Curio antea ajpoqevwsin vocabat, si hic factus erit, fabam mimum futurum? qua re, ut opinor, filosofhtevon, id quod tu facis, et istos consulatus non flocci facteon. (Att. 1.16.13; SB 16) But, alas, do you see that that consulship of ours, which Curio used to refer to as apotheosis, if he [Afranius] is elected, will become a matter for vulgar ridicule? So, I think, one must engage in philosophy, what you are doing, and reckon those consulships of theirs of no import. At this point Cicero leaves off his discussion of public affairs, finally fed up, and turns to personal matters, including poetry. In this context Cicero mentions epigrammata that Atticus composed for the shrine of Amalthea that he built on his Buthrotum estate:59 epigrammatis tuis, quae in Amal57 Cf.

Zetzel 2003.124–26; Narducci 1997.8–11; Stroup 2010.51–52. the background on this measure, which was rejected, see Gruen 1974.223–24. For an alternate explanation of the bill’s intention, see Lintott 1990.8. 59 For a discussion of the Amaltheum, see Moore 1906. 58 For

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theo posuisti, contenti erimus, praesertim cum et Thyillus nos reliquerit et Archias nihil de me scripserit, “we’ll have to content ourselves with the epigrams you have placed in your Amaltheum, especially since Thyillus has abandoned us and Archias has written nothing about me” (Att. 1.16.15; SB 16). These poems have been connected to a passage in Nepos’ Life of Atticus that describes, among Atticus’ literary compositions, books containing brief verse descriptions of the accomplishments of great Romans that were placed under their imagines.60 Given the rest of the sentence, the epigrammata Cicero is referring to have him as their subject, as they are to provide him some partial consolation for the neglect he has suffered from other poets whom he had expected to celebrate his achievements.61 The tone, and the mention of Archias, a year after the latter’s trial, seems to bring us back to the model set out in Cicero’s speech on that occasion: Cicero is turning now to Atticus’ celebration of him both as a temporary escape from the frustrations of the political life and to find inspiration in a literary representation of his greatness. This discussion of poetry, following as it does the mention of turning to philosophy as practiced by Atticus, lies behind Shackleton Bailey’s interpretation of filosofhtevon as meaning “literary studies” and his accompanying comment that “how far philosophia corresponds to ‘philosophy’ depends on the context.”62 I suggest, however, that the discussion of poetry does not illustrate what Cicero was proposing, if only at a moment of intense frustration, in the earlier passage, but rather represents a retreat from it and a return to the more traditional paradigm. The earlier appeal to Atticus as exemplifying what Cicero is invoking, namely, the downgrading of the highest magistracy on the scale of priorities, indicates that Cicero is not referring to any individual activities that Atticus engages in, but rather to his decision not to pursue a senatorial career. filosofhtevon then represents more than literary pursuits, more than philosophical practice even; it connotes intellectual activity as a replacement for active political life. The hybrid facteon, a Greek formation given to a Latin verb,63 is then itself a playful 60 Nep. Att. 18.6: sub singulorum imaginibus facta magistratusque eorum non amplius quaternis quinisve versibus descripserit, “under the images of each individual he described their deeds and offices in no more than four or five verses.” Varro composed a similar work, mentioned by Pliny together with that of Atticus (nat. 35.11). See Flower 1996.182–83 on Atticus’ verses in the context of other ways of labeling the imagines. 61 On Cicero’s failure to receive a poem from Archias in exchange for his speech and to persuade others to celebrate his consulship, see Dugan 2005.43–54. 62 1965.325. 63 An example of “code-switching within a word boundary” or “morphological borrowing”; see Adams 2003.27–28 for definition and discussion.

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illustration of where the model here proposed could lead: a life of action, still Roman at its foundations, but conceived of in a Greek manner. It is a glimpse of an alternate path. But no more than that. What makes this brief gesture significant is the frequent recurrence of such momentary flirtations with an alternative in times of political difficulties. The alternative is often philosophically based, though sometimes more broadly conceived as studia or litterae. It continues to crop up during the period leading up to Cicero’s exile. In Ad Atticum 2.5.2 (SB 25), written in April 59 when Cicero is navigating a difficult course vis-à-vis the triumvirs, he hints at a temptation, the possibility of the augurate, only immediately to correct himself: vide levitatem meam! sed quid ego haec, quae cupio deponere et toto animo atque omni cura filosofei`n? sic, inquam, in animo est; vellem ab initio, nunc vero, quoniam quae putavi esse praeclara expertus sum quam essent inania, cum omnibus Musis rationem habere cogito. (Att. 2.5.2; SB 25) Look at my fickleness! Why should I bother with these things, which I want to set aside and to devote all my spirit and all my efforts to philosophy? That, I say, is what is in my heart. If only those had been my wishes from the beginning; but now, since I have learned from experience how empty are the things that I considered most glorious, I intend to deal with all the Muses. Here, as in the previous letter, disappointment with the options currently available to him in the political arena and with the general state of affairs is what leads Cicero to invoke the intellectual alternative. Once again, it is not a thoroughly worked-out program for replacing his current commitments, but rather a general reference to the intellectual sphere as the natural place to turn to for a substitute. Nor is it entirely serious, as Cicero’s self-conscious comment on the temptation that a prestigious priesthood poses despite his alleged commitment to intellectual remove clearly indicates. Yet such offhand comments continue to turn up. Frustrated with the triumvirs again, Cicero urges Atticus: qua re, mihi crede, filosofw`men. iuratus tibi possum dicere nihil esse tanti, “therefore, trust me, let’s give ourselves to philosophy. I can swear to you that nothing is more valuable” (Att. 2.13.2; SB 33). More firmly rooted is the reference in a letter of late April–early May of 59, written in Formiae in response to Atticus’ reaction to the newly proposed agrarian bill. The letter shares with the others in this group an overall sense of disappointment and frustration. The desire to turn away from politics is here expressed entirely within a philosophical framework:

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nunc prorsus hoc statui ut, quoniam tanta controversia64 est Dicaearcho, familiari tuo, cum Theophrasto, amico meo, ut ille tuus to;n praktiko;n bivon longe omnibus anteponat, hic autem to;n qewrhtikovn, utrique a me mos gestus esse videatur. puto enim me Dicaearcho adfatim satis fecisse; respicio nunc ad hanc familiam quae mihi non modo ut requiescam permittit sed reprehendit quia non semper quierim. qua re incumbamus, o noster Tite, ad illa praeclara studia et eo unde discedere non oportuit aliquando revertamur. (Att. 2.16.3; SB 36) Now I have indeed decided, since there is such a great dispute between your intimate Dicaearchus and my friend Theophrastus, as your man puts the practical life ahead of all others by far, but mine prefers the contemplative, that I appear to have gratified each of them. For I think I have certainly done more than enough for Dicaearchus; now I look back to that camp that not only allows me to take some rest, but scolds me for not having always been at peace. Therefore, let us, my dear Titus, direct our attention to those splendid studies and finally return to that place which I should never have left. The general sentiment expressed in this letter is largely the same as in those discussed above: political life has produced only disappointments, so it is time to set politics aside and return to the more potentially satisfying intellectual pursuits. What is different in this formulation, however, is that both alternatives are here framed, for the first time, as philosophically based choices. Cicero is no longer conceiving of his options as political versus the intellectual, but as a decision between two philosophical approaches, a choice motivated primarily not by practical, but by philosophical considerations.65 As in the deliberative letters discussed in the previous section, Cicero’s correspondence here shows episodic, but deepening forays into the philosophical sphere. What then about the more traditional way of conceiving of studia and intellectual activity—as located securely in the realm of otium, as meant to provide relaxation and diversion from the daily political labors—the view that, despite all the efforts to elevate their status, lies at the foundation of Cicero’s defense of Archias? It too crops up in a letter of this 64 Cicero’s letters, and this passage in particular, are our only source for this controversy, and the fragmentary nature of his references has led to much speculation. For a recent discussion, see Huby 2001, with further bibliography. 65 The assignment of the preference for the practical life to the Epicurean Atticus has been found puzzling (Huby 2001.314). The formulation may not reflect the actual philosophical views of the two correspondents so much as it serves as an ironic comment on Atticus’ encouragement of continued political activity and, increasingly, compromise, while living the life of a private man himself.

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period (and it would be surprising if it did not). In asking Atticus to oversee the transfer of a library into his possession and professing his great desire for the books, Cicero identifies his studia as a refuge to which he devotes all the time he can spare from the toil of the courts (Att. 1.20.7; SB 20).66 In April 55, a similar sentiment arises in regard to the library of Faustus Sulla, as Cicero is anticipating his meeting with Pompey: ego hic pascor bibliotheca Fausti. fortasse tu putabas his rebus Puteolanis et Lucrinensibus. ne ista quidem desunt, sed mehercule ut a ceteris oblectationibus deseror et voluptatibus cum propter aetatem tum67 propter rem publicam, sic litteris sustentor et recreor maloque in illa tua sedecula quam habes sub imagine Aristotelis sedere quam in istorum sella curuli tecumque apud te ambulare quam cum eo quocum video esse ambulandum. sed de illa ambulatione fors viderit aut si qui est qui curet deus. (Att. 4.10.1; SB 84) Here I feast on Faustus’ library. Perhaps you thought it was all that Puteolan and Lucrine stuff. Certainly, that is not lacking either. But as surely as all others delights and pleasures fail me, given both my age and the state of the republic, so I am sustained and reborn through letters and prefer to sit in that little seat that you have under the likeness of Aristotle than in those men’s curule seat, and to walk with you at your house than with him, with whom I see that I must walk. But about that walk may fortune take care and if there is some divinity that concerns itself with it. The library in this passage plays the same restorative role as the literary studia in Att. 1.20 and the Pro Archia.68 Yet the sentiment here has a lot 66 On

Cicero’s libraries, see Casson 2001.70–79; cf. Boyancé 1936.300–302. transmitted text reads voluptatum; Shackleton Bailey emends and prints: voluptat um. 68 This account is also found in a letter to Mescinius Rufus, Fam. 5.21.2 (SB 182): itaque utor eodem perfugio quo tibi utendum censeo, litterulis nostris, praeterea conscientia etiam consiliorum meorum, “And so I make use of the same haven that I recommend that you use, our literary studies, and, besides, the secure knowledge of what I had planned to achieve.” Written in April of 46, it may seem to indicate that this, weaker, notion of the role of intellectual life as a refuge continues to coexist with the active production of philosophical works. However, the letter is one of many sent to console men who are away from Italy under Caesar, a group that superbly demonstrates Cicero’s ability to adapt his rhetoric to the circumstances of the addressee. Thus, this reference to his literary activity is intended less as an account of his life than as a suggestion of a path to consolation for Mescinius Rufus. Cicero is intentionally downplaying the significance of his writings by presenting them as solely a refugium, presumably the only role such activity could have for his correspondent, an impression furthered by the use of the diminutive litterulis. In a similar vein, see the consolations to Servius Sulpicius Rufus, Fam. 4.3.3 (SB 202), 4.4.4 (SB 203). On the centrality of the relationship with the addressee to the rhetoric of Ciceronian letters of consolation, cf. Wilcox 2005a. 67 The

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in common with the group of letters discussed above, in which intellectual engagement is conceived of as a potential alternative to the political life. Atticus and Aristotle, representing the philosophical life, are imagined as a possible alternative to Pompey and the sella curulis, the now corrupt political life.69 Cicero both expresses a preference for the contemplative model and allows his sense of duty to hold him to his earlier choice. The two strands in his thought as found in the letters thus coalesce here, and the restorative function of intellectual pursuits emerges as the lesser, albeit more appealing option. It is an attractive refuge at a difficult time when full commitment is not a possible alternative. I now move to discuss letters addressed to men other than Atticus, all of which come from the 40s and are thus directly relevant to the question of how Cicero presents philosophy in relation to politics during the period leading up to his philosophical treatises. The first letter, written to Cato during Cicero’s term as governor of Cilicia, is part of a publicity campaign designed to induce the senate to vote him a supplication for his military accomplishments in his province as the necessary first step towards a triumph—a measure that Cato was expected to, and, in fact, did, oppose.70 As a letter addressed to someone whose relationship with Cicero was far from intimate, and one written primarily to convince the addressee to do something that is advantageous to the author, this is a type of text whose purposefully rhetorical nature renders it less useful as a window into the author’s own thoughts. Conversely, precisely because of its sharply persuasive focus, it can be taken as a fairly accurate representation of Cicero’s perception of, on the one hand, what Cato’s reservations would be in this matter, and, on the other hand, what kind of arguments would likely appeal to Cato and secure his support. Most of Cicero’s persuasive strategies are part of a common stock to be found in any letter containing a request. The very fact of his writing a personal letter to Cato that includes a detailed account of the military action honors the addressee, since information about the campaign would be available to Cato in the official dispatch that Cicero sent to the senate. Thus, the importance of the account, which occupies most of the letter, 69 The

fact that the choice between Atticus and Pompey is framed in terms of ambulatio is an additional pointer towards Cicero’s preference, since walking, as O’Sullivan 2006 has shown, is strongly associated with philosophical activity. 70 Cicero’s letter of request to Cato: Fam. 15.4 (SB 110). It is discussed by Wistrand 1979 in the context of Cicero’s claim to a triumph, and by Hutchinson 1988 as an example of war narrative in the correspondence. Cato’s response, Fam. 15.5 (SB 111), has generated much discussion as a result of the common perception that it is insincere and impolite. For a summary of the different interpretations and a compelling explanation of why the letter provoked such a strong reaction in the scholarship (based on the difference between ancient Roman and modern politeness standards), see Hall 1996a. Griffin 1989.35 discusses the philosophical background of the exchange.

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lies not in its content so much as in the fact that Cicero is singling Cato out of the senatorial body as someone who deserves to receive a personalized version.71 The letter also contains the standard appeal to the history of the relationship between the two men:72 Cicero recalls the occasions on which the two were political allies, the times when Cato expressly praised Cicero in public. He cites Cato’s precedent in having voted in favor of a supplication for Cicero in the aftermath of the Catilinarian conspiracy in 63, makes general references to friendship (amicitia), a commonality of pursuits, and an exchange of favors (studiis et officiis mutuis), and alludes to the relationship between the two men’s fathers73 (necessitudine paterna).74 But the part of the letter that stands out is the concluding section, which deals with the philosophical connection between the writer and the addressee: extremum illud est, ut quasi diffidens rogationi meae philosophiam ad te adlegem, qua nec mihi carior ulla umquam res in vita fuit nec hominum generi maius a deis munus ullum est datum. haec igitur, quae mihi tecum communis est, societas studiorum atque artium nostrarum, quibus a pueritia dediti ac devincti soli prope modum nos philosophiam veram illam et antiquam, quae quibusdam otii esse ac desidiae videtur, in forum atque in rem publicam atque in ipsam aciem paene deduximus, tecum agit de mea laude; cui negari a Catone fas esse non puto. (Fam. 15.4.16; SB 110) 71 Cicero’s claim (Att. 7.1.8; SB 124) to have sent a similar letter to virtually every member of the senate would, if known, diminish this personalized facet of the communication somewhat, though the lengthy restatement of the events may have been limited to a few or even unique. 72 Jäger 1986.219 notes the sharp contrast between the factual description of the military action and the personal appeal that closes the letter. 73 On the convention of mentioning family ties in aristocratic correspondence, see Hall 2009a.56–60. 74 Previous political alliances and public praise, Fam. 15.4.11–12; general references to the relationship, 15.4.13 (SB 110). Section 12 contains the mention of the honor Cicero did to Cato’s virtue by praising it in his speeches and writings: a me autem haec sunt in te profecta, quae non ego in beneficii loco pono, sed in veri testimonii atque iudicii, ut praestantissimas tuas virtutes non tacitus admirarer (quis enim te id non facit?), sed in omnibus orationibus, sententiis dicendis, causis agendis, omnibus scriptis Graecis Latinis, omni denique varietate litterarum mearum te non modo iis quos vidissemus sed etiam iis de quibus audissemus, omnibus anteferrem, “Furthermore, I have done you the following service, which I do not consider a benefit, but rather a true testimony and judgment, that I did not admire your most outstanding virtues in silence (for who doesn’t admire them?), but in all my speeches, in delivering my opinions in the senate, in conducting court cases, in all my writings, both Greek and Latin, finally, in every type of writing, I put you before not only those whom we ourselves had seen, but also those, of whom we had only heard.” This passage is striking because it seems not so much to reflect Cicero’s practice up to the time of writing, as to presage his part in creating the image of Cato the republican martyr following his suicide.

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This is my last point: as if unsure in my request, I dispatch philosophy to you, than which no other thing has been dearer to me in life and no greater gift has been bestowed by the gods upon the race of men: therefore, this unity, which you and I share, of pursuits and accomplishments, devoted to and bound by which since boyhood we, virtually alone, have managed to introduce that true and ancient philosophy, which to certain men seems to be a mark of leisure and sloth, into the forum and into public life and almost into the very battle-line, this unity then pleads with you concerning my glory, and I think that it would not be right for Cato to say “no” to it. This passage articulates a number of ideas that will find expression in many of the prefaces to the philosophical treatises in the following years. The praise of philosophy as the greatest gift to mankind, the emphasis on its continuous importance in Cicero’s life, as well as the reference to philosophical pursuits as shared by the author and the given dedicatee, are common themes. In particular, there are striking parallels with the preface to the Paradoxa Stoicorum, written in the spring of 46 in a very different political climate. In that treatise Cato himself is featured prominently as both an exemplum and as the uncle of the dedicatee, Brutus.75 Here, in a private letter, it is instructive to find that Cicero not only refers to general views that he would later propagate in the treatises, but also articulates the idea of introducing philosophy into political life. Finding it expressed at a time when the republic, though troubled, seemed fairly stable to the two correspondents lends a certain amount of credibility to its expression at a later time when virtually no other options were available to Cicero. What we see here is Cicero’s representation of what he perceives Cato’s thoughts to be on the desired relationship between philosophy and politics. That Cicero took Cato’s views seriously is indicated by another part of the letter that deals with his conduct as a governor: we know from letters to Atticus that Cicero did in fact try to uphold “Catonian” standards of gubernatorial behavior.76 Thus, it is tempting, in light of this letter, to interpret the composition of the treatises, at a time when Cicero threw himself headlong into a posthumous campaign to glorify Cato, not only as an attempt to bring into existence a new generation that would embrace Cicero’s own views, but a generation of potential Catos, who would admit philosophy into every area of political life, just as he had done.77 75 I

discuss the preface to the Paradoxa in detail in ch. 4. to Atticus from years 51 and 50, passim. 77 Though Cicero was frequently frustrated by Cato’s doctrinaire inflexibility while he was still alive, Cato’s suicide and Cicero’s sense that there was a need, during this period, for more upright men willing to act on their beliefs, seem to have shifted the balance in retrospect. 76 Letters

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Another letter makes reference to the problematic relationship between philosophy and politics, posited by proponents of both. It is addressed to Varro and was written in June of year 46 in expectation of Caesar’s return to Italy. Cicero praises at length Varro’s current life of dedication to scholarship and then goes on to introduce the dichotomy between such a life, conceived by him as in large measure philosophical, and the usual political lifestyle: quis enim hoc non dederit nobis, ut, cum opera nostra patria sive non possit uti sive nolit, ad eam vitam revertamur quam multi docti homines, fortasse non recte sed tamen multi, etiam rei publicae praeponendam putaverunt? quae igitur studia magnorum hominum sententia vacationem habent quandam publici muneris, iis concedente re publica cur non abutamur? (Fam. 9.6.5; SB 181) For who would not grant us the following, that, at a time when the state either cannot or is not willing to make use of our services, we return to that life which many learned men, perhaps not correctly, but many of them, nonetheless, thought was to be preferred to public life? Therefore since these pursuits in the opinion of great men contain an exemption from public work, why are we not to spend our time in them, when the state allows it? What is noteworthy and typical here is Cicero’s inability, even at a time when it would seem most natural and when he is addressing a most sympathetic audience, to wholeheartedly follow the line of thought that champions philosophy, and intellectual pursuits more generally, to the exclusion of engagement in politics. He is so deeply uncomfortable with advocating such a view that he qualifies his endorsement, such as it is, not once, but twice. First with the aside, fortasse non recte, which in effect cancels everything he has said in defense of the scholarly life or, rather, transforms his stance vis-à-vis the ideas he is presenting from that of an endorser to that of a reporter carefully keeping his distance. The second qualification further undermines his support for this view: Cicero suggests that his and Varro’s turn to the contemplative life is acceptable only because they have the permission of the public; it is the state that has let them go, concedente re publica. Finally, in addition to these fairly explicit qualifying statements, Cicero’s insistence on citing the authority of “great men” as the real source of the opinion, and, in particular, his repetition of multi, as if saying “at least there is strength in numbers on this side,” also serve to mark his discomfort. This formulation reveals Cicero’s ultimate unwillingness to take sides in the controversy. Just as he tried to incorporate philosophy as much as possible into his practice as an active statesman, and gestured towards a

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whole-hearted acceptance of the contemplative life in times of political difficulties, so in the post-civil war period, when he is debarred from politics, he is yet unable to resign himself to “pure” philosophy. The political ends up permeating everything he does. Thus, the production of the treatises performs a function in his later life that mirrors such diverse episodes in his earlier career as inserting philosophical views in his speeches and conducting his governorship on an ethically correct basis. It reflects his desire to reject the divisive view and bring the two spheres, politics and philosophy, together in a harmonious whole, an enterprise in its nature quite parallel to the other major aspect of the treatises, the bringing together of the Greek and the Roman, theory and exempla. As far as the letters allow us to supplement what we know based on Cicero’s literary output, then, a rough chronological trajectory of his developing views can be mapped out. We can see occasional recourse to intellectual pursuits in their restorative capacity, combined with gestures towards the possibility of choosing the intellectual over the political in times of crisis in the pre-civil war years, evolving into a comprehensive engagement with philosophy manifested in the process of writing philosophical treatises during the period when he is unable to actively serve the state. This engagement is accompanied, however, by private doubts as to the ultimate validity of the claims he advances for philosophy’s power in his own treatises. The private comments found in Cicero’s letters are as important as the publicly presented ideas of the Pro Archia and the selfjustificatory claims in the philosophical prefaces to our understanding of the sources from which the fully developed model of philosophical activity as a substitute for political life will later arise. It is also symptomatic that his reaching out to the intellectual world as a true substitute occurs mainly at times of political insecurity, when Cicero’s political stature and his future prospects are in doubt. Such moments of insecurity could be said to culminate and morph into a permanent state at the time of Caesar’s dictatorship, when we see Cicero reacting by developing a fully worked out model of the intellectual life as a substitute for political engagement. A question then arises about the place Cicero assigned to intellectual life during his other prolonged period of forced political inactivity, his exile from Rome in the early 50s. In light of later developments, it is striking that the kind of rhetoric about intellectual activity taking the place of politics that we find periodically in the letters, both before and after his exile, and that comes so prominently to the fore in the production of the mid-40s, is entirely absent from the exile correspondence. Why is that? What is the difference between the two periods of exclusion that allows philosophy to emerge for Cicero as an alternative to politics under Caesar but not during exile? The most salient and relevant differences would seem to be the following. First, in the case of exile, it is Cicero alone who

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is excluded, and not only from the political process, but also from other more basic rights of citizenship. In the 40s, by contrast, Cicero is living through an exclusion that is shared with others; he is part of a class, in fact more than just part: as one of the eldest consulars to survive the civil war, he is seen by some as the leader of this group. Second, while Cicero and others may have had much to complain about the state of the res publica in the early 50s, they saw the basic functioning of the state as still unchallenged. Under Caesar fundamental changes to the institutions of the state, embodied most dramatically in, but not limited to, the role of the dictator, resulted in a political landscape very different from the republican model. What then, does the fact that Cicero turns to philosophy under Caesar, but not during exile tell us about the nature of his project? One important conclusion is that for him philosophy is not ultimately a matter of private otium, a pastime that can provide solace to an individual. It is, rather, a tool to be used in the public sphere, different in kind, but not necessarily function, from more traditional forms of public service. He does not turn to it as a source of consolation or to create an alternate private world for himself in exile, but engages in philosophical writing only when he, along with an entire class of men who had been devoted to public life, found himself marginalized. Then he presented it as a substitute for a corrupted political process. Cicero’s doubts about the ultimate ability of philosophy to act as a satisfactory substitute do not alter the basic motivations behind his project.

Writing as a Primary Occupation In addition to references to philosophy as a discipline, Cicero’s letters contain his thoughts about writing in general as his primary occupation.78 These references help illuminate Cicero’s position in the philosophica, on the one hand, because during this period his writing and reading was centered on philosophy. On the other hand, as we saw in chapter 1, Cicero’s presentation and justification of philosophy forms part of a larger discourse the goal of which is the broadening of the scope of traditional activity to include intellectual pursuits.79 Thus, his references to writing and intellectual activity more generally reflect both his specifically philosophical focus and its place within that broader discourse. 78 See

P. White 2010.104–55 on Cicero’s use of literature as a resource for conducting his relationships with his correspondents. Cf. Damon 2008 on literature as “social glue” in Cicero’s correspondence with Caesar. 79 See Stroup’s 2010 study of the role of texts in creating a late republican “society of patrons.”

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In the discussion of Sallust’s prefaces in the previous chapter we saw that one of the strategies he used to combat the perception that intellectual activity was mere otium was to apply to writing language suggestive of hard work. Similar rhetoric in Cicero’s prefaces is given substance by his own description of writing as arduous and sometimes the opposite of true otium in his correspondence from various periods. In a letter to Atticus written during Cicero’s time away from Rome in the spring of Caesar’s consulship, he outlines the difference between otium and writing: quod tibi superioribus litteris promiseram, fore ut opus exstaret huius peregrinationis, nihil iam magno opere confirmo; sic enim sum complexus otium ut ab eo divelli non queam. itaque aut libris me delecto, quorum habeo Anti festivam copiam, aut fluctus numero (nam ad lacertas captandas tempestates non sunt idoneae); a scribendo prorsus abhorret animus. etenim gewgrafika; quae constitueram magnum opus est. ita valde Eratosthenes, quem mihi proposueram, a Serapione et ab Hipparcho reprehenditur. quid censes si Tyrannio accesserit? et hercule sunt res difficiles ad explicandum et oJmoeidei`~ nec tam possunt ajnqhrografei`sqai quam videbantur et, quod caput est, mihi quaevis satis iusta causa cessandi est. (Att. 2.6.1; SB 26) What I promised you in my previous letter, that a piece of writing would come out of my time away, I am no longer willing to stand by as strongly. For I have embraced my leisure so much that I can’t be torn away from it. So I either take my pleasure in books, of which I have a very pleasant number here at Antium, or I count the waves (for the weather is not right for fishing). My mind truly recoils from writing. And in fact that geographical work which I had planned is a serious task. Eratosthenes, whom I had planned to follow, is strongly criticized by Serapio and Hipparchus. What do you recommend I do if Tyrannio follows suit? And indeed, the subject is hard to explain and monotonous and not as easy to embellish as it seemed, and, what is at the root of the problem, anything seems a good enough reason to give up. Otium for Cicero in this letter is idleness, a cessation from activity. We might expect that all intellectual pursuits would fall under this category, but that is not the case. Cicero clearly distinguishes between a passive intellectual activity, such as reading, which forms part of his otium as much as passing time on the beach, and the active process of writing, which is presented as requiring serious effort both in terms of substance—he must reconcile contradictory sources to produce a coherent account of the subject—and of style—he has discovered that his material is not congenial to the florid style he had planned to employ for this particular work. Thus, writing is work, difficult, demanding, and draining. Other reasons

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can cause Cicero to characterize the process of writing as difficult. Writing the Cato is a political minefield: how will Caesar and his men react? Even more fraught with peril is the notorious letter of advice to Caesar that Cicero struggles over, consulting precedents for inspiration, much as he does in the work on geography.80 When he is able to return to writing after Tullia’s death, it is a sign of recovered ability to tackle difficult work, and not an escape into otium.81 But the letters most relevant to my purpose here cluster largely in the period of intense composition of treatises in the years 46 through 44. The first group of letters is addressed to Varro, a fellow scholar and writer. The first of these (Ad Familiares 9.1 [SB 175]) precedes, and the next two (Ad Familiares 9.3 [SB 176] and 9.2 [SB 177]), follow the composition of the rhetorical works Brutus and Orator and the Paradoxa Stoicorum, a work that is highly rhetorical in tone and structure, but philosophical in content.82 The earlier letter is an account of Cicero’s return to intellectual activity following his stint in Pompey’s army: scito enim me, postea quam in urbem venerim, redisse cum veteribus amicis, id est cum libris nostris, in gratiam. etsi non idcirco eorum usum dimiseram, quod iis suscenserem sed quod eorum me subpudebat; videbar enim mihi, cum me in res turbulentissimas infidelissimis sociis demisissem, praeceptis illorum non satis paruisse. ignoscunt mihi, revocant in consuetudinem pristinam teque, quod in ea permanseris, sapientiorem quam me dicunt fuisse. (Fam. 9.1.2; SB 175) 80 The Cato: Att. 12.4.2 (SB 240); consulting Aristotle’s and Theopompus’ letters to Alexander as models for his letter to Caesar: Att. 12.40.2 (SB 281). See Hall 2009b on the constraints on Cicero’s writing in this period. 81 Att. 12.38a.1 (SB 279):  . . . animum vacuum ad res difficilis scribendas adferam, “that I can bring a clear mind to writing about these difficult matters”; 12.40.2 (SB 281): legere isti laeti . . . tam multa non possunt quam ego scripsi. . . . nunc ipsum ea lego, ea scribo ut hi qui mecum sunt difficilius otium ferant quam ego laborem, “ those allegedly happy men can’t read as much as I have written . . . at this very time I read and write such things that those who are with me bear their leisure with more difficulty than I do my work.” 82 The correspondence with Varro is discussed by Leach 1999.165–68. She emphasizes that Cicero reaches out to Varro as a model to be imitated, given their shared background and intellectual interests, in the new conditions of enforced otium. For a view that sees Cicero as critical of Varro for being too easily satisfied with otium, see Kronenberg 2009.89. For the relationship between Varro and Cicero, see Rösch-Binde 1997 (with detailed discussion of the correspondence), Baier 1997.15–27, Wiseman 2009.108–29. Boes 1990.206–18 sees Cicero’s letters to Varro at this time as part of his interest in Stoicism (evidenced by the Paradoxa) and the teachings of Antiochus, whose student Varro had been and whose epistemology is more in tune with that of the Stoics than with the Academic Skepticism that Cicero usually espouses. Such a narrow intra-philosophical motivation for the correspondence is unlikely.

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For I want you to know that, after I came back to Rome, I regained the favor of my old friends, that is, books; although I had not abandoned my familiarity with them for the reason that I was angry at them, but because I was somewhat ashamed in front of them; for it seemed to me that, when I flung myself into the most uncontrollable things with the least loyal allies, I had not sufficiently obeyed their teachings. They forgive me, they call me back to our original habits, and they say that you, because you remained loyal to them, were wiser than I. At the time of the letter, dated by Shackleton Bailey late in year 47 or early in 46, Cicero had recently returned to Rome, pardoned by Caesar, after the time spent in the limbo of Brundisium. Varro, also forgiven by Caesar, seems to have been about to return to Italy. Even the part of the letter quoted above, though primarily devoted to things intellectual, is colored by the political circumstances of the correspondents. Cicero’s phrasing results in the creation of an imagined parallel letter, which he is emphatically not writing to Varro, in which only one item is changed, the identity of veteres amici: if the reader substitutes “Caesar and Caesarians” for “books,” virtually nothing else needs to be changed for the letter to make perfect sense. Moreover, this second letter is the one Cicero might have been expected to write under the circumstances: Cicero had foolishly followed Pompey against Caesar’s friendly and explicit advice (and that of other Caesarians close to him, most notably Caelius83); the decision turned out to be disastrous; Caesar forgave him, and now, back in Rome, he was reestablishing his relationships with the Caesarians.84 The correspondences are striking, and the only exception has to do with Varro’s position vis-à-vis these amici. The unexpressed thrust of this section of the letter is precisely the fact that Cicero is not acknowledging his former and newly acquired obligations to Caesar and not apologizing for having been disloyal to them. Highlighting the importance of his relationship 83 Caelius’ letter trying to prevent Cicero from leaving Italy to follow Pompey, Fam. 8.16 (SB 153) = Att. 10.9A (SB 200A). Cf. also Fam. 8.17 (SB 156). 84 Caesar clearly saw Cicero’s decision as an affront to their amicitia, and Cicero himself realized that. On how Cicero’s amicitiae with Pompey and Caesar played into his deliberations and decisions in the run-up to civil war, see Brunt 1986.26–31. Boes argues that Cicero’s association with the Caesarians after his return is motivated primarily by his intent to change their behavior to accord with his own philosophical ideals. (Boes 1990.20–26; cf. 33 “. . . il entre apparemment dans le jeu d’hommes politiques qu’il n’approuve pas, avec l’idée . . . d’exercer sur eux une influence conforme à ses principes.”) That is excessively idealistic. While Cicero certainly did at times hope to exert some influence on policy (a tendency that culminates in the Pro Marcello), the letters reveal that overall he found his association with the Caesarians a necessary, though often humiliating, expedient. He found some consolation in his ability to exercise a limited influence, primarily in the sphere of asking Caesar to pardon exiled Pompeians.

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with books has the effect of dismissing his new state of dependence on Caesar and his men. Thus, his discussion of books becomes highly political and his return to intellectual activity is equivalent to his rejection of Caesar’s regime and his refusal to cooperate with it.85 But if we set aside the political undertones conveyed through the language Cicero uses in this passage, the letter is an explicit statement of the author’s relationship to books. In the first place, it should be noted that the books in question must be primarily philosophical: their content is referred to as teachings, praecepta, and they are imagined as passing judgment on the relative sapientia, a term that can mean both “wisdom” and “philosophy,” of their readers. The overall structure of Cicero’s relationship to these books is predicated on the necessity that he obey their teachings (paruisse): disobedience leads to disaster and shame (subpudebat). Cicero’s loyalty to Pompey’s cause is portrayed as misguided and failed, due to his misplaced fides in that relationship (infidelissimis sociis), and his refusal to reassign his loyalty, fides, to Caesar’s party is implicit. Instead, in the resulting political vacuum, books become the truly loyal amici and socii, to whom Cicero now transfers his obligations and his creative and political energies. The next two letters that Cicero addressed to Varro date to April of 46. Written a few days apart, they contain Cicero’s advice to Varro on the behavior appropriate to their changed circumstances. Varro is by now in Italy, in fact, at his Tusculan villa, and both men are contemplating moving down to the Bay of Naples. During the time between the compositions of the two letters, however, Cicero has received the news of Caesar’s victory at Thapsus, which solidified his rule and gave it a new appearance of permanence. In both letters Cicero devotes some attention to the role of literature in his life and that of his correspondent. The first focuses mainly on the changed function of intellectual pursuits in the new political circumstances: quamvis enim sint haec misera, quae sunt miserrima, tamen artes nostrae nescio quo modo nunc uberiores fructus ferre videntur quam olim ferebant, sive quia nulla nunc in re alia acquiescimus sive quod gravitas morbi facit ut medicinae egeamus eaque nunc appareat, cuius vim non sentiebamus, cum valebamus. (Fam. 9.3.2; SB 176) For though the circumstances are wretched, and wretched they are indeed, nevertheless our pursuits seem now in some way or another to bear more plentiful fruit than they once used to, either because now we 85 Pace Baier 1997.38–39, who reads the letter, as well as others from the same period, as an expression of pure resignation and pessimism. Leach’s reading of libri in this letter as standing in for Varro and their shared intellectual interest is compatible with my interpretation (1999.153–54, 165).

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find respite in nothing else, or because the severity of the disease results in our need for a remedy and that remedy comes to the fore, the strength of which we were not able to perceive while healthy. Even in times when he is barred from politics and devotes most of his energies to writing, Cicero is still not quite comfortable with acknowledging that artes are fully independent. He recognizes that his greater focus on the intellectual is due to the desperate condition of the political. Yet, as this letter shows, he is willing to find good in this forced immersion in the artes. That good is not derived from any notion of ars gratia artis, but rather from the fructus, the tangible benefit of ars, is central to his understanding of the concept. The adjective he uses for comparison, uber, “fruitful,” serves to reinforce the emphasis on productivity. The comparison is in favor of the new state: it is no surprise that the inability to engage in any other productive activity would result in increased productivity in the new area of concentration. Cicero, however, phrases this fairly intuitive conclusion with a twist: his language moves away from activity, from cultivation, to its opposite, the idea of a cessation from activity, a state of peace and repose, conveyed by acquiescimus. This first reason that he offers as an explanation of the comparative uberiores is thus paradoxical in nature: it presents inactivity so intensely concentrated that it has become productive. The only kind of fructus one might reasonably expect from pure rest is rest itself. Thus, the first alternative presented by Cicero is basically escapism, reading and writing as a means of avoiding the dreadful state of current affairs. The second alternative is quite different. Whereas the first presumed that the earlier state of affairs, when artes occupied a place alongside politics, was the better one, the second lessens the distinction between the two periods. Both are now interpreted as stages of the same disease, morbus, though the earlier period at the time appeared to be the state of health (valebamus). The difference between the two periods is not in their natures, which are basically the same, but in the strength of the disease and whether or not it is perceived as such by the sufferers. This second account is decidedly more favorable to the artes and their potential contribution. As the disease intensifies and is revealed as such to its victims, medicine is applied, with the result that the state becomes qualitatively different; it becomes a state of health. The political undertones place a grave burden on the task of writing, the same burden that is cited in the prefaces to the philosophica: writing, according to Cicero, has the ability to restore the health of the state. On this interpretation, then, characterizing activity as a remedy is not an indication of its insignificance but on the contrary, of its potential power. Such a characterization is not then part of the escapist model of writing, as becomes especially clear in this

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particular case where the genuinely escapist possibility, that intellectual life provides mere rest, is offered as an alternative to its function as remedy. The same themes are treated at greater length in the following letter, when the severity of the disease, to take up Cicero’s metaphor, can be said to have increased, with Caesar now virtually unopposed: modo nobis stet illud, una vivere in studiis nostris, a quibus antea delectationem modo petebamus, nunc vero etiam salutem; non deesse si quis adhibere volet, non modo ut architectos verum etiam ut fabros, ad aedificandam rem publicam, et potius libenter accurrere; si nemo utetur opera, tamen et scribere et legere politeiva~ et, si minus in curia atque in foro, at in litteris et libris, ut doctissimi veteres fecerunt, navare86 rem publicam et de moribus ac legibus quaerere. (Fam. 9.2.5: SB 177) Only let this be fixed: to live together in our pursuits, from which before we sought only pleasure, but now also safety; not to fail, if someone wants to summon us, not only as architects, but also as builders for building up the republic, and rather, to respond to the summons with swiftness and joy; if no one should make use of our labor, nonetheless both to read and write “Republics” and, if less so in the senate house and the forum, then in letters and books, as the most learned of the ancients did, to devote ourselves to the republic and to explore questions about customs and laws. The subject is here approached from a different angle: in the previous letter, Cicero’s focus was on the artes and their changed function under the new circumstances. In this letter, concentration is on the people, Cicero and Varro, and the aim is to outline a future life plan for them given the newly strengthened regime. Whatever the approach, however, the outcome is largely the same: the future as Cicero sees it is limited to the intellectual, since he is excluded from participating in the usual political life. The characterization of intellectual pursuits, studiis nostris, realigns the metaphors used in the first letter. Cicero concentrates now on the temporal development of the function of intellectual activity: from its earlier hobby-like status of simply providing pleasure (delectationem), it has acquired a new health-giving role as medicine (salutem). The earlier stage is thus analogous to the first alternative offered in the previous letter, that of artes providing rest.87 Cicero’s choice thus rests with the interpretation of intellectual pursuits as medicine, the stronger of the two alternatives. 86 On

the textual issues surrounding this reading, see Hunt 1981.219. Cicero’s account of the role of literature during the earlier period, in the Pro Archia, where it is presented in part as a source for oratory, but also, importantly, as a way for the statesman to relax in preparation for his more important political commitments. 87 Cf.

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A continuing involvement with books is the first element of the future life as Cicero outlines it for himself and his correspondent.88 What might follow will depend on external factors, on whether an undetermined external agent (quis) is going to call upon them to participate in the rebuilding of the commonwealth. It is interesting at this point to speculate about the identity of this agent. Two main possibilities suggest themselves. The first is that Caesar, now that the civil conflict is virtually over and his rule is unchallenged, will be inclined to return the state to its earlier pattern of governance and, as he has done in his other endeavors, invite men like Cicero to participate. That Cicero felt this was possible during this period is attested by his speech Pro Marcello, delivered in September of 46, only a few months after this letter was written, in which he outlines the steps Caesar would need to undertake to set the country back on track.89 A second possibility foresees the opposite situation. It is predicated on the absence of Caesar from the political scene. Though Cicero was unaware of the actual conspiracy, his hints at Brutus’ tyrannicidal lineage indicate that he was aware of and encouraging of that option. Ultimately, the indeterminate nature of quis seems appropriate, as Cicero’s main hope and goal is the restoration of the republic, as he understands it; the exact manner in which it is to be accomplished is secondary. Thus, in the hoped-for event that they are called upon to rebuild their former world, the role that Cicero and Varro are to play is clear: with the status quo reinstated, they would return to their accustomed political occupations as members of the governing elite. The alternative, that quis 88 Kronenberg 2009.89 reads this passage as Cicero’s exhoration to Varro to imitate him in a more practically oriented use of scholarship, and reads De Re Rustica (ch. 5) as Varro’s “polemical response” to this exhortation with a treatise that is “a parody of political philosophy,” with De Re Publica among his main targets. 89 On Pro Marcello, see Gotoff 1993 and Leach 1999.163–65; for the common view that the speech was intended to influence Caesar, see Cipriani 1977. Dyer 1990 and Gagliardi 1997 have argued for an ironic reading of the speech as we have it; to their thinking, its intention is to arouse the indignatio of the nobiles. Based on this interpretation, they date the composition of the surviving speech to mid 45. In that framework the surviving text of the Pro Marcello is not a reflection of what Cicero actually said in the senate in September of 46, and thus cannot tell us anything about Cicero’s attitude towards Caesar and his regime during that period. If that is true, for an account of what transpired during the senate meeting we have to rely on Cicero’s letter, in which he informs his correspondent, Servius Sulpicius Rufus, that he felt inspired by what he perceived to be the meaning of the occasion to express his gratitude to Caesar for pardoning Marcellus, an expression of magnitudo animi—still the most positive attitude towards Caesar on Cicero’s part during the post–civil war period. Cicero was certainly tempted to detect long-term political implications in Caesar’s act: ita mihi pulcher hic dies visus est, ut speciem aliquam viderer videre quasi reviviscentis rei publicae, “this day appeared to me to be so beautiful that I seemed to see some image of the republic as if in the process of recovery” (Fam. 4.4; SB 203). In response to Dyer, Winterbottom 2002 argues that a “straight” reading of the speech is consistent with Cicero’s sentiments at the time.

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does not materialize and things continue as they are, remaining, in the words of the previous letter, most wretched, miserrima, is clearly more realistic, especially immediately after Thapsus. Cicero’s statement here is one of his clearest on the function of intellectual activity as a substitute for the traditional public activity. The transition is built on the word republic, res publica, and its Greek equivalent, politeiva. A standard term for the state and the constitution, it is also the title of a number of philosophical works, most notably Plato’s Republic and Cicero’s De Re Publica, modeled after the former, but also of Aristotle’s works describing the government of various Greek citystates. In a typical rhetorical move, Cicero creates a temporary identity between a republic that one can govern and a Republic that one can read or write.90 The implication is that, as was the case with the Greek treatises and Cicero’s own earlier writings, any work that bears on the subject of government, be it descriptive, like Aristotle’s, or utopian, like Plato’s (Cicero’s De Re Publica, focusing on the actual Roman republic with an idealizing slant, can be said to be a combination of the two modes91), is inevitably itself political. Therein lies the significance of Cicero’s choice of a work to mention in this context. He could have made a more general reference to reading and writing, leaving open the possibility that he intended a real withdrawal from the political. Choosing to refer to an overtly political work as his example indicates his refusal to withdraw and his commitment to pursuing the political in so far as he is able.

The Consolation of Philosophy An issue that remains to be treated is the significant number of references, in both the letters and the treatises themselves, to the writing of philosophical works as cures, designed to lessen the author’s personal suffering.92 These references have on occasion been used to suggest that Cicero did not always view his works’ potential impact on the readers as the preeminent, or even a significant, goal in composing them. References to grief and the role of philosophy in relieving it have been used to transfer the focus onto Cicero and his own psychological state. This has allowed for an interpretation of the treatises as self-directed and even selfindulgent, and has contributed to giving less weight to the other reasons 90 Cf. Moatti 1997.159–61. See Stroup 2010.161–67 on Cicero’s transformation of oratorical performance into a textual act, performed in a “paper forum,” in the Brutus. 91 On De Re Publica, a dialogue that due to the time of its composition lies outside the bounds of this study, see Zetzel 1995, with bibliography. 92 On the discussion of grief in the Tusculans and its relationship to Cicero’s personal experience, see Erskine 1997, Koch 2006, Gildenhard 2007, Lefèvre 2008.

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for his writing that Cicero advances in the prefaces, such as their role as an effective substitute for traditional political activity and their potential political impact.93 There are many reasons to disagree with such an interpretation. I have already discussed one of these references, in Ad Familiares 9.3, where the comparison of literary production to medicine is not an indication of its limitations, but, on the contrary, a sign that Cicero sees it as a potentially powerful tool capable of restoring the republic to a state of political health. It is undoubtedly the case, however, that not all such references can be so interpreted. In many instances it is clear that Cicero does mean the kind of medicine that can be expected to provide only temporary relief, not the sort that would restore health altogether. My goal in this section is to provide an interpretation that, without denying the real emotional content that may lie behind such references in the treatises and the letters, gives an account of their significance in terms of their rhetorical function by analyzing the timing and context of their occurrences in the letters. First of all, it is important to counter an incorrect assumption that lies behind the view that personal grief is Cicero’s primary motivation in writing the philosophical works of 45 and 44. There is a tendency to assume that, whenever Cicero makes references to grief and to writing and philosophy as the medicines that relieve it, the grief in question is over the death of his daughter, Tullia.94 That Tullia’s death was a severe blow to her father, and one from which he took a long time to recover, is undeniable.95 But the references to grief and remedy are by no means confined 93 That Cicero wrote philosophical works in large part to relieve his own emotional distress is a commonplace found in most general discussions of Cicero’s philosophical corpus, as well as in discussions of specific philosophical issues in the treatises that begin with a brief account of the corpus and its goals. The view is particularly prevalent in the older scholarship, but can also be found in more recent work: e.g., Fuhrmann 1992.157: “This fateful blow [Tullia’s death] impelled him to concern himself more seriously with philosophy, to seek a refuge in it, and to give his life a new footing and a new substance throughout,” with reference to Ac. 1.11; Dyck 2003.2 on De Natura Deorum: “But the causa efficiens for this as for most of his philosophical writing was the death of his beloved daughter Tullia in childbirth in mid-February 45”; S. White 1995.223–25; Baier 1997.38–40: “Philosophie als Trost.” Cf. also introductions to the translations of, respectively, De Finibus and De Officiis, in the “Cambridge Texts in the History of Philosophy” and “Cambridge Texts in the History of Political Thought” series, Annas 2001.ix and Griffin and Adkins.ix. The inference that personal grief is an important motivating factor is legitimate in the case of a work like the Tusculans that deals with grief (see, e.g., Erskine 1997). Henderson 2006 reads the works arising directly from Cicero’s grief as the ultimate test of philosophy’s efficacy. 94 On Tullia’s life and her relationship with her father, see now Treggiari 2007, esp. 136–42 on the aftermath of her death. 95 A long time by Roman standards, as the flow of letters rebuking Cicero for prolonging his mourning, some of which I will discuss later on in this section, testifies.

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to the period following her death in February 45. In fact, many letters written before that date contain the theme and treat it in the same general manner as the letters that followed the event. The grief referred to in those earlier letters is caused by the political situation, the overturning of the traditional republican government, and is thus analogous to the political disease referred to in Ad Familiares 9.2, rather than to the personal experience of parental loss found in the letters that follow Tullia’s death.96 Once that is taken into account, the interpretation of Cicero’s philosophical activity as primarily a cure for personal pain becomes difficult to uphold. We might imagine a man overcome by his daughter’s unexpected death looking for distraction and poring over books that seem to promise that her soul will be immortal, and then working out such arguments for himself (and Cicero is in that position in the months immediately following Tullia’s death). However, such “psychological” engagement with philosophy is not the one invoked when the condition to be alleviated is a state of political ill health that came into being and revealed its implications only gradually. The fact that the lost Hortensius, a treatise that formed an essential part of Cicero’s philosophical project of the forties, was begun before Tullia’s death provides further support for this interpretation.97 It is more plausible, both based on the evidence, and on psychological grounds, that after his daughter’s death the project that had been already conceived and begun as a result of other motivations took on an additional personal dimension as a source of relief.98 Acknowledging the possibility of this additional psychological motive is not, however, equivalent to denying the existence and the importance of the motivational nexus that was in place prior to Cicero’s loss.99 Examination of the contexts in which individual references to writing and philosophy as sources of consolation are found will allow us to decide whether they are consistent with the notion that the self-consolatory impulse is the most significant element among the reasons that Cicero presents. 96 Parallels

between the perception of personal loss and the perception of political disaster are revealed by the fact that letters of consolation were exchanged not only in the case of the loss of a child (as Servius Sulpicius Rufus to Cicero, Fam. 4.5 [SB 248]; Cicero to Titius, Fam. 5.16 [SB 187]; Lucceius to Cicero, Fam. 5.14 [SB 251]); but also to bemoan the demoralizing state of public affairs (Cicero to Servius Sulpicius Rufus, Fam. 4.3 [SB 202]); many letters written to Pompeians in exile contain elements of consolatio as well. 97 For the date of Hortensius, see Ruch 1958b.35–37 and Bringmann 1971.90–93. Cf. Brittain 2006.ix–x, with n.4. 98 Cf. the analysis of Bringmann 1971, esp. 96. 99 Cf. Gildenhard’s (2007.58–59) sensitive analysis of Cicero’s double motivation in the preface to the Academica.

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Many of the references to alleviation of grief as a motivation for writing are found in letters of consolation, and that in itself is significant.100 One of the most extensive treatments of the theme is in a letter to Servius Sulpicius Rufus, Ad Familiares 4.3 (SB 202), written in September of 46. At the beginning of the letter Cicero identifies what motivates him to address Servius with a consolation: he has heard that Servius was handling the changed political situation quite badly, taking it more to heart than others in the same position.101 After exhorting Servius to find consolation in his noble actions and the high opinions of his fellow-citizens, Cicero proceeds to discuss internal sources of consolation. The stated goal of the letter is to alleviate Servius’ depression by indicating the kinds of solacia that have been helpful to Cicero himself, namely, intellectual activity.102 Yet he appears to assign this pursuit such limited scope that it might seem to support the view that Cicero saw his own practice of philosophy as personally, but not politically, significant: quare non equidem te moneo, sed mihi ita persuasi, te quoque in iisdem versari rebus, quae etiam si minus prodessent, animum tamen a sollicitudine abducerent. (Fam. 4.3.4; SB 202) Therefore I do not indeed advise you, but have thus persuaded myself, that you also are engaged in the same things which, although they were of less benefit, nonetheless would lead your spirit away from anxiety. However, it is important not to take this passage out of context: the stated purpose of the letter, a consolatio, was to relieve Servius’ mental state of extreme distress, sollicitudo. The last sentence devoted to the main topic of the letter, before Cicero moves on to briefly mention Servius’ son, 100 On letters of consolation, see Wilcox 2005a. The discussion in Ochs 1993 is brief and is subsidiary to the main focus of the book on funerary ritual and customs. The discussion in Fern 1941, aimed at defining ancient consolation as a genre, has been rendered less useful by modern genre theory. A classic discussion of ancient literary consolation is Kassel 1958. 101 vehementer te esse sollicitum et in communibus miseriis praecipuo quodam dolore angi multi ad nos quotidie deferent, “We have been receiving daily reports from many that you are gravely disturbed and, at a time of common misery, are tormented by a certain private grief” (Fam. 4.3.1; SB 202). 102 hactenus existimo nostram consolationem recte adhibitam esse, quoad certior ab homine amicissimo fieres iis de rebus quibus levari possent molestiae tuae. reliqua sunt in te ipso neque mihi ignota nec minima solacia, aut quidem ego sentio, multo maxima. quae ego experiens cottidie sic probo ut ea mihi salutem adferre videantur, “Thus far I believe that my consolation has been correctly administered, in as far as you were informed by a man most friendly to you about those matters which could provide relief for your troubles. The remaining sources of consolation are to be found in you yourself; they are not unknown to me, and are by no means negligible, and in fact, I think, much greater. As I experience them on a daily basis, I find them so effective that they appear to bring me a means of deliverance” (Fam.4.3.3; SB 202).

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completes a perfect kuklos. It looks back to the beginning of the first sentence (vehementer te esse sollicitum) and is meant to emphasize that the letter has fulfilled its function and that Cicero has thus done his duty as a friend in providing Servius with a way to console himself and improve his mental condition. The intended function of the letter accounts for Cicero’s choice in representing his own intellectual activity as having a limited, primarily consolatory, significance: he focuses on the benefits of philosophy that Servius, whose interest in the field is more limited (his main intellectual focus is the study of jurisprudence), could be expected to share fully. That Cicero regularly adapts his rhetoric to his addressee is well demonstrated by another letter of consolation, to Aulus Manlius Torquatus, who was then living in exile in Athens, Ad Familiares 6.1 (SB 242). The motivation for this letter, written in the beginning of year 45, is identical to that of the letter to Servius Sulpicius Rufus: Cicero has heard that Torquatus is bearing his situation badly.103 Yet in the case of Torquatus, there are no shared interests in literature and philosophy, and so Cicero does not offer intellectual pursuits as a way to heal. Quite the contrary, very much in contrast to the letter to Servius and those to Varro, he explicitly denies their ability to provide consolation and instead commends the strength of Torquatus’ spirit and assures him that he has committed no wrong: cuius tanti mali [communis periculi rei publicae], quamvis docti viri multa dicant, tamen vereor ne consolatio nulla possit vera reperiri praeter illam quae tanta est quantum in cuiusque animo roboris est atque nervorum: si enim bene sentire recteque facere satis est ad bene beateque vivendum, vereor ne eum qui se optimorum consiliorum conscientia sustentare possit miserum esse nefas sit dicere. (Fam. 6.1.3; SB 242) And of this, so great, an evil [the general danger to the republic], although the learned men say many things, I nonetheless fear that no true consolation can be found except that, which is only so great as the strength and vigor of each man’s spirit: for if thinking well and acting properly is sufficient for a good and happy life, I fear that it is not right to call that man wretched who can sustain himself by the consciousness that his intentions were of the best kind. 103 haec

eo scripsi quod mihi Philargyrus tuus omnia de te requirenti fidelissimo animo, ut mihi quidem visus est, narravit te interdum sollicitum solere esse vehementius, “I wrote these things because your Philargyrus, when I asked to know everything about you, told me, as it seemed to me because of his loyalty to you, that every now and then you have been deeply disturbed” (Fam. 6.1.6; SB 242).

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The rhetoric of writing as a remedy does indeed reach its peak in the letters written following Tullia’s death. With one exception, all of these are addressed to Atticus, and it is thus in the most intimate and private of Cicero’s writing that we find this imagery.104 Even in the letters to Atticus, its use is limited to a couple of months immediately following Cicero’s stay with Atticus during his worst period of grief. In the period from March to May Cicero relies more and more on his claim that writing provides a necessary medicine. He finds that he now needs to fend off criticism, Atticus’ own and that of others, reported by Atticus, that he is taking an excessively long time to recover from a domestic misfortune. Cicero’s response is twofold: on the one hand, in an appeal to Atticus as a close friend he emphasizes the need for healing and the ability of literary occupation to provide it, implying that he will return to a more active life that would satisfy Atticus once the process of healing is complete; on the other hand, by providing Atticus with things to say in response when others criticize him, he underscores the fact that writing itself is an activity that shows that he has in fact sufficiently and respectably recovered from his grief and now has energy to occupy himself with important tasks. A letter that deals very directly with his grief for Tullia and literature’s role in Cicero’s recovery is Ad Familiares 5.15 (SB 252). Written in May 45, it is a response to Lucius Lucceius’ epistolary summons to abandon grief, a letter-consolatio that, like remarks reported by Atticus, contains within it rather harsh criticism of Cicero’s prolonged mourning.105 In defending himself against Lucceius’ censure, Cicero chooses to foreground writing as a new type of remedy, one appropriate to the new political circumstances in which they find themselves. He agrees with Lucceius’ feeling that the appropriate reaction to loss is to return, after a short period of mourning, to active life, but he disagrees with him on what would constitute appropriate activity: illius tanti vulneris quae remedia esse debebant ea nulla sunt. quid enim? ad amicosne confugiam? quam multi sunt? Habuimus enim fere communis; quorum alii occiderunt, alii nescio quo pacto obduruerunt. . . . sed casu nescio quo in ea tempora nostra aetas incidit ut, cum maxime florere nos oporteret, tum vivere etiam puderet. quod enim esse poterat mihi perfugium spoliato et domesticis et forensibus ornamentis atque solaciis? litterae, credo. quibus utor assidue; quid enim aliud facere possum? sed nescio quo modo ipsae illae excludere me a portu et perfugio videntur et quasi exprobrare quod in ea vita maneam in qua nihil 104 Att. 12.14 (SB 251), 12 20 (SB 258), 12.21 (SB 260), 12.28 (SB 267), March 45; 12.38a (SB 279), May 45. 105 My reading of the tone on both sides of this exchange differs from that of Wilcox 2005a.244–46, who sees it as the least competitive of all the letters that she considers.

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insit nisi propagatio miserrimi temporis. Hic tu me abesse urbe miraris, in qua domus nihil delectare possit, summum sit odium temporum, hominum, fori, curiae? itaque sic litteris utor, in quibus consumo omne tempus, non ut ab iis medicinam perpetuam, sed ut exiguam oblivionem doloris petam. (Ad Fam. 5.15.1–4; SB 252) The remedies that ought to have been there for such a great wound do not exist. For what shall I do? Run to friends for help? How numerous are they? For we had most of our friends in common, of whom some have fallen, others for whatever reason have grown harsh. . . . But as a result of some misfortune, our age has fallen into such a state that, at a time when we ought to be flourishing, it is shameful even to be alive; for what could be a refuge for me, stripped of all the sources of pride, both private and public? Literature, I believe, which I am occupied with constantly, for what else could I do? But somehow even it seems to shut me out of haven and refuge, as if to reproach me for remaining in that life in which nothing exists but prolongation of a most wretched time. And yet do you wonder that I stay away from the city, in which my home could offer me no delights, and the hatred of the times, the men, the forum, and the senate house, is overwhelming? So I spend all my time with books, not to find permanent relief, but some forgetfulness of my grief. Apart from the implied accusation that Lucceius is not acting as a good enough friend to justify the way in which he addressed Cicero, the focus of the letter is to demonstrate that different responses to grief are appropriate at different times. Lucceius’ ideal response, Cicero indicates, belongs to a time now past, in which the public sphere was truly open and provided opportunity for distractions. Cicero’s own response is represented as more in tune with the times than the course advocated by Lucceius; namely, that a man of Cicero’s stature should immerse himself in activity beneficial to the state, a consciousness of performing useful actions being an essential element in overcoming grief.106 Cicero, in fact, does not disagree with this basic principle. He instead points out that Lucceius is mistaken concerning where the proper sphere for such activity is located. As in many other contexts, Cicero argues that writing philosophy is the only possible substitute for the traditional public business of a free republic. Yet literature is depicted as a less efficient substitute here than in many other places, especially in the prefaces to the 106 For

an example of such traditional behavior at a different time, cf. the speech of Lucius Aemilius Paulus following the death of two of his sons, one before and one after his Macedonian triumph: hanc cladem domus meae vestra felicitas et secunda fortuna publica consolatur, “your happiness and the good fortune of the state console me for this destruction of my household” (Livy 45.41.12).

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treatises, and even that degree of help is qualified by Cicero’s reference to a gap between the ideals expressed in what one reads and the realities of one’s life. The reason why Cicero depicts literature in this letter as a less effective substitute lies in part in his estimate of Lucceius’ reaction. He assumes that Lucceius has limited trust in the utility of philosophy in the public sphere, and is therefore unlikely to accept such a substitution. The mention of shared pursuits refers to Lucceius’ own activity as a writer of history. But history-writing alongside active public life is a well-established traditional model, quite different from Cicero’s solitary engagement with philosophy, and so Cicero accordingly downgrades his claims for philosophy. At the same time, the rhetoric of this letter, taken together with his contemporary correspondence with Atticus, points to the fact that at the height of his grief Cicero is looking to books and writing to assuage his private grief. Many of the contemporary letters to Atticus in fact show that his intellectual pursuits are failing to console him, that only the building of a shrine to his daughter would be able to help him in his grief.107 Both in the treatises and the letters, depending on the correspondent, there is a strong strand of apologia in Cicero’s presentation of his engagement with philosophy in general, and with the production and publication of the treatises in particular, that clearly aims to counteract Roman distrust of philosophy, and intellectual activity more generally, as an occupation. One of his self-justificatory devices is to present, in addition to the politically and philosophically grounded reasons for his undertaking, a number of “softer” motivations that fall within the traditional framework of elite activity.108 An appeal to grief is exactly such an additional reason. The perceived incompatibility between the pursuit of philosophy and public service is what will likely arouse distrust toward Cicero’s claims for the political potential of his philosophical undertakings. A reason for writing that is based on the personal feelings of grief and dislocation will counteract that potential hostility by locating his motivation for the project and, implicitly, its goals, within the more personal sphere of the author’s life. Such a shift relieves some of the anxiety provoked by the public claims: a multiplicity of causes diminishes the importance of any single one, and 107 Focus on the shrine combined with rejection of writing as only fostering grief, Att. 12.18 (SB 254); shrine as the only consolation, Att. 12.41 (SB 283). Erskine 1997.38 suggests that the shrine may not have been built because Cicero was dissuaded by his “further reading of philosophical literature.” Given Cicero’s familiarity with consolatory literature prior to his loss and his extensive reading at the time when he focuses on the shrine, it appears more likely that this obsessive project, a way of coping with the loss at its most acute, gradually lost its urgency. 108 In addition to explicit reasons that he expected to be more acceptable to his audience, Cicero uses a number of rhetorical strategies that implicitly place the treatises into a traditional framework of elite male activity. I discuss these strategies in chapters four and five.

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those readers who feel that philosophy is inappropriate in the public sphere may be more comfortable with the corpus if given a way to see it as springing from the author’s personal situation.109 There is, moreover, a pattern in how the different motivations for writing philosophy presented in the prefaces are distributed through the letters; critical is Cicero’s judgment as to how sympathetic to philosophy each addressee is likely to be. In the treatises, by contrast, there is an accumulation of reasons, for Cicero must address multiple readers at the same time. It is the case, however, that the intense grief Cicero experienced following Tullia’s death did play a definite a role in his philosophical preoccupations and production. It certainly induced him to write his philosophical Consolatio. What we know of that work, which survives only in fragments, only serves to confirm a distinction between the primary motivations for its composition from that of the other treatises. There is a built-in circularity in the dedicatory status of the Consolatio: it is addressed to the author himself,110 and therefore enclosed within the private sphere in a way that no other treatise is. The need for self-justification and image building that plays such an important part in the other treatises is consequently significantly diminished. This work is also singled out in the retrospective account of the philosophical corpus found in the preface to book two of De Divinatione: in the case of the other treatises, their contents and their position within the overall corpus are highlighted; but when it comes to the Consolatio, Cicero seems at a loss for words and emphasizes only its medicinal function: nam quid ego de Consolatione dicam? quae mihi quidem ipsi sane aliquantum medetur, ceteris item multum illam profuturam puto. (Div. 2.3) For what should I say about the Consolatio? Which certainly heals me to some extent, and in a similar way I think it will be of much benefit to the rest. Like the other treatises, the Consolatio is destined for publication and expected to play a positive role in the lives of readers. The difference lies 109 Public

claims are applicable to all, and can easily be perceived as imposing on the audience Cicero’s innovative, and potentially suspect, way of dealing with issues of consequence to the state through philosophical means. 110 The device of the author depicting himself as the reader of his own treatises is used also in the preface to De Senectute, where, since Cicero presents himself as the dedicatee’s fellow-traveler through old age, he can speak of the readers’ projected reading experience based on his own experience in both composing and reading this dialogue. Yet in De Senectute the fact that two readers, the author and the dedicatee, are present introduces the notion that readers differ and that the material should be presented in a way that is widely applicable. This kind of opportunity for broadening the applicability of the work would be absent in the Consolatio.

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in the areas of life to which it is expected to contribute. The rest of the corpus is addressed to the Roman elite primarily in their capacity as citizens and is meant to have public implications; the orientation of the Consolatio is confined to their private lives. •

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Two main points have emerged from the discussion of references to philosophy and writing in Cicero’s letters. First, while he often claims that literary activity is a means of withdrawal from politics, the analysis of his actual discussion of such activity in the letters reveals that it is fundamentally politicized: it responds to the current political situation and intends to influence the future of the state. In both treatises and letters, then, Cicero blurs the traditional boundary between the political and philosophical spheres. The extent to which philosophy is integral to his thinking about questions that arise in the public arena grows over time in parallel to the deterioration of political conditions. Similarly, the idea that philosophy could offer a viable alternative to public engagement is presented in increasingly strong terms. Second, it has become clear that the references to intellectual activity in the letters do not present a stable picture, but are painstakingly adapted to the author’s perception of the addressee’s character and expectations as well as to Cicero’s own specific goals. The rhetorical transformation that takes place from one letter to another is particularly significant in the case of a potentially controversial subject, such as philosophy in fact was in the elite Roman context. Against this background of conflicting needs and competing claims, the task of Cicero’s prefaces—presenting his philosophical project to a far from uniform readership—appears daunting indeed. The following chapters will discuss some of Cicero’s strategies in managing the challenge of an indeterminate audience.

CHAPTER THREE

The Gift of Philosophy THE TREATISES AS TRANSLATIONS Translation is service. David Constantine When you offer a translation to a nation, that nation will almost always look on the translation as an act of violence against itself. Victor Hugo . . . by what means were [the Romans] able so to enrich their language, indeed to make it almost the equal of Greek? By imitating the best Greek authors, transforming themselves into them, devouring them, and, after having thoroughly digested them, converting them into blood and nourishment, selecting, each according to his own nature and the topic he wished to choose, the best author, all of whose rarest and most exquisite strengths they diligently observed, and, like shoots, grafted them . . . and adapted them to their own language. Joachim de Bellay

The previous chapter discussed the role that philosophy played in Cicero’s correspondence with a focus on the period in which the philosophical corpus was produced. We saw how Cicero tried to integrate philosophy into his politically charged deliberations and relationships. With this chapter, I shift my investigation to the corpus itself. Here it is the introduction of politics into the realm of philosophy, and the cultural and social issues in which such integration is necessarily implicated that will be of primary importance. In the prefaces to most of his philosophical treatises, Cicero is explicit on the subject of the treatises’ potential political and social benefits. His repeated assertion of this claim shows clearly that he saw it as critical to justifying his project before the Roman public. The connection between philosophy and Roman political life, however, is by no means obvious, given the marginal status of the discipline,

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and of intellectual activity more generally in Roman society (discussed in chapter 1). An examination of Cicero’s presentation of this connection and its potential effects on the ailing body of the republic will be revealing, then, in a number of ways. In the first place, Cicero’s account of his goals and motivations will demonstrate what he sees as some of the reasons behind the republic’s calamitous condition and how he conceives of his introduction of philosophy as a response designed to remedy those troubles. Moreover, the fact that these issues are presented explicitly, unlike a number of other, more embedded strategies that will be discussed in the following chapters, indicates that he expects a fairly broad portion of his intended audience to be in agreement with his analysis of the problems and willing to entertain the solutions that he proposes. Given Cicero’s skill at putting to use all available resources to manage the opinions and prejudices of his audience to his advantage, a skill so amply demonstrated in his speeches and letters, it is safe to say that what the prefaces contain is the most persuasive case one could make to a Roman audience on behalf of philosophy. As such, it is of great importance for broadening our understanding of the place of philosophy in late-republican Roman discourse. At the center of Cicero’s claims about his project as a service to the state is the idea of translation. None of the philosophical works are translations in the strict sense of the word. They are the product of Cicero’s synthesis, adaptation, and rewriting of a multiplicity of Greek philosophical texts and ideas, but Cicero is acutely aware that it is the status of his works as translations from the Greek that will most influence his audience’s reception of them.1 As a work of translation, Cicero’s project is inherently contradictory. It lies at an uneasy middle ground between domesticating and foreignizing translation.2 Cicero’s intention is undoubtedly domesticating: he appropriates and molds the Greek material, illustrates it with Roman examples, puts it in the mouths of great Romans of the past and links it, though allusion and rhetoric, to Roman practices and Roman literature. What he envisions is an incorporation of Greek philosophy, as reconceived by him, into the cultural arsenal of the Roman elite.3 Yet the 1 On translation as rewriting, see Lefevere 1992, esp. ch. 1. On the difficulties inherent in translating philosophy in the modern world, see Ree 2001, whose discussion helps put in perspective criticisms of Cicero’s failings in transmitting Greek ideas to readers of later periods. 2 “Domesticating translation” aims at fluency and the seamless transfer of a source language text, along with its cultural values, into the target language. “Foreignizing translation” emphasizes the differences, both linguistic and cultural, between the two languages. For a discussion, see Venuti 1995, ch.1. 3 Cf. Venuti 1998.68 on the role of translation in forming cultural identity: “As translation constructs a domestic representation for a foreign text and culture, it simultaneously

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very novelty of his undertaking necessarily involves the creation of new words and the use of existing words in new ways.4 Such stretching of the language cannot help but have a foreignizing effect on the reader.5 The resulting ambivalent nature of the enterprise6 is reflected in Cicero’s negotiations with his fragmented readership7 on the meaning and value of translation.8 The themes that appear repeatedly in the explicit self-justificatory passages of the prefaces, and that will occupy me in this chapter, are encapsulated in the following section of the preface to book one of De Natura Deorum. This passage will thus serve as a convenient starting point for the discussion. On a general level, Cicero here presents the philosophical project as a fulfillment of his civic duty; and, more specifically, he highconstructs a domestic subject, a position of intelligibility that is also an ideological position, informed by codes and canons, interests and agendas of certain domestic social groups.” Habinek 1994 analyzes Cicero’s strategy of appropriating Greek culture as presented in his prefaces as “ideology for an empire”; cf. Gildenhard 2007.75–78 on Cicero’s aggressive stance towards Greece in the Tusculans. 4 Cicero’s creation of a new philosophical vocabulary is discussed by Powell 1995c.288–97. Cf. Ree 2001.247, who describes Cicero’s achievement as creating “a half-Greek enclave within Latin, for the purpose of discussing philosophy.” 5 Cicero tries to mitigate this effect: cf. Powell’s (1995c.291) comments on Cicero’s tendency to explain his neologisms to the reader. 6 For a discussion of the contradictions in Cicero’s theory of translation and especially the terms he uses to describe his activity in the prefaces to Orat. and Opt. Gen., see Robinson 1992.19–34. For a discussion of Roman theories of translation in the academic framework of grammar and rhetoric, see Copeland 1991, ch. 1. 7 On fragmented readership cf. Venuti 1998.22 “. . . a translation discourse, even when cooperatively described in an introductory statement, can divide readerships.” On the importance of prefaces, Simon 1990.112: “At different moments in history, translations have been particularly closely linked to national political aspirations and prefaces are a revelation of this link.” 8 The aspects of translation of importance to my discussion are primarily cultural. Though the line between linguistic and cultural is hard to draw, I will not be concerned here, for the most part, with the more technical aspects of translation. The literature on the subject of Latin translation in general and in Cicero in particular is daunting. A study that treats the relationship between Latin and Greek, and issues of translation from a sociolinguistic point of view is Fögen 2000; 77–105 on Cicero’s philosophical works (with an extensive bibliography). Fögen’s study is informed by contemporary linguistics, as is the work of Dubuisson and Rochette. Some of the earlier scholarship relied too comfortably on the Roman authors’ self-deprecating statements about the deficiencies of their language, notably Poncelet 1957, the goal of whose book is to show that Latin is in fact inferior to Greek as a means of expressing abstract thought. For a response to Poncelet, see also Douglas 1962, Powell 1995c 284–88. Powell 1995c is a useful overview of the various facets of Cicero the translator. A concise overview of the evidence on different types of translation in Rome is Kytzler 1989. A useful account of Roman language interactions with Greek that treats a wide variety of language contact, including translation, is Kaimio 1979. See also Adams 2003 on bilingualism.

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lights the act of translating philosophy from Greek into Latin9 as a significant part of the benefit he expects the civic body and the state to derive from this undertaking: sin autem quis requirit quae causa nos inpulerit ut haec tam sero litteris mandaremus, nihil est quod expedire tam facile possimus. nam cum otio langueremus et is esset rei publicae status, ut eam unius consilio atque cura gubernari necesse esset, primum ipsius rei publicae causa philosophiam nostris hominibus explicandam putavi, magni existimans interesse ad decus et ad laudem civitatis res tam gravis tamque praeclaras Latinis etiam litteris contineri. eoque me minus instituti mei paenitet, quod facile sentio quam multorum non modo discendi, sed etiam scribendi studia commoverim. complures enim Graecis institutionibus eruditi ea quae didicerant cum civibus suis communicare non poterant, quod illa quae a Graecis accepissent Latine dici posse diffiderent; quo in genere tantum profecisse videmur, ut a Graecis ne verborum quidem copia vinceremur. (N.D. 1.7–8) But if anyone further asks what cause moved me to entrust these matters to writing so late, there is nothing that I could explain so easily as that. For at a time when I was weary from lack of activity and the state of the republic was such that it was necessary for it to be ruled through the planning and caring of one man, I thought that, in the first place, for the sake of the republic itself philosophy had to be set forth before our men, since I think that it is of great importance for the glory and good reputation of the state to have such weighty and noble matters expressed in Latin. And I regret my decision all the less since I easily perceive that I have moved many to the pursuit not only of learning, but also of writing. For very many men who had received a Greek education were unable to share what they had learned with their fellow citizens because they had no confidence in their ability to express in Latin what they had been taught by the Greeks; and in this respect I seem to have made so much progress that we are not surpassed by the Greeks even in the abundance of words. The first section of this passage presents the twofold and interconnected reasons behind the philosophical project. The state of the republic under one-man rule and Cicero’s resulting loss of place in the traditional, nowderelict republican machinery, lead him to posit an explicit link between philosophy and the well-being of the republic. Cicero is diplomatic here in his description of the current political situation, ascribing it to necessity. The evidence of his contemporary correspondence, however, makes 9 See Sedley 1998, esp. ch. 2, on how a similar challenge is handled by the very different philosophical voice of Lucretius.

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it overwhelmingly clear that he saw Caesar’s rule as disgraceful and humiliating.10 This perception can be seen as largely responsible for the language that he employs to describe the arena in which philosophy is expected to contribute to the republic: instead of claiming that it will produce (or restore) a healthy state, he expects it to be productive of laus (praise) and decus (glory or dignity). This choice of words does not directly challenge the idea that Caesar’s rule will continue, but for those who, like Cicero, see it as dishonorable and improper, a republic worthy of praise is surely a republic restored and free from autocracy. References to the future laus and decus that will follow on Cicero’s introduction of philosophy into Roman society point, then, to their absence at the time of writing and to the need for their reestablishment.11 The content of the project is next described in terms that are consistent with this presentation of its objective. The adjectives Cicero uses are gravis (weighty) and praeclarus (honorable, glorious). The first summons to mind not only the seriousness and weightiness of the content, but also, given the virtual semantic merger of gravitas and dignitas, the notion of dignity, the traditional quality of those who run the republic in a manner befitting their position and status; thus, gravis looks back to decus. Similarly, praeclarus, which is connected with “glory,” is descriptive of the 10 E.g., Att. 13.28 (SB 299) on the subject of the “letter of advice” to Caesar that Cicero was urged to compose, esp. 2: de epistula ad Caesarem, iurato mihi crede, non possum; nec me turpitudo deterret, etsi maxime debebat. quam enim turpis est adsentatio, cum vivere ipsum turpe sit nobis! sed ut coepi, non me hoc turpe deterret (ac vellem quidem; essem enim qui esse debebam), sed in mentem nihil venit, “As for the letter to Caesar, believe me as I swear, I cannot: it is not the disgrace of it that stops me, although it really ought to have. For how disgraceful is flattery when simply being alive is a disgrace for us! But, as I began to say, it is not the disgrace itself that is stopping me (and indeed I would be willing to do it; if only I were the man I ought to be), but nothing comes to mind.” On the letter, see Hall 2009b.100–103; on Cicero during this period, e.g., Shackleton Bailey 1971.186–200, Habicht 1990.68–76, Mitchell 1991.266–88, Lintott 2008.301–38. 11 Cicero’s descriptions of the political situation under Caesar are probably the first example of the mode of expression fully developed under the empire and studied by Bartsch 1994 under the term doublespeak (“use of language that contains meanings other than the one required by the powerholder,” 26; “context in which the potential for ambiguity may be consciously exploited by an author who is reluctant to commit himself to any one meaning of his text,” 101. The broader phenomenon of “figured” speech in both Greek and Roman texts is studied by Ahl 1984, who ends his discussion with a consideration of Roman imperial texts where such techniques “became the most prudent mode of expression,” 204). Thus, it is possible to read this passage in a way that is favorable to Caesar, because of the use of necesse. However, the language around this central assertion of necessity, e.g., the emphatic position of unius and the use of langueremus by a senior statesman to describe his position during what he identifies as a state crisis, activates the negative associations surrounding the idea of one-man rule in Roman discourse. For the nature of the constraints on speech under Caesar’s dictatorship and Cicero’s response to the challenges that they posed, see Hall 2009b.

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quality of those who deserve laus. Thus, the philosophical content of Cicero’s work is identified as a source of critical qualities that the Roman state in its current condition lacks. The implied conclusion is that there exists a natural link between the practice of philosophy and a state that deserves praise and exhibits dignity. The crowning claim in this nexus of ideas is based on the act of translation: Cicero’s project is beneficial because he is making philosophy available to the Roman audience in Latin. Its previous inaccessibility in the language of the state is thus construed as an obstacle to the welfare of the state that, as Cicero has just established, depends on the natural alliance between philosophy and the good republic. Cicero’s act of translation, then, is meant as a practical way to create a link that for the moment exists only theoretically, thereby enabling the state to derive practical benefit from a theoretical discipline. Cicero thus identifies the two areas to be connected—the republic and philosophy—and forecasts the advantages that the one will derive from the introduction of the other. The means of effecting the connection is his project, and thus also he himself, as its author. Yet even in this brief outline, he does not ignore another essential element in the chain—namely, the reading public. Their willingness to accept Cicero’s arguments for philosophy’s beneficial potential is indispensable if the connection is to be established and laus and decus restored to the state. The reference to the public in this passage is brief and general; the audience of Cicero’s exposition of philosophy is identified as nostri homines, a vague, but nonetheless suggestive, phrase. Later on in this chapter I will discuss Cicero’s more specific depictions of his potential audience, which he divides into groups based on their particular prejudices and preferences as reflected mainly in their knowledge of, and relationship to, Greek culture, and their reading practices. Here, however, the audience appears to be undifferentiated. Yet this first impression is not necessarily correct. Nostri in the context of translation might be understood to refer to all Romans as recipients of this corpus constituted from Greek knowledge and mediated through Cicero. But it also has broader implications: the nostri are likely to be men of the same class, men who share Cicero’s opinion of the general condition of the republic as he represents it in this passage. Like boni and optimi, similarly vague descriptions used by Cicero to describe his (real and imagined) political fellow-travelers,12 nostri is both general and positive in a way that invites potential readers to desire inclusion in the category and to validate the position of the speaker who presents himself as one who is able to welcome others into the group. 12 Cf.

the discussion of boni in ch. 2,”Philosophy as a Basis for Action,” with nn. 23–25.

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After the parameters of the project—its content, goal, and audience— have been established, the second half of the passage purports to offer proof that Cicero’s approach is working and is already having an effect on the citizen body. As a result of his earlier work, there has been an observable increase in the number of people practicing philosophy, both passively, through reading, and, following his lead, actively, through writing similar philosophical works. He once again refers to the situation prior to his having made philosophy available in Latin, and paints a picture of a state divided, with communication between fellow citizens disrupted. The image is of a communication barrier between speakers of the same language, who lack confidence in their ability to convey their thoughts so as to be understood by their fellows on a matter that has just been cited as of utmost importance for the future of the state. Cicero is clearly reminding his readers of the recent civil war: in particular of the situation just before the war began and in the early part of the hostilities, when Cicero himself was trying, unsuccessfully, to conduct negotiations between the two parties.13 The failure of those efforts does less to undermine his position as a middleman than their benefits, painfully obvious in hindsight, do to bolster his claim to know where the advantage of his fellowcitizens lies. While the analogy is not, and could not have been meant to be, perfect, the allusion to a citizen body divided is sufficient, in the post–civil war environment, to make a case for a project that aims to remove barriers between citizens and improve their ability to understand one another. In its essence, this project of communication restoration is a logical continuation of the policy directed towards concordia ordinum that is a permanent feature of Cicero’s political thought and action, embodied most fully in his response to the crisis of Catilinarian conspiracy during his consulship and reconstituted, post-exile, as consensus omnium bonorum.14 In the end, Cicero’s claim extends well beyond any benefits that his own treatises might furnish to the Roman state; of even greater import is the expanded and improved communication that will follow on the introduction and dissemination of philosophical thought per se and the creation of a Latin philosophical vocabulary. This expansion in the scope of his claims is accompanied by ambiguity in the use of the first person plural in the last clause of the passage—a slippage encouraged by Cicero’s fairly consistent use of pluralis auctoris 13 For an overview of Cicero’s activities in this period, see, e.g., Fuhrmann 1992.133–40, Shackleton Bailey 1971.139–44, Lintott 2008 ch. 16. 14 On the use of this political slogan during the Catilinarian conspiracy, see Eagle 1949 and Strasburger 1956.39–59. On the concept in Cicero more generally, see Strasburger 1956 and Perelli 1990.53–68; see also Gotter 1996a, esp. on Cicero’s manipulation of the rhetoric of consensus in the period following the Ides of March.

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in the treatises. Strictly speaking, Cicero himself is the agent of profecisse videmur, since the translation and vocabulary building efforts referred to are his. The subject of vinceremur, however, is set in opposition with “the Greeks,” and is thus most likely “we, the Romans.” Yet, since no change of subject is explicitly announced, a confusion of the two subjects is allowed to take place, the main rhetorical effect of which is the close identification of the author and his efforts with his nation and its best interest. At the same time Cicero’s wording does not merely blend him into the mass of the citizens, but reserves for him a prominent leading role.15 Thus, a positive model of leadership, with identity of purpose at its basis, is constructed to oppose and replace the negative model of leadership that is Caesar’s dictatorship.

The Shape of Translation: TUSCULANS I The question of translation raises a number of uncomfortable issues. When he wants to see it in an exclusively positive light, Cicero presents translation primarily in two interconnected ways: as a means of freeing the Roman public from its dependency on the Greeks for access to philosophical knowledge, and of making the important resource that philosophy is available to a broader segment of the population.16 Yet even in these descriptions, seemingly so positive and straightforward, there are problems lurking. Linguistic dependence aside, the elevation of Greek philosophical knowledge to a privileged status in Cicero’s improved republic may mean recognizing a more significant dependence of the Roman state on Greek thought than his Roman audience is apt to find comfortable. While simple cultural dependence might be recognized and to a degree accepted, the suggestion that the Romans were indebted to the Greeks in those public areas where they had always perceived themselves as superior was likely to clash with their self-perception and national pride. 15 For Cicero’s construction of his achievement as identical with that of the nation in the arena of oratory, see the discussion in ch. 4. 16 Cf. his rationale for translating Attic orators in Opt. Gen. 15: hic labor meus hoc assequetur, ut nostri homines quid ab illis exigant, qui se Atticos volunt, et ad quam eos quasi formulam dicendi revocent intellegant, “My work here will accomplish the following goal, that our men understand what they can demand from those who call themselves Atticists and to what paradigm of speech, so to speak, they can summon them.” A project motivated by a desire to stand his ground in the dispute with the Atticists is framed as empowering the reading/listening public to make their own judgment by allowing them access to a resource shared by the educated elites, who are implicitly accused of misleading representation (cum in eo magnus error esset, quale esset id dicendi genus, “Since in this way of thinking there was a grave error as to what kind of speech this is” [13]).

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Furthermore, the projected better future that would result from the incorporation of philosophy into public discourse could cast an unwelcome shadow on the Romans’ ideas of their past. If the application of Greek philosophy to the everyday business of the republic is considered such a significant improvement, what does this say about the earlier republic, constituted and maintained exclusively through the mos maiorum? And yet an acknowledgement that something was lacking in the old republic and that Greek thought might supply the missing part is integral to Cicero’s project, though of course it cannot be openly acknowledged by a text that wants to integrate itself as naturally as possible into the existing Roman cultural fabric. Cicero thus finds himself in a perilous ideological position. He will need to employ a number of strategies in the prefaces to defend himself from criticism, as he attempts to navigate between his act of translation, Greek thought, and Roman tradition. The preface to book one of the Tusculan Disputations contains an extended disquisition on the history of the interaction between Greek learning and Roman conventional wisdom: . . . cum omnium artium quae ad rectam vivendi viam pertinerent ratio et disciplina studio sapientiae, quae philosophia dicitur, contineretur, hoc mihi Latinis litteris inlustrandum putavi, non quia philosophia Graecis et litteris et doctoribus percipi non posset, sed meum semper iudicium fuit omnia nostros aut invenisse per se sapientius quam Graecos aut accepta ab illis fecisse meliora, quae quidem digna statuissent, in quibus elaborarent. nam mores et instituta vitae resque domesticas ac familiaris nos profecto et melius tuemur et lautius, rem vero publicam nostri maiores certe melioribus temperaverunt et institutis et legibus. quid loquar de re militari? in qua cum virtute nostri multum valuerunt, tum plus etiam disciplina. iam illa, quae natura, non litteris adsecuti sunt, neque cum Graecia neque ulla cum gente sunt conferenda. quae enim tanta gravitas, quae tanta constantia, magnitudo animi, probitas, fides, quae tam excellens in omni genere virtus in ullis fuit ut sit cum maioribus nostris comparanda? doctrina Graecia nos et omni litterarum genere superabat; in quo erat facile vincere non repugnantes. (Tusc. 1.1–3) . . . since understanding and practice of all arts which are relevant for the right way of living are contained within the study of wisdom, which is called philosophy, I thought that it behooved me to illustrate this field of study in the Latin language, not because philosophy could not be learned from Greek books and Greek teachers, but it was my judgment that our people either had themselves devised everything more wisely than the Greeks, or improved what they got from the Greeks if they thought it worthy of effort and improvement. For clearly we up-

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hold our morals, practices, as well as domestic and family matters better and more nobly, and without a doubt our ancestors regulated the state with better institutions and laws. Why should I speak of their military skill? in which our men excelled not just because of their courage, but due even more to their discipline. And now what they accomplished through natural ability, not through learning, is beyond comparison with either Greece or any other nation. For who had such great dignity, such steadfastness, greatness of spirit, uprightness, faithfulness, what excellence of any kind was there in any people that can be set beside that of our ancestors? Greece surpassed us in learning and in every kind of literary endeavor, an area in which it was easy to conquer those who did not fight back. The fact of translation and its centrality is made immediately felt through the juxtaposition of the two terms, one Latin, the other Greek, that broadly define the subject of the project: sapientia and philosophia.17 While studium sapientiae is a calque of the Greek term that Cicero alludes to in other places,18 the very fact that he is using the Greek term in addition to the apparent Latin parallel in this programmatic context serves to emphasize that more than simple translation, i.e. finding the Latin equivalent and substituting it for the Greek, is taking place.19 The paraphrase is the closest Latin comes to having an equivalent for philosophia, yet it is not deemed sufficient to describe the Greek phenomenon, and so Cicero must resort to a transliterated Greek alongside the Latin.20 Just as the very fact of his undertaking the philosophical project seems to entail an acknowledgement that there is something lacking in the mos maiorum, so his continued use of philosophia emphasizes a lack in the Latin language, and therefore, in the conceptual framework of its speakers.21 We can get a glimpse of Cicero’s own understanding of the difference between the two terms and what they represent by looking closely at how 17 Cf.

Gildenhard 2007.97–106, who emphasizes the importance of the non-identity of sapientia and philosophia to Cicero’s project in the Tusculans. 18 Tusc. 5.9: sapientiae studiosos—id est enim philosophos; cf. Leg. 1.59, where amor, not studium, is used. 19 On the significant non-equivalence of Greek and Roman terms, cf. Gotter 1996b.342 on Amic.: “ΔArethv ist nicht unbedingt gleich virtus, ein ajgaqov~ ist kein bonus, filiva ist nicht amicitia.” 20 While Cicero is generally emphatic about the superiority of Latin over Greek in many areas, vocabulary is the one area in which he sometimes explicitly recognizes a deficiency in Latin. Cf. Fögen 2000.114. 21 The expression patrii sermonis egestas and the attitudes behind it are discussed by all scholars mentioned in n.8; see esp. Fögen 2000, who argues that it was Lucretius’ selfdeprecating statement, contradicted by the evidence of his own accomplishment, that, taken out of context, became a topos in later Latin literature (61–76, esp.75); also Farrell’s discussion of Lucretius’ complex deployment of this phrase (2001.39–51).

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he uses them throughout the passage. Not surprisingly, it is philosophia that is available from Greek books and Greek teachers. But the establishment of institutions was conducted sapientius by the Romans than the Greeks, and sapientia, it is implied, was operating in choosing what to adopt from the Greeks and then how to improve it once it was taken over.22 The picture of the cultural relationship presented here prompts the question: if the Romans are so superior to the Greeks in the area of wisdom, then what can be the contribution of Cicero’s work that offers philosophia to the Roman audience? This is where the disjunction between the two terms becomes important. Cicero is obviously admitting that sapientia and philosophia overlap, but his retention of the Greek term can be taken as an indication that he does not see them as identical. On this interpretation, his statement about Roman superiority in the area of sapientia can be taken to apply only to the area where the two terms intersect. That leaves open the possibility that there is something more to philosophia that can be valuable to the Romans, something that has not to this point been assimilated. We can infer what that is by looking at what Cicero tells us it is not—for all the areas in which he finds the Romans to be superior must belong to that portion of sapientia that overlaps with philosophia. Cicero portrays Roman achievement as superior to the Greek in virtually every area of human activity. Morals, customs, family life, state organization, law, and, of course, the military—in all these spheres the Romans are more accomplished.23 Defeat is conceded only in doctrina and litterae, and Cicero emphasizes that the Romans only lost there through non-participation. In fact, the language he uses to describe this particular non-encounter, erat facile vincere non repugnantes, is striking in that it is the language of military struggle. Coming as it does after a reference to the incontrovertible superiority of the Romans in the military arena, it clearly implies that had a real competition taken place, the victory would have gone, yet again, to the Romans.24 22 On

the relationship between philosophy and the wisdom of the ancestors, see Milanese 1989, who takes this passage as a starting point for his discussion. 23 Wallace-Hadrill 1997.8 defines the difference between Greek and Roman achievement in this passage as that between “what is natural and what is learned.” But that overlooks the Roman ability to incorporate and improve what they borrowed from others, as well as areas such as law. 24 Military language recurs in the prefaces in the context of cultural competition with the Greeks, e.g., N. D. 1.8, discussed in the beginning of this chapter, and Tusc. 2.5. Cf. also Brut. 254 (spoken by Brutus). Habinek 1994 examines Cicero’s strategies as imperialistic “expropriation” of Greek cultural capital. Cf. Copeland 1991.28 on translation more generally: “interlingual imitation can hardly be theorized without reference to conquest as a component of contestation, or aggressive supremacy as a factor in the challenge to Greek hegemony.” See also Dubuisson 1989.203.

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Cicero’s tone here is fairly disparaging—he seems to have gotten so caught up in his own hymn to Roman talent and invention that the narrow arena of Greek learning appears puny in comparison with the allembracing Roman achievement. This dismissive assessment appears to work against Cicero’s overall goals in the prefaces—to convince the Romans that they do need philosophia after all—and is, moreover, specifically contradicted by much more enthusiastic valuations of Greek literature and philosophy in the treatises and many of the speeches. One can only conclude, therefore, that these discordant sentiments are reflective of Cicero’s own ambivalence, as well as of the difficulty he faces in presenting his project to a Roman audience in such a way as to maximize the chances of a favorable reception.25 The encomiastic recitation of Roman moral and institutional advantages is, typically for Roman discourse on the subject, centered on the past, with the most enthusiastic praise going to the maiores. Contemporary Romans are present in the passage as well, but Cicero makes an interesting distinction. Accomplishments in the domestic and family sphere are presented in the present tense (tuemur), and the choice of the verb depicts the Romans of Cicero’s day as successful guardians of what their ancestors established.26 But in the second half of the sentence, when he switches to the public sphere, he focuses on the ancestors only and leaves his contemporaries out of the picture. Moreover, the use of the adjective melioribus is ambiguous here: in the first half of the sentence, melius clearly compares the Romans favorably to the Greeks; in the second, though it would be more natural to take melioribus as continuing the same opposition, it can also be understood as making another comparison, between the maiores and Cicero’s contemporaries—and to the advantage of the former.27 The clear distinction that is thus established between Romans then and now, and the manifest fact of the republic’s collapse, goes some way towards reconciling the desire to reaffirm Roman superiority with the need for a cultural product derived from the Greek tradition. In this account, the one thing that Roman traditional virtues and institutions seem to lack is the ability to maintain themselves over time, as evidenced by widely alleged moral degeneration and institutional collapse. If it can be established that Greek learning, and philosophia in particular, will 25 Cf. Celsus’ preface, in which the desire to assert the superiority of pre-Greek Rome leads to a paradoxical devaluation of his own subject matter, medicine as a discipline; see von Staden 1999.259–64, who emphasizes Celsus’ moralizing approach and his avoidance of philosophia in favor of sapientia. 26 For Habinek 1994 the main distinction in this passage is not between present-day Romans and the maiores, but between the Romans as successful guardians of cultural capital and the Greeks as failed guardians. See also Habinek 1998.64–67. 27 See Gildenhard 2007.109–45 on the development of this contrast in the rest of the preface.

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ensure the greater stability and durability of traditional Roman ideals without contaminating them, Cicero will have made his point and proven the value of his philosophical project to the state.28 In addition to the actual content of Cicero’s contribution, his project fits well the successful pattern of adaptation which obtained, according to his description, in all earlier cases of cultural borrowing; that is, it presents itself as an instance of the Roman improvement (meliora fecisse) of the Greek material.29 The preface itself serves as a small-scale example: the comparison around which it is structured is, in fact, as Richard Harder demonstrated, a Romanized variation on a topos borrowed from Greek discussions of their own borrowings from other nations.30 The passages discussed so far engage primarily with the question of the content of Cicero’s contribution. A later section of the preface to the Tusculans deals with the issues of proper form. Through most of the prefaces the impression that Cicero is the first to attempt introducing this particular cultural product to the Roman audience is insinuated in two main ways. In the first place, his very musings on the nature of the project and on the difficulties inherent in its execution and reception lead to the inference that he is dealing with these issues for the first time, that what he is attempting is something new in his specific cultural and social environment. Secondly, Cicero’s self-positioning as an expert on philosophy second to none, which I will discuss in more detail in chapter 5, neutralizes his brief mentions of others engaged in philosophy, such as Brutus and Varro, and so reinforces the picture of Cicero facing his subject and his public alone. Yet in the context of formal, stylistic considerations Cicero allows “competition” to enter his prefaces. The account of the state of Latin philosophy he gives in the following passage is a good example of contradictions in his presentation of his position that he does not attempt to resolve: philosophia iacuit usque ad hanc aetatem nec ullum habuit lumen litterarum Latinarum; quae inlustranda et excitanda nobis est, ut, si occupati profuimus aliquid civibus nostris, prosimus etiam, si possumus, 28 A suggestive comparison to Cicero’s position in adopting foreign knowledge to ensure the stability of a nation that is deemed superior is provided by Friedrich Schleiermacher in his 1813 lecture On the Different Methods of Translating (Venuti 2004, ch. 4). Schleiermacher advocates foreignizing translation as a means of perfecting the German language and culture in the service of German nationalism. For an analysis, see Venuti 1995, ch. 3. 29 For an analysis of how the process of such cultural adaptation worked in the area of education, see Corbeill 2001. On the presentation of Roman assimilation of Greek rhetoric and eventual victory over the Greeks in the preface to the first book of de Orat., see Connolly 2007.96–98. For Cicero’s self-positioning as the one who will carry out the improvements in line with those in other areas, cf. Harder 1952.106. 30 Harder 1952.107–109, though he overstates the extent of Cicero’s dependence on Greek precedent.

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otiosi. in quo eo magis nobis est elaborandum, quod multi iam esse libri Latini dicuntur scripti inconsiderate ab optimis illis quidem viris, sed non satis eruditis. fieri autem potest ut recte quis sentiat et id quod sentit polite eloqui non possit; sed mandare quemquam litteris cogitationes suas, qui eas nec disponere nec inlustrare possit nec delectatione aliqua allicere lectorem, hominis est intemperanter abutentis et otio et litteris. itaque suos libros ipsi legunt cum suis, nec quisquam attingit praeter eos, qui eandem licentiam scribendi sibi permitti volunt. quare si aliquid oratoriae laudis nostra attulimus industria, multo studiosius philosophiae fontis aperiemus, e quibus etiam illa manabant. (Tusc. 1.5–6) Philosophy lay untouched up until this age and received no illumination in Latin letters; and it must now be brought to light and raised up by me so that, if I was of some use to my fellow citizens when engaged in public life, I may also be of use, if I can, when at leisure. And I must work the harder, since they say that there are now many books in Latin written without due care by men who are certainly perfectly good people, but not sufficiently educated. And it is possible that someone thinks correctly and is unable to express what he thinks in a polished way; but for someone to entrust his opinions to writing if he can neither set them in order, nor elucidate them, nor attract the reader by some pleasantness, that reveals a man who immoderately misuses both his free time and his writing. And so they read their own books themselves together with their followers, and no one reaches an audience beyond those men who wish that the same freedom of writing be permitted to them. Therefore if I have won some oratorical praise with my diligence, so much more industriously will I lay open the sources of philosophy from which those prior accomplishments flowed. The first sentence is typical of Cicero’s presentation of Latin philosophy throughout most of the prefaces. Philosophy is entirely neglected. No one (with the obvious exception of the author) writes on the subject in Latin, and, as a result, Cicero’s entry into the field can be portrayed as uniquely significant. The metaphors of inlustranda and excitanda call to mind the sun in his chariot throwing light on previously dark areas of the world and calling forth all kinds of life. Given that Cicero seems here to occupy a life-giving, semi-divine position as a benign force revealing useful truths to his audience, it comes as a surprise when, in the section immediately following, we learn that he is but one of a number of men engaged in a rather similar project of writing philosophy in Latin. Yet what is more striking is the apparent lack of tension between the two pictures. The contemptuous tone that Cicero adopts towards the other philosophical writers allows him to smooth the transition and preserve his position and

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his viewpoint, as it were, from on high. Nonetheless, the change in perspective is significant. From the philosophical desert, we are suddenly transported into a world inundated with philosophical works.31 What is the reason behind this change? What makes it worthwhile for Cicero to temporarily abandon his bastion of primacy and allow the reader to countenance the thought of competition? The answer must be that discussions of form provide different rhetorical opportunities and serve different ends than discussions of content. In discussing the content of his project, Cicero’s task is to show that philosophy has intrinsic value and can make an important contribution to Roman society. While there is some implicit advantage to him personally if he gets his point across, since he would then be seen as a benefactor, his own position would be rendered somewhat precarious. If what he introduces is judged to be of value and others follow in his footsteps—an outcome he explicitly desires—what will become of his unique status, his primacy in the field? Establishing an enduring claim to an elevated position is, ironically, more easily done when there are others with whom to compare oneself.32 One avenue that was open to Cicero for comparative self-elevation lay in the area of content: he could have presented his work as enduringly superior due to the kind of philosophy that he promoted. It is certainly the case that the writers he refers to so contemptuously above would serve that purpose well, since all of them are Epicureans. But, with minor exceptions, Cicero in his prefaces avoids discussing differences between schools.33 Promoting philosophy, he seems to think, is hard enough without clouding the issue by weighing the advantages of different schools. That will be a matter left to the main body of the works, for readers who have moved past the preface and have consented to enter the philosophical world of the treatise. Instead, Cicero chooses an area of comparison where his expertise is beyond doubt and his victory all but certain: literary style.34 31 Rawson

1985.284 points out that these Epicurean treatises are in fact the first philosophical prose works in Latin. 32 His close relationship with the two contemporary writers of philosophical works, Varro and Brutus, as well as genuine respect for them, excludes them from the pool of potential competitors that Cicero might confront explicitly. In addition, the device of using other men who had reputations as philosophers as speakers in his treatises has the effect of subordinating them and their philosophical practice to Cicero’s. Another issue important to the consideration of Cicero’s self-representation, comparative when convenient, is the absence of explicit mention of Lucretius from the entire philosophical corpus. For allusions to and engagement with Lucretius, see Pucci 1966, André 1974 and Zetzel 1998 on Rep., with an emphasis on the literary dynamics. 33 Boyancé 1936.299 notes a similar lack of distinction in what he terms Cicero’s “piété pour la philosophie et les philosophes.” 34 The idea that language, and in particular good style is absolutely essential if one’s ideas are to be of use to the wider community is one of the main threads that run through the

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His basic assumption is that subject matter cannot be allowed to stand on its own merits: the manner of its presentation is essential to its ultimate reception by the public.35 It is this need for proper style to ensure the success of the project that secures Cicero’s place in this endeavor: the many others whom he mentions are incompetent writers and do not understand the importance of style.36 Cicero’s insistence on the relevance of his oratorical background is of particular import in this context, because the skills that he enumerates as his special qualifications for the task of presenting philosophy to a Roman audience are skills shared with oratory. The feeble writers he singles out not only lack style but also persuasiveness. They cannot reach anyone beyond their narrow circle, with the result that their discourse is incestuous and decidedly barren. It is instructive to contrast this inbred pattern of text circulation with the traditional pattern that Cicero uses in his prefaces, which will be discussed in more detail in chapter 5. One of the main components in the aristocratic pattern of text exchange is the secondary status of the text itself and the primacy of the relationship between the partners in the exchange. A text is only one of many kinds of objects that can be exchanged in such a relationship, and, like any other object, it brings with it a particular set of meanings: the aspect of the bond between the partners that is emphasized when the object of exchange is textual is shared intellectual interest. The primary ostensible goal of exchange, however, is not the furthering of the author’s ambitions or even the recognition of the recipient’s intellectual pursuits, but the recognition and the reinforcement of the bond between the two men. The exchange that is described above patently falls short of the ideal of aristocratic exchange. The works exchanged lack the necessary qualities to make them valuable objects in and of themselves. In Cicero’s depiction prefaces. It receives a concise expression in one of Cicero’s last works: ita illi ipsi doctrinae studiis et sapientiae dediti ad hominum utilitatem suam intelligentiam prudentiamque potissimum conferunt; ob eamque etiam causam eloqui copiose, modo prudenter, melius est quam vel acutissime sine eloquentia cogitare, quod cogitatio in se ipsa vertitur, eloquentia complectitur eos, quibuscum communitate iuncti sumus, “Thus, those very men, dedicated to the pursuits of learning and wisdom, apply their understanding and intelligence to the advantage of the human race; and for this reason speaking with eloquence, as long as one does so intelligently, is better than thinking even very profoundly without eloquence, because thinking turns in on itself, but eloquence embraces those with whom we are joined in fellowship” (Off. 1.156). For a modern reaction that finds Cicero’s commitment to rhetoric damaging to his philosophical achievement, see Smith 1995. For an opposing view on philosophical translation, see Venuti 1998, ch. 6, who criticizes the domesticating strategies commonly adopted in the translation of philosophy and advocates a more “literary” approach. 35 On Cicero’s unwillingness to evaluate content apart from form, cf. Fögen 2000.81. 36 Cf. Venuti 1998.22: “fluent strategies . . . mystify their domestication of the foreign text while reinforcing dominant domestic values.” See also p. 12 on the role of fluency in domesticating translation.

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his rivals fail to apply the thought and planning (inconsiderate) as well as the patience that would be required to produce a polished piece of work (polite) such as would have value. This is not surprising since they lack the education that would qualify them to participate in intellectual exchange (non eruditis). The directionality of intention in this pseudoexchange is also off. Instead of directing their intention to the bond and the partner, Cicero represents these men as primarily interested in themselves, and only taking part in the exchange to ensure that their own work will have an audience. Because they are not interested in benefiting the recipients of their work, they do not exert the effort necessary to make the experience pleasant for them (nec delectatione aliqua allicere lectorem).37 Thus, their efforts cannot but fail to meet the standards of a traditional exchange. However, while Cicero exploits the traditional model to his advantage in the prefaces, in reality his own work does not conform precisely to the ideal pattern either. The main point of deviation is the intended audience: through the dedicatees of his works Cicero addresses a much broader audience than a conventional exchange would include. Yet Cicero presents this deviation as a positive one, necessitated by the wider applicability of the benefits inherent in his chosen subject. On this score, the incestuous philosophical circle also fails. Their interest is limited to having their work read by a narrow group of likeminded readers, and so there is no need for an effort towards expanding the appeal of their work. Thus, their occupation is singularly futile: their work is read by people who already share their views. In contrast, Cicero positions himself as building on the traditional model to include and benefit the wider community of Romans.38 37 These writers come in for criticism on similar grounds in other prefaces as well. Inelegance: in Tusc. 2.7 Cicero attributes his not having bothered to actually read their works to how dreadful their style is supposed to be: quia profitentur ipsi illi qui eos scribunt se neque distincte neque distribute neque eleganter neque ornate scribere, lectionem sine ulla delectatione neglego, “Since the very men who write them confess that they write without precision, without order, without elegance, without embellishment, I pass on this reading that does not promise any enjoyment.” Bad rhetorical organization, Ac. 1.5: non posse nos Amafinii aut Rabirii similes esse, qui nulla arte adhibita de rebus ante oculos positis vulgari sermone disputant, nihil definiunt nihil partiuntur nihil apta interrogatione concludunt nullam denique artem esse nec dicendi nec disserendi putant, “we cannot be like Amafinius or Rabirius who without any skill use colloquial language to discuss things that are right before their eyes, define and classify nothing, come to no conclusions based on fitting investigation and finally think that there is no art of speaking or conducting a discussion.” 38 This pattern presages in an intriguing way Augustus’ expanding of traditional structures, such as the patron-client relationship and the worship of the Genius of the paterfamilias, to include the wider Roman community (cf. Gotter 1996a.250). See, e.g., Galinsky 1996.294–312 and Severy 2003, esp. 118–31, on Augustus’ religious innovations that built on traditions of private and local worship.

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Why Translation? DE FINIBUS I Cicero confronts the issue of translating philosophy from Greek to Latin most explicitly in the preface to book one of De Finibus. The discussion is framed as a response to critics whose objection, to which Cicero refers briefly, is twofold: non eram nescius, Brute, cum quae summis ingeniis exquisitaque doctrina philosophi Graeco sermone tractavissent ea Latinis litteris mandaremus, fore ut hic noster labor in varias reprehensiones incurrere. . . . erunt etiam, et ii quidem eruditi Graecis litteris, contemnentes Latinas, qui se dicant in Graecis legendis operam malle consumere. (Fin. 1.1) I was not unaware, Brutus, when I set about entrusting to Latin letters those things that philosophers had treated with highest talent and refined learning in the Greek language, that my work would run into various reproaches . . . there will also be those, and they indeed educated in Greek letters, who despise Latin, who say that they prefer to spend their energy reading Greek. The main point of the criticism is directed against the act of translation itself. Cicero ascribes to his critics a preference, plain and simple, for works written in Greek.39 A further objection, embedded in the relationship between the tenses of tractavissent and mandaremus, has to do with the temporal positioning of Cicero’s project: his subject has been treated already; he is redoing something already done, and he is doing it in an inferior medium. That is, on the issue of translation, Cicero is dealing with the problem of the Romans’ sense of cultural secondariness. This may seem paradoxical in light of the tone of the rest of Cicero’s apologia, in which for the most part he tries to convince his Roman audience that the Greek cultural heritage he is introducing has something of value to offer them. One way to resolve the paradox is suggested by Cicero’s own tactic of dividing his critics into groups: we can postulate that arguments defending translation are not addressed to the same audience segment as arguments defending the value of philosophical practice in general. The fact that the critics in the above passage spend time reading Greek would certainly seem to indicate some approval of Greek culture. And their objection 39 The

same general opinion, that those who can will prefer to read Greek, with the corresponding view that those who don’t know Greek are not worth writing for, is expressed by Cicero’s Varro in the proem that sets the stage for the Academica (Ac. 1.4–6, 8), a treatise written only a few months before De Finibus. Cicero the character responds in the same vein as Cicero the author of the De Finibus preface (Acad. Post. 1.10–12), but significantly less forcefully—a result of courtesy and respect due to the relationship of amicitia between the two characters in the dialogue.

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to translation presupposes that they have the means for comparison, unlike the mass of readers who, Cicero often claims, have no access to philosophy, being unable to read Greek on the necessary level. While this division is certainly valid, and the different types of criticism, real or anticipated, would originate from different groups, it is also the case that the contradictions between the two sets of concerns are reflective of a more general paradox in the Romans’ relationship to Greek culture. On the one hand, there is a pervasive sense of cultural inferiority, a resigned feeling that no Roman achievement could ever surpass what the Greeks have accomplished, especially “the Greeks of old.” On the other hand, just as pervasive is the perception of Roman superiority in the realm of morals and statehood, and the concomitant contempt for what contemporary Greece and Greeks have to offer.40 This chronological split in Roman perception is illustrated by the wellknown episode of the tomb of Archimedes, narrated by Cicero in Tusc. 5.64–66.41 In Sicily during his quaestorship, young Cicero was shocked to discover that the Syracusans did not know where their famous compatriot was buried. Cicero found the tomb and made his discovery public to the joy of the local population under whose very noses it had been the entire time. Cicero sums up the episode thus: ita nobilissima Graeciae civitas, quondam vero etiam doctissima, sui civis unius acutissimi monumentum ignorasset, nisi ab homine Arpinate didicisset, “in this way the exceedingly noble city of Greece, one that at one time was even most learned, would have remained ignorant of the memorial to its cleverest citizen, had it not learned it from a man of Arpinum” (Tusc. 5.66). The moral of the story is clear: not only is the learning of the Greeks all in the past, but that past is admired, sought after, and preserved by the Romans more respectfully than by contemporary Greeks, who have lost touch with it. Thus, one young Roman demonstrates his superiority to an entire (most noble!) Greek city.42 40 A particularly illuminating account of Cicero’s complex relationship to Greek culture is Zetzel 2003, who rightly emphasizes that Cicero himself shares much of the broader cultural ambivalence. 41 See Jaeger 2008, ch. 2 for a compelling interpretation of the episode and its relationship to the work’s major themes. 42 This type of evidence is ignored by Harder 1952.112–13, who claims that there are no indications of the otherwise common chronological split in Cicero. Gruen 1992, esp. 237– 71, an essential account of the Romans’ attitudes to the Greeks, goes too far in underplaying the real significance of negative stereotypes. For Roman perceptions of the Greeks, cf. also Balsdon 1979.38 on ways the Romans found to resolve the contradictions in their views of the Greeks: “. . . to draw a sharp contrast between ancient Greece—‘Graecia vetus,’ the home of humanitas—and modern Greece, ‘iam languens Graecia’.” (The other models are to consider Greeks “part-good and part-bad” [38] and “to draw a distinction between contemporary . . . ‘good Greeks’ and ‘bad Greeks’.”[39]). For the chronological split, see also

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In addition to the chronological split in the perception of Greek culture, the Romans also preferenced certain Greek genres over others. Tragedy was admired without reservation, as were other genres practiced long ago that had not survived with any vitality in Greece into the present day. A discipline like philosophy, however, was in a markedly different position. Practiced in Greece without interruption and imported to Rome by its contemporary practitioners since the time of Cato the Elder, it was, due to the political decline of the Greek world, as well as to the perception of the personalities of the philosophers themselves (seen as impractical at best, dissolute and unprincipled at worst), much more liable to arouse cultural hostility.43 The complex nature of the Roman relationship to Greek culture makes it impossible to entirely separate the responses of the two groups to Cicero’s project, and, as a result, his reaction to the anticipated criticism of one set of readers cannot be read in isolation from his reaction to the other. Since the concerns of the two overlap in Roman discourse, Cicero’s response has to be satisfactory in the eyes of both. As it happens, Cicero, in his typical fashion, uses one set of concerns to battle the other. Implied in the Romans’ willingness to accept Greek preeminence in certain areas and not in others is their ultimate confidence that the areas of Roman superiority are themselves infinitely superior. In other words, satisfaction with their moral and political virtues creates a position of strength from which they are able to concede the control of other, in their view less significant, spheres to others.44 Thus, in De Finibus Petrochilos 1974.63–67. Stereotypes directed against contemporary Greeks: Balsdon 1979.31– 38, Petrochilos 1974.35–54; negative views expressed by Cicero: Trouard 1942.17–32. 43 The early history of philosophy in Rome is punctuated by forcible expulsions of contemporary Greek philosophers from Rome (two Epicureans in 173 B.C., philosophers and rhetoricians in 161), and the sending on its way of the embassy that included Carneades in 155. For an overview of the presence of Greek philosophers in Rome in the second and first centuries BCE, see Morford 2002.14–34, Beard 1986.37–38. 44 This position is most succinctly and famously voiced by Vergil’s Anchises in book six of the Aeneid (Aen. 6.847–53): excudent alii spirantia mollius aera (credo equidem), vivos ducent de marmore vultus, orabunt causas melius, caelique meatus describent radio et surgentia sidera dicent: tu regere imperio populos, Romane, memento (hae tibi erunt artes), pacisque imponere morem, parcere subiectis et debellare superbos. “others will be more flexible at hammering out bronze so that it breathes (so I believe), will draw living faces out of marble, will be better at pleading cases, and will trace out the heavenly paths with a rod and predict the risings of the stars: you, Roman, remember to rule over peoples (these will be your arts), and to impose the habit of peace, to spare the conquered and to battle the proud.”

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1.4, Cicero begins his rebuttal to anti-translation critics by moving the debate out of the arena of philosophy into the literary sphere, an area that has no direct application to public life of the sort he postulates for philosophy and is thus potentially less productive of controversy. Literature was also a natural place to look to for an analogy, as there was no shortage of Latin translations of Greek tragedy and comedy, many of which Cicero cites by name. Cicero paints an environment in which reading Greek originals and avoiding Latin translations would be extremely unpatriotic and a sign of unhealthy self-hatred on the part of the hypothetical Roman.45 Using a device common in his speeches, he poses a rhetorical question to create this straw man in terms that will preclude any member of his audience from being comfortable with anything less than Cicero’s point of view. The language of hatred and hostility used in describing this reader is extreme: he is an enemy of the very Roman name (inimicus nomini Romano); he scorns, rejects, and hates Roman plays (spernat aut reiciat, oderit). His preference for Greek works is couched in terms of pleasure and delight, a portrayal that again summons notions of self-hatred on the part of those who do not enjoy their own language (non delectet eos sermo patrius). To this hypothetical bad Roman reader Cicero opposes his own reading practice. Just as the hypothetical reader exemplifies an extreme rejection of Roman literature, so Cicero is a model of unconditional acceptance. Whereas the authors rejected by the hypothetical reader are Ennius, Pacuvius, Caecilius and Terence, all generally recognized masters of Roman playwriting, Cicero, as a sign of his patriotism, parades before the audience his willingness to read even the Electra of Atilius, described by Lucilius as ferreum scriptorem, an “iron writer,” with the same attention as the Electra of Sophocles.46 Cicero leaves no doubt that Atilius’ play is 45 On

the centrality of the Latin language to the identity of the Roman community, cf. Fögen 2000.32–33, with n.16; “Neben ihrer politisch-nationalen Zugehörigkeit spielt die gemeinsame Sprache eine wichtige Rolle bei der Herausbildung ihrer Identität, durch sie entsteht Zusammengehörigkeitsgefühl unter ihren Sprechern.” 46 Fin. 1.5. The general acceptability of translations of poetry is also used by Cicero to justify the validity of the project of translating Attic oratory in De Optimo Genere Oratorum 18: huic labori nostro duo genera reprehensionum opponuntur. unum hoc: ‘verum melius Graeci.’ a quo quaeratur ecquid possint ipsi melius Latine? alterum: ‘quid istas potius legam quam Graecas?’ idem Andriam et Synephebos nec minus Andromacham aut Antiopam aut Epigonos Latinos recipiunt. quod igitur est eorum in orationibus e Graeco conversis fastidium, nullum cum sit in versibus?, “Two kinds of reproaches oppose this project of ours. One is this: ‘But the Greek ones are better’. In this regard the question is whether the Greek authors themselves could have done it better in Latin. The other is: ‘Why should I read these instead of the Greek ones?’ Yet the same men accept Andria, Synephebi, and no less the Latin Andromache or Antiope or the Epigoni. Why then are they disdainful of speeches translated from Greek, but not at all of verses?” The case Cicero makes here is weaker than the one in De Finibus, since he focuses on the classics of Roman drama, the

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without literary merit, but insists that the very fact that Atilius is a Roman writing in Latin is enough to make any self-respecting Roman want to read his composition.47 This is a domesticating, nationalistic impulse taken to its logical extreme. The condemnation that follows no longer applies to the hypothetical reader alone: rudem esse omnino in nostris poetis aut inertissimae segnitiae est aut fastidii delicatissimi, “To be altogether unacquainted with our poets is a sign of either most indolent inactivity or of most delicate fastidiousness” (Fin. 1.5). The insinuation of a connection between, from the Roman point of view, the reprehensible moral qualities of contemporary Greeks (laziness and an inability to act on the one hand, effeminacy connected to over-sophistication on the other) and the moral character of those who prefer reading Greek to the exclusion of Latin reinforces the overall impression that moral character and national values are at stake in a Roman’s choice of reading material. Thus, Cicero is able to turn the anti-Greek attitudes of one group of his potential critics, which he himself struggles against at other points in his prefaces, against the other group, which is opposed to the idea of translation. The literary parallel serves to establish the viability of translation in general on patriotic grounds. The case for translating philosophy does not follow along the same lines, but is taken as already established a fortiori through a comparison between the two types of texts: iis igitur est difficilius satis facere qui se Latina scripta dicunt contemnere. in quibus hoc primum est in quo admirer, cur in gravissimis rebus non delectet eos sermo patrius, cum idem fabellas Latinas ad verbum e Graecis expressas non inviti legant. (Fin. 1.4) plays of, respectively, Terence, Caecilius, Ennius, Pacuvius, and Accius, for his counterexamples (I do not reproduce the list of authors, transmitted as part of this passage in the mss.; first rejected by Jahn, it is most likely a gloss). The basis of the accusation directed at those opposed to his translation, however, is the same: the opponents are accused of fastidium directed at their own language and heritage. 47 A letter to Atticus composed in the following year shows Cicero quoting a line of Atilius to make a point and then going on to disparage the unpolished quality of his writing in terms reminiscent of the Lucilius line: ‘suam quoique sponsam, mihi meam; suum quoique amorem, mihi meum.’ non scite; hoc enim Atilius, poeta durissimus, “‘to each his own bride, mine to me; to each his own love, mine to me’. Not elegant; for this is Atilius, a very harsh poet” (Att. 14.20.3; SB 374). Cicero’s judgment may not have been typical: Varro includes Atilius among a group of poets noted for their ability to arouse emotions with ease (Char. p. 241 K) and his verses on betrayal were performed at Caesar’s funeral alongside those of Pacuvius, again, presumably for their potential to stir up feelings. Cicero’s use of Atilius in the letter is in the context of Brutus’ rejection of his draft of an edict followed by the reminder to Atticus of Brutus’ disagreement with Cicero’s stylistic views expressed in the Orator. Thus, the appearance of Atilius, who gets his point across, but without elegance and style, is not arbitrary.

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It is more difficult to satisfy those who say that they look down on things written in Latin. In whom the following is the first issue that astonishes me, why in most serious matters the language of their ancestors does not please them, when the same men not unwillingly read light plays literally translated from the Greek. Just as there is a difference between the areas of strength of the two nations being compared, so it seems that, to Cicero’s mind, the texts under discussion are of unequal weight as well. Plays are light stuff: a somewhat contemptuous diminutive is used, hinting at the frivolous and the unnecessary. By contrast, philosophy is referred to as gravissimae res, thus linked to the virtue of gravitas, which is both very Roman and most decidedly not light or frivolous.48 The unexpressed conclusion of the twofold comparison is that the Greek language is more suited to plays, whereas Latin is destined for the writing of philosophy. The two arguments combine to produce an epiphany of the philosophica as the best possible kind of writing: texts in the Latin language which demand attention and respect from any Roman, about subject matter indisputably more serious than any literature that aims merely to entertain. Typically, Cicero’s practice is to refute an objection and then claim that it does not in fact apply to him in the first place. Here also, once he has led his ideal reader down a path of argument that confers automatic sanction on any philosophy written in Latin, Cicero moves on to show that what he is actually doing goes above and beyond that basic definition: quid? si nos non interpretum fungimur munere, sed tuemur ea quae dicta sunt ab iis quos probamus eisque nostrum iudicium et nostrum scribendi ordinem adiungimus, quid habent cur Graeca anteponant iis quae et splendide dicta sint neque sint conversa de Graecis? nam si dicent ab illis has res esse tractatas, ne ipsos quidem Graecos est cur tam multos legant quam legendi sunt. (Fin. 1.6) So? If we do not perform the function of translators, but preserve things that were pronounced by those authors that we approve of, and to their teachings we add our own judgment and our own structural arrangement, what reason do they [the critics of Latin translations] have to prefer Greek writings to those that are elegantly put together and have not been simply translated from the Greek? For if they claim that these matters have been treated by them [the Greeks], there is no reason why they read quite so many of the Greek authors themselves as one has to read. 48 The allusion to gravitas as proper to philosophy is also a response to those critics who condemn the writing of philosophical works as below the dignitas of the practitioner. See ch. 1, “Rhetorica ad Herennium, or Anxiety about Status.”

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The passage goes on to describe a high degree of redundancy in the writings of Greek philosophers. Cicero’s final point is to show up the hypocrisy of critics who are willing to read repetitive writings as long as they are in Greek, thus again attributing their objections to their contemptible self-hatred. But while battling his detractors, Cicero begins to give us as well an important glimpse into how he views his role as the author of the philosophica vis-à-vis the Greek “originals” that he uses as his source material. This is interesting not only in terms of our efforts to understand the project and its cultural positioning in its own time, but also because it speaks to concerns that were in the earlier part of the last century, and still are, to a certain degree, central to modern scholarship on the philosophica. The question of originality versus mere translation has occupied Cicero scholars as much as it did his (possibly imaginary) critics.49 The modern preoccupation with originality that has led some scholars to dismiss Cicero as uninteresting on his own terms has of course very different roots from Roman hellenophiles’ sense of cultural inferiority. The two perspectives nonetheless add up to the same basic picture in which an uninspiring (and uninspired) Cicero meticulously strings together passages culled from the treasure trove of Greek philosophical tradition.50 As we see when we look more closely at his own account of his project, the source for such a low estimation of his accomplishment in the modern world may lie in a misunderstanding of his aims. Cicero never laid claim to original philosophical insights of the sort that would satisfy the modern definition of “originality,” a notion rooted in the Romantic tradition. Yet his project is deeply original in a different sense, as he himself realized and as recent Cicero scholarship acknowledges.51 49 Cf. the parallel preoccupation with originality in traditional accounts of Roman art and the more recent reappraisal of the so-called Roman copies of Greek originals resulting from the shift of attention from the Romantic emphasis on originality to a contextually motivated focus on the value of repetition and recognizability; e.g., the essays in Gazda 2002. 50 An indication of how widespread this view still is, despite many scholars’ attempts to counteract it, and how often it is taken for granted is a casual reference in an article on Roman translation theory by Douglas Robinson, who takes at face value a self-deprecating line from Cicero’s letter to Atticus (Att. 12.52.3; SB 294): “Cicero himself says that all his writings are mere transcripts of other people’s ideas” (1992.21). Cf. Boyancé’s (1936.19) reference to the same letter in commenting on the speed of Cicero’s composition. Boyancé, however, goes on to reject the extreme versions of the Quellenforschung approach that discount Cicero’s own involvement in shaping his texts or see it in exclusively negative terms. 51 Cf. Beard 1986.38: “Cicero for the first time Romanized Greek philosophy, tackling Roman problems, with Roman exempla, in a Roman setting.” On Cicero’s reworking of Greek material in light of Roman values, see also Henderson 2006. For different takes on Cicero’s originality, see Boyancé 1936, Davies 1971, Beard 1986.38–40, Oiserman 1988, Brinton 1988, and Striker 1995; on De Officiis, Lefèvre 2001; on the Tusculans, Gildenhard 2007, Lefèvre 2008; in the larger contemporary context, Moatti 1997.218.

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To get back to the passage at hand. Cicero has claimed the office of “mere translator” as one deserving of merit.52 Now he begins to define his role as something quite different. Cicero does not translate any work wholesale.53 He never presents to us a text that corresponds in its entirety to one Greek original: his sources are always many.54 He is translating ideas from various sources and intervening to shape them using his own, entirely original iudicium. When one works with multiple sources and aims to produce from them one coherent whole, significant judgments have to be made at many points.55 First, it was not all and sundry Greek philosophers who were translated. They were subject to the author’s approval and selection. Then, the author had to determine the order of presentation and delineate connections between their various points of view. It was the arrangement, or, rather, the resulting argument, that really made the work. The skills that Cicero foregrounds here are, not coincidentally, also the ones that he castigates the Latin Epicureans for lacking in the preface to book one of Tusculan Disputations (discussed in the previous section).56 Cicero does not mention here, because it is not relevant to the battle he is fighting, the other elements that contribute to the true originality of his work: the incorporation of Roman literary and historical lore into the framework of Greek philosophy, intertwining his

52 The

locus classicus for the distinction between literal and “transformative” translation is De Optimo Genere Oratorum, 13–15. In Fin. 1.6–7 Cicero abandons his defensive position for an aggressive one and claims his right to simply translate passages if he should find it fit to do so, calling upon the examples of Ennius and Afranius. 53 Cicero’s translation of the Timaeus is unique within the surviving corpus as a Latin version of a Greek work of the same name and, as it survives, is not, for my purposes, a Ciceronian treatise. For a study of Cicero’s translation practice in the Timaeus, see Lambardi 1982, whose work is an essential corrective to Poncelet’s (1957) negative assessment. Cicero also translated the Protagoras; only a few sentences survive (Prisc. in G.L. 2.182, 247–48, 402 and a phrase, Don. Ter. Ph. 611) and the date of the translation is uncertain. 54 Douglas 1965 notes that a Quellenforschung approach to the study of Cicero’s philosophy fails to find specific sources for many of the individual passages, arguments, and examples. The obvious exception is De Officiis where in the first two books Cicero follows Panaetius, but the source is subjected to a thorough reworking. The third book, moreover, is Cicero’s own attempt to relate the ideas expressed in the previous two books to each other. On the originality of Off. in its context, see Long 1995, Lefèvre 2001. 55 For the expression of the same principle, cf. Off. 1.6: sequimur igitur hoc quidem tempore et hac in quaestione potissimum Stoicos, non ut interpretes, sed, ut solemus, e fontibus eorum iudicio arbitrioque nostro quantum quoque modo videbitur, hauriemus, “therefore at this time and in this area of our investigation we follow primarily the Stoics, not as translators, but, as it our custom, we will draw from their sources, using our judgment and authority as much as it will seem appropriate, and in the way that will seem best,” and Fin. 1.6, quoted above. 56 Their failure to disponere, to present their thoughts in an organized manner, is a failure in precisely this kind of iudicium.

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two main types of sources so that they work towards the same end.57 None of the treatises are simply translations, and while we may sometimes feel that his project was never sufficiently coherent to be successful, we cannot deny its original contribution.58 The introduction of Roman material into the philosophica is further significant in light of the always-looming accusation of un-Romanness that any Roman who engaged in a task largely rooted in Greek culture could expect. The presence of Latin literary and historical maiores served as an implicit defense, though Cicero was not above defending himself more directly as well. Thus, he ends his response to the critics of translation, as he so often does when defending himself against conflicting objections, by conceding that there are cases when something Roman can go too far in trying to be Greek. He dissociates himself from such over-Greekness by presenting it in its most laughable guise and channels an aggressively Roman persona—he quotes at length Lucilius’ lines that describe Mucius Scaevola’s mocking address in Athens to a Greeked-out Albucius:59 Graecum te, Albuci, quam Romanum atque Sabinum,60 municipem Ponti, Tritani, centurionum, praeclarorum hominum ac primorum signiferumque, maluisti dici. Graece ergo praetor Athenis, id quod maluisti, te, cum ad me accedis, saluto: “cai`re”, inquam, “Tite!” lictores, turma omnis chorusque: “cai`re, Tite!” Hinc hostis mi Albucius, hinc inimicus. (Fin. 1.9) You preferred, Albucius, to be called a Greek rather than a Roman and a Sabine, a townsman of Pontius and Tritanus, centurions, illustrious and first-rate men, and standard-bearers. Therefore I, a praetor, in Athens, in Greek, as you preferred it, address you when you approach me: “Chaere,” I say, “Titus!” and my lictors, the whole crowd, in unison: “Chaere, Titus!” Thence is Albucius my enemy, in public and in private. 57 Brinton

1988 argues that historical examples of the kind that Cicero uses are necessary for an effective moral argument, and that because of this use of exempla Cicero’s account of the desirability of virtue compares favorably to Plato’s. 58 Cf. Copeland 1991.30 on Roman translation theory: “The aim of translation is to reinvent the source, so that . . . attention is focused on the active production of a new text endowed with its own affective powers suited to particular historical circumstances of its reception.” 59 See Gruen 1992.289–91 on the context for this exchange. Adams 2003.353 shows that it was code-switching in inappropriate circumstance; that is, the public and collective nature of the Greek address, that constituted the insult to Albucius. 60 For the significance of the addition of Sabinum, see Dench 1995.93–92.

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The section concludes with Cicero luring his hellenophile critics into his camp by framing the moral of the satire as the need to respect domesticae res, and, most importantly, the Latin language:61 Albucius’ failure and the source of his ridiculousness is located by Cicero not in the discrepancy between his Roman essence and his Greek outer trappings, but in the degree of Greekness that he is taking on to the exclusion of fundamental Roman traits.62 Thus, the possibility of something remaining essentially Roman, and, therefore, respectable, despite its incorporating a significant amount of Greek material, is affirmed. Cicero then concludes the preceding apologia of his overall project before moving on to define and justify his choice of subject for the specific treatise he is introducing: ego vero, quoniam forensibus operis, laboribus, periculis non deseruisse mihi videor praesidium in quo a populo Romano locatus sum, debeo profecto, quantumcumque possum, in eo quoque elaborare ut sint opera studio labore meo doctiores cives mei, nec cum istis tantopere pugnare qui Graeca legere malint, modo legant illa ipsa, ne simulent, et iis servire qui vel utrisque litteris uti velint vel, si suas habent, illas non magnopere desiderent. (Fin. 1.10) But I, since I believe that, in my works, toils, and dangers undertaken in the public sphere, I did not abandon the station in which I was placed by the Roman people, I indeed ought to, to the extent that I am able, in this matter also to work hard in order that thanks to my effort, enthusiasm, and toil, my fellow-citizens may become more learned, and I should not struggle so greatly against those who prefer to read Greek writings, provided that they actually do read them, not pretend to do so, and I must serve either those who want to make use of both literatures, or those who, if they have books in their own language, have no great yearning for others. the effect of cai`re and the juxtaposition of Latin turma and Greek chorus, see Baier 2001.38–39. 62 On Albucius as a caricature of a philhellene, cf. Kaimio 1979.239. Another appearance of Albucius in Cicero makes clear that what is at issue is the extent of one’s adoption of things Greek: doctus etiam Graecis T. Albucius vel potius paene Graecus, “Titus Albucius was learned in things Greek or rather was virtually a Greek” (Brut. 131; paene is the manuscript reading also preferred by Douglas 1966.245, while Wilkins in his OCT adopts Vogel’s emendation plane); cf. Gruen 1992.257–58; 306–309. The fact that Albucius was an Epicurean and may have written Epicurean works in Greek makes him a particularly attractive target for Cicero (cf., e.g., Prov. 15: Graecum hominem ac levem, followed by a reference to his temeritas). It should be noted, however, that even Albucius receives a more balanced treatment from Cicero within the body of a treatise. He is cited as an exemplum for the argument that a happy life is possible in exile (Tusc. 5.108). Though Cicero quips about his Epicurean inconsistency in having pursued public life in the first place, he praises his ability to continue philosophizing as an exile in Athens. 61 On

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As often in the closing of a somewhat specious argument, Cicero comes back to the image of himself as the linchpin bringing together all the threads of past, present, and future for his readers and his country. I will discuss this type of ethical argument and the way Cicero employs it when he invokes his past achievement as an orator in justifying his philosophical project in detail in chapter 4.63 Here, a more general claim is implied. The fact that one and the same agent is demonstrating steadfast commitment to several goals is advanced as evidence that all of his aims are on the same, meritorious level. The assumption is that someone who once exerted himself in the service of the fatherland will continue to do so, even if in an unusual venue. While the identity of the agent and his effort is asserted, and the equality of the goals he promotes established, the role of one element in the equation is reversed. In the earlier period when Cicero’s service to the state was traditional in nature, he identified the populus Romanus as the ultimate source of his own agency. His role was markedly passive, locatus sum. He was chosen and placed where the people thought he belonged. His claim to have fulfilled his duty in that post is, then, more than empty boasting. He is laying claim to a gradual development in the course of his public engagement that puts him now in a different position vis-à-vis the people in general and the audience of the treatises in particular. His duties as a statesman, which at their inception he chooses to portray as lying entirely within the choice of others, are now decidedly active; in addition to fairly passive experience of pericula (“dangers”), they involve operae and labores (“toils” and “works”), the performance of which is presumably responsible for the change in agency from the second to the first clause (the temporal order is reversed: the performance of duties is described before the assignment). Thus, in the first clause, not only is Cicero the sole subject of two verbal ideas, videor and deseruisse, but he is also acting as the quasi-external assessor of his own actions, mihi: his agency has become all encompassing. The very temporal reversal of the order of the clauses to foreground the one that asserts Cicero’s agency can itself be seen as a testament to that agency. Having effected such a change of agency positions in the course of his public career allows Cicero to take the next logical step and assume towards the people a position somewhat analogous to the one they occupied towards him at the start of their relationship. He is now going to assign them a station and direction, that of increasing their degree of learning. The application of the same nouns, opera and labor, with the addition of studium, meaning both zeal and study, implies a fundamental continuity in Cicero’s purpose, which is that of benefiting the public cause. The analogy implied by the symmetry of the role reversal requires 63 Cicero’s

deployment of ethos in the speeches is the subject of May’s 1988 study.

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similar effort on the part of the reading public, almost as a repayment for Cicero’s earlier services to them. As is often the case, the important element of obligation on the part of the audience—that is, their obligation to approach the treatises with seriousness and receive them with favor within the framework of the exchange of services—has entered the preface near to its conclusion. 64 The section ends with a final nod to those potential detractors who occupied Cicero for a good portion of this preface, the men who would dismiss his work because it was written in Latin. Again, in the closing of the argument, Cicero’s preferred methods for dealing with objections are dismissal and insinuation. His opponents are referred to with a vaguely derogatory istis, while Cicero assumes a position of superiority. Now he claims that there was never a need for him to address their issues in the first place—the use of tantopere suggests a waste of effort that might have been put to better use. The very objection is rephrased at this point in milder terms so that Cicero’s detractors are now expressing only a preference for Greek and not outright contempt for Latin writings in general. Such a concluding stance invites a reinterpretation of Cicero’s apparently more serious attempts earlier in the preface to tackle these potential objections: now he appears to have engaged with those issues in a somewhat condescending way, almost as a favor to the confused. Having indulged them so far he now transfers his energies to the real subject of his treatise, as is appropriate at the end of a preface. Cicero makes another move that gives him a rhetorical advantage at this important juncture: he stops treating individual groups of opponents as endless ill-defined subcategories inside the mass of the Roman people/ the readership. Instead, on the issue of reading in Greek or Latin, he divides the entire populus into groups based on the choices they make in their reading practice, and so presents a more complete picture. The divisions he produces are logically determined and therefore unsurprising, but he is able to move them beyond the obvious. The three groups are further separated by the author’s estimation of the proper application of his energies. The first group, the readers who prefer Greek, is, as I mentioned above, identified primarily as not worth the effort of writing for;65 the other two groups, those who read in both languages and those who stick to Latin 64 I discuss the role of reader obligation in Cicero’s presentation of his project in the prefaces in the Topica section of chapter 5. 65 For an example of an exclusive reader of Greek, cf. Cicero’s description of C. Memmius in Brut. 247: C. Memmius L. f. perfectus litteris, sed Graecis, fastidiosus sane Latinarum, “Gaius Memmius, son of Lucius, was very well versed in literature, but only Greek; he was in fact contemptuous of the Latin.”

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exclusively, are granted an exactly opposite value. They are natural objects of Cicero’s exertions: they first appear in an emphatic position as objects of the verb servire. The verb in this context does double duty: once again identifying the task Cicero is undertaking as one deserving the same kind of serious reception as his other services to the country and at the same time marking and honoring the reading audience that does apply itself to his treatises by assigning them the same position in the schema as the country and the people occupied in the earlier days of Cicero’s activity. Thus, the very division of the reading public into two groups, one that does not read Latin and one that reads it with a varying degree of commitment, serves to marginalize the first group and discount its objections. Cicero calls their position further into question with a snide proviso: modo legant illa ipsa, ne simulent is a very rich insinuation. The previous clause, though condescending, still allowed that a reader might have a preference for reading in Greek. The preference may not be worth considering as a serious factor by an author who writes in Latin, but it is not necessarily indicative of any cultural or personal flaw in the reader. The proviso clause, however, takes back the slight indulgence present in malint, and replaces it with an accusation. Instead of being a personal choice, Cicero now suggests that his Greek-only reader is taking a cultural stance, alleging a preference for all things Greek (and, potentially, all things foreign, unRoman) on principle. We are back to the idea of self-hatred, but with an additional element of pretence, which further undermines the position. The members of this group, who assert a preference for reading in Greek, but may not actually be reading anything at all, are, in the structure of the proviso clause, worse than poor mocked Albucius. Though contemptible in his over-eagerness for things Greek, he is at least sincere in his admiration. These fellows, on the other hand, are sham hellenophiles, contemptible both for their extreme preference and for their dishonesty. Before ending the discussion of this section, it is worth looking into the two groups Cicero puts above the false hellenophiles: those who read Greek and Latin and those who read Latin only. On the face of it, the two groups are identified as equally deserving of Cicero’s attention and of the honor that implies. But Cicero does make a distinction. The preference of the group that reads both languages is defined in terms of its willingness, velint, whereas that of the exclusively Latin group, in terms of its wanting, desiderent. Furthermore, the first group’s preference is described without qualification, while the second gets an additional clause: si suas habent. Given the earlier section that followed the Lucilius passage on Albucius, and the strong endorsement of domesticae res in that passage, this clause must be read as a positive comment on those who choose to stick with their own to the exclusion of all others. Cicero, then, while

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introducing Greek thought into Roman society appears to approve of a rather insular Romano-centric intellectual stance—an apparently contradictory position.66 I will not try to resolve this contradiction, for I believe that no resolution is to be found. I do, however, want to point out that Cicero’s contradictory views are fairly consistent throughout the body of the prefaces, and that these contradictions are not random results of an inability to construct a coherent position: on the contrary, they give expression to a contradictory, and ultimately logically untenable position that Cicero creates for himself in the prefaces. As I discuss in chapter 5, his ideal reader and, by extension, the ideal Roman, is a man like Trebatius Testa as he is represented in the preface to the Topica: earnest, ready to learn, reasonably open-minded, but unable to teach himself because of his limited knowledge of Greek.67 Trebatius wants to learn about Aristotle’s Topica, but his chosen way is not to improve his Greek, but rather to have Cicero write a treatise explaining Aristotle’s work to him in Latin. In other words, Trebatius falls into the third group of Cicero’s language-preference divisions, which is constructed as the ideal audience for the kind of domesticating project that Cicero is engaged in. So far Cicero seems consistent in his preferred readership. The contradiction centers, as most issues in the prefaces do, on the person of the author himself. His ideal reader/citizen seems to be one who becomes doctior through his reading in Latin. But Cicero himself is far from fitting that description. Consistently throughout the prefaces, he portrays himself as doctissimus, as a true expert in his subject.68 He is also, necessarily, quite emphatic about his interest in and knowledge of Greek philosophy. After all, it is that knowledge that qualifies him to introduce the subject to the Roman public. Is he, therefore, not his own ideal citizen? The answer seems to be that Cicero does not apply the same standards to the ideal Roman of the recovered republic as he applies to himself (and maybe a small select circle of men like Brutus and Varro). The existence of Cicero, who is uniquely qualified to bridge the gap between things Greek 66 Cicero’s endorsement here is the exact opposite of Varro’s position in the Academica proem. Varro cannot imagine any intellectual interest in the segment of population that does not have access to Greek knowledge. 67 On the issue of the elite Romans’ level of fluency in Greek in the late republic, Kaimio 1979 is cautious and ultimately skeptical. Dubuisson 1992.191–95 offers a rather high estimation of the elite’s degree of fluency, which seems to be a result of an excessive reliance on Cicero and his circle. Most recently, Adams 2003.9–14 has argued that the nature of the evidence available does not allow an accurate estimate of “the extent and quality of elite Roman bilingualism” (14). 68 Cf. the preface to the Topica, where his expertise and teaching ability are demonstrated to be superior to those of the Greek doctissimus rhetor (Top. 2) who was unable to be of use to Trebatius.

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and things Roman, is as important as that of the army of men who will only read Latin. One cannot help but wonder what Cicero would say about the future. Assuming that his project succeeds in improving the minds and morals of the Roman elite and, through them, the republic, will there be a need for men like Cicero ever again, or will his be the last act of translation?69 •

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To define and defend his project Cicero has to perform a difficult balancing act. Translation of Greek philosophical thought into Latin is problematic on both sides of the process. The traditionally minded might not welcome the treatises because of the perceived foreignness of philosophy and the implied criticism of Rome’s pre-philosophical past. For them, no translation may be domesticating enough. Those already conversant with the essentials of the works’ content might sneer at its reincarnation in a language that they believe is not sufficiently equipped to convey its nuances. They are satisfied with their access to the foreign texts themselves and see no benefit in translation. Cicero carefully constructs his defense to stand up to these contradictory criticisms. The basis of his response is the idea that translation is ultimately patriotic. Cicero’s presentation placates the traditionalists with its emphasis on the importance of communication in Latin: the foreignness of philosophy is diminished by the very use of the Latin language and by the translator’s intent to benefit the Roman state. By the same token, those who would look down on the treatises precisely because they are in Latin are branded as hostile to the state, not truly Roman. Yet in the end Cicero’s presentation of his goals in the philosophica, though revealing of what he thought might convince a contemporary audience, is full of contradictions he never acknowledges, contradictions that have deep roots in Rome’s complex cultural position vis-à-vis Greece. It is also significant that Cicero is vague about the exact manner in which his treatises will help the republic. I will return to the question of what lies behind these difficulties in the final chapter, when I discuss the transformation that Cicero’s philosophical project undergoes following the change in his political circumstances after the death of Caesar. 69 Cf. Copeland 1991.29–35, esp. 34, on translation in Rome as “aggressive hermeneutics” that “generates new models” and “displaces its Greek sources.”

CHAPTER FOUR

With the Same Voice ORATORY AS A TRANSITIONAL SPACE Rhetoric, in as far as this means the art of persuasion, i.e., of deceiving by a beautiful show . . . is a Dialectic, which borrows from poetry only as much as is needful to win minds to the side of the orator before they have formed a judgment, and to deprive them of their freedom . . . the art of the orator (ars oratoris), the art of availing oneself of the weaknesses of men for one’s own designs (whether these be well meant or actually good does not matter), is worthy of no respect. Immanuel Kant, Critique of Judgment

The discussion of how Sallust positions himself and his works in the prefaces to Bellum Catilinae and Bellum Iugurthinum in chapter 1 has highlighted one of the strategies available to an elite writer attempting to justify his choice of subject matter. Like Sallust, who compared the function of historiography to that of ancestor masks, he can connect his undertaking to a traditional area of Roman public life with which it shares some elements, especially if these elements are, or can be made to appear, significant. This practice is reminiscent of what Catharine Edwards has described as the procedure of the Roman moralists: “The practice of argument by analogy enabled Roman moralists to articulate concerns about one subject by treating it as parallel to another, more obviously threatening.”1 Sallust and Cicero apply the same basic principle, only in their case the goal is positive, not negative: they strive to mitigate the common perception of the problematic nature of their respective disciplines by connecting them to analogous activities that are not controversial. Thus, Sallust contends that history-writing is similar to other, more traditional means of creating and sustaining memoria, while any differences are only superficial. The purpose of establishing such a connection is to show the reader that what he may at first, based on the differences, take to be novel in fact shares important aspects with something that it is second nature for him to approve. 1 Edwards

1993.138.

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In the prefaces to the philosophica Cicero employs a similar strategy, and his chosen means of establishing a connection between his subject matter, philosophy, and traditional public life is oratory.2 This choice is not surprising—oratory, together with law, constitute the most intellectual aspects of Roman civic life, and it is only oratory that makes it onto Cicero’s own list of the liberal arts at the beginning of the Tusculans.3 Elite Romans studied rhetorical theory as a standard part of their education.4 Even if they did so primarily with a view to practical application, the discipline still stood out as the most theoretical branch within the realm of Roman civic practice. This allows for the connection to be established. The other advantage of using oratory as a point of reference for philosophy is that it is not simply a part of Roman public life: it is omnipresent.5 Speeches are given in the senate, in the assembly, in the courtroom, and in front of troops about to go into battle.6 It is also a natural strategy for Cicero to adopt, given the important place that public speech occupied in his career and his consistent interest in rhetorical theory, an interest that found expression in his first treatise, De Inventione. The connection between rhetoric and philosophy is in fact central to Cicero’s thought throughout his life, and plays an important part in the philosophica, both in terms of content and the manner of argumentation. My main focus in this chapter is on the role oratory plays in the presentation of philosophy and in Cicero’s authorial self-presentation in the prefaces. Philippa Smith’s paper “ ‘A Self-indulgent Misuse of Leisure and Writing’? How Not to Write Philosophy” provides an interesting counterpoint to the Romans’ own worries about the appropriateness of  philosophy. She expresses and investigates concerns about Cicero’s emphasis on style over content and the intrusion of the rhetorical into the  philosophical, seeing it as potentially damaging and dangerous to philosophy, a contemporary perspective that descends ultimately from 2 On

this phenomenon in general, see Grilli 2002 and the work of Michel; cf. Gilson 1953. Particular instantiations are treated by, among others, Leonhardt 1999, Inwood 1990, and Gaines 2002. See Gildenhard 2011 for holistic treatment of the (broadly) philosophical underpinnings of Cicero’s speeches. For an opposing approach that does not want to see Cicero as interested in making the connection between the two fields, see Arweiler 2003. 3 The distinction between practical occupations and liberal arts found in this preface is unusual. The term ars has a more general meaning elsewhere in Cicero. See, e.g., de Orat. 1.6–11, where the goal of the author is the opposite of that in the passage from the Tusculans; namely, to associate oratory with the more practical and more obviously Roman occupations. For a discussion of Cicero’s use of the term, see Gilson 1953.10–11. 4 For a general treatment, see Clark 1957 and Bonner 1977; in the context of de Orat., Fantham 2004 ch. 4. 5 Connolly’s recent study (2007) argues for the essential and constitutive role of rhetoric in Cicero’s thinking about the functioning of the res publica. 6 Fantham 1997, Steel 2006, ch.1, Alexander 2007; on the contio, Morstein-Marx 2004.

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Plato’s attacks on the sophists.7 Smith sees Cicero’s rhetorical presentation of philosophy as resulting in “non-rational” argumentation and appeal to the emotions that is transplanted from the “unscrupulous” usage of the Roman courtroom—her assumption being that these are inappropriate in a philosophical context. I hope in this chapter to respond to this philosophical concern by examining Cicero’s extra-philosophical, cultural and political, motivations for the use of oratory in the philosophica.8 That oratory permeates the life of a Roman is a given—a reality that needs no specific articulation. It is the theoretical aspect, oratory as ars rhetorica, that Cicero, downplaying its performative facets,9 emphasizes in his attempts to present philosophy to his audience.10 And he exploits the association to the fullest. Apart from the passages in the prefaces that I will be discussing in this chapter, in which the connection between philosophy and oratory is made more or less explicit, the very style of the treatises, which is consciously highly rhetorical, continuously works to suggest the connection to the reader. Even though the content of what Cicero is saying in these works may appear novel in the context of his other writings, he still sounds essentially just the same. The following discussion will take up three aspects of Cicero’s strategy. The first section examines how he leverages the connection between Academic Skepticism 7 Smith

1995. a treatment that sees Cicero’s rhetorical approach as philosophically productive, see, e.g., Inwood’s (1990) analysis of book two of De Finibus and Schofield 1986 on the connection between Academic suspension of judgment and the form of De Divinatione. Cf. the examples given by Lefèvre (2008.23), whose own work is attentive to the impact of rhetorical strategies. 9 Dugan 2005 argues in ch. 2 that Cicero is deliberately transgressive in his depiction of the ideal orator and is exploiting the performance-based overlap between orator and actor. His provocative argument, in my opinion, overemphasizes the transgressive intent. On Cicero’s use of theatrical parallels in the practice of oratory, see also, e.g., Vasaly 1985 on Pro Roscio Amerino and Geffken 1973 on the Pro Caelio. 10 It is interesting that another writer chose oratory as a related discipline useful for representing his chosen subject to the Roman audience. Macrobius tells us that Roscius the actor grew so bold from his association with Cicero that he composed a book in which he compared acting and oratory (Saturnalia 3.14.12). In Roscius’ case, however, the point of contact would have been different. Representations of the connection between philosophy and oratory are based on their shared theoretical framework; in the case of oratory and acting the basis is their nature as performance. While Cicero’s success in his bid for reinterpreting philosophy is debatable, he certainly had a better chance than Roscius. For, given the degree of distrust and social stigma attached to acting, the association that Roscius was trying to establish was more likely to bring to the surface the ambivalent status of oratory as performance than to elevate the status of acting. On the problematic relationship between acting and oratory, and the orator’s struggles to dissociate himself from the actor, see Dupont 2000; cf. Gunderson 2000a.111–48; in Cicero’s thought, Connolly 2007.200– 208; on the negative representations of actors in Roman moralistic discourse, see Edwards 1993.98–136. 8 For

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and rhetoric, in contrast to the alienating thought and style of the Stoics exemplified by the person of Cato the Younger. The second focuses on the continuity between Cicero the orator and Cicero the philosopher, a unity that is just as important to his attempt to convince his readers as is the explicit articulation of the connection between the two disciplines. A final section treats his explicit engagement with this issue of disciplinary relationship and its potential benefit to his project. As will become clear, throughout the prefaces Cicero uses himself as a fulcrum, drawing on the power of his previous career and reputation to justify, in the eyes of his readers, the validity and viability of his new undertaking.11

The Philosophizing Orator: A Stoic or an Academic? Cato versus Cicero in the PARADOXA STOICORUM The preface to the Paradoxa Stoicorum uses the figure of Cato the Younger to work out the relationship between philosophy and active political practice. The focus on Cato carries special significance given the date of the work, some time in early 46 BC.12 Cato, seen in the preface taking an active part in political activity, was in fact at the time of writing further away from the life of the forum than even Cicero himself. Any potential reader would have known this. Engaged in civil war against Caesar, he was, even before his dramatic suicide in Utica, becoming a symbol of republican resistance to the dictatorship that Cicero so often decries as destroying the fabric of Roman civic life.13 Appeal to Cato’s example functions, therefore, as a justification of Cicero’s own, considerably less dramatic, form of resistance to tyranny; namely, the composition of philosophical works.14 At the same time, setting this example with which the work begins in the earlier period when the republic still functioned properly serves to present Cicero’s writing as an alternative15 more legitimate than the debased workings of republican institutions under Caesar. In effect, by tapping into the auctoritas of Cato on the one hand and that of traditional republican politics on the other, Cicero constructs the preface 11 Cf.

Connolly 2007.234 on Cicero as “the solution” to the problems posed by interface between the power of the orator and an irrational collectivity. This strategy can be seen as an extension to philosophy of the reliance on ethos central to Roman oratory and studied by May 1988 (cf. Gildenhard 2011, Part I on Cicero’s “anthropology”). 12 For the date of the treatise, see Wassmann 1996.36–37; cf. Ronnick 1991.2, n.4. 13 For Cicero’s own contribution to the creation of the Cato myth, see Hall 2009b.94–99, Wassmann 1996, ch. 5; cf. Stem 1999. On the contestation of Cato’s memory in the immediate aftermath of his death, cf. Steel 2005.34. 14 The political significance of the work is treated by Wassmann 1996, ch. 4. 15 Cf. his exhortation in a letter to Varro, Fam. 9.2.5, “to read and write “Republics” (scribere et legere politeiva~), discussed in ch. 2.

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to the Paradoxa as a multi-level argument for the validity of his own philosophical project. The starting point of the preface is the image of Cato incorporating philosophy into his presentation of his proposals before the senate: animadverti, Brute, saepe Catonem avunculum tuum, cum in senatu sententiam diceret, locos graves ex philosophia tractare abhorrentes ab hoc usu forensi et publico, sed dicendo consequi tamen, ut illa etiam populo probabilia viderentur. (Parad. 1) I often observed, Brutus, that Cato, your uncle, when he gave his opinion in the senate, dealt with serious points taken from the realm of philosophy, which are far removed from standard practice in the courts and in matters concerning the state, but that through his powers of speech he nevertheless managed to bring it about that those matters seemed acceptable even to the people. Cicero first acknowledges that this kind of philosophical intrusion into the sessions of the senate was far from normal practice. It is, however, significant that he is not claiming that the use of philosophical examples or arguments is in itself unusual: the participle abhorrentes (“removed from”)16 modifies locos, referring to the particular points that Cato chose to make, not the employment of philosophy in the domain of public duties in general.17 Yet Cato was able, Cicero claims, to integrate his chosen 16 This passage, and the whole enterprise of the Paradoxa contrasts markedly with a passage from the preface of De Oratore (and the spirit of that work more generally), where Cicero uses abhorreo to indicate the crucial importance of adhering to common sense in oratory: ceterarum artium studia fere reconditis atque abditis e fontibus hauriuntur, dicendi autem omnis ratio in medio posita communi quodam in usu atque in hominum ore et sermone versatur, ut in ceteris id maxime excellat, quod longissime sit ab imperitorum intellegentia sensuque disiunctum, in dicendo autem vitium vel maximum sit a vulgari genere orationis atque a consuetudine communis sensus abhorrere, “pursuits of other arts are drawn from sources for the most part hidden and concealed, but the entire art of speaking, accessible to all, is found in common usage and in the mouths and words of men, so that in other arts the greatest achievements are those that are the farthest removed from the understanding and appreciation of the inexperienced, but in speaking it is rather the greatest fault to shrink from the ordinary type of speech and from the habits of commonly held opinions” (de Orat. 1.12). 17 For a similar use of abhorreo, cf. Cicero’s request for indulgence for his unconventional choices in giving the Pro Archia: sed ne cui vestrum mirum esse videatur, me in quaestione legitima et in iudicio publico, cum res agatur apud praetorem populi Romani, lectissimum virum, et apud severissimos iudices, tanto conventu hominum ac frequentia hoc uti genere dicendi quod non modo a consuetudine iudiciorum verum etiam a forensi sermone abhorreat, quaeso . . . , “But lest it seem strange to some of you that in a legal proceeding and in a public court, where the case is conducted in front of the praetor of the Roman people, a most excellent man, and in front of the most severe judges, in such a greatly crowded assembly of men, I employ this type of speech which is removed not only from the custom of the courts but even from forensic speaking in general, I ask . . . . ” (Arch. 3).

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Stoic loci, though more out-of-place than an average philosophical point, successfully into the context of public debate.18 The degree of his success is indicated by his ability to make his points probabilia to the people. I have translated probabilia above as “acceptable,” but the meaning of this word here warrants further consideration. Probabilis has two basic meanings corresponding to the two main meanings of the verb probare, “consider good, approve” and “to make credible, prove.” Thus, the adjective can mean “good, fitting, worthy of approval” and “credible, plausible.” I suggest that both meanings are operative in this instance, and that both are important to the argument that follows. The meaning “credible” indicates Cato’s success in his use of philosophy on the basic level: his loci made sense and seemed credible to the least educated part of his audience and, therefore, fulfilled their task of supporting whatever argument he was making in the speeches in question. The second meaning, “worthy of approval,” points to a kind of meta-success: his use of philosophy, though quite unusual, did not alienate his audience, but seemed fitting. This second type of success, the fact that his audience accepted his use of philosophy in pursuing his goal of service to the republic, is obviously a relevant parallel to Cicero’s project, the production of a body of philosophical material designed to benefit his country and his countrymen. Another aspect of Cato’s accomplishment that is relevant to Cicero’s purpose is implied in the use of etiam (“even”). If the people, whom one would not expect to be very familiar with philosophy, were convinced by Cato’s use of philosophical material and approved it as a practice, so much the more must his social equals have approved, and they are Cicero’s target audience in this project. There is an additional dimension to Cicero’s emphasis on probare and probabilia in this short preface (the adjective occurs twice; the verb three times). On the one hand, the rhetorical reference of these words goes beyond the immediate context, calling to mind the most basic function of rhetoric, identified by Cicero himself in the Orator: probare necessitatis est.19 On the other hand, the same words are used by Cicero to express, in Latin, concepts central to the philosophical school he follows on most issues and the only one to which he proclaims allegiance (as he does in this preface), Academic skepticism. The crucial epistemological tenets of the New Academy, expounded by Cicero in the Academica, have to do 18 Cicero’s

presentation here is geared to his own rhetorical needs and should not be taken to reflect a reality. On Cicero’s own attack on Cato’s Stoicism in Pro Murena as out of place in the public arena, see Craig 1986. Stem 2005 synthesizes Cicero’s discussions of Cato’s style to show that Cicero did in fact find Cato the most eloquent of all Stoics. 19 Orat. 69. Cicero here divides the task of the orator into probare, delectare, flectere; cf.  de Orat. 2.116. For this classification and its variants in Cicero’s works, see Michel 1960.153–57.

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with the skeptic’s ability to function in practical everyday terms while withholding assent. The particular formulation by Carneades is a response to Stoic criticisms of the Academic position, and relies on the idea that the skeptic can act based on what is likely, not what is necessarily true. This is Carneades’ pithanon, the concept Cicero renders into Latin with probabile and related words.20 Cicero’s use of probabile thus functions simultaneously on several levels. In the more obvious sense it refers to rhetorical persuasion, an arena in which Cicero, by writing the Paradoxa, is demonstrating his superiority to Cato and the Stoic school in general, however playfully.21 The mention of particular occasions on which Cato spoke brings into play the practical aspects of oratory, while the word itself invokes rhetorical theory. At the same time, for those who know more about the two schools and the epistemological debate between them, the reference to the Academics’ relationship to the probabile will call to mind their assertion against Stoic objections of their school’s ability to guide practical everyday conduct.22 This is an area of importance to Cicero in justifying his allegiance to Academic skepticism and that school’s general appropriateness to the Roman context, with its strong bias towards the practical.23 The goal of the sentence that follows is, on the face of it, to further emphasize Cato’s accomplishment in using philosophical material by underlining the difficulty of making his particular brand of philosophy palatable to the general public. Cicero indicates that the views that Stoicism, Cato’s philosophical school, advocates, are significantly different from what one normally encounters in a public context in both their content and their form. Stoic opinions non sane probantur in vulgus, “are certainly not held very widely,” and the standard manner of presenting them deliberately avoids rhetorical ornamentation (nullum sequitur florem orationis) and strives for brevity (Parad. 2).

20 For a concise treatment of Carneades’ views, see Long 1986.94–100; on the meaning of pithanon, most recently Obdrzalek 2006. On the place of the concept in light of Cicero’s affiliation with Academic Skepticism, see Glucker 1988.62–66. For probabile as the Academic pithanon, see TLL s.v. probabilis II B 2 a. See also Glucker 1995 on the relationship between probabile and veri simile and the Greek terms they may be translating in different contexts in Cicero’s works. For a different view, cf. Görler 1992. 21 ludens, Parad. 3. 22 For Cicero’s response to potential criticism on this point, see, e.g., Off. 2.7–8, N.D. 1.12. For the skeptical response to the charge of apraxia, see, e.g., Burnyeat 1980 and Frede 1984. 23 In this sense this preface is in line with Pro Murena, where one of Cicero’s main accusations against Cato’s brand of Stoicism is that it was not in accord with the mos maiorum. Cf. Craig 1986.

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Praise for Cato in overcoming these difficulties is then used by Cicero to build up his own work, which he is about to introduce. This short work, Paradoxa Stoicorum, is a highly rhetorical presentation of what Cicero believes to be some of the most difficult and most counterintuitive views held by the Stoics (admirabilia contraque opinionem omnium, Parad. 3).24 As such, it is largely an exercise meant to demonstrate the limits (or, rather, the lack thereof) to rhetoric’s ability to make difficult things palatable to audiences: temptare volui possentne proferri in lucem, id est in forum, “I wanted to try and see whether [these views] could be brought forth into the light, that is, into the forum” (Parad. 4). Thus, what Cicero is about to present is an accomplishment greater than Cato’s: feci etiam audacius quam ille ipse, “what I have done is even more daring than what he himself did” (Parad. 3). For Cato’s daring, Cicero implies, had limits. As Cicero tells the reader, he expressed Stoic views in rather uncontroversial areas, where Stoic opinions did not differ significantly from the “commonsense” traditional views that the majority of Romans found comfortable (de magnitudine animi, de continentia, de morte, de omni laude virtutis, de dis inmortalibus, de caritate patriae). At the same time as it validates and magnifies Cicero’s particular undertaking in the Paradoxa, Cato’s example and the projected success of the Paradoxa themselves fulfill, in a less explicit way, a similar function for the larger Ciceronian project of writing a body of philosophical work (eclectic in its choice of sources and schools, but written using the position of an Academic skeptic as its default25). In describing Cato’s (and by extension his own) difficulty in rhetorically expressing Stoic ideas, Cicero contrasts the Stoic situation vis-à-vis rhetoric with that of the philosophical school that he follows: nos ea philosophia plus utimur quae peperit dicendi copiam et in qua dicuntur ea quae non multum discrepent ab opinione populari, “we practice more that school of philosophy which gave birth to eloquence and in which the kinds of opinions are posited that do not differ much from the common view.”26 The unstated implication 24 For a list of rhetorical devices used in the Paradoxa, see MacKendrick 1989.91. See also Achard 1999, who posits Cicero’s desire to give an example of elevated style to Atticists as Cicero’s primary motivation in writing the Paradoxa. 25 On the particular appropriateness of Academic Skepticism to Cicero’s needs in presenting philosophy as fitting into the Roman context, see Cambiano 2002 and Schofield 1986. 26 Parad. 2. Cicero demonstrates the difference between the two schools’ manner of expressing their views rather dramatically in the third book of the Tusculans. The Stoic views are first set out in 14–21 in the Stoic propositional manner, with no rhetorical relief. Then in 22–27 Cicero presents his own version, the difference being in large part stylistic, as he emphasizes his desire to keep to the manly Stoic position on the issue in question, the wise man’s insusceptibility to distress. Cf. Graver 2002, ad loc.

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of this contrast is that Cicero’s brand of philosophy is (better) suited for presentation to a wider audience, because it is intimately connected with rhetoric in a fundamental way and because its views are not as shockingly counterintuitive as those of the Stoics. Furthermore, given that presenting philosophy to a Roman audience is not an easy undertaking, if, with the help of oratory, it could be done for the Stoic paradoxa, some of the most extreme philosophical views imaginable, it follows that it should be much easier and more natural to present the philosophical ideas of the Academics, which are closer to “common sense.”27 It is significant that Cicero claims that the purpose of the Paradoxa is to bring the recondite ideas of the Stoics in lucem, id est in forum, “into the light, that is, into the forum.”28 The facile equation made by id est is in fact covering up a significant leap. Proferri in lucem is a fairly general expression that can be justifiably used to characterize any kind of publication, and as such is perfectly applicable in this case.29 In forum, on the other hand, implies a very specific kind of publication, one that brings into play all the public and civic association of the forum. If a hypothetical reader is expected to classify the work as resulting from and intended for either the sphere of otium or negotium, locating it in the forum places it squarely in the realm of negotium, and more specifically, the kind of business that is conducted in the forum in the service of the republic. The transformation that Cicero is attempting here is all the more radical as he explicitly identifies the Stoic material that he is working with as located in the sphere of Greek-tinged otium: quae vix in gymnasiis et in otio Stoici probant, “things which the Stoics deem credible with difficulty when relaxing in the gymnasia” (Parad. 3). Thus, in the course of this short preface, Cicero has taken the reader through a kind of rhetorical chiasmus. Starting from an instance of the use of philosophy in the public arena by a Stoic, which he asserts is unusual, but impressive, he has ended by placing his own, largely Academic, philosophical work in the forum by virtue of its organic rhetorical components. 27 In

the same preface Cicero expresses great faith in the powers of rhetoric, again with probabilis occupying a prominent position: sed nihil est tam incredibile quod non dicendo fiat probabile, nihil tam horridum, tam incultum, quod non splendescat oratione et tamquam excolatur, “ but nothing is so difficult to believe that it cannot be made credible through the power of speech, nothing so rough, so unadorned that it does not shine in speech and become as though refined” (Parad. 3). 28 On Cicero’s procedure in transforming the Stoic paradoxes from Stoic dialectic and logic through Academic/Peripatetic theses into rhetorical commonplaces, see Englert 1990. 29 The metaphor of light recurs frequently in his presentation of what he is doing: cf. splendescat in Parad. 3, quoted above (n.27) and inlustranda in Tusc. 1.5, discussed in the previous chapter.

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Always Philosophizing: Cicero as the Linchpin in DE NATURA DEORUM I In the preface to the Paradoxa Stoicorum, we saw Cicero first construct an implicit apology for his philosophical undertaking by displacing the potential conflict onto the figure of Cato the Younger, and then use the latter’s actions as a basis for justifying his own. In contexts where the criticism and the self-justification are more explicit, no such displacement can take place, and Cicero attempts to convince his readers that philosophical activity is a natural extension of the standard Roman public activities, notably oratory, that marked his earlier career. Book one of De Natura Deorum contains Cicero’s most explicit pointby-point response to his critics. One issue that Cicero claims occasioned comment was the unexpectedness of his turn to philosophy and writing: sermonem . . . admirantium unde hoc philosophandi nobis subito studium extitisset . . . . , “the talk of those wondering from what source this sudden zeal for philosophizing arose in us . . . .” (N.D. 1.6). The amazement of the unidentified critics, coupled with the use of subito, “suddenly,” of course implies that in their opinion this new activity of Cicero’s has no connection to his previous duties as a statesman and an advocate. His response rests on proving that such surprise is unwarranted, which he will do by establishing a solid link between, on the one hand, the activities his critics, though hostile to philosophy, would recognize as natural for him (and, by implication, more generally for a man in his social position) and his new occupation on the other: nos autem nec subito coepimus philosophari nec mediocrem a primo tempore aetatis in eo studio operam curamque consumpsimus, et cum minime videbamur, tum maxime philosophabamur; quod et orationes declarant refertae philosophorum sententiis et doctissimorum hominum familiaritates, quibus semper domus nostra floruit, et principes illi Diodotus Philo Antiochus Posidonius, a quibus instituti sumus. (N.D. 1.6) Furthermore, I began to engage in philosophy not suddenly and have spent not trivial amounts of effort and care in this pursuit from an early age, and I was most involved in practicing philosophy at the times when I appeared to be doing so the least; which point also my speeches demonstrate given that they are filled with opinions of philosophers and my close relationships with most learned men, with which my house always blossomed, and those teachers, Diodotus, Philo, Antiochus, Posidonius, by whom I was taught. The first thing Cicero needs to do is to deny the element of suddenness with its implications of a break with the past, and thus nec subito is a

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very strong litotes here, expanded by a primo tempore aetatis:30 his involvement with philosophy certainly should not be seen as a departure from the immediately preceding portion of his career, since philosophy has been a constant presence in his life from his early youth.31 A further implied assumption of the critics has to do with the otium/negotium provenance of activities: it is Cicero’s attempt to shift philosophy from the sphere of otium to that of negotium, i.e., to treat it as a serious occupation on a par with political and legal activity, that is surprising and potentially objectionable. To disarm such an objection Cicero needs to show that philosophical activity exhibits inherent characteristics of negotium. The fact that philosophy has always required operam curamque (“effort and care”), for example, definitely locates it within the sphere of negotium.32 Moreover, since he claims that it was not previously separated from his other public activities—witness the philosophical views he expressed in his speeches—it cannot be taken to represent a real break with them. The example of Cicero’s speeches provides a perfect parallel to his starting point in the Paradoxa, Cato’s use of Stoic philosophical views in his speeches. Oratory, the sphere where philosophy and an active public life meet, stands as a strong argument against those skeptics who doubt the value of philosophy to the Roman political world, and as such it will play a critical role in Cicero’s self-presentation in the philosophica. The connection between Cicero’s past and present is further established through a rather striking paradoxical observation: cum minime videbamur, tum maxime philosophabamur. The phrase implies that a man of Cicero’s stature routinely engages in philosophy; indeed his everyday activities can be construed as prime examples of its practice. That this fact has escaped the notice of his critics establishes Cicero as a real authority on the subject, and his opponents as men capable only of superficial interpretation. The actual examples of this phenomenon that he provides are inconsistent with the grandness of the initial claim. The presence of philosophers in his immediate circle and among his teachers, in particular, is hard to construe as an instance of minime (philosophari) videbamur, since, on the one hand, it is not an unexpected or covert (minime) way of showing that one is connected with philosophy, and, on the other hand, a 30 Habinek

1994.59 notes that the theme of return is emphasized in the opening sentence of the preface through the use of four verbs with the prefix re-. 31 Cicero emphasized this point frequently: e.g., Tusc. 5.5, de Orat. 1.2, Rep. 1.7. For a discussion of philosophy’s continuous presence in Cicero’s life and its integration into his political and oratorical activity, cf. Görler 1990. 32 Cf. Sallust’s use of arduum to describe his intellectual activity, discussed in chapter chapter 1, the section “Sallust, or Anxiety about Writing.”

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house philosopher is often nothing more than a status symbol, a luxury item that says little about the patron’s real commitment to philosophy or his ability to practice it. This disconnect between the claim and the supporting evidence, which amounts to a step back for the argument, results from Cicero’s wish that his proof not depend entirely on evidence that had not been accessible to the reading public. In light of this example, it is all the more significant that oratorical practice once again emerges as the area of public life that lends itself to convincing “unbelievers” that philosophy has a place in demonstrably approved Roman activities. Philosophy’s contribution is in the use of sententiae in speeches. This is again parallel to the example of Cato in the Paradoxa: the orators are different and adhere to different philosophical schools, but they share a reliance on philosophy. It emerges that oratory—good and effective oratory—almost requires philosophy. The interpenetration of the two shows conclusively that philosophy is not separable from public life, let alone a threat to it.33 This is made explicit in the following section: et si omnia philosophiae praecepta referuntur ad vitam, arbitramur nos et publicis et privatis in rebus ea praestitisse quae ratio et doctrina praescripserit. (N. D. 7) And if all teachings of philosophy are relevant to life, I think that I have exhibited, in both private and public affairs, those things that my understanding and learning had prescribed. The main thrust of this summing up is the even distribution of Cicero’s prior philosophy-based conduct between the public and the private spheres of his life. The catch is that to agree with this conclusion (and therefore to accept writing philosophy as an occupation) the potential opponent must be willing to accept the content of the si clause, a rather broad—and by no means uncontroversial—statement of philosophy’s direct bearing on practical life. But the way the sentence is constructed presents this condition rather casually, as if self-evident, with the typical Ciceronian hope of sweeping the reader along to agreement, leaving him no leisure to linger over the precise meaning of the premise. The theme of continuity in Cicero’s career serves to integrate philosophy into the fabric of Roman public life. The combination of oratory’s undeniable importance to an elite Roman conducting his accustomed business in the assembly, the senate, and the courts, along with its as 33 This is a change from his approach to philosophy in the pre–civil war De Oratore. See Fantham 2004, ch. 3 and Connolly 2007.121–29 on the dialogue as a response to Plato’s charges against rhetoric.

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apparent closeness to the discipline of philosophy, allows Cicero to construct a plausible refutation of the charge that his turn to philosophical writing constitutes a break with his earlier career and thus removes his activity from the public sphere and the service of the state.

From Oratory to Philosophy: The Logic of TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS I The connection between philosophy and oratory is also essential to the setup of the Tusculan Disputations. The preface to book one contains a disquisition on the many artes in which the Greeks are held to be superior to the Romans. Cicero singles out oratory (by implication putting it on the same level as the other arts he discusses) as the one exception, adopted so early and practiced so successfully in Rome that in this field equality with the Greeks was reached. From oratory he moves to philosophy, which is also presented as an exception, though of the opposite type. Philosophy is the only area in which the Romans are said to have exerted no serious efforts. This conjunction of the two exceptional arts, the one where Roman achievement is the greatest and the other that the Romans left untouched, is used by Cicero to construct a role for himself. His oratorical success qualifies him to introduce philosophy to Rome: quare si aliquid oratoriae laudis nostra attulimus industria, multo studiosius philosophiae fontis aperiemus, e quibus etiam illa manabant. (Tusc. 1.6) Therefore, if I have attained anything of oratorical praise through my diligence, with all the more zeal I will open up the sources of philosophy from which [my oratorical accomplishments] also flowed. By using the litotes aliquid laudis Cicero is laying claim to an important contribution in the one art where the Romans have been most successful, possibly implying that his contribution is the crucial one that put the Romans on a par with the Greeks. Against this background of prior diligentia he establishes a connection we have seen in the other prefaces: his oratorical achievement is based on philosophy. Though similar in its general outline to Cicero’s other statements of this relationship, this assertion is by far the strongest. In earlier instances the influence of philosophy was confined to a well-defined, and somewhat peripheral segment of oratorical endeavor, the use of sententiae in speeches. This interpretation of the interaction between the two disciplines is sufficient to establish a connection and indicate a certain level of natural affinity that allows for inter-

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penetration, but it by no means implies that philosophy is essential to oratory. The brief statement in this passage, on the other hand, makes a far more ambitious claim: it identifies philosophy as the fontes, sources, thus ascribing complete dependence and subordinate status to oratory.34 This account of the origins of oratory creates a paradox when put alongside his preceding account of Roman involvement with the Greek arts. That account established that of all the arts the Romans were best suited for oratory. But oratory, we have just learned, is derived from philosophy. And yet philosophy is the very art that the Romans have never properly explored. The reader is led to infer that the Romans must have a natural predisposition to philosophy, oratory’s progenitor. Cicero’s presentation of the relationship between oratory and philosophy also implies that it would be logical for the Romans, who regard the former highly, to value the latter as well. In short, philosophy emerges as an area in which the Romans are predisposed to succeed and to which they ought to apply themselves. At the same time, the argument sets up Cicero’s own role in this future application. He has contributed to the glory of Roman oratory; he is the one who established the connection with philosophy; his continuous engagement with philosophy is one of the most frequent themes of the prefaces. That he is perfectly placed to shepherd the Romans into the field of philosophical practice is not open to doubt. He then introduces a Greek parallel for a productive orator-philosopher combination, choosing as his model a figure no less than Aristotle: sed ut Aristoteles, vir summo ingenio, scientia, copia, cum motus esset Isocratis rhetoris gloria, dicere docere etiam coepit adulescentes et prudentiam cum eloquentia iungere, sic nobis placet nec pristinum dicendi studium deponere et in hac maiore et uberiore arte versari. hanc enim perfectam philosophiam semper iudicavi, quae de maximis quaestionibus copiose posset ornateque dicere. (Tusc. 1.7) But just as Aristotle, a man of greatest talent, knowledge, fullness of expression, after he was bestirred by the glory of the orator Isocrates, he also began to teach the youth how to speak and to unite knowledge with eloquence, thus I have decided not to put aside my old pursuit of speaking and to engage in this greater and more fertile art. For I have often judged that kind of philosophy most accomplished which was able to speak about the most significant issues with fullness and elegance. 34 Michel

1960, taking his cue from Cicero, investigates the philosophical foundations of Cicero’s rhetoric, both in the speeches and in the rhetorical treatises; Gildenhard 2011 treats the speeches and uses a broadly based definition for identifying philosophical material, making a more powerful argument for maxime philosophabamur in Cicero’s oratorical practice than Cicero himself could.

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Aristotle is described here as the perfect man for the job of combining rhetoric and philosophy. He not only possesses ingenium, a rather unspecific term that describes natural ability; he also has the two qualities relevant to the successful practice of the two disciplines he will combine: scientia, “knowledge,” for philosophy, and copia, “eloquence,” for oratory. His function in the passage is to provide a famous predecessor—and the validation that such a predecessor implies—for Cicero’s project, but with a twist: his motivational process moves in the opposite direction from Cicero’s. Aristotle, a philosopher, is induced by the example of Isocrates to make rhetoric an element of his teaching. The reason why he was “moved,” motus, by Isocrates’ gloria is not mentioned, but the rest of the sentence reveals it to be a result of the traditional Greek competition between philosophers and rhetoricians in the educational arena:35 Aristotle’s reaction to Isocrates’ success is described exclusively in terms of the changes he makes to his curriculum. While reflecting a historical reality, this emphasis on education also reveals Cicero’s preoccupation with the educational aspect of his own attempt at joining philosophy and oratory.36 The fact that Cicero here mentions both Isocrates and Aristotle, but compares himself only to the latter is in itself noteworthy, given Isocrates’ influence on Cicero and the many similarities in their thought (in particular their common emphasis on the practical side of what each refers to as philosophia and their explicitly pedagogical focus).37 However, the context here requires emphasis on the integration of rhetoric and philosophy, but Isocrates, a figure whom most would identify as a rhetorician, himself studiously avoided the term rhetorike, styling himself instead as a practitioner of philosophia. He would not seem, then, to be nearly as useful a comparandum as Aristotle.38 Yet even Aristotle is not depicted as a perfect model for what Cicero sees himself doing, for the very fact that it required Isocrates’ success to convince him to take up the teaching of rhetoric in addition to philosophy reveals that, by Cicero’s standards, he underestimated the importance of joining the two disciplines. Cicero ultimately sees himself alone as the one who truly understands the importance of this integrating move, a sentiment that he expresses in one of his last works, De Officiis. 35 See Nightingale 1995, ch. 1 on Isocrates’ attempt at rhetorical appropriation of philosophia. 36 On the “conflict” between Aristotle and Isocrates and its representation in Cicero, see Michel 1960.107–108; on this passage, cf. Gildenhard 2007.150. 37 For Isocrates’ influence on Cicero, see Smethurst 1953. Cf. Hubbell 1914.16–40 and Michel 1960.101–104. 38 See Garver 2004 for a comparison of the place of rhetoric in the thought of Isocrates and Aristotle.

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The treatise is addressed to his son Marcus, who is studying in Athens. In comparing the style of his speeches and his philosophical works and commenting on their respective benefits to Marcus’ educational progress, Cicero in effect states that no one has been as accomplished and successful as he in both areas of rhetorical endeavor: et id quidem nemini video Graecorum adhuc contigisse, ut idem utroque in genere laboraret sequereturque et illud forense dicendi et hoc quietum disputandi genus, nisi forte Demetrius Phalereus in hoc numero haberi potest, disputator subtilis, orator parum vehemens, dulcis tamen, ut Theophrasti discipulum possis agnoscere. nos autem quantum in utroque profecerimus, aliorum sit iudicium: utrumque certe secuti sumus. equidem et Platonem existimo si genus forense dicendi tractare voluisset, gravissime et copiosissime potuisse dicere et Demosthenem si illa, quae a Platone didicerat, tenuisset et pronuntiare voluisset, ornate splendideque facere potuisse; eodemque modo de Aristotele et Isocrate iudico, quorum uterque suo studio delectatus contempsit alterum. (Off. 1.3–4) And indeed, I see that none of the Greeks up till now succeeded in working in and pursuing both the type of speaking we use in the forum and this quiet type of discussion, except perhaps Demetrius of Phalerum can be considered in this group, a subtle philosophical debater, and an orator, though not sufficiently vigorous, but nevertheless delightful so that you could recognize in him a student of Theophrastus. Yet what I have accomplished in each genre, let others judge; I have certainly pursued both. Indeed, I think that both Plato, had he been willing to practice the public type of speaking, would have been able to speak most weightily and eloquently, and Demosthenes, if he had mastered those matters, which he had learned from Plato, and had been willing to present them publicly, would have been able to do so in a brilliant manner; I hold a similar opinion about Aristotle and Isocrates, each of whom, pleased with his own field of endeavor, looked down on the other. This classification is revealing in several ways. In the first place, it is typical of Cicero’s procedure in the prefaces to focus on style rather than content. Here it allows him to create a space where comparing Plato and Demosthenes becomes possible: their accomplishments in using language are made to transcend the difference in their respective chosen arenas. Even as Cicero praises their individual accomplishments, he criticizes quite an impressive selection of famous ancient Greeks for having, in comparison to himself, too narrow an intellectual focus. The choice of Demetrius

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of Phalerum39 as the Greek who comes closest to fulfilling the Ciceronian ideal is conditioned by a third unexpressed element that is of importance to Cicero: in addition to pursuing philosophy and oratory, playing an active role in politics was essential to him.40 Demetrius thus perfectly suits Cicero’s purposes.41 At the same time, the fact that Demetrius’ main claim to fame is that he was reasonably good in all the necessary fields, but not exceptional in any, throws Cicero’s own accomplishment into even sharper relief, the humble aside—“let others judge”—notwithstanding. His presence in the passage shifts some of the weight of the comparison with the four great Greeks away from Cicero. They are set against each other, and against Demetrius, who serves as the point of contact with Cicero. The pair that represented philosophy and rhetoric in the Tusculans, Aristotle and Isocrates, also reappears, this time cited for having failed to appreciate the value of each other’s disciplines, a failure that Cicero (and only Cicero) is going to correct. In the comparison of Cicero to Aristotle in the above passage from the preface to the Tusculans, however, Aristotle received high praise both for his philosophical and rhetorical accomplishments, a necessary condition if he was to serve as the famous forerunner whose similarity to Cicero would validate the latter’s work. But the Aristotle half of the comparison does not contain a judgment on the relative value of the two elements, philosophy and rhetoric, that are being united. Its main purpose is to show that they can be successfully combined. Cicero then uses this as a basis for saying that his turn to philosophy need not entail a rejection of oratory. Here the comparison is turned to Cicero’s and his project’s advantage. Philosophy and oratory are no longer seen in a developmental relationship to one another, but are set squarely one against the other, and Cicero rules unambiguously in favor of philosophy. It is maior, greater, and uberior, more productive. What could be the basis for a comparison between oratory and philosophy in terms of their productivity? The main product of oratory is persuasion. The orator uses his eloquence to bring the audience over to his view on a given issue. If oratory can be seen as less productive than 39 Sources on Demetrius are collected and translated in Fortenbaugh and Schütrumpf, eds., 2000. 40 Gottschalk 2000 is a concise treatment of Demetrius’ philosophical and political activity. More explicit political emphasis is also a feature of Cicero’s post-Caesarian treatises in general, see ch. 6. 41 Dyck 1996.67, ad loc. suggests that Demetrius’ comparatively humble background, an additional similarity between the two men (cf. Cicero’s status as a novus homo), also contributed to Cicero’s sense of their affinity. A further important similarity is Demetrius’ exile, described by Cicero as iniuria, and his philosophical output during that period, in illo calamitoso otio (Fin. 5.54).

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philosophy, it is because its brand of persuasion is fairly superficial. The audience may vote as an effective speaker wishes it to vote, but the audience will not as a result share the general views held by the speaker. Should another issue come up, it will have to be persuaded anew. Philosophy elicits a deeper commitment from those persuaded—thus its potential to bear fruit is greater.42 The message that Cicero is trying to get across to the reader is that philosophy is not an alien new art; it is rather a further evolution of the already well-accepted art of oratory. At the same time he is establishing his own qualifications for the task of presenting philosophy to the Roman audience. In the last sentence of the Tusculans passage quoted above, he again emphasizes that the brand of philosophy he wants to offer to his fellow-citizens will incorporate oratory. It is as if he were reassuring the reader that his new works will not sound strange. A continuity of style will allow his audience to adjust rather painlessly to the change in content. In fact, the description of philosophy Cicero gives here, de maximis quaestionibus ornate . . . copioseque dicere, could be just as easily applied to oratory.43 At this point the preface moves from introducing philosophy in a general way to preparing the reader for the specific work he is about to encounter; namely, a disputation on philosophical subjects presented in dialogue form. As in the previous section, the justification of the authorial choice is made explicitly in terms of Greek precedent: etiam scholas Graecorum more habere auderemus, “I even dared to have learned disputations in the manner of the Greeks.” Schola is the Greek term whose Latin translation, disputatio, gives its name to the entire work.44 It is significant that Cicero both introduces the Greek term in the beginning of 42 For uberior used in the context of presenting philosophical arguments to achieve more deeply held conviction, cf. A.’s request at Tusc. 1.16: uberius ista, quaeso. haec enim spinosiora, prius ut confitear me cogunt quam ut adsentiar, “More fully, I ask. For these matters are so thorny that they force me to concede rather than agree.” Here the distinction is between different styles for the presentation of philosophical content, rather than between rhetorical and philosophical persuasion. 43 Cf., e.g., the definition of eloquentia at Part. 79: nihil enim est aliud eloquentia nisi copiose loquens sapientia; quae ex eodem hausta genere, quo illa quae in disputando, est uberior atque latior et ad motus animorum vulgique sensus accommodatior, “eloquence is nothing other than wisdom that speaks with elegance, which is drawn from the same type as the one used in disputation; it is more full and expansive and more appropriate to the emotions and the perceptions of the common people.” Cf. Arweiler 2003.254–58. 44 On the meaning and the history of this term, and its applicability to both rhetoric and philosophy, see Douglas 1995.199–202; on the negative connotations, Gildenhard 2007.12– 14. Gorman 2005.64–84 argues that Cicero’s actual procedure in what follows transforms the traditional Greek schola through the infusion of Socratic dialectic, rendering it more Roman in the process. On the form of the work, see the compelling treatment of Gildenhard 2007; see also Lefèvre 2008.267–81.

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his explanation of how the dialogue is going to function and uses the Latin term in his title. There is a paradox here. Cicero in trying to present himself as qualified to do philosophy has to rely on Greek models—the only models available—but at the same time he must protect himself from looking too Greek, and therefore suspect, in the eyes of his Roman readers. He counteracts this danger by introducing Roman parallels for the essentially Greek activity he is engaging in: ut nuper tuum post discessum in Tusculano cum essent complures mecum familiares, temptavi, quid in eo genere possem. ut enim antea declamitabam causas, quod nemo me diutius fecit, sic haec mihi nunc senilis est declamatio. ponere iubebam, de quo quis audire vellet; ad id aut sedens aut ambulans disputabam. . . . fiebat autem ita ut, cum is qui audire vellet dixisset, quid sibi videretur, tum ego contra dicerem. haec est enim, ut scis, vetus et Socratica ratio contra alterius opinionem disserendi. nam ita facillime, quid veri simillimum esset, inveniri posse Socrates arbitrabatur. sed quo commodius disputationes nostrae explicentur, sic eas exponam, quasi agatur res, non quasi narretur. (Tusc. 1.7–8) So recently after your departure when a number of close friends were with me at my Tusculan villa, I tried to see what I was capable of in this genre. For as before I would declaim my court speeches, a thing that no one did longer than I, so this [learned philosophical discussion] is now the rhetorical exercise for my old age. I told [my friends] to put forward what question each one wanted to hear about; in response to it I gave a discussion either sitting down or walking around. . . . Furthermore, what took place was that when the person who wanted to have the question debated had said what seemed to him to be the case, then I spoke and opposed him. For such, as you know, is the old Socratic method of arguing against the opinion of the interlocutor. For Socrates believed that in this manner what was nearest the truth could be discovered most easily. But to have our disputations presented more conveniently, I will set them forth as if the action is taking place, not as if it is being narrated. In light of previous discussion, it comes as no surprise that oratorical practice is once again the sphere that provides Cicero with his most useful models.45 A philosophical disputatio is presented to the Roman reader through the familiar activity of declamatio.46 Declamatio brings with it 45 Fox 2007.51–52 comments on this passage as “strongly suggestive” of a connection between the two disciplines, in particular in the case of Cicero the orator-turned-philosopher. 46 A classic treatment of declamatio is Bonner 1949; recent treatments are Gunderson 2003, a literary study of surviving declamationes (see 1–4 for a general definition and fur-

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connotations of the early stages of the oratorical process: it is an exercise meant for the orator in training to display and improve his powers, or a rehearsal of a real speech. Disputatio appears, by analogy, also as an exercise for the philosopher in training.47 This has implications for the author and for his audience. If the Roman reader is just now being introduced to the practice of philosophy, then disputatio presented in these educational terms is entirely appropriate for him.48 It is at the same time helpful for the author’s relationship to the reader that he does not portray himself always as an expert: he may be more qualified to introduce philosophy to Rome than the average potential reader, but he too is new to the task of blending Greek philosophical knowledge and Roman tradition— he too needs practice. Thus, a disputatio in which he will arrive at the truth thanks to the promptings of a number of his familiares is an arrangement with maximum potential to satisfy the reader. He will identify with the questioners and feel as gratified by the outcome of the discussion as if he had contributed to it himself.49 Cicero calls the upcoming discussion his declamatio senilis, a declamation of his old age. He has put in his time practicing traditional rhetorical declamation; his success didn’t make him too proud to exercise, rather, he may be implying that it is precisely his unique willingness to keep doing the basic exercises that is responsible for his superiority as an orator— quod nemo me diutius fecit, “the thing that no one did longer than me.” Against this background, calling his philosophical exercises declamatio has a number of connotations beyond the recurring theme of making philosophical practice appear analogous to oratorical practice. The factor of continuity is undeniable and very important, but the use of senilis makes it more than a simple linear connection—it introduces the idea of progress: his switch to philosophical exercise emerges as the culmination ther bibliography); Stroh 2003, with extensive bibliography (n. 5), a study of the semantic development of declamatio and its cluster during Cicero’s lifetime (and based primarily on Cicero’s usage) to assume the technical meaning it had under the empire; Kaster 2001 and Corbeill 2007, with a focus on education and social function; see also Beard 1993 on declamations as Roman cultural myths. 47 See Reinhardt 2000 on the connection between Academic rhetorical training under Philo and Academic dialectic. 48 Gildenhard 2007.8–17 discusses the importance of the key terms discussed here, as well as exercitatio and sermo, in the context of the work’s genre. He sees Cicero as emphatically portraying his engagement in activities associated with youth, inappropriate for a man of his position, as a function and an indictment of Caesar’s tyranny (64). 49 Another dialogue that is designed to replicate a conversation in which the reader could easily imagine participating is De Oratore. See Narducci 1997.28–34 for the influence of Platonic dialogue (as opposed to the Aristotelian model of disputatio employed in the Tusculans) and aristocratic conversational etiquette on the structure of De Oratore. On the role of politeness and social conventions on the interactions of characters in this dialogue, see also Hall 1996b.

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of his previous rhetorical exercise, as if the cumulative effect of repeated performance were a qualitative shift. In addition, there is the promise that the author will apply the same kind of dedication in his new-chosen arena as in his earlier field. The rest of the introductory section is spent detailing the workings of the Socratic method, which will be used to organize Cicero’s disputatio.50 The level of detail is somewhat surprising given that even those with a fairly superficial acquaintance with Greek philosophy would likely be familiar with the Socratica ratio. One obvious function of the evocation of Socrates here is to provide a solid Greek parallel for Cicero’s own practice, the same function that Aristotle served a bit earlier on. Yet the point of both appeals to tradition is that the names are easily recognized as famous, and not so much their specific associations. Thus, the extra detail of the reference to Socrates requires more of an explanation. Cicero has a general tendency to use his preface to prepare the reader as much as possible for what he will find in the main body of the work, and this is a fair reason for the amount of detail we find here. I propose, however, that the particular way in which Cicero describes the Socratic method and the way he and his interlocutors will put it into practice is meant to evoke interactions between parties during a trial—a specific and solidly Roman instance of the application of oratory.51 Although Cicero’s account of the interaction does not correspond exactly to any specific phase of a trial, several elements of court proceedings are recognizable: the overall structural set-up of two parties arguing against each other (contra alterius opinionem disserendi); the series of questions and answers that are reminiscent of the questioning of a witness by an advocate; and the avowed goal common to the court case and philosophical debate, to get as close as possible to the truth (quid veri simillimum esset inveniri). Finally, the description of the chosen manner of reporting the discussion, quasi agatur res, is noteworthy. It refers in this context to Cicero’s authorial decision to present it as if it were taking place in the present, as a dramatic dialogue.52 Yet the use of the phrase res agere cannot but bring to the mind its common meaning of conducting a legal case. I do not by any means contend that Cicero is trying to convince his reader that a philosophical discussion is identical to a legal pro50 Gorman 2005 is a study that foregrounds Cicero’s use of Socratic dialectic for philosophical ends. On Cicero’s Socrates, see also Glucker 1997, Görler 2001. 51 Cf. Stroup 2010.169: “And although the dialogues . . . resemble epideictic oratory . . . rather than, strictly speaking, the forensic sort, they nevertheless provide a pleasing echo of an established sort of display.” On Cicero’s use of legal metaphors in some of the other treatises, see Gebhardt 2009.58–68. Schofield 1986 (Appendix 2) compares the philosophical rhetoric of the second book of De Divinatione to forensic cross-examination and sets out parallels with some of Cicero’s speeches. 52 In presenting his choice in this manner he is also alluding to Plato’s Theatetus 143b5.

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ceeding. Nonetheless, I believe that he uses language that purposefully presents philosophy as in many particulars similar to familiar and respectable kinds of public activity, and that he does this in order to make it appear less alien to his audience.53 •

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In the presentation of his philosophical project to the elite Roman readership, Cicero faced a number of serious and deeply rooted prejudices; in particular, the unwillingness to accept intellectual activity as a primary negotium worthy of an elite man, and the belief that the practice of philosophy was incompatible with an active public life. One of his major strategies to combat these views was a multi-faceted use of oratory, calculated to give philosophy a more familiar face. Through the rhetorical style that he uses in the treatises, through his emphasis on the theoretical similarity between rhetoric and philosophy, and, finally, through the presentation of the continuous presence of philosophy in his successful prior public career, Cicero creates a series of links between philosophy and standard political practice as conducted through oratory. Philosophy is thus constructed not as a foreign and potentially subversive practice, but rather a beneficial practice, fully consonant with Roman public life. But at the same time as Cicero uses oratory to open a way for philosophy, he pits the two disciplines against each other. He presents philosophy as an improvement, a way to achieve persuasion that is more stable than what oratory can accomplish. His is not a bid to replace oratory with philosophy, the way his philosophical works are meant to replace their Greek sources. Instead, he implies that the way forward is to use philosophy to ground traditional Roman practice, just as his own public actions have been grounded in philosopohy. Yet this essential element of his argument is also its weakest link. A look back at Cicero’s career brings to light many instances of what he in his later philosophical mode might call a misuse of rhetoric. Like the failing state he hopes to revive, Cicero is a captive of his own past. 53 The method of argumentation in utramque partem, which, as Malcolm Schofield (1986.53–55 and 65) on the example of De Divinatione and Jürgen Leonhardt in his 1999 book have demonstrated, bears great rhetorical and structural similarity to Cicero’s forensic procedure of questioning an imaginary opponent. It serves both a philosophical purpose and a function analogous to this instance of the use of legal language in naturalizing his philosophical project in the eyes of his Roman audience.

CHAPTER FIVE

Reading a Ciceronian Preface STRATEGIES OF READER MANAGEMENT Books That Fill You With Sudden, Inexplicable Curiosity, Not Easily Justified. This book so far has been careful to leave open to the Reader who is reading the possibility of identifying himself with the Reader who is read. Italo Calvino, If on a Winter’s Night a Traveler

In chapters 3 and 4, I analyzed aspects of Cicero’s negotiations with his audience that were conducted in fairly explicit terms and addressed head-on his readers’ potential discomforts with his philosophical undertaking. This chapter will focus on the rhetorical work that takes place, as it were, behind the scenes, in the literary forms, quotations, and allusions that are also integral to the prefaces.1 All these features have their sources in the Roman tradition, understood most broadly, be they traditional modes of elite interaction or texts that had already by Cicero’s day achieved the status of classics. Far from being simply ornamental trim, a literary veneer clumsily tacked on to the real philosophical body of the work, these more integrated rhetorical moves do as much to manage the author-reader relationship as the more overt tactics I have already discussed. Put most generally, their goal is, by inscribing the project firmly within traditional social and cultural structures, to mitigate the problematic nature of what Cicero is doing in introducing philosophy as a substitute for public life. However, given the marginal status of philosophical discourse in Roman society, this is a difficult task and one that, if it is to have any chance of success, requires an audience open to the author’s influence and willing to accept his self-presentation at face value—that is, 1 The

development of the prose preface in antiquity is studied by Janson 1964. His panoramic view of the history of prefaces not only demonstrates that by Cicero’s time many features of the preface, such as a dedication to a friend, have become traditional, but also shows that the topoi are developed by Cicero on a larger scale and with more subtlety than is found in more formulaic prefaces. Stroup 2010.176–91 critiques and builds on his treatment in her analysis, focusing on Cicero’s practice. For a theoretical discussion of the functioning of the preface and the dedication, see Genette 1997.

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the kind of audience that no writer can count on having. But, setting aside the question of the real reactions of real historical readers,2 what is most relevant to my topic here is the author’s construction of an ideal reader, one who will respond to his every rhetorical shift in exactly the way he intends. Positing such a hypothetic reader is in itself a rhetorical device designed to influence the reactions of real readers.3 As we will see, it sheds more light on Cicero’s complex self-representation in the prefaces. An analysis of the hidden strategies Cicero employs to influence his reader’s response will reveal as well what structures and ideas he expects to be sufficiently powerful to overcome the inherent difficulties caused by the ambiguity of his position and goals. Of course, a specific ideal reader is written into all the dedicated treatises: it is the dedicatee, and the work is always presented in relation to him. But the very fact that the dedication, though often written in epistolary form to a single addressee, is included with the text of the treatises, suggests that it has a role to play in establishing the relationship between the author and the anonymous reader.4 The evidence of the Topica supports this conclusion: in addition to the dedication, a personal letter has survived that Cicero sent to present the work to the dedicatee (Fam. 7.19; SB 334).5 This letter is not included in the text of the treatise. While the dedication must be included in the text for it to be able to perform its function, the abundance of personal detail in the preface to the Topica cannot be justified on these grounds alone. At the same time, the level of detail also excludes a simple nod to the dedicatee as the only motivation. The function of the dedicatory preface, therefore, is in fact, through the dedicatee, to communicate with the anonymous reader.6 That invites a 2 Cf. Genette’s discussion of the function of the preface (1997.197). He makes a distinction between getting the book read and getting it read “properly,” and emphasizes that the first is no guarantee of the second. 3 I use the term “ideal reader” somewhat loosely, in a way that combines characteristics of Wolfgang Iser’s “implied reader” and Erwin Wolff’s “intended reader,” as described by Iser (1978.27–38). By Cicero’s ideal reader I mean one who, like Iser’s, “embodies all those predispositions necessary for a literary work to exercise its effect” and, like Wolff’s, is primarily “the idea of the reader which the author had in mind.” 4 See Genette 1997.134–35 on the ambiguity of the dedicated address. Cf. Teichert 1990 on the role of Lucilius as a place-holder addressee in Seneca’s deployment of epistolary genre to philosophical ends: “Über die Instanz des fiktiven Lesers Lucilius wendet sich Der Autor an die realen Leser seines Werk” (72). Teichert compares the dynamic to that of a Platonic dialogue, but does not adduce Ciceronian parallels. 5 Fam. 9.8 (SB 254) to Varro similarly presents the dedication of Academica in a personal letter. It does not provide the same type of contrast, however, since the introductory sections of that treatise are themselves in dialogue form. 6 Cf. also Cicero’s comment inside the body of the treatise: quoniam haec ita ad te scribuntur ut etiam in aliorum manus sint ventura, detur opera, ut quam plurimum eis quos recta studia delectant prodesse possimus, “since this work is dedicated to you in such a way

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question. Why not address the reader directly? What is the advantage of approaching him through, as it were, a dummy addressee? Part of the answer lies in the author’s relationship to his work: Cicero does not believe that his claims can be presented at face value to a neutral audience. As the repeated self-justificatory passages demonstrate, he anticipates resistance and stands in need of the readers’ indulgence. As part of an attempt to secure it, he uses the preface-dedication to construct a scenario in which the ideal reader, the reader who picks up on all the authorial cues and follows them faithfully, is at the end of the preface obligated to be favorable to the work. In doing so he draws on a Roman social institution that readily provides the appropriate framework of obligation and favorable response, the institution of amicitia.7 There is no scholarly consensus on the precise meaning of amicitia. Many want to see it primarily as a formalized social and political institution and deny it the element of emotion that we associate with personal friendships in the modern world.8 Others take a more flexible view that allows amicitia to occupy a larger semantic field, including both the political and personal ends of the spectrum.9 In light of the evidence, which has been mustered convincingly in support of both the more formal and the more emotional view, it seems most productive to adopt the more inclusive model and to see amicitia primarily as a social relationship centered around mutual obligation that can be manifested in different areas of life, that is, on a more personal, intimate level and in the larger public, often political, arena as well.10 The mainstay of the reciprocal obligation that lies at the structural core of amicitia is the fact that partners in this relationship perform beneficia for one another.11 Each beneficium prothat it should come also into the hands of others, we must direct our efforts to being able to benefit as many as possible among those men who delight in the pursuits of the right kind” (Top. 72). 7 Connolly 2007.98 discusses the effect on the reader of the address to Cicero’s brother Quintus in the preface to de Orat. 8 The older version of this view is expressed by Taylor 1961.7–8, who equates amicitia with a political party; the most recent reiteration is Peachin, ed. 2001.7. The meaning of amicitia in a political context is also studied by Hellegouarc’h 1963.41–54. 9 Most notably and influentially, Brunt 1965.20: “[amicitia] covers every degree of genuinely or overtly amicable relation.” Cf. Gotter 1996b.342–46. See also Konstan 1997, who opposes the trend toward the formalized view and stresses the emotional aspects of classical friendship. 10 A reading of Cicero’s letters reveals the variety of relationships that he included within the field of amicitia: on one end of the spectrum are formal and distant connections with men such as Appius Claudius Pulcher and even Antony; at the other extreme, his very intimate friendship with Atticus. 11 For a good brief discussion of this structure, see Fiore 1996, esp. 59, 66–67. On beneficium, cf. Saller 1982.17–21.

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duces gratitude and encourages repayment. Whatever we may think of the emotional content of such associations, it is clear that men who considered each other amici expected mutual services and consideration of one another’s interests to be a constant in the relationship. Thus, it is easy to see how putting a treatise firmly within the framework of amicitia could be useful for an author whose project required special pleading. By dedicating his writings to his amici, Cicero is performing a beneficium for them.12 A treatise can be explicitly described as a munus and an honor.13 As a beneficium, such a dedication sets up an expectation of a future service in return. But in a more immediate way it demands gratitude on behalf of the dedicatee, and the obvious expression of gratitude to an author would be favor shown to his work.14 Ideally, then, all potential readers would be Cicero’s amici and, in his quest for receptive ears, he would dedicate his treatises to all of them. But a collective dedication does not have such a productive social context to draw on as amicitia provides for the individual dedication. Furthermore, such a diffusion of the beneficium would be counterproductive, as it would lessen the obligation of the receiver.15 If every reader could be put under individual obligation, that would solve the difficulty—but that is more easily accomplished in an oral context, such as canvassing for office, than through a written medium that presents the same face to every consumer. The way Cicero gets around this problem is by dedicating his treatises to actual individual amici, but constructing his prefaces in such a way that the reader is led to identify with the dedicatee and to share his anticipation of a favorable reaction to the work. 12 In addition to the act of addressing the dedication to a friend, the overall epistolary structure of the prefaces also contributes to the creation of a more intimate relationship between the reader and the author. On the generic affinity of the preface and the letter, see Wilcox 2002.38–40. 13 munus amicitiae: Amic. 68, remunetratio benevolentiae: Amic. 49; a text as munus: e.g., Off. 3.121, Brut. 15–16 (Atticus’ Liber Annalis and Cicero’s future repayment; cf. Douglas 1966, ad loc.), Fam. 3.9.3 (SB 72: Appius Claudius Pulcher’s projected treatise on augury and Cicero’s putative repayment), 9.8.1 (SB 254: Academica), 9.12.2 (SB 263: munusculum, Pro Rege Deiotaro), 12.16.3 (SB 328: Trebonius’ invective poetry sent to Cicero), Att. 16.3.1 (SB 413: munusculum, De Gloria). On the meaning and social function of munus, see Stroup 2010, ch. 2, who emphasizes the importance of reciprocity. 14 Cf. Griffin 1997.15–16 on Cicero’s desire to please Varro with the content of his munus, Academica. 15 Cf. Cicero’s decision to write individual letters to members of the senate in addition to the official report as part of his attempt to secure a triumph, discussed in ch. 2, under the heading “Philosophy and Politics.” The personalized letters are meant to capitalize on the particular bonds between Cicero and each addressee, something that can not be done in the public format, and thus to put individual senators under greater obligation to respond favorably to Cicero’s request.

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An additional advantage of inviting the reader to identify with the dedicatee rather than addressing the reader directly is that this intimate form of address creates a context in which special pleading is more appropriate than it would seem in a preface addressed to the general reader. Cicero can speak from the very beginning in a familiar tone that presupposes indulgence and understanding without seeming presumptuous. Yet that in itself is not sufficient if his intention is to transform the reader from an observer into an addressee. In order to effect this transformation, Cicero presents his relationship with the dedicatee as non-static, in the process of an evolution. In my discussion of the preface to the Topica I will show that Cicero, by beginning the preface with the story of the work’s origin, makes it easy for the reader to identify with the dedicatee. The portrayal of the dynamic between the author and the dedicatee is then developed with a view to building a rapport with the reader along similar lines. The ideal result of this development will be to induce the reader to approach the content of the work from the point of view of an amicus.16 This ambitious result is accomplished not through rhetorical negotiation alone. Apart from providing a convenient framework for establishing a close relationship with the reader, amicitia provided a mode of dissemination for the treatises as well. The role of Cicero’s friends, and Atticus in particular, in circulating his works is well known from references in his correspondence and has been thoroughly studied by scholars.17 A few relevant aspects of this publication process need to be mentioned here. The fact that these works were obtained by readers exclusively through personal connections, which, with varying degrees of remove, ultimately led back to the author, is significant. While most of the readers were probably men not strictly bound to Cicero by a personal bond of amicitia, any one of them could nonetheless see himself as implicated in a broader network of amicitia that did include Cicero. Given the possibility of contact being established between friends of friends within such a network, the personal means of access to the work served to figure the author as a potential amicus. The distance and the degree of anonymity characteristic of other types of reader-author relationship would accordingly diminish, giving way to a kind of familiarity that was not possible in, for example, the newly established book trade that was based on purely economic, 16 Cf. Gildenhard’s analysis of the development of the interlocutor of the Tusculans, 2007.69–76 and ch. 3. 17 For Atticus’ role, see Sommer 1926; for an overview of the scholarship on the subject and full discussion of evidence for dissemination and actual readers, see Murphy 1998. For a general account of circulation of texts in Rome, see Starr 1987. Steel 2005.10–12 emphasizes the personal nature of the process.

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socially neutral principles.18 The socially charged nature of this exchange is further reflective of Cicero’s goals for his philosophical project. The project is directed to a very specific and circumscribed segment of the population, the members of the elite, and this mode of circulation between social equals ensures that the works’ audience will be confined to this social group.19 At the same time, on the reader’s end, gaining access to the work through the network of amicitia acts as something of a guarantee to the reader that he is part of the intended audience.20 Success in preparing the reader to encounter the work sympathetically does not rest entirely on the reader’s identification with the dedicatee. In addition to providing a path to readers’ acceptance, the framework of amicitia contributes in yet another significant way to counteracting the problematic nature of Cicero’s project. He regularly tapped into sources of validation for his work that were based outside its content and rooted in tradition.21 That amicitia could serve as one of these sources is not surprising in light of its place among Rome’s most honored social institutions. A work that claims to take its inspiration from, and be a contribution to, this honorable institution partakes of its positive social connotations. A more direct way of legitimizing the treatises is to present them as fully within Roman tradition.22 Cicero takes advantage of this source of authority as well. My discussion of the preface to De Senectute will show how, through literary quotations and allusions, and the use of historical personages as speakers, a preface can connect the author and the work to Rome’s venerable past, both historical and literary. Given that developing a model of his relationship with the dedicatee is such a significant part of the strategy underlying the prefaces, it will be useful to examine how Cicero accomplishes this in individual prefaces. The following section considers the preface to the Topica, which provides 18 On the tension between the authorial desire for wider dissemination of his work and elite values based on personal contact and limited access to resources, see Habinek 1998. 103–104, 121. 19 Gurd 2007 offers a compelling reading of Cicero’s practice of collaborative editorial revision as having a social community-building function, particularly prominent in the period of high literary output under Caesar. 20 Cf. Connors 2000.224 on imperial literature: “Each literary transaction marks the consumer as the sort of person who partakes of literature in that particular way: as part of an exclusive and discerning circle of friends, or as one of an indiscriminate crowd, or as something in between.” 21 Cf. the discussion of Cicero’s use of res agere in Tusc. 1.8 at the end of the preceding chapter. 22 Cf. Habinek 1998.48: “. . . the Roman world where assertion of mos maiorum frequently masks some novelty of interest of acquisition.”

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the fullest picture of how Cicero constructs and develops that relationship and showcases some of the rhetorical tools at his disposal.

Making Friends with Strangers: TOPICA The Topica begins with a dedication to an old amicus of Cicero’s, a notable jurisprudent, C. Trebatius Testa:23 maiores nos res scribere ingressos, C. Trebati, et his libris, quos brevi tempore satis multos edidimus, digniores e cursu ipso revocavit voluntas tua. cum enim mecum in Tusculano esses et in bibliotheca separatim uterque nostrum ad suum studium libellos quos vellet evolveret, incidisti in Aristotelis Topica quaedam, quae sunt ab illo pluribus libris explicata. qua inscriptione commotus continuo a me librorum eorum sententiam requisisti. (Top. 1) Although I had entered upon the writing of greater things, Gaius Trebatius, and ones more worthy of these books, sufficiently many of which I produced in a short time, your wish called me away from a work already in progress. For when you were with me in the library in my villa at Tusculum, and each of us, on his own, was unfolding whatever scrolls he pleased according to his personal inclination, you came upon certain Topics of Aristotle, which were expounded by him in many books. And you, stirred up by this title, straightaway asked me about the subject matter of those books. From the very beginning, the work that we are about to read is set up by Cicero as a product of his personal bond with Trebatius. More than that, it is also presented as a sacrifice, or at least a concession, to this bond. The importance of the content of the treatise is dismissed as insignificant even before the reader finds out what it is. The other project Cicero was working on and interrupted (most likely De Officiis) is presented as more valuable on its own merits: it comprises maiores res, greater things.24 It is also 23 Trebatius is first mentioned in Cicero’s correspondence in a letter (Fam. 7.5; SB 26) in which Cicero recommends him to Caesar. The letter dates from 54 B.C., ten years before the composition of the Topica, and presents Trebatius as already by then a long time associate of Cicero’s. The tone and purpose of this letter as well as of Cicero’s subsequent letters to Trebatius himself in 54 and 53 show a relationship of amicitia. It is identified as such in Fam. 7.6 (SB 27), amici tui, and Fam. 7.9 (SB 30), familiarem tuum. But it is also clear that Cicero performs the role of advisor and even patron for the younger man. 24 De Officiis is accepted as the most likely candidate by Reinhardt 2003.181, ad loc. Dyck 1996.8–9, n.20 ties the beginning of the composition of De Officiis more closely to its goal as declared in the preface: a substitute for a visit to Marcus junior in Athens. Thus, he is unwilling to date the work’s earliest stages before the Topica. On his account, then, the identity of maiores res “must remain a mystery.”

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more in keeping with the kinds of things Cicero has been working on and that reflect his own interests at the time. Paradoxically, it is precisely the comparative insignificance of the subject matter of the Topica and its irrelevance to the author at the time of writing that Cicero uses to magnify right at the start the utmost importance of Trebatius’ voluntas, his wish, almost his whim, in the author’s decision to write the Topica.25 Considerations of the objective value of the subject matter and of the author’s personal inclination pale, Cicero wants the reader to believe, next to a friend’s desire.26 He interrupts the important task he had already started (e cursu ipso) to oblige Trebatius. A hierarchy of motivations for undertaking a project is thus constructed, with amicitia at the top. The rest of the introduction develops and adds to the themes hinted at in the first sentence by presenting a detailed description of the context in which Trebatius’ voluntas was born, became known to Cicero, and gradually grew in importance for both parties. The original context is significant: Trebatius comes across Aristotle’s Topica while the two men are browsing through Cicero’s library during Trebatius’ stay at Cicero’s Tusculan villa. Apart from providing the dramatic setting for their initial interaction on the subject of the Topica, Cicero indirectly gives us important information about his relationship with Trebatius. They are on close enough terms that Trebatius is a guest at Cicero’s country estate. Moreover, while there might have been others staying at the villa at the time, the description makes it seem as if Trebatius was the only guest, thus a very intimate friend. The picture of the two friends casually browsing in the library ad suum studium, as each is inclined, further enhances the impression of their high level of mutual comfort: instead of a host intent on entertaining his guest, we see them each going about his business and occasionally exchanging comments on what they find interesting. It is in this casual and friendly atmosphere that Trebatius comes across the Topica. His reaction to the discovery is depicted, picking up on the voluntas of the first sentence, in terms of emotion: he is commotus, stirred up, affected by the promise he sees in the title of the work. We are led to see his response as somewhat irrational and disproportional to the actual interest of the work.27 After all, the title is all he knows of the book at this 25 For voluntas as a positive term (as opposed to libido) in Cicero, see Wood 1988.86. On the role of voluntas as the basis of amicitia, see Citroni Marchetti 2000.3–12, who uses it as a structuring element in her study of amicitia and political power in Cicero’s letters, 3– 99. For the role of literary requests in Latin authors’ representation of their work’s origins and their connection to amicitia, see P. White 1993.64–78; 72–73 on the Topica. 26 For a pre-Ciceronian use of voluntas in a similar context, see Rhetorica ad Herennium 1.1, discussed in ch. 1, under the heading “Rhetorica ad Herennium, or Anxiety about Status”; cf. also discussion in Janson 1964.27–28, 32, Stroup 2010.181–86. 27 Cf. Cicero’s careful phrasing of his own emotional involvement in encouraging Varro’s dedication and completion of the promised De Lingua Latina at Fam. 9.8.1 (SB 254): etsi

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stage, and the title is so vague as to afford scarcely any idea of the work’s contents. Yet for that very reason Trebatius’ reaction is the more indicative of his deep personal interest and investment in his discovery. This again reminds us that it was the personal element and not the objective significance of the project that, the author claims, led him to undertake it. Cicero’s emphasis on Trebatius’ voluntas and on the irrationality of his interest does more, however, than simply help assign value to the treatise.28 It is at this point, I would argue, that the real identification of the reader with Trebatius can begin. After all, the reader’s interest, his voluntas to read a work by Cicero that is entitled Topica, cannot be very different from Trebatius’ desire to know about a book of Aristotle’s with that same title. In the face of Trebatius’ ignorance of what it is he has conceived a passion for, Cicero then proceeds to introduce briefly the subject matter and immediately set himself up as an authority on the subject: quam cum tibi exposuissem, disciplinam inveniendorum argumentorum, ut sine ullo errore ad ea ratione et via perveniremus, ab Aristotele inventam illis libris contineri, verecunde tu quidem ut omnia, sed tamen facile ut cernerem te ardere studio, mecum ut tibi illa traderem egisti. cum autem ego te non tam vitandi laboris mei causa quam quia tua id interesse arbitrarer, vel ut eos per te ipse legeres vel ut totam rationem a doctissimo quodam rhetore acciperes, hortatus essem, utrumque, ut ex te audiebam, es expertus. sed a libris te obscuritas reiecit; rhetor autem ille magnus haec, ut opinor, Aristotelia se ignorare respondit. quod quidem minime sum admiratus eum philosophum rhetori non esse cognitum, qui ab ipsis philosophis praeter admodum paucos ignoretur; quibus eo minus ignoscendum est, quod non modo rebus eis quae ab illo dictae et inventae sunt allici debuerunt, sed dicendi quoque incredibili quadam cum copia tum etiam suavitate. (Top. 2–3) After I explained to you that the science of finding arguments so that we arrive at them without any error through reasoning and in the proper manner, the science that had been invented by Aristotle, was contained in those books, you indeed pleaded with me respectfully as in all things, but so that I easily perceived that you were burning with munus flagitare, quamvis quis ostenderit, ne populus quidem solet nisi concitatus, tamen ego exspectatione promissi tui moveor ut admoneam te, non ut flagitem, “Although to demand a gift, even when someone has indicated its likelihood, is not the custom even of the common people, unless they are stirred up, nonetheless I am moved by the expectation of what you promised to remind you, rather than to issue a demand.” 28 The portrayal of naïve Trebatius is certainly an exaggeration. Griffin’s (1995.331–33) reading of Cicero’s letters to Trebatius, which precede the composition of the Topica by ten years, shows that Cicero expects his young familiaris to follow his philosophical allusions.

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zeal, that I teach you those things. Moreover, when I urged you, not so much to avoid work as because I thought that it would be to your benefit, either that you read the books yourself or that you learn the whole matter from a certain very learned rhetorician, you had tried, as I was hearing from you, both options. But obscurity drove you away from the books; what’s more, that great rhetorician replied that he had no knowledge of these works, which are, I think, by Aristotle. And in fact I was hardly surprised that the rhetorician did not know that philosopher who is not known to philosophers themselves except for only a few. And it is even less forgivable in them for the following reason: that not only should they have been attracted by those matters which he discovered and expounded, but also by a certain unbelievable fullness and sweetness of his diction. Trebatius appeals to him as an expert to satisfy his curiosity about the work. Cicero lives up to his friend’s expectations and on the spot gives a brief description of the work’s purpose and structure. Through the language he uses, Cicero positions himself as parallel to the author of the original work: the books in question were explicata by Aristotle; Cicero is able similarly to exponere them to his friend and, of course, to the reader, who has already been encouraged to position himself alongside Trebatius, encouragement that is here being reinforced. No wonder, then, that Trebatius, who feels that his initial interest in the title was justified and wants to learn more, applies to Cicero for further instruction. And here, in the description of the request, the writer makes clear to us again how emotionally laden Trebatius’ interest in this work is, as well as how obvious Trebatius’ emotional state is to his interlocutor. Trebatius is trying to hide his excitement, a behavior typical of his usual verecundia,29 but it is apparent to a friend who knows him well (another indication of the closeness of their relationship) that he is actually more than just enthusiastic—he is on fire. The language Cicero uses here is very strong: Trebatius’ sudden fascination is like a love sickness, as inexplicable and as powerful. Their interaction here seems to be an allusion to a familiar scene in Roman comedy, in which a love-struck youth confides his affliction to a slave or a friend.30 29 Cicero mentions verecundia in Fam.7.18 (SB 37) and a related quality, pudor, in Fam. 7.7 (SB 28) as Trebatius’ prominent (and attractive) personal qualities. On the meaning of verecundia, see Kaster 2005.13–27, on pudor 28–65. Cf. the reference in the letter to Varro, referred to above, to the books of Academica meant to elicit the counter-dedication as quattuor admonitores non nimis verecundos, “four reminders, none too shy” (Fam. 9.8.1; SB 254). 30 Cicero’s familiarity with and frequent deployment of Roman drama is amply demonstrated by frequent quotations scattered throughout his corpus. Explicit references to theater and drama are collected by F. W. Wright 1931. For comedy in particular, see Geffken

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The young man’s emotions are usually portrayed as disproportionate to the object of his interest through the exaggerated language that the comic poets assign to him and through the confidante’s reaction.31 Like the young man of Roman comedy, Cicero’s Trebatius has conceived an inexplicable passion (for a book) and turns to his more experienced friend for help.32 Yet, a scene like this usually ends with the confidante’s (more or less grudging) indulgence and an offer of help. Cicero, however, does not want the part of the confidante in Trebatius’ love affair with the Topica and refuses to respond to the emotions he can see behind Trebatius’ request. At the same time he also declines another potential model implied in the language of the sentence. Trebatius’ appeal, egisti, is conveyed in legal terms. Trebatius, whose field of expertise was in fact the law, is here appropriately portrayed as an advocate pleading in front of Cicero, as if before a judge, for access to the object of his interest.33 At this point, however, neither of the models offered is successful, for neither suits Cicero’s purpose. His aim is to condition the reader to be indulgent towards the treatise, and these models are unlikely to do that: they are flawed in that the author’s position is unambiguously superior to that of the reader and such positioning does not encourage indulgence towards the superior

1973, Vasaly 1985, and J. J. Hughes, Comedic Borrowings in Selected Orations of Cicero (Diss. University of Iowa, 1987). 31 Good examples are Plautus’ Mercator III.iv and Pseudolus I.i; and Terence’s Eunuchus I.i. In the Mercator and the Eunuchus, ardere is used by the young man in love to describe his condition: iam ardeat credo caput, “already, I think, my head is burning” (Mer. 591); pectus ardet, haeret, “my heart is on fire and clings fast” (Mer. 600); et taedet et amore ardeo, et prudens sciens, vivos vidensque pereo, nec quid agam scio, “I am both weary and burn with love, and though sensible and knowing, alive and seeing, I perish, and I do not know what to do” (Eun. 72–73). Cf. in particular amore ardeo in the Eunuchus and ardere studio in the Topica. 32 This language is not unique. Cicero positions himself similarly in relationship to Lucceius in the famous letter in which he requests a historical work from him (Fam. 5.12, SB 22). He begins with his pudor at making the request and frames the letter with the metaphor of burning (ardeo cupiditate incredibili, “I burn with incredible desire”; genus  . . . scriptorum tuorum . . . me . . . incendit ut cuperem, “the genre of your writings inflame me to desire” (1); illa nos cupiditas incendit de qua initio scribi, “that desire, of which I wrote in the beginning, inflames us” (9). In this case, the request was not successful. In the framework that I propose for reading the exchange between Cicero and Trebatius, the failure of Lucceius to perceive Cicero’s desire when in his presence anticipates his failure to respond to the explicit request: one of the values that Cicero assigns to the potential fulfillment is indicium benevolentiae. At the same time it must be admitted that the request that follows is notably and avowedly lacking in verecundia. 33 On the legal provenance of the phrase cum aliquo agere ut, see Reinhardt 2003.184 ad loc. Gebhardt 2009.59–61 discusses the language of debt in the preface and the closing of the treatise, examined below, as legal metaphors.

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partner (the author) on the part of the inferior (the reader).34 Cicero uses the model of an unequal relationship to, as it were, tie the reader to Trebatius through the parallelism in their position, but then abandons it as unsuitable to his overarching goal. And thus he claims, in response to Trebatius’ request, that other means are better suited to bring the desired object within his reach. But first the author inserts a disclaimer to prevent the reader from supposing that it was indifference that made him unwilling to fulfill his friend’s wish. The disclaimer is needed. Without it the insignificance of the project in comparison with Cicero’s other work at the time, which was set up in the first sentence, might lead the reader to assume that the initial refusal is a result of Cicero’s reluctance to devote his time to this trivial task. If Cicero gave grounds for such an interpretation, it would undermine the main thrust of the “importance of friendship” theme that he has been developing with such care. Yet he wants to have it both ways. He wants to make the point that the project is relatively unimportant, but he also wants to appear as a man who puts amicitia above all else. In light of the emotional build-up he has just given to Trebatius’ interest, his refusal to go along with the friend’s desire needs justifying. Thus, the disclaimer: he was guided by Trebatius’ benefit, not his own, he claims, in sending him elsewhere for help. Greater value is to be found in doing the work oneself or at least in learning from the best possible teacher. However, Cicero’s suggestion of outside help is of no avail. The reader is allowed to doubt for a moment that his author might not be the one best source for the knowledge he and Trebatius are seeking, but that moment is brief indeed. Cicero, we learn, was wrong in his modesty and Trebatius’ ultimate benefit does after all reside in his amicus. Cicero thus emerges as more of an expert than even the doctissimus rhetor whom he himself had recommended: an ingenious way to make oneself superior to a superlative. At the same time, the advantage of Trebatius’ instructor being someone who knows him well is made clear. What put him off the original Aristotle was its obscurity, (a libris te obscuritas reiecit). It will no doubt take personal knowledge to present it at the right level, and Cicero has all along been emphasizing his ability to perceive Trebatius’ feelings and thoughts correctly. He is thus perfectly positioned to bring the Topica to Trebatius both on the more general, as it were, public, level—he is the real expert on the subject, and on the private level—his knowledge of his friend’s personality and background will allow him to 34 The

fact that the confidante of Roman comedy is frequently a slave, and thus, while superior as a source of advice and authority in the given situation, is socially inferior, may be an additional reason for the rejection of this particular model, especially since one of the frequent criticisms of the philosophical project that Cicero invokes in the prefaces is its incompatibility with the author’s social status.

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make clear what Trebatius found obscure in Aristotle. Explaining the Topica has been constructed as a labor of love, or, rather, of friendship. This interruption in the direct contact between Cicero and Trebatius on the subject of Aristotle’s Topics and the attempted application to outside expert sources acquires further meaning when seen in the context of Cicero’s overall project of writing philosophical works directed towards Roman elite men. If we see Trebatius, both on his own, and in the reader’s identification with him, as a typical member of the Roman elite, a number of important points emerge to underline the value and the necessity of Cicero’s philosophical undertaking. Simply put, the following situation obtains: an elite Roman man becomes interested in a philosophical work written in Greek. We can safely assume that he knows Greek, but he can’t make it through a complicated technical treatise—maybe his Greek is not good enough, or he may lack the proper background. Were he to try and do background research on his own, he would need to peruse similar works, also in Greek. The independent book-based route turns out to be a vicious circle. Where else can he turn? There is the doctissimus rhetor, a professional teacher of rhetoric, most likely to be also Greek, and knowledgeable, to be sure, but as it turns out not familiar with Aristotle. Perhaps more importantly, this Greek guide would be unlikely to truly understand his potential pupil’s milieu so well as a member of his class would or to be able to anticipate which aspects of the subject matter would be most relevant to him.35 Nowhere can Trebatius find an explanation in his own language that takes account of his background and the nature of his interest. In this context, Cicero’s writing of the Topica and other works like it, namely, philosophical and rhetorical treatises written in Latin that use Roman material alongside the Greek, is constructed as filling an important gap and performing a valuable service to the members of the author’s social class. In the following sweeping period Cicero proceeds, under the guise of indulgence for the rhetorician’s ignorance of the subject (the man is delicately left nameless), to further develop his own standing as an expert. By the time the sentence is over, he has established his superiority not only to teachers of rhetoric as a class, but also, and in a more significant way, to philosophers. In addition, he has drawn attention to his ability to appreciate good writing style: what is only obscuritas to naïve Trebatius and, apparently, many others, to discerning Cicero is copia and suavitas. In effect, he has shown that he has firm control over the exact areas in which Trebatius is sadly lacking—an ability to read and understand difficult Greek and knowledge and appreciation of Greek rhetoric and phi35 On Cicero’s general exclusion of Greeks from the world of his treatises, to which this mention is an exception, see Gildenhard 2007.31. On teachers of rhetoric in Rome, see Rawson 1985.76–79, cf. Corbeill 2001.268–75.

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losophy. The Cicero who emerges combines two kinds of expertise—one, based on how he differs from Trebatius, in Greek learning; the other, based on what they share socially and culturally, in how to make Greek learning relevant to a member of the Roman elite. Who but he could write the Latin Topica? Now that Cicero has been indisputably established as the authority on the subject and the right man for the job, we are taken back to the relationship between the two amici as reflected in their negotiations: non potui igitur tibi saepius hoc roganti et tamen verenti ne mihi gravis esses—facile enim id cernebam—debere diutius, ne ipsi iuris interpreti fieri videretur iniuria. etenim cum tu mihi meisque multa saepe scripsisses,36 veritus sum ne, si ego gravarer, aut ingratum id aut superbum videretur. sed dum fuimus una, tu optimus es testis quam fuerim occupatus; ut autem a te discessi in Graeciam proficiscens, cum opera mea nec res publica nec amici uterentur nec honeste inter arma versari possem, ne si tuto quidem mihi id liceret, ut veni Veliam tuaque et tuos vidi, admonitus huius aeris alieni nolui deesse ne tacitae quidem flagitationi tuae. itaque haec, cum mecum libros non haberem, memoria repetita in ipsa navigatione37 conscripsi tibique ex itinere misi, ut mea 36 This

reading is disputed by Di Maria 1991. He prefers cavisses, a reading of the two latest (fifteenth century) manuscripts of the Topica, O and f. He argues for this reading as the lectio difficilior, based on Cicero’s use of cavere elsewhere in legal contexts and the fifteenth-century scribes’ ignorance of Roman legal terminology. The part of his argument that relies on the lack of mention of any written work in Cicero’s letters to Trebatius is, however, inconclusive given the nine-year gap between the two groups of letters. In addition, we have testimony of Justinian that shows that Trebatius did leave a reasonably large corpus of work on legal subjects: Cascellii scripta non exstant nisi unus liber bene dictorum, Trebatii complures, sed minus frequentatur (Pompon. Dig. 1.2.2.45). Furthermore, in his attempt to legitimatize the use of cavere with the dative (the main reason this reading has been generally rejected), the only parallel example in the active voice that he is able to muster comes from Plautus. I thus find his evidence insufficient, as does Reinhardt 2003, who also reads cavisses, based on a different set of reasons. He argues ad loc. that Boethius’ use of cavisset in his commentary on this passage suggests that Boethius read cavisses and that the use of technical legal terminology is more appropriate to the tone and context of the passage. However, both Reinhardt’s choice, and possibly Boethius’ use of cavisset, result from interpreting this sentence as a reference to written legal opinions provided by Trebatius. In what follows I argue that more likely the writing referred to is a dedicated treatise. Therefore, I read scripsisses with most earlier editors of the Topica. 37 Our modern inability to conceive of a memory so powerful that it would allow the composition of such a treatise without consulting any books has led O. Immisch, Wirklichkeit und Literaturform RhM 78 (1929):116–118, cited by Kaimio 1976 and Reinhardt 2003.189 ad loc. (who accepts Immisch’ view), to conclude that the writing of the Topica during the trip was a fiction designed to excuse mistakes and the unevenness of the work. Kaimio (120) modifies this judgment in a more generous direction. He takes conscripsi to mean that the work was prepared beforehand and what Cicero did on the voyage was to write down the already thought out content. However, Cicero uses conscribere to mean

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diligentia mandatorum tuorum te quoque, etsi admonitore non eges, ad memoriam nostrarum rerum excitarem. sed iam tempus est ad id quod instituimus accedere. (Top. 4–5) Therefore I could no longer remain in your debt—given that you asked me often and at the same time were afraid that you were being tiresome (for I easily noticed that)—without an appearance of an injury done to the very interpreter of the law. For since you had on many occasions written many things for me and those close to me, I was afraid that if I were to hesitate, it would seem either ungrateful or arrogant. But you are the best witness to how busy I was when we were together; furthermore, when I left you and set out for Greece, under the circumstances when neither the state nor my friends had any use for my services nor could I occupy myself honorably in the midst of armed struggle, not even if it were possible for me to do so safely, when I came to Velia and saw your estate and your family, reminded of this debt I didn’t want to neglect your request, silent though it was. And so, since I had no books with me, I wrote up during this very voyage what I could recover from memory and sent it to you from the road so that through my diligence regarding your request I might stir you too, though you do not need a reminder, to remember my affairs. But now it is time to approach the task that I have undertaken. In the first sentence of this passage Trebatius is still torn between voluntas and verecundia: one makes him ask Cicero for this favor over and over again; the other leads him to fear that he is being a pest. Thus, the portrait of Trebatius that Cicero has already established is here reinforced. And just as before, Cicero can see through the modesty to what his friend is actually feeling. But the significance of the sentence lies in the shift that takes place in the representation of Trebatius against the by now familiar background of his modesty in social intercourse and his somewhat surprising excitability on the subject of Aristotle’s rhetorical works. This is the point at which Trebatius begins to emerge as an equal partner in his relationship with Cicero. He is an expert too, we learn, an interpres iuris, and in Cicero’s opinion it is he who is truly qualified to judge how each party ought to behave in this context. At the same time as Trebatius’ ex“compose,” e.g., Sen. 1: nunc autem visum est mihi de senectute aliquid ad te conscribere, “But now it seemed to be the right time to compose something on the subject of old age, addressed to you.” Cf. Powell 1988 ad loc. “conscribere = scribere with the added idea of composition.” Gaines 2002.469 approaches the problem from a different angle and focuses on the absence of the preposition de which he argues is always used when conscribere means “summarize” or “explicate”; he then proceeds to read the statement as referring loosely to Cicero’s own Aristotle-style Topica, a move that, as A.R. Dyck points out in his 2003.01.17 BMCR review, has no textual basis.

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pertise is highlighted, the former model for the two men’s relationship also changes. Earlier models, the young lover and the confidante, the advocate and the judge, highlighted one party’s seniority and superiority. The new model is more evenly balanced: it is a business partnership. The language of finance, which overlaps significantly with the language of amicitia, now takes the place of the language of love, and Cicero begins to portray the work we are about to read as a debt he owes to Trebatius and not as a favor he condescends to do. We are in the world of obligation now, with Cicero aware that he needs to repay a debt that has long been due. His priority is not to be responsible for breaking their quasi-legal association. He does not want to be seen as causing his partner iniuria—in the metaphorical context, financial damage. Thus, yet another important shift takes place here. If the project of composing the Topica was earlier represented as undertaken primarily to fulfill Trebatius’ need, we begin to see now that Cicero is also an interested party: circumstances offer an opportunity for him to preserve his good standing in an important joint venture. His partner has fulfilled his obligation: Trebatius has written something for Cicero. It would certainly be illuminating to know precisely what piece(s) of writing are referred to here. H. M. Hubbell in the notes to his edition of the Topica identifies two possibilities: “legal opinions given for Cicero and his clients or . . . books which Trebatius had dedicated to Cicero.”38 While there can be no certainty on this score since no details about books written by Trebatius are mentioned in our sources, the latter possibility is not only more attractive, but also, I would argue, more likely. One of Cicero’s letters to Trebatius, Ad Familiares 7.21 (SB 332), refers to the kind of situation implied in the first option—a legal consultation undertaken on behalf of Cicero’s client. The letter was composed at the point in the affair when Cicero had already presented the question to Trebatius and passed Trebatius’ answer on to his client, Silius; both discussions were conducted in person. As Silius seems to require further assistance, Cicero asks Trebatius in the letter to contact the man himself, also in person. It is the personal interaction between the involved parties that is emphasized and valued by Cicero here. Though a written opinion may have been given in this or other cases, nothing of the sort is mentioned here. Writing seems to have little importance in this context.39 This assignment of value to personal interaction and not to writing in the context of a legal consultation makes it less likely that Cicero is 38 Hubbell

1949.384. the question of oral vs. written consultation, cf. Moatti 1997.110 on the publication of collections of jurists’ responsa: “Voilà un bon exemple de transcription littérale d’une matière destinée à l’origine à n’être pas écrite  . . . pour la raison que les responsa n’étaient que des avis oraux délivrés lors de consultations.” See also 350, n.23. 39 On

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referring to such legal services in the Topica when he mentions the debt that he is repaying with his treatise. It would not, on the other hand, be uncommon in such a context to mention a book that the dedicatee has previously dedicated to the author.40 Finally, quite apart from what the piece of writing actually is, the anonymous reader, who may not know any details about the author and his relationship with the dedicatee beyond what he is told in the preface, is likely to assume that a comparable work, a treatise of some sort, is meant. The reciprocity implied in this exchange of dedications contributes greatly to the new model for the relationship that is being outlined. In the same sentence in which the main source of his debt, Trebatius’ writing for Cicero, is mentioned, the author alerts us to the danger that awaits should he refuse to repay it: he might be seen as ingratus,41 unwilling to duly reciprocate, and superbus,42 tyrannically usurping a superior position in what is now being portrayed as an equal relationship. Both gratitude and equality are crucial constitutive elements of amicitia. Should either party fall short on either count, it would be equivalent to a breach in the relationship.43 Given this new context Cicero feels the need to justify further his earlier reluctance. He pleads the pressure of other commit40 Mutual dedications took place between Cicero (Paradoxa Stoicorum; Orator; De Natura Deorum; Tusculan Disputations; De Finibus) and Brutus (De Virtute), and Cicero (Academica) and Varro (De Lingua Latina). Caelius asked (in vain) for a treatise in Fam. 8.3.3 (SB 79), Trebonius wanted a part in one of the dialogues in exchange for his poetic versions of Cicero’s witticisms (Fam. 12.16.3 [SB 328], with P. White 2010.9–10) and Appius Claudius planned to dedicate to Cicero (but possibly never completed) a work on augury (Fam. 3.9.3 [SB 72]; see Dyck 2004.345). Caesar’s dedication of De Analogia to Cicero remained unreciprocated. The philosophical letter of advice, encouraged by Atticus (see Att. 13.26.2; SB 286), which would have positioned Cicero as a philosophical outsider addressing a monarch, never materialized: see Hall 2009b.100–103. 41 For the use of gratus in the context of services performed within the framework of amicitia, cf. Fam 7.21 (SB 332, mentioned above): gratissimum mihi igitur feceris, si ad eum ultro veneris eique pollicitus eris . . . , “you will render me most grateful, therefore, if you come to him of your own will and will promise him . . . ” For Cicero’s strongly negative view of ingratitude in the context of amicitia, cf. Pro Plancio 81: equidem nihil tam proprium hominis existimo quam non modo beneficio sed etiam benivolentiae significatione adligari, nihil porro tam inhumanum, tam immane, tam ferum quam committere ut beneficio non dicam indignus sed victus esse videare, “indeed, I consider nothing to be so peculiar to man as being bound not only by a favor, but even by an indication of good will, and consequently nothing so inhuman, so monstrous, so savage as to be guilty of appearing, I won’t say unworthy, but outdone by a favor.” See also Off. 2.63 on the need to react with gratitude to beneficia. Cf. Saller 1982.14: “Nothing was baser than an ingratus amicus and ingratitude was seen as just cause for the breaking off of amicitia.” On the dynamics of gratia in de Orat., see Hall 1996b.97–98. 42 On the connotations of superbus and superbia and related words in Latin, see Baraz 2008. 43 Cf., e.g., Antony’s accusations that Cicero did not repay his beneficia with gratitude, thus violating their amicitia, at Phil. 2.5–6.

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ments, and he offers the best possible witness—the potentially injured party himself can vouch for him to the reader. Then Cicero’s situation changes, not for the better, but at least he is free now for new projects. The shift in the presentation of Cicero’s relationship to the writing of his Topica is rounded off by something of a reversal of the initial interaction between him and Trebatius. As Trebatius was Cicero’s guest when the issue first arose, so now, in the prelude to its final resolution, Cicero visits Trebatius’ home. The exchange of hospitality is thus complete, and the stage is set for the repayment of the other kind of debt, here strongly figured as equivalent to a financial one. It is called aes alienum, a common expression for debt which literally means “money that belongs to someone else,” and Trebatius is that “other” whom Cicero needs to repay with a treatise. Trebatius himself, however, is absent from the scene at this point and is not exerting any new kind of pressure: tacita flagitatio, something of an oxymoron, picks up the two main threads that his behavior exhibited all along. Flagitatio is a result of voluntas, and tacita is a feature of verecundia. Yet the reader is bound to feel that there must be some additional motivation of some sort to justify the sudden haste with which Cicero now applies himself to the task. He writes the treatise as soon as he leaves Trebatius’ estate on his voyage to Greece and sends it as soon as it is finished, prioritizing speed over a chance to consult the very books he is supposedly expounding.44 He presents this as a result of his diligentia, but there is more, I think, to what he is doing here. The final, and most significant shift in the positioning of the friends has taken place. Cicero is now in a situation where he wants Trebatius to do something for him as his amicus. And what better way to ensure Trebatius’ own diligentia in the future than to begin a new exchange of munera by showing diligentia himself and fulfilling Trebatius’ long-standing request? Similarly, the reader, whose curiosity Cicero has aroused and is about to satisfy, will in turn be in his debt as a recipient of the treatise. And what other repayment can he provide than to receive the work in front of him favorably? The last word before the author gets down to the real subject matter of the treatise is excitarem. This brings back to mind the earlier emotional vocabulary that was used to describe Trebatius’ excitement about the Topica. The echo is not accidental. Now that he is finally satisfying his friend’s desire, Cicero wants thereby to encourage the same degree of emotional involvement in whatever requests he may want Trebatius to fulfill for him in the future. 44 His ability to write it from memory also contributes to the portrait of Cicero the expert. However, this element is subordinate to the more prominent fact of the immediacy of execution.

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The description of the relationship between Cicero and Trebatius has gone through a number of phases, reaching at the end what is virtually a reversal of the beginning. Initially, Cicero is unquestionably the senior partner to whom Trebatius somewhat naively looks for the fulfillment of his desires. Then, the relationship is portrayed as reciprocal. There have been munera in the past; the present work is one among many, contributing to the overall stability of their amicitia. And then in the end it is Cicero who is in need of favors. At the same time complementary features of the relationship have been brought out at different points in the dedication. The reader has seen amicitia represented as a voluntary bond based on mutual comfort and understanding, as in the beginning of the preface when the two friends are spending time together in Cicero’s library. Its more formal aspect, as a bond based on mutual obligation fulfilled through services, is presented in the second part, especially through the language of finance and business. The relationship that emerges from this dedication is a successful incarnation of the paradigm of Roman amicitia. Its success would lead the ideal reader to attach greater value to the treatise that stems from and contributes to such a friendship. Alongside the evolution in the description of the Cicero-Trebatius relationship, the reader’s relationship with the author has also been evolving, and along parallel lines. In the beginning the reader knows nothing of the work to come and the expert author kindly introduces him to the subject matter, while at the same time intimating the social significance of the function that the treatise is performing. As he relates the circumstances surrounding his composition of the Topica for his friend, he is in effect forming a similar bond with the reader, who is being addressed in the same breath as Trebatius. Reading about Trebatius’ infatuation with the Topica, the surrogate dedicatee finds himself infected with Trebatius’ emotions. The author’s original condescension to Trebatius (and thus to the reader) on account of his ignorance of Aristotle’s work and his inexplicable interest in it has set up a frustrated voluntas also in the reader. Once this bond has formed, the shift in the presentation comes, and the author now acknowledges his obligation to satisfy the curiosity he has roused in the reader. The reader’s desire is satisfied when Cicero “gives in” and recognizes his double addressee as an equal, and his desires as valid and worthy of fulfillment. By the time the dedication comes to an end, the ideal reader must be as eager to learn about the mysterious Topics as Trebatius himself was at the first moment of discovery. The reader has been drawn into an association with the author and is ready to receive the work favorably, as a service that does honor to him as if it were performed by an actual friend. I have been arguing that the anonymous reader of the treatise is constructed by the author as a surrogate dedicatee of the work and that he is

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as much the true addressee of the dedication, if not more, than the ostensible addressee, here, Gaius Trebatius Testa. Fortunately, in the case of the Topica, we have, in addition to the text itself, a piece of writing that was meant exclusively for the eyes of the dedicatee. When Cicero sent Trebatius the Topica, he enclosed a separate letter. The very fact that he composed this “cover letter” is significant. The dedication did not, apparently, fulfill the author’s need to communicate one-on-one with the dedicatee about the work he was dedicating to him. The preface-dedication included in the treatise, conversely, was quite intentionally meant for the general reading public. The letter touches on some of the same themes as the dedication, but the difference in focus and tone between the two texts is instructive: vide, quanti apud me sis (etsi iure id quidem, non enim te amore vinco, verum tamen): quod praesenti tibi prope subnegaram, non tribueram certe, id absenti debere non potui. itaque, ut primum Velia navigare coepi, institui Topica Aristotela conscribere ab ipsa urbe commonitus amantissima tui. eum librum tibi misi Regio, scriptum quam planissime res illa scribi potuit. sin tibi quaedam videbuntur obscuriora, cogitare debebis nullam artem litteris sine interprete et sine aliqua exercitatione percipi posse. non longe abieris: num ius civile vestrum ex libris cognosci potest? qui quamquam plurimi sunt, doctorem tamen usumque desiderant. quamquam tu, si attente leges, si saepius, per te omnia consequere ut certe intelligas; ut vero etiam ipsi tibi loci proposita quaestione occurrant exercitatione consequere. in qua quidem nos te continebimus, si et salvi redierimus et salva ista offenderimus. (Fam. 7.19; SB 334) See how important you are to me (although it is certainly well deserved, for my love does not exceed yours, but nevertheless): the thing that I came close to denying you when you were present, and certainly did not grant you, that I was unable to owe you once you were gone. So, as I first began to sail from Velia, I decided to write up Aristotle’s Topica, reminded of my debt by that very city that has so much affection for you. I sent you that book from Rhegium, written as clearly as the subject would allow. But if some parts seem to you fairly obscure, you have to keep in mind that no art can be grasped based on writings, without someone to offer an explanation and without some practice. You don’t have to go far: can your own subject, civil law, be learned from books? Although there are many, nevertheless they require a teacher and some practical experience. And yet, if you read attentively, and more than once, you can, by yourself, achieve complete understanding; but to get to the point where, once a question is put to you, the topics will spring to your mind, you will accomplish only through

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practice, in which indeed I will keep you, if I return safely and meet with safety on arrival. The general outline of the events leading up to the composition of the treatise is the same in the letter and the dedication. But, unlike in the dedication, none of the details are related in the letter; unlike other readers, the addressee took part in the events, he knows what happened. Only the minimum is sketched out: Cicero is initially resistant to the idea of writing the Topica, but eventually sees the composition of the treatise as a debt he owes to Trebatius and an act that validates the importance their relationship has for the author. The language of reciprocity and debt employed here is similar to that in the dedication. Cicero is, however, more direct in describing how he at first more or less refused to fulfill his friend’s request and later changed his mind. The subtle negotiations and justifications that were developed so carefully in the dedication found no place in this context, but the overall parallels in thought and language are obvious. The rest of the letter, however, is different from the dedication in both tone and content. It is geared specifically to Trebatius in a way that the dedication is not. Cicero anticipates his friend’s individual reading experience in several specifics. Trebatius’ problem with obscurity is addressed at length as the chief obstacle to his enjoying and benefiting from the treatise, whereas in the dedication this issue was only mentioned. Trebatius’ own learning experience is brought in for comparison to make the argument more convincing: as a lawyer, he knows the study of jurisprudence best and will hopefully be encouraged by Cicero’s parallels between the study of this text and his study of his own field. The explanation of the difference between the two texts is not far to seek: while the letter is indeed tailor-made for Trebatius, the dedication, though it draws heavily on his relationship with the author and is meant to be flattering, is not primarily intended for his consumption. What is generic, and thus useful in addressing a general reader, is kept; the more idiosyncratic features are left out. Furthermore, the dedication ostensibly devalues the treatise by dismissing its content as comparatively trivial. Yet it seeks more insistently to impart value to the work in the eyes of a reader. This end is accomplished first by presenting as highly important the relationship of amicitia between Cicero and Trebatius to which the treatise contributes. Second, the reader, being effectively addressed together with Trebatius and thus asked to take his place, then is led to share, to a certain extent, Trebatius’ excitement over the Topica and his eagerness to read Cicero’s text that is now in front of him. The delicate task of ensuring that the reader’s response to the work is as close as possible to what the author wants does not, however, end with

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the dedication. At the end of the work, Cicero once again addresses the dedicatee, and thus also his projected substitute:45 huic generi, in quo et misericordia et iracundia et odium et invidia et ceterae animi affectiones perturbantur, praecepta suppeditantur aliis in libris, quos poteris mecum legere cum voles. ad id autem quod te velle senseram, cumulate satis factum esse debet voluntati tuae. nam ne praeterirem aliquid quod ad argumentum in omni ratione reperiendum pertineret, plura quam a te desiderata erant sum complexus fecique quod saepe liberales venditores solent, ut, cum aedes fundumve vendiderint rutis caesis receptis, concedant tamen aliquid emptori quod ornandi causa apte et loco positum esse videatur; sic tibi nos ad id quod quasi mancipio dare debuimus ornamenta quaedam voluimus non debita accedere. (Top. 99–100) Rules for this part of an oration [namely the peroratio], in which compassion and anger and hatred and all the other emotions are stirred up, are provided in other books, which you will be able to read with me whenever you want. But as far as this composition, which I had perceived you wanted, is concerned, your wish ought to have been satisfied fully. For in order not to leave out anything relevant to discovery of argument in any discussion, I covered more ground than you had desired and acted like liberal sellers are wont to do: whenever they sell a house or an estate reserving the timber and minerals for themselves, they nonetheless let the buyer keep whatever seems to have been placed fittingly for the sake of ornament. Thus, I was willing, in addition to that which I owed, so to speak, to yield into your formal possession, to give some ornaments that were not part of the debt. The general import of what the author wants the reader to take away from the treatise is not much different from what he tried so hard to build up in the beginning: the sense that the work is a valuable token of a complex and deep relationship between the writer and the dedicatee, and thus also the reader. The dedication prepared the reader to approach the work in a proper spirit, with a full understanding of its genesis and significance. The goal of the conclusion is to bring the same themes back to mind, but also to gently ease the reader out of the treatise, without however letting him roam free; instead, to keep him integrated in the general framework of amicitia that the treatise serves. 45 On

the functional similarity of the opening and closing address to the reader, cf. Genette 1997.161: “The “postface” will  . . . be considered a variety of preface; its specific features—which are indisputable—seem to me less important than the features it shares with the general type.”

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The first sentence of the conclusion confronts the potential anxiety concerning the stability of the bond and its continued functioning after its latest thread—the treatise—is finished. The discussion of the peroratio was begun and then abandoned as beyond the proper scope of the work. Leaving out part of the subject, which could, logically, have been covered here, is equivalent to starting something new. No need to wait for some unpredictable new interest to arise: Cicero himself is planting the seed and offering to bring it to fruition. He gives Trebatius a hint: there are other books that may excite his curiosity as much as the original Topica did, and, again, Cicero is the one who can guide him through them. His expertise has been by now established beyond any doubt. Thus, just as he has finished paying off his old debt, he voluntarily sets up a new one. The constant flow of debt and payment back and forth is, after all, what keeps the relationship functioning, and this offer serves as Cicero’s voluntary contribution to its future. Now that the new promise has been constructed and any anxiety for the future laid to rest, the focus moves back once again to the payment we just witnessed. Themes from the dedication are brought back for final resolution. We are again reminded that it was Trebatius’ voluntas that started it all, and the author now claims to have satisfied it fully.46 In case there should be any doubt as to his qualification to make such a claim, in quod te velle senseram, we are reminded of Cicero’s ability to correctly perceive his friend’s mental states. The final paragraph is devoted to raising the value of the treatise further. We have been led to see it, through the metaphorical language used by the author, as the repayment of a debt and significant as such. Using the same kind of language Cicero now takes it beyond a simple business transaction. He is not merely an honest businessman; he is zealous and thorough in the service of his partner. He saw that there was more relevant information he could provide on the subject than his friend, due to his inexperience, had realized. And so he provided it voluntarily, even though doing so went beyond his original promise and resulted in giving more than was expected of him. The final simile makes the same point more directly. Cicero is not simply a vendor, he is a liberalis vendor. He goes beyond the letter of the contract to truly please and satisfy his customer; he provides extras. Unlike his earlier business metaphors, Cicero’s language here deemphasizes obligation and in its place highlights the voluntary aspect of what he has done. He is liberalis, he is well disposed enough to his customer to include ornamenta; he goes beyond the debita, his strict financial responsibility, 46 Cf. Ruch 1958a.342 on Cicero’s dedications in general presenting the work as “résultant d’un concours, presque d’une collaboration entre une personnalité créatrice, celle de l’auteur, et une volonté stimulatrice, celle du destinataire.”

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and beyond what he should mancipio dare, his strict legal responsibility. Voluimus, balanced against the terminology of obligation, brings back the voluntas that served as a starting point. This ring composition is a clear sign that the author’s actions are motivated by goodwill towards the addressee. The work ends as it began, with the author assigning it value based not on its content, but on its function in the author’s relationship with his reader. The dedicatee has been asked to perform further services and to expect others in return, and his surrogate, the reader, finds himself in a similar condition. By now fully involved with the author, he owes him a repayment of his own for the favor of the treatise: namely, thinking and speaking well of the work received. He too can then expect that further services—other books—will come to him from Cicero.47

Drawing Strength from Tradition: DE SENECTUTE Cicero opens the preface to De Senectute, not surprisingly, with an address to the dedicatee, his friend Atticus. What is, however, interesting and unusual is that this address is a series of modified quotations from Ennius’ Annales:48 ‘O Tite, si quid ego adiuero curamve levasso, quae nunc te coquit et versat in pectore fixa, ecquid erit praemi?’ — licet enim mihi versibus eisdem adfari te, Attice, quibus adfatur Flamininum ille vir haud magna cum re, sed plenus fidei’; quamquam certo scio non, ut Flamininum, sollicitari te, Tite, sic noctesque diesque’ (Sen. 1) “O Titus, if I can be of any help and lighten the care That now vexes you and firmly settled dwells in your heart, What will be my reward?”— 47 Cf. Att. 16.3.1 (SB. 413), where Atticus’ repeated expression of pleasure in De Senectute (te magis delectare, “it delights you more and more”) is treated as an effective stimulus to further output (auges mihi scribendi alacritatem, “you increase my eagerness for writing”). 48 Ennius, Annales X, Vahlen fr. 334–38 = Skutsch fr. 335–39. On Cicero’s mentions of, and quotations from, Ennius, see Vahlen 1903: xxxix–lv. This is the only treatise that begins with a quotation, a practice otherwise reserved for the less formal genre of letters (see P. White 2010.108–109, Damon 2008, and Goldberg 2005.87–96 on comedy in letters and speeches); cf. Powell 1988.95. Strati 2000.195–96 argues that the greater intimacy with Atticus as the dedicatee is what allows for this epistolary intrusion.

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For I may fittingly address you, Atticus, with the same verses, with which “that man of not such great wealth, but full of loyalty” addressed Flamininus, though I know for certain that you do not, like Flamininus “spend yourself in worry, Titus, both night and day. . . .” Thus begins the assigning of value to the work to come. We saw in the Topica that the author’s relationship with the dedicatee and his resulting ability to tap into the conventions of amicitia play an important part in that process. There is, however, an additional significant source of validation that De Senectute exploits, and that is the past. The use of Ennius’ lines at the very start allows Cicero to introduce these two elements at the same time. An undertaking is splendidly motivated if a Roman man is acting out of consideration for an amicus. And what better way for a literary work to begin establishing itself than by paying homage to the single most imposing and most Roman work to date, Ennius’ Annales?49 The author’s intimate familiarity with that text testifies to the present work’s lineage: it comes from what is most venerable in Roman literature, and the author claims a place for himself in that tradition. The particular past that Cicero chooses to invoke is not accidental either: the accomplishments of the Roman nobility celebrated by Ennius must have had special resonance with Cicero’s aristocratic audience, living now in shame under a highly irregular dictatorship.50 At the same time as the Ennian lines establish the credentials of the author, they accomplish something analogous for the dedicatee and the anonymous reader. The author assumes that the few lines he cites will be sufficient for the reader to recognize the source of the quotation and to recall the surrounding context. That assumption puts the reader in much the same privileged relationship with the past of Roman literature as it does the author. The fact that the author does not explain where the lines come from reflects his respect for his reader. He expects of him a degree of familiarity with Roman literary classics that is equivalent to his own. The reader, in other words, is treated as his equal. A valuable point about shared cultural background is thus easily made.51 The relationship with the reader is off to a good start. 49 For Cicero’ role in the construction of Ennius as primarily the poet of the Annales, see Zetzel 2007. 50 Cf. Flower 2010.21 on increasing emphasis on “mos maiorum and continuity with the past” as part of discourse activated during times of crisis and change. 51 Authorial practices regarding quotations and allusions, literary or otherwise, are generally quite indicative of the author’s stance towards the reader. The kinds of allusions au-

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The quotation accomplishes all this simply by virtue of being a quotation from Ennius. Its use is apparently justified by the coincidence that the two addressees, Titus Quinctius Flamininus and Titus Pomponius Atticus, share the name “Titus.” This allows the convention of addressing the first sentence of the work to the dedicatee to be maintained, even if the vocative comes from the text of Ennius and not from Cicero directly. The flexibility of address, its ability to be transferred from one text and addressee to another may imply a further expansive step: the inclusion of the anonymous reader in the address of the preface to the dedicatee. But the passage does more than simply link Cicero and his reader to Ennius. To see what other function it serves, the modern reader, who lacks the cultural background that Cicero and his readers shared and, moreover, has access to pitiably few lines of Annales X, needs to fill in what Cicero chose to leave out, that is, the context of the lines in Ennius. Madvig’s identification of the scene has been universally accepted.52 It takes place during Flamininus’ consular command against Philip V of Macedon in the Second Macedonian War. Several mentions of the story have survived, the fullest account being Livy 32.11.53 According to Livy, Flamininus took over the command from his predecessor, Publius Villius, and inherited his dilemma: should he try to force his way into Macedon through the mountains where all the main passes had been occupied by Philip’s troops, or should he detour along the coast. The latter route was problematic because it involved losing direct contact with the enemy, who would then have a chance to elude the invaders. Flamininus preferred the former option, but the difficulties resulting from Philip’s superior position were so great that the Romans were entirely at a loss. This was the situation when the ille vir of the quotation came in. A local shepherd, on behalf of a prominent Epirote named Charops, who had earlier thors employ and how obscure they are reflect what kind of readership the author considers his target audience. Poetic allusion, various types of which are discussed by, e.g., Thomas 1986 and Hinds 1998, allows more flexibility of reaction to the reader: the reader who does not have the background to see the allusion is not forced to notice that an allusion is being made by any formal element or explicit mention. The situation is different when an allusion is made explicitly, and nothing can be more explicit than quoting poetry in a prose text. A reader who does not understand an allusion of this type is likely to feel marginalized, an outsider to the world of the work and of the author. On the other hand, a kind of satisfaction and a feeling of inclusion come from recognizing an allusion. The reader feels that he truly belongs to the target audience. From comparing Cicero’s mentions and uses of other texts in the prefaces to the Topica and De Senectute, we can conclude that he assumed his audience had quite a thorough knowledge of Roman classics, but not by any means the same degree of familiarity with Greek philosophical works. 52 Madvig Opusc. Acad., Copenhagen, 1834–42, II 293 ff. 53 Other mentions/allusions are Polybius 27.15.2 (Skutsch 1985.511 identifies an earlier account by Polybius, which has not survived, as the source for all the later ones); Diodorus 30.5; Plutarch Flam. 4.4; Appian Maced. fr. 6.

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provided information to Villius,54 offered his services and his knowledge of the mountain passes to Flamininus. Flamininus initially doubted the shepherd’s trustworthiness and sent to Charops to confirm the shepherd’s words. Once confirmation was received, the shepherd fulfilled his promise and Flamininus’ troops gained an unexpected advantage. In the poem, the shepherd is the speaker of the first and the third quotations, and the second is a description of him. What are we then to make of Cicero’s introduction of these lines at the beginning of his treatise on old age? And how are we to interpret his quoting the third fragment only to go on to comment on its inapplicability to Atticus? I suggest that Cicero is here constructing an analogy between the two addressees and their situations that goes beyond the simple play on the coincidence that both share the name “Titus.”55 As he speaks the shepherd’s words, Cicero places himself in a position in relation to Atticus that is analogous to the Epirote shepherd’s position in relation to Flamininus. The latter pair joined forces to battle Philip of Macedon. Cicero in writing De Senectute is similarly offering Atticus his help in battling a superior enemy, old age. Just like the shepherd, Cicero is going to serve as a guide and point out less known ways of getting around the problem. Without the help of the treatise, we are to imagine, Atticus, like Flamininus, would have to take the longer way in his stand against old age: he would have to learn to cope with it on his own, without the advance benefit of friendly and wise advice. Unlike the shepherd, however, Cicero has no “local knowledge” to offer. He can’t claim to speak from greater experience: the difference in age between him and Atticus is negligible, three years; Atticus, moreover, is the older of the two. This is where the second fragment comes in: it is primarily Cicero’s fides, in this case as a life-long friend,56 that should inspire Atticus to trust Cicero to be his guide. The quotation from Ennius thus allows Cicero to delineate the relationship between the author, the dedicatee (and hence also the reader), and the subject matter. The quotation also includes an element that identifies the relationship as one based not on trust alone, but also, similar to what we saw in the 54 For

this earlier episode, see Livy 32.6. is worth noting that there is another similarity between Flamininus and Atticus: their philhellenism. Flamininus made history by his pronouncement of freedom for Greece at the Isthmian Games. Atticus’ eponymous philhellenism was well known and is referred to by Cicero in the next paragraph of the preface. 56 Cicero’s Laelius specifically identifies fides as a basic element of amicitia in Amic. 65: firmamentum autem stabilitatis constantiaeque eius, quam in amicitia quaerimus, fides est; nihil est enim stabile quod infidum est, “but the foundation of that stability and constancy that we seek in friendship is loyalty; for nothing that is disloyal is stable.” On the meaning of fides in the context of amicitia and its location within the word’s semantic field, see Freyburger 1986.177–85. 55 It

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Topica, on an exchange of services. “If I do this for you,” the shepherd and Cicero each ask their respective Titus, “ecquid erit praemi?” The treatise is a gift that is meant to elicit an appropriate reaction, a gift or a service, in response. From the very beginning it establishes itself as not an independent self-contained unit, but as a link in a chain, a part of something larger that it serves to sustain. Finally, the Ennian text serves one more purpose, and does so through its imperfect applicability to the dedicatee’s situation. The last fragment is quoted ostensibly to point out a difference between the two men who are drawn into the comparison. If this distinction were not made, the reader would be free to extend the parallelism between them also to their state of mind regarding the problem at hand. But Cicero is able tactfully to get around the issue of Atticus’ potential anxiety about old age.57 Atticus both is Flamininus and isn’t. Flamininus is overcome with worries and his mental state is a source of concern to the shepherd; Cicero assures Atticus that he knows that the state described in Ennius’ text does not apply to his friend. The result of inserting and then denying the applicability of this last quotation is that it allows the author to maintain a certain degree of ambiguity concerning what one’s proper relation to old age should be. Both states of mind, worried and worry-free, are introduced, and the two men who are identified with them are both endorsed by the author. The biggest advantage of this ambiguity, other than tactfulness towards the dedicatee, is in relation to the potential reader: it allows the treatise to position itself as relevant to and directly addressing men of different ages with different attitudes towards old age. The major task that Cicero is facing in establishing his relationship to the reader is the same as in the Topica: encouraging the reader to identify with the dedicatee. The difference in subject matter between the two works, however, complicates this task. While it may be easy enough for any reader within Cicero’s aristocratic target audience to identify with Trebatius, the elite “everyman,” assigning a certain age and a certain personality type to a dedicatee restricts the potential for identification. Thus, Cicero attempts to allow as much flexibility as possible in his portrait of Atticus in these key respects. The difficulty of deciding what is the correct attitude for a man to have when facing troubles, as well as the author’s unwillingness to be seen as having a normative stance on the issue (and thus potentially excluding some readers from his target audience), governs the section that follows the last line of the quotation from Ennius: 57 For the importance of tact to the maintenance of amicitia, cf. Fiore 1996.59: “the security and friendship are themselves maintained not by a free expression of unmeasured thoughts and words but, just the opposite, by a careful consideration of the expressions required by circumstances which affect friends.”

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novi enim moderationem animi tui et aequitatem, teque non cognomen solum Athenis deportasse, sed humanitatem et prudentiam intellego. et tamen te suspicor eisdem rebus quibus me ipsum interdum gravius commoveri, quarum consolatio et maior est et in aliud tempus differenda; nunc autem visum est mihi de senectute aliquid ad te conscribere. (Sen. 1) For I am familiar with the self-restraint of your spirit and your equability, and I see that you brought back from Athens not only a nickname, but cultivation and practical judgment. And nonetheless I expect that you are sometimes disturbed rather seriously by the same matters that worry me also. Yet a consolation for those is both a bigger task and one that has to be postponed until another time. But for now it seemed best to me to write for you something on the subject of old age. Cicero wants to have it both ways and he finds the means to do it. In his description of Atticus here, he makes a distinction between a person’s basic character and his ability to react appropriately to a particular situation. First, Atticus’ character is presented. The personal qualities that Cicero emphasizes are the very ones that would seem to preclude any undue worry and anxiety. And, as in the previous passage (certo scio), as well as throughout the preface to the Topica, the author’s personal knowledge of his friend is underscored by the personal construction, which is somewhat over-determined and frames the sentence as Cicero’s knowledge encompasses all of Atticus’ character: novi opens and intellego closes the sentence. Three of the four qualities ascribed to Atticus are variations of the same basic trait. Moderatio and aequitas animi as well as prudentia all have to do with inner balance and control, understanding one’s place in the world, being content with it, and acting accordingly. A complimentary characterization, no doubt, and one that is emphatic about the stability of the person’s inner core. On the one hand, this description serves to continue the theme of the difference between Atticus and Ennius’ over-anxious Flamininus. At the same time, the same basic mindset that this description of Atticus presents is one appropriate for a man who will be able to learn to handle the coming of old age. This is not only tact and politeness; it identifies what makes Atticus the ideal reader or, conversely, what makes this particular treatise an appropriate friendly gift, munus, for Atticus. The choice of the fourth quality, humanitas, stands out in this uniform company and does not immediately make sense if we think of the passage only as a continuation of the negotiations around the last Ennius quotation. But if we see it as also beginning to develop the portrait of the ideal reader, then humanitas falls into place. It is not an accident that the quality is placed in the context of Atticus’ relationship to Greek culture. The

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composition that the reader is encountering is, after all, a philosophical work, and is in large part based on Greek philosophers’ discussions on the subject of old age.58 Humanitas, used here mainly in its incarnation as a cultivated man’s basic familiarity with Greek culture, is a necessary attribute of a reader who will be in a position not only to follow and appreciate the arguments to come, but also to recognize and value the author’s own humanitas, the learning and refinement he himself displayed in the composition of the treatise.59 The background of the ideal reader presented thus far in the preface combines a deep knowledge of Roman tradition, as embodied in the quotation from Ennius, and the familiarity with Greek culture, conveyed by the term humanitas. The combination is the same as characterized Trebatius, the ideal reader of the Topica, for this treatise will also combine Greek and Roman elements. The fact that Atticus was considerably more comfortable with all things Greek, philosophy included, than a man like Trebatius, however, is not mentioned: it could be problematic, both in terms of Cicero’s desire to address as broad an audience as possible, and because of the perpetual danger of appearing too Greek. Now comes the tamen, the possible exception to Atticus’ otherwise perfect equanimity. For if Atticus were completely at ease with himself and the world, then even the coming of old age would not succeed in disturbing his aequitas. What would be the relevance of this treatise to such a man? If Atticus is to profit from it, he must have the ability to be thrown somewhat off balance by circumstances, a proclivity that will be required of the ideal reader of the treatise as well. And we learn that in fact Atticus does possess this ability: he can be moved quite deeply, gravius commoveri, when the situation warrants such a reaction. We are given an example and are assured of the appropriateness of his reaction by the authority of the author: the source of Atticus’ worry also greatly concerns Cicero himself.60 At the same time the mention of this other, greater concern (an 58 The conversation between Cephalus and Socrates in book one of Plato’s Republic and passages from Xenophon’s Oeconomicus are the main identifiable sources from Greek philosophy. Other works that have not survived must also have contributed, and Cicero himself mentions Aristo. For a discussion of Aristo’s identity as either the Peripatetic from Ceos or the Stoic from Chios, see Powell 1988, App.2. For a list of sources, both Greek and Roman, see MacKendrick 1989.211. Lefèvre has argued recently (2007) that the work follows Aristo the Stoic as the main source, both in context and structure. On the tradition of philosophical works on old age before Cicero, cf. Parkin 2003.60–61. 59 Cf. Powell 1988 ad loc. For the diffent meanings of humanitas in Cicero see Gildenhard 2011.201–16; the meaning most relevant here is his last, “cultural refinement” (213– 16). On Cicero’s application of humanitas to Atticus, cf. Leg. 3.1 with Dyck 2004 ad loc. 60 The reference is of course to the political situation at the time of writing, sometime towards the end of 45 or beginning of 44 B.C. I will discuss the date and circumstances of the composition of the work in the next chapter.

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allusion to the desperate political situation) occasions a promise of another consolatio, another future link that will allow the author to keep strengthening his bond with his amicus and the reader. From the beginning I have been analyzing the strategies of the preface with the subject matter in mind. Yet it is only now, after the preparatory work of establishing the ideal reader has been done, that the topic of the work is actually made explicit by the author: hoc enim onere, quod mihi commune tecum est, aut iam urgentis aut certe adventantis senectutis, et te et me etiam ipsum levari volo, etsi te quidem id modice ac sapienter, sicut omnia, et ferre et laturum esse certo scio. (Sen. 2) For I wish that both you and even myself might be relieved of this burden, which I share with you, the burden of old age, whether already pressing or, at any rate, approaching. Yet I certainly know that you are in fact bearing it, and will endure it in the future, with moderation and wisdom, as you do all other things. There is a suggestion here of potential ambivalence in Atticus’ (and the reader’s) attitude to old age, an ambivalence that has been foreshadowed by hints of some inconsistency in his character in the previous section.61 On the one hand the commonplace that old age is an onus, a burden, is stated;62 this continues the thread in which the author has been indicating the addressee’s ability to be troubled when circumstances warrant it. But that statement is immediately qualified by the author’s confidence that given the addressee’s general ability to handle misfortune, sicut omnia, he will be able to bear this burden as well. Ferre is perfect here since all of its meanings, the most literal as well as the most metaphorical, work well with the similar semantic spectrum of onus. Modice and sapienter then pick up in adverbial form the two major qualities required for responding to this treatise properly: moderatio and its cluster and humanitas in its incarnation as the understanding of philosophy. And again, it is the author’s personal knowledge, certo scio, that allows him to make use of the addressee’s established patterns of character in dealing with the specific problem of old age. But it is not only Atticus’ character that makes him an appropriate dedicatee for this treatise. As with the Topica, it is important also that the subject of the treatise be relevant to, and in some sense derive from, the relationship between the author and the dedicatee, that it be a demonstration of the bond between them. With Trebatius and the Topica, it was the memory of the two friends enjoying a quiet hour together in the li61 The 62 On

topoi of Roman representations of old age are surveyed by Parkin 2003.57–89. this metaphor in the treatise, see Sjöblad 2009.35–43.

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brary that provided some of the background to the work’s genesis. In this case, it is the author’s understanding that he and Atticus (and the reader) are, or will be, sharing the negative experience of old age as an onus and the complementary desire that they should also share the positive experience of coming to terms with it. Closing as it does with volo, the first sentence is quite emphatically a statement of goodwill as the author’s primary motivation for composition. Cicero is also careful to preserve the ambiguity in the addressee’s current relationship to old age. In both parts of the sentences an alternative is left open: aut iam urgentis aut certe adventantis senectutis in the first, ferre et laturum esse in the second. The effect of both is to avoid a clear authorial statement as to whether he considers his target audience to be men who are already experiencing old age or not.63 There are two possible motives for keeping the issue unresolved. One is a certain kind of politeness towards his reader, primarily towards the dedicatee, an unwillingness to label him a senex. The other is a desire to include in his target readership a wider age group.64 The two motivations are not mutually exclusive. But, whatever Cicero’s reason, the care that he is taking, and thus the importance to him of leaving this question open, is clear. The work of justification and negotiation around the appropriateness of the dedication continues in the next section: sed mihi, cum de senectute vellem aliquid scribere, tu occurrebas dignus eo munere quo uterque nostrum communiter uteretur. mihi quidem ita iucunda huius libri confectio fuit ut non modo omnis absterserit senectutis molestias, sed effecerit mollem etiam et iucundam senectutem. numquam igitur satis digne laudari philosophia poterit, cui qui pareat omne tempus aetatis sine molestia possit degere. (Sen. 2) But when I felt like writing something about old age, you kept presenting yourself to my mind as worthy of this gift that we can both share and enjoy together. In fact, the composition of this book was such a pleasure to me that it not only banished the annoyances of old age, but made it gentle and pleasant. Philosophy, therefore, will never be praised in proportion to its deserts, for the man who answers its call can spend the entire time of his life without vexation. The first sentence continues the theme that common experience is the motivating principle behind the dedication of the work. In this De Senectute 63 Roman

definitions of old age were not precise. See Parkin 2003.15–26, who accepts 60 as a rough boundary. 64 The care that Cicero takes here is particularly striking in light of the reference to De Senectute in the preface to Amic. 4, where he describes both himself and Atticus as old men, ad senem senex.

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is like the Topica, and it is not surprising that dedications to friends should be similar in this respect. But in everything else pertaining to the prededication stage of the work, the backgrounds of the two treatises are virtually reversed. In the Topica the theme of the work first arose in the context of a shared experience; the interest, which was the real driving force behind the composition, originated with the dedicatee, whose pressing pleas eventually resulted in the author’s acceptance of the task. The dedication to Trebatius was, under these circumstances, not only logical, but also inevitable. In De Senectute, we see instead that interest in the subject matter arises in the author entirely independently of the dedicatee: cum de senectute vellem aliquid scribere. The composition thus decided upon, the author then tries to think of a worthy recipient to whom such a work could be appropriately dedicated. Only then does he choose Atticus, and it is the fact that they are kindred spirits who will experience old age at the same time that motivates the choice. Thus, while in the Topica the work was presented as a munus in memory of a shared experience in the past, De Senectute is aimed at a future experience and is meant to ensure that author and dedicatee will share it. This direction is reflected in the progress of the sentence that starts with an emphatic mihi from which the subject of the treatise, aliquid de senectute, then originates, to the subject of the sentence, tu, which presides over the clause that contains the idea of common experience. The difference in directionality necessitates a type of self-justification that would have been superfluous in the Topica. It was Trebatius’ own voluntas that set the wheels of composition in motion; the author’s assumption that the treatise was something that Trebatius would benefit from was substantiated by the situation itself. To leave Cicero’s expectation that Atticus would benefit from De Senectute implicit, however, might seem presumptuous. The expectation needs, in this case, to be located and validated within the framework of the bond between the two men—it will not do to map everything that is commune between them onto the future. It is here that the author’s intimate knowledge of the dedicatee’s character, so carefully established earlier in the prologue, pays off. Given this degree of understanding and their closeness, Cicero can justifiably present himself as in a position to project his own experience during the production of the treatise onto his friend’s experience during its consumption. Cicero’s self-positioning as both author and reader of his own work has the effect of putting the actual reader on a more equal footing with him. For Cicero the very process of composition, as he presents it, was not simply enjoyable, but also more successful in fulfilling the goals of a philosophical treatise on old age than one would expect. It even surpassed the

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author’s own expectations. For, beyond removing the molestiae of old age, the feeling he experienced when writing the treatise has carried over onto his relationship to the subject matter: iucunda confectio has shown its ability to replicate itself by producing iucunda senectus.65 That what the treatise did for its author has implications for what it can do for the dedicatee and the reader is not made explicit, but is instead set up through the structure of the sentence. The sentence starts with mihi echoing mihi in the beginning of the previous sentence. There mihi was balanced by tu in the subsequent clause. In the sentence directly following the reader expects a similar balance. But that expectation is frustrated. Instead of a personal statement about old age in Atticus’ particular case, we find a very general assertion about the benefits of philosophy. Yet the very expectation is sufficient to set the reader’s mind working on the task of producing the balancing tu portion for himself. The specifics are not important: he will surely turn his attention now to the question of how reading the treatise will affect Atticus (and himself) in the same way as the writing of it affected the author. The escape into the general is brief, and the last section of the dedication returns to the matter at hand: sed de ceteris et diximus multa et saepe dicemus: hunc librum ad te de senectute misimus. omnem autem sermonem tribuimus non Tithono, ut Aristo Ceus—parum enim esset auctoritatis in fabula—sed M. Catoni seni, quo maiorem auctoritatem haberet oratio; apud quem Laelium et Scipionem facimus admirantis quod is tam facile senectutem ferat, eisque eum respondentem. qui si eruditius videbitur disputare quam consuevit ipse in suis libris, attribuito litteris Graecis, quarum constat eum perstudiosum fuisse in senectute. sed quid opus est plura? iam enim ipsius Catonis sermo explicabit nostram omnem de senectute sententiam. (Sen. 3) But I have said much and will speak often enough on other subjects; this book, which I am sending to you, is on the subject of old age. However, I assigned the whole discourse not to the mouth of Tithonus, as Aristo of Ceos did (for there is not enough authority in such a story), but to Marcus Cato in his old age, so that the discourse may have greater authority through that. My premise is that Laelius and Scipio are at his house and are commenting with admiration on the fact that he bears his old age with such ease and that he responds to them. And if you think that he is carrying on a discussion at a level of refinement higher than it was his custom to use in his own books, ascribe it to 65 Cf. Strati 2000.202, who comments that the repetition of the epithet here is a reference to the therapeutic potential of philosophy and writing in general.

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Greek literature, which he studied, as is generally known, extremely zealously in his old age. What more do I need? For now the voice of Cato himself will lay before us all my views about old age. This final section ties in with the beginning. The quotation from Ennius inserted the author into the literary tradition and connected him to what was best and most valued in the Roman literature.66 The choice of characters for the dialogue will also serve to connect him to the venerable past. Importantly, he rejects the precedent of using a mythological figure as his mouthpiece. The heroic past in which gods and humans interacted is not the past he values here. Because he is about to present the reader with arguments many of which are borrowed from the Greek tradition, it is especially important for him to reestablish a tie with a specifically Roman past. What better speaker could he choose than that mos maiorum incarnate, Cato the Elder? Just as a noble Roman youth would derive auctoritas from his lineage, and the accomplishments of his ancestors would be seen as a promise of his own deeds to come, so Cicero’s dialogue seeks to derive auctoritas from Ennius and Cato.67 Cicero’s choice of Cato when placed opposite Aristo’s choice of Tithonus is also indicative of the different qualities the two writers value in their speaker. Tithonus is an obvious choice due to his uniquely extended experience of old age. Cato lived a long, but by no means unprecedented life. In one case it is the experience (and not necessarily a universalizable one) that governs the choice; in the other, the speaker is chosen because of his general wisdom and reputation, which is expected to lend weight to the views he will express.68 The choice of speaker also reflects on the au66 Strati 2000.196–197 divides the preface into two sections corresponding to the “psicologico” and “letterario” aspects of the composition of the work. She observes that in the beginning of the “literary” section, section 3, Cicero switches from first person singular to pluralis auctoris. However, the division is not quite so abrupt, as the use of the Ennius quotation marks the first section as literary as well. 67 Cf. van der Blom 2010.124–28 on the importance of auctoritas in the choice of historical exempla, 168–74 on the factors involved in the choice of speakers for his dialogues, and 244–47, 275–76 on the factors involved in the choice of Cato for De Senectute. 68 Cf. Amic. 4–5, where Cicero explains his choice of Laelius in similar terms and compares it with his selection of Cato in Sen., esp. Catonem induxi senem disputantem, quia nulla videbatur aptior persona, quae de illa aetate loqueretur, quam eius, qui et diutissime senex fuisset et in ipsa senectute praeter ceteros floruisset, “I have depicted Cato as an old man discoursing, since no other character seemed more appropriate to discussing that age than he, both because he had been an old man for a very long time and because in that very old age he had flourished beyond all others” (4). Cicero’s two reasons for chosing Cato, his long life and a particularly successful “performance” of old age are equally balanced through the use of et . . . et. But see Beard 1986.44–45 on Cicero’s careful choice of equally matched interlocutors in his theological dialogues, where, she argues, equal status is given to opposing positions as a result of the difficulty of integrating Greek and Roman views on

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thor. Having a speaker like Cato allows the author to benefit from Cato’s auctoritas. The lack of auctoritas that Cicero identifies in Tithonus is paralleled in his description of Aristo himself in De Finibus: concinnus deinde et elegans huius [Lyconis], Aristo, sed ea, quae desideratur a magno philosopho, gravitas, in eo non fuit; scripta sane et multa et polita, sed nescio quo pacto auctoritatem oratio non habet. (Fin. 5.13) Next, [the successor of Lyco] Aristo is stylish and elegant, but that quality that is required from a great philosopher, namely, dignity, he did not possess; certainly he wrote many works, and refined ones at that, and yet somehow his style lacks authority. Yet, because he is always careful to forestall objections, Cicero cannot ignore the discrepancy between the content he is about to present and his chosen speaker. He explains it away by artificially linking in the person of his protagonist the two different strands of his cultural lineage,69 which come together also in the body of the treatise where he uses Roman material alongside the Greek. The anticipated objection itself gives credit to the reader’s knowledge of Rome’s past and literature, just as the Ennius quotation did at the beginning of the preface: the reader is expected to have sufficient familiarity not just with Cato’s image and reputation, but with his actual writings, in suis libris. In the end, the reader knows what to expect from the treatise and understands the author’s reasons for constructing it as he did. The reader is now ready, and Cicero hands the discourse over to Cato. •

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My analysis of the prefaces to the Topica and De Senectute has demonstrated the variety of rhetorical and literary strategies Cicero employs to position himself and his text vis-à-vis the reader in the most advantageous way. In the Topica the author encourages the reader to identify with the dedicatee and then presents the relationship between the author and the dedicatee that develops from an inferior-superior model into an the subject (for a different view that sees Quintus in Div. as perhaps the weaker party, cf. Schofield 1986.56–57, 60–61). 69 On the historical Cato’s complicated relationship to Greek culture, see Astin 1978.157– 181, esp. 158–170 on the issues of Cato’s familiarity with litterae Graecae, where Astin argues that it began fairly early in Cato’s career, and 169–170 on Cato’s views of Greek philosophy; see also Gruen 1992.52–83. Gruen 58–59 shows that Cicero’s struggles to emphasize Cato’s Greek learning indicate that the view of Cato as an anti-hellene was firmly established by his time.

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equally balanced and mutually interested one that represents the ideal of amicitia. The intended result of this process is that the reader should approach the text as if it were a beneficium performed for him by an amicus and should, accordingly, feel obligated to receive it favorably. In De Senectute Cicero is careful to allow as wide an audience as possible to identify with the dedicatee. Both prefaces construct a portrait of the ideal reader that is consistent with what we know from external sources about the intended audience of Cicero’s treatises. He emerges as an elite Roman male well versed in Roman tradition and fairly familiar with Greek culture, a man who would appreciate the importance of a real translation and integration of Greek philosophical ideas with the Roman cultural tradition. Apart from the treatises’ value as philosophical texts, however, they have worth that derives from sources external to their content proper. One such source, common to both treatises, is the idealized portrayal of the amicitia relationship between the author and the dedicatee. In addition, De Senectute is designed to advertise its connection to the best of Roman literary tradition, represented by Ennius’ text, and with historical tradition, represented by the choice of Cato the Elder as the main speaker of the dialogue.

CHAPTER SIX

Philosophy after Caesar THE NEW DIRECTION Then Brutus walked to the center of the hall. He brandished his dagger, shouted for Cicero by name and congratulated him on the recovery of freedom. The retired statesman, who had apparently made peace with the tyrant, was suddenly pushed to center stage. Hitherto scarcely able to believe his eyes, he could now scarcely believe his ears. It was as if the assassination had been staged especially for him—as a particularly savage benefit performance. Anthony Everitt, Cicero: the Life and Times of Rome’s Greatest Politician

In this final chapter I will look at the consequences of the changed political situation in the wake of Caesar’s assassination to Cicero’s philosophical project. We are lucky to have a snapshot of Cicero’s presentation of his thoughts on the new circumstances as they affect his composition of philosophical works. The preface to the second book of De Divinatione captures him at the very moment of transition. His retrospective account of what he has produced under Caesar, itself colored by his attempt to come to terms with the changes, and his tentative thoughts on how the project might evolve will occupy me in the first section. A key metaphor that Cicero takes up as he reconceptualizes his earlier stance on philosophy as a substitution for politics is adoption. The sections that follow the discussion of De Divinatione will then build on the idea of Cicero as a parent. I will trace the gradual but unmistakable development of his works in the direction of a more explicitly authoritative, paternal voice. This development is apparent in two complementary spheres. On the one hand, the post-Caesarian works display a formal movement away from the open-endedness of dialogue towards an increasingly univocal and didactic authorial posture. On the other hand, the trajectory in Cicero’s choice of his dedicatees shows a new preference for junior friends, alluding to a more traditional, political model of adoption and legacy, which also reinforces Cicero’s position as an expert. Both tendencies culminate in the subject of the third section, which is Cicero’s final work,

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the De Officiis, a treatise composed entirely in epistolary form and addressed to Cicero’s son, Marcus.1

Looking Back: DE DIVINATIONE II Because of the date of its composition, De Divinatione occupies a unique position among Cicero’s treatises of the 40s. Cicero composed this dialogue in the beginning of year 44. Which exact portions of the work were composed before, and which after, the assassination of Caesar is the subject of continuing debate in the absence of concrete evidence. What is important to me here is that he definitely revised and published it after the Ides of March.2 Thus, the prefaces, usually the last part to be completed in any work, can be safely said to represent Cicero’s views of his work in a changed political environment.3 A different Cicero, one who no longer sees himself as forcibly removed from public service, and therefore, is no longer in need of the substitution provided by his philosophical project—a substitution that most of the prefaces to his treatises written under Caesar are devoted to justifying— now has to find another way to accommodate his project in his own life and career, as well as in the cultural and political world of what he thinks may be a reviving republic.4 It would seem a reasonable time, then, for him to look back over his philosophical production to date. De Divinatione 2.1–4 catalogues all the treatises and establishes relationships between their subjects in such a way as to demonstrate that all together they aim to encompass the entire sphere of philosophical knowledge.5 Even 1 Steel 2005.138 sees a new direction, rather than an “abrupt shift,” beginning with De Divinatione. 2 Durand 1903, seconded by Pease 1920.13–15, argues that the entire body of the treatise was completed before the assassination, but allows for editorial changes and additions after the event and prior to publication. For a recent overview of the debate on the dating, see Wardle 2006.37–43, who posits minor alterations to the whole work and the composition of the preface to the second book after Caesar’s assassination. 3 It is particularly tempting to follow those who take book one to have been composed before the assassination and book two after (e.g., Long 1995.221), because the political change that took place between the composition of the two books can be taken to explain the location of the most extensive description by Cicero of his philosophical treatises as a unified body of work, since it would make this preface the first one written after the death of Caesar. 4 For a different interpretation of this change, see Bringmann 1971, who in his account of Cicero’s “Return to Politics” (the title of the chapter, 182–95) sees a narrow political focus in the post-Caesarian works (already in this preface) that sharply contrasts with the largely cultural goals of the earlier works. 5 For a discussion of the structure of the catalogue, see Schofield 1986.48–49.

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though Cicero promises to, and does, continue filling in the gaps in his projected corpus, this preface is a focal point of retrospective self-reflection and serves, in an important way, as a closing statement for the period of intense philosophical output during Caesar’s last years.6 It is important to note, then, that in this quasi-final analysis, Cicero keeps to the main ideas about the project that he has been developing in the earlier treatises. The substitution idea is the only one that, of necessity, disappears: with the author once again open to involvement in politics, it cannot, and need not, be maintained. But the central idea that writing philosophy in Latin is an important way of serving the state and bettering the citizen body remains in place. The goal of the project is nullum philosophiae locum esse pateremur qui non Latinis litteris illustratus pateret, “to allow no portion of philosophy to be left which is not, having been clearly explained in the Latin language, open and accessible” (Div. 2.4). This statement, punctuated by a word play on similar-sounding forms of patior and pateo, has a strangely democratic ring. Its purpose seems to be to allow speakers of Latin equal access and equal opportunity to understand and make use of the cultural capital that Cicero is making available to them. Of course, Cicero’s goals are not truly democratic. The equality that he seems to seek is equality within a very restricted circle of the Roman elite. Yet it should not surprise us that Cicero, the erstwhile novus homo, once looked down upon by his better-born peers,7 should be crusading for a democratization of sorts within the body of the Roman elite. What, then, of the changes? While the overall structure of his thinking is the same as in the earlier, “Caesarian,” treatises, I believe that a difference in commitment can be detected. The first sign is the use of the verb patere, here with the meaning “to be readily available, open.”8 Cicero will again, in the very next sentence, use the verbs docere, “teach,” and erudire, “educate,” which are more in tune with his earlier statements: he is a teacher, the audience students. And he uses them here in reference to a specific segment of the audience, the youth, where the concept of active teaching on the part of the older and more experienced is natural and almost expected. But patere, which he uses in the more general statement of his goals, reveals that a different relationship is being posited between the writer and the audience, the benefactor and the beneficiaries. By using 6 For an account of the placement of the catalogue that privileges the content and structure of the treatise over the timing of its composition, see Fox 2007.218–20. 7 Dugan 2005 and van der Blom 2010 rightly emphasize the centrality of Cicero’s status as a “new man” to his rhetorical self-fashioning and to his choice of exemplary models respectively. 8 TLL s.v. CAPVT PRIVS II B 1 a quae praesto, prompta sunt.

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a stative verb Cicero excludes the effects of his project on the audience from explicit consideration. Cicero’s role as the agent in this scenario is simply to bring this state about, that is, to make the knowledge available to the readers.9 The audience is then left to its own devices: the material is available, there for the taking, but the one who introduced it takes no responsibility for its further fate. Despite the changes in the outside world, Cicero still wants philosophy out there, in Latin. But its role in his idea of the future has lost the crucial position that it had occupied earlier. It may seem that this is reading too much into one word. But the rest of the passage, in my view, lends support to this interpretation. There is something new and cavalier in Cicero’s prediction of the limited nature of his project’s success, as well as in his self-indulgent surprise at the number of older men who are inspired to read his works and to attempt to write their own. At the same time, the sense of urgency and desperation to convince, characteristic of the earlier prefaces, is missing. In the new political environment that affords him the possibility of a return to active political life, his relationship to the project has changed. It is no longer his only option. The rest of the preface, De Divinatione 2.6–7, presents an overview of Cicero’s political fortunes since the start of the civil war, focused on the function of philosophy. Indeed, his stance towards and involvement in philosophical practice is more explicitly rooted in politics in this description than anywhere else. Furthermore, this retrospective account finally exposes the truth, that for Cicero, in spite of his protestations, philosophy could never be a fully satisfactory substitute for public service. His initial turn to philosophy was justified in terms of his social standing: it was the only activity outside the res publica that Cicero found dignum, worthy of his time and effort as well as appropriate for someone of his status. It is clear from the earlier prefaces that this claim of social approval was selfgenerated, and Cicero worked hard to make it convincing in the eyes of his readers. Yet here, from a position of greater distance, when the more traditional sources of dignitas are again within his reach, Cicero can simply assign value without extensive justification. He is not, however, making a claim for equal dignitas: ac mihi quidem explicandae philosophiae causam adtulit casus gravis civitatis, cum in armis civilibus nec tueri meo more rem publicam nec 9 The open-ended authorial position in this treatise is at the core of Schofield’s (1986) excellent discussion. A similar approach is generalized to the entire corpus of Cicero’s philosophical works by Fox 2007. Krostenko 2000 is an attractive reading that sees the text as positively pointing towards a dialectical solution.

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nihil agere poteram nec quid potius, quod quidem me dignum esset, agerem, reperiebam. (Div. 2.6) And in fact it was the grave misfortune of the state that gave me a reason to explicate philosophy, when at the time of civil war I was able neither to watch over the state, as I used to, nor to remain inactive, and I could not find anything else I could do instead which would be worthy of me. What is peculiar about this statement is the meaning and the imperfect tense of reperiebam. Whereas, earlier, Cicero would have had us believe that philosophy was the only equally valuable substitute for serving the state, now the picture is of a Cicero frantically looking for something to do so as not to be “doing nothing.” There is something of an exaggeration both in Cicero’s phrasing and in my interpretation of it, for philosophy was certainly not a new field of endeavor to him. He did not have to look very far to find it. But this way of describing his choice does make philosophy appear one of many potential activities, and his decision more the result of a process than the only natural step. Such devaluation of philosophy may seem strange in the preface to yet another philosophical work, which Cicero is now publishing despite the changed circumstances. To understand why he is willing to do this, it is important to recognize that for him there is virtually no separation between his potentially different personae, as a statesman, an orator, a philosopher, an amicus.10 Instead, there is always a primary role that dominates in a particular context, while the other personae are put to its service. Thus, when Cicero’s primary occupation was writing philosophy, his friendships, as well as his past renown as a statesman and an orator, were used to promote that activity. In the new post-Caesarian world, his main focus of energy is his recently resumed involvement in politics. Politics and oratory, used as comparanda, could only help to raise the status of philosophy; putting philosophy on the same level as politics, by contrast, has the potential to damage one’s political standing. Therefore, in the preface to book two of De Divinatione, it is in Cicero’s interest to dissolve the equation he created in his other works. 10 Cf. remarks of Boyancé 1936 on philosophy as ancilla eloquentiae in the rhetorical works and on Cicero’s use of philosophy in political contexts. On the unity of Cicero the philosopher and Cicero the politician, see Görler 1990; of Cicero the philosopher and Cicero the rhetorician, the work of Michel, and Gildenhard 2011. For an argument for the unity of the corpus and for the importance of reading across genres, see also Stem 2006. For an opposing view that posits a significant break between Cicero the orator and Cicero the philosopher, see Fox 2007. An excellent integrated treatment of different parts of Cicero’s corpus in light of his political career is Steel 2005.

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We find a similar change in a more detailed account of the same process further on in the preface. Here Cicero once again describes his turn to philosophy as a substitute for political activity: quod cum accidisset nostrae rei publicae, tum pristinis orbati muneribus haec studia renovare coepimus ut et animus molestiis hac potissimum re levaretur et prodessemus civibus nostris qua re cumque possemus. in libris enim sententiam dicebamus contionabamus, philosophiam nobis pro rei publicae procuratione substitutam putabamus. (Div. 2.7) And after this [one-man rule] happened to our state, then, orphaned by the loss of our original duties, we began to take up anew these studies, in order that both our own spirit through this activity might be most effectively relieved from its troubles and that we might be of use to our fellow-citizens in whatever way we could. For it was in books that we were then giving our senatorial opinions, addressing the people, considering that philosophy had been given to us as a replacement for taking care of the republic. The political change following the civil war that led to Cicero’s being ousted from the ruling circle is here strikingly described as having made him an orphan, orbati. Such language, on the one hand, is appropriate in  the context of the civil war, which certainly did create many nonmetaphorical orphans. While some may feel that by making that association Cicero is trivializing those more serious losses, we can also acknowledge that he is claiming for himself here a connection of a familial type, both in duty and in affection, to his country. His duties in the service of the state are like his parents, the sources of authority, stability, and status. They are indispensable for a member of the Roman elite, and their loss sends him in search of a new grounding occupation.11 The choice of the adjective pristinis to describe muneribus brings to the table, in addition to the simple indication of temporal priority, the connotation of authority stemming from age as well as that of original purity. Thus far the power of the metaphor in its application to politics is clear. But what is the place left to philosophy in this image? The word Cicero uses, orbati, describes the loss of any close relation, child, parent, sibling.12 Given that his relationship to philosophy as a substitute is pri11 For a reversal of this metaphor, with Cicero as parent, cf. Fam. 9.20.3 (SB 193): patriam eluxi iam et gravius et diutius quam ulla mater unicum filium, “I have already mourned for my country both more gravely and for a longer period than any mother for her only son.” 12 Virtually the same expression is used in a passage that explains Cicero’s turn to writing philosophy under Caesar in similar terms: hoc autem tempore tantum nobis declarandum fuit cur orbati rei publicae muneribus ad hoc nos studium potissimum contulissemus, “but at this time we had to set forth only why, when we were orphaned by the loss of our duties

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marily an active one, with Cicero directing his energies towards philosophy and producing philosophical works, it is difficult to think of it as a substitute parent. Philosophy is then more naturally taken to be like a foster child, or a child adopted to carry on the family name by an elite family without male issue. The implications of this positioning are worth working out, for we know that adoption in ancient Rome was a very different business from what it is today.13 In the world of the Roman republic elite adoption is usually a means of making up for the lack of a natural male child, so that there would be someone to carry on the family name and the worship of ancestral gods.14 Another important feature was the age of the male adopted. Since the purpose was to ensure the family’s continued survival, as expressed in name, property, and religious ritual, risks were minimized as much as possible. Given the low survival rates of children in the ancient world, children were rarely adopted.15 The arrangement was most often business-like in nature, with the mature adoptee’s relationship to the family being largely one of duty and respect, even when, as was often the case, a familial relationship existed between the two families involved. Cicero’s adoption analogy, though not perfect, is nonetheless a productive way of thinking about the exact kind of substitution that he envisioned when he turned to philosophy to fill the vacuum left by his public duties. Just like an elite family without a male issue, he needs something that will carry on his name: something that will, quite literally, keep his name alive in the minds of his countrymen through its appearance in publications and will, more generally, add to his fame and reputation, just as fulfillment of his traditional political duties would have done. The need to the republic, we had directed ourselves to this pursuit above all others” (Off. 2.6). In the Brutus, Cicero used the same metaphor to describe eloquentia (Brut. 330); see Stroup 2010, ch. 8. 13 For a discussion of Roman adoption practices, see Lindsay 2009, Gardner 1998.114– 208, Corbier.1991b.63–76; cf. Dixon 1992.112–13, Corbier 1991a.142. 14 Cf. Cicero’s comment in Dom. 35 in a discussion of counter-examples to the irregular adoption of P. Clodius: quas adoptiones sicut alias innumerabilis hereditates nominis pecuniae sacrorum secutae sunt, “And in these adoptions, just as in others, too many to count, inheritance of the name, of property, and of religious rites followed.” On the adoption of Clodius see Lindsay 2009, ch.14. 15 The obvious counter-example is Augustus’ adoption of Gaius and Lucius. Many aspects make this a rather special case. The needs of the incipient royal family are largely responsible for Augustus’ desire not to simply adopt the boys as heirs, but to raise them as such. Thus, the need for appropriate upbringing, the opportunity to have them recognized as heirs by the public over a long period of time, as well as Augustus’ own security in having two heirs in public view are responsible for the early adoption. No examples are known from among the republican elite. Dixon 1992.112, n.69 lists a couple of examples of the adoption of young children in Roman Egypt. On the special circumstances surrounding the adoption of Gaius and Lucius, see Severy 2003.70–72.

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for continuation of the family cult can also be paralleled in Cicero’s continuing need, which he states repeatedly in the prefaces, to serve his country and benefit his fellow-citizens whatever the external circumstances. At the same time, his own feelings about philosophy as a repository for his talents are not unlike a hypothetical family’s feelings about an adopted heir. If they are able to adopt someone who is related to them and/ or someone they respect and trust, they are grateful and secure in their thoughts about the future,16 but they would still prefer that a direct descendant carry on the family tradition. One need only think of Cicero’s tone in the prefaces, of the many hesitations and qualifications that betray his discomfort with a wholehearted embrace of philosophy as his main activity, and compare that with the tone of the Philippics, the great, if fatal, product of his active return to politics after the Caesarian hiatus. There, too, we perceive a clear difference in the intensity of Cicero’s devotion to politics versus writing philosophy. While Cicero’s interest in and commitment to philosophy as a field of study is undeniably strong, what he wants to be doing is participating in the areas of Roman political life that he refers to in the passage above: making speeches to the senate and the people.17 Philosophy is a substitute that is viable because, just as in those situations, he can address an audience in words. It is only here, in De Divinatione, that he can afford, in retrospect, to be honest with himself about the exact nature and the implied limitations of this substitution. He has not abandoned the goals he outlined in his earlier prefaces, but he can now, under the changed circumstances, relegate philosophy to the place it really occupies in his perception of himself. It is an ancillary pursuit. No matter the value of its fruits, no matter how useful in helping him to influence the minds of his countrymen and to secure his reputation in the eyes of posterity, philosophy must in the end be relegated largely to the sphere of otium.18

From the Ides to the DE OFFICIIS The preface to the second book of De Divinatione, I have argued, shows Cicero in the process of beginning to reconfigure the terms of his devo16 A

large number of adoptions were in fact of nephews and grandsons: Dixon 1992.112. the language of substitution, cf. Butler 2002.110–11. 18 The change of priorities is made explicit at the end of the preface: nunc quoniam de re publica consuli coepti sumus, tribuenda est opera rei publicae, vel omnis potius in ea cogitatio et cura ponenda, tantum huic studio relinquendum quantum vacabit a publico officio et munere, “now, since I have begun to be consulted about the affairs of the state, my attention must be give to the republic, or, rather, all my thought and care must be devoted to it; to this pursuit I must leave only what is free from public duties and responsibilities” (Div. 2.7). 17 On

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tion to writing philosophy and the shape of his project in the postCaesarian world, both for himself and for his readers. With political life once again an option, though at that stage a very uncertain one, the status of philosophy in his life and in the image he presents to his readers seems likely to undergo change. His ambivalence about practicing philosophy as a primary occupation can now be laid to rest as no longer relevant. Yet Cicero does not abandon the project, and the year 44, with its historic political struggles, sees philosophical production continuing at a high rate and culminating in the monumental De Officiis. What do the works composed during this time have to tell us about the changes in Cicero’s approach to writing philosophy and his conception of his project? What image of himself as an author of philosophical works does he leave to us in the prefaces to his last group of treatises? These are the questions that will occupy me in this section. The next section will revisit these texts and the issues they raise through the prism of dedication. The first work that we are sure Cicero composed after the death of Caesar, De Fato, is only partially preserved. Plans to discuss the subject are briefly mentioned in both books of De Divinatione,19 and the surviving portion of the preface makes it clear that the treatise is meant to complete the triad begun with De Natura Deorum and De Divinatione. Thus, the work’s conception, in general terms, belongs to the period before the assassination. Yet in the preface to De Fato Cicero explicitly signals a change in the structure of this work: quod autem in aliis libris feci qui sunt de natura deorum, itemque in iis quos de divinatione edidi, ut in utramque partem perpetua explicaretur oratio, quo facilius id a quoque probaretur quod cuique maxime probabile videretur, id in hac disputatione de fato casus quidam ne facerem inpedivit. (Fat. 1) Yet what I did in other books, ones concerning the nature of the gods, and similarly ones that I published on the subject of divination, namely that an uninterrupted speech expounding each view was presented so that each man could more easily endorse the view he found most probable, that method in this disputation on the subject of fate a certain occurrence prevented me from following. In referring to his earlier works, Cicero emphasizes the connection between their form and the Academic method through his use of probare and probabile. Introducing each view successively is seen as the best means for producing assent in readers of different viewpoints. Why then does 19 The projected work is included in the catalogue found in the preface to the second book, Div. 2.3, and the fact that the subject will be taken up in the future is mentioned by both speakers, Div. 1.127 and 2.19. On the date, see Yon 2002.ii–v, cf. Sharples 1991.5–6.

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Cicero depart from this way of structuring his treatises—which in fact he will never use again? The referent of casus quidam that is responsible for the change has been something of a puzzle for critics, who have generally taken it to indicate an extra-textual event. Given the fragmentary nature of the introduction, it might be best to set the question aside.20 There is, however, another way of approaching the problem, and that is to look more closely at the flow of the text within which casus quidam is presented. The section quoted above is followed by a description of Cicero’s stay in Puteoli. Hirtius drops by and requests a philosophical discussion, setting the stage for the main portion of the work. This extensive prologue is introduced by nam, and a straightforward reading, not guided by presuppositions arising from the work’s date and its state of preservation, would be to interpret the occasion of Cicero’s interaction with Hirtius as the casus that leads to the composition of the work in this particular form. A further advantage of such an interpretation is that it fits well within the larger pattern found in many Ciceronian prefaces and discussed in detail in the previous chapter, of justifying various aspects of a work’s composition by referring them to the desires of the dedicatee.21 Thus, in the prefatory conversation Cicero leaves the choice of subject between oratory and philosophy to Hirtius and registers his interlocutor’s pleasure as the ultimate goal of the upcoming exercise, hodie utro [studio] frui malis optio sit tua, “let it be your choice, which of the two disciplines you prefer to enjoy today” (Fat. 3). In his response, Hirtius refers to Cicero’s willingness to fulfill his wishes (nihil enim umquam abnuit meo studio voluntas tua, Fat. 3) and ends his request for a disputation in the mold of the Tusculans with volo, “I want” (Fat. 4). While this interpretation provides an explanation for casus quidam by situating it within the text, it reopens the question of Cicero’s reasons for changing the structure of his discussion from what he originally intended. He is careful to establish connections between his earlier output and the current treatise, on the one hand, by locating it in the context of his con20 Sharples

1991.5 takes it to refer to external circumstances (in Fat. 2 Cicero explicitly references the novae perturbationes that followed the death of Caesar), but in a footnote quotes Büchner (1964.415) who takes it the same way, but interprets it as a literary device that Cicero uses to justify the formal change. Sharples then suggests that both explanations can be true. Yon 2002.viii–ix, with n.1, sees the difficulty of the subject and the pressure of other matters as the reason for the change, similarly joining the external and the substantive. Yon’s assumption that, as a result of haste, Cicero followed one source closely is successfully countered by Boyancé 1936. 21 Cf. in particular the analysis of the Topica preface in ch. 5. The language of burning, found there, is used here as well in reference to Cicero’s inspiring Hirtius’ enthusiasm for oratory: oratoria illa studia  . . . quibus etiam te incendi, quamquam flagrantissimum acceperam, “those oratorical pursuits . . . with which I ignited your desire, even though I had encountered you already in flames” (Fat. 3).

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tinuing commitment to Academic Skepticism,22 and, on the other, by emphasizing, through Hirtius, that the form of contra propositum disputatio that he requests is characteristic of the Academy no less than the oratio in utramque partem of De Divinatione and was adopted by Cicero previously in the Tusculan Disputations.23 If, however, we see De Divinatione as the most Academic, the most open-ended of Cicero’s dialogues, it is clear that despite the interlocutors’ protestations De Fato represents a retreat in a number of ways that are intimately connected to Cicero’s formal departure from the original plan.24 The differences that are most significant for my purposes have to do with the distribution of authority in the presentation of the material. What we see in De Fato is a return to an explicitly didactic model. The preface sets up a difference in the interlocutors’ levels of expertise—Cicero is experienced in oratory and has made his expertise available to Hirtius in the past; now Hirtius requests a similar exchange in the philosophical arena (Fat. 3). Thus, authority both over the context of the discussion and the rhetorical form that it will take is located exclusively in the hands of the main speaker. This is in sharp contrast to De Divinatione, where the two speakers are given the opportunity to fully present their opposing positions. Moreover, De Fato, as we have it, appears strikingly univocal even in comparison with the Tusculan Disputations, the text that Hirtius invokes as the precedent.25 The earlier text allows for dialogue, however limited, between A. and M. and, as a result, for some expression of disagreement. There is no evidence of such participation on the part of the second interlocutor in De Fato.26 In fact, Hirtius compares the anticipated experience of listening to Cicero’s disputatio on fate to reading his writings, ita . . . audiam te disputantem ut ea lego quae scripsisti (Fat. 4). This formulation reverses the pattern we saw in many of the earlier treatises, where the written work was presented as a substitute for a more traditional face-to-face exchange and its form encouraged active participation on the part of the audience 22 Cicero

the speaker discusses the close connection between oratory and Academic philosophy for Hirtius’ benefit (Fat. 3). 23 Fat. 4. On disputatio in utramque partem and Cicero’s use of paired speeches in the dialogues, see Leonhardt 1999. 24 The following comments about De Fato are based on our incomplete knowledge of the treatise, and for that reason are provisional. 25 For a different take on the relationship between the two works, see Gildenhard 2007 83–86. 26 Another work that, based on its subject, is likely to belong to the post-Caesarian period, De Virtutibus, is presented in the Teubner edition of Off. and Virt. (1971) as a dialogue between A. and M. The editors’ decision appears to be based on the model of the Tusculans. But the “fragments” are derived from a fifteenth century work, La Salade by the French writer Antoine de la Sale, and the original French (for which see the 1908 Teubner edition by H. Knöllinger) is too ambiguous to determine whether the questions posed reflect the form of the original or are a literary device employed by de la Sale.

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mediated through a dedicatee or promoted by a multiplicity of voices and points of view. In this preface, instead, we have a paradoxical circularity. Once again we have a written work that purports to represent an encounter, a conversation. Yet the interlocutor who requests the discourse is represented as explicitly desiring that the experience of listening closely resemble the experience of reading. Hirtius shows no interest in a back and forth engagement. I have claimed that these changes constitute a retreat, a change of course from the final dialogues composed under Caesar. One might reasonably object that the works composed during the period of high philosophical output in 45 and early 44 do not show a clear progression towards a more “skeptical,” open-form type of treatise, and that De Fato could, therefore, be simply a further instance of experimentation with the disputatio form. However, two factors militate against such a view. One is the originally intended triadic sequence of De Natura Deorum, De Divinatione, and De Fato. The other is the fact that, as I am about to argue, there is a consistency of formal and, to an extent, thematic choices in the period following Caesar’s assassination. Two texts that are linked to each other, De Senectute and De Amicitia, help elucidate another stage in the evolution of Cicero’s project. Both are works of practical ethics dedicated to Atticus with prefaces that are built on the long history of the two men’s close relationship.27 Both return to a model of speaker choice most reminiscent of Cicero’s earliest works, De Re Publica and De Oratore, so that the content of the treatises derives its authority from the great men of earlier generations and, furthermore, takes the shape of members of the older generation passing their wisdom down to the younger.28 A comparison with those earlier works also reveals a number of structural differences between the two groups. In the later works the authority of the older generation is concentrated by allowing only one highly authoritative representative, Cato the Elder and Laelius respectively, to direct the discourse.29 That is, De Senectute and De Amicitia are didactic and univocal in a way that the earlier dialogues were not. Thus, they also represent a movement in a direction broadly similar to that exemplified by De Fato. 27 On some of the complications in the traditional picture of Cicero and Atticus as ideal friends, see Citroni Marchetti 2009. 28 We cannot know whether the lost De Gloria, composed in the summer of 44 and also dedicated to Atticus, shared any of the other characteristics of the two surviving works. 29 See ch. 5 on the authority of Cato in De Senectute. Laelius’ authority is similarly based on his traditionally famous friendship with Scipio (Amic. 4). See Gotter 1996b.346 on the political significance of Cicero’s choice of Laelius. Zetzel 1972 has effectively argued against reconstruction of a “Scipionic circle” on the basis of Cicero’s dialogues and for seeing these texts in the context of the time of their composition; cf. Zetzel 1995.12–13. For the most recent argument for the historicity of Laelius’ discourse, see Burton 2007.

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It is, however, much more difficult to speak with certainty about how and when these works were conceived. The date of De Senectute is uncertain,30 with some scholars placing the composition before and others after the Ides of March. It was completed by May 1131 and predates the completion of De Divinatione and thus the composition of De Fato.32 It is referred to in the catalogue in the preface to the second book of De Divinatione as “recent” (nuper). All arguments beyond these facts are based on how individual scholars see the work in the context of others and in light of Cicero’s circumstances and state of mind. Given the potential importance of the date for understanding the direction of Cicero’s post-Caesarian output, it is worth examining the work’s mention in the catalogue in detail. The initial portion of the catalogue is chronological, starting with the first “Caesarean” work, the Hortensius. It ends with De Divinatione and a mention of the planned composition of De Fato. The remaining works are not listed chronologically, and their inclusion in the catalogue is given extra justification. The first to be named is De Re Publica, and the subject’s philosophical (specifically Peripatetic) pedigree is mentioned. Then Consolatio is singled out as a work initially composed for the author’s own consumption. After Consolatio comes the mention of De Senectute, followed by a list of rhetorical works, whose inclusion is once again justified by the authority of the Peripatetic tradition. De Senectute is introduced as follows: interiectus est etiam nuper liber is quem ad nostrum Atticum de senectute misimus, “Also recently has been added that book which we sent to our Atticus on the subject of old age” (Div. 2.3). Cicero clearly sees the work as sufficiently different from the main group to require some explanation, and he focuses on its didactic and ethical functions in justifying its inclusion. It is presented as an interruption or a side-project, not as the beginning of a new series. It is also the only work in the catalogue, other than the self-addressed and otherwise atypical Consolatio, that is identified by naming a dedicatee. Overall, this presentation suggests that at the time of writing Cicero does not yet see De Senectute as an essential part of his output or a work whose direction he plans to follow. It is thus less likely to be a new departure conceived right after the assassination. The picture changes entirely once we consider the De Amicitia. The composition of this dialogue on friendship in a form that closely resembles that of De Senectute must be the result of a conscious decision to pick up that work, earlier described as a side-project, and retrospectively 30 The

most recent extensive discussion of the date is Powell 1988, Appendix 1 (267–68). Powell opts for a substantial portion of the treatise having been composed before the assassination. 31 Att. 14.21.3 (SB 375). 32 Div. 2.3.

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reposition it in the corpus by making it part of a series. In the new circumstances, it would seem, projects of this nature are more worth pursuing. The similarities between the two works are clear—a setting in the glory days of the republic, the choice of a highly authoritative and uniquely expert speaker, the departure from a strictly dialogic form, their length, and their dedication to Atticus. Apart from the setting in the past and the identity of the dedicatee, these are also features that they share with De Fato, an indication that this is in fact a direction in which Cicero has chosen to take his work. What about De Amicitia itself? In reading the individual works as indicative of changes in Cicero’s thinking about his philosophical project as a whole, are we to see it, as I suggested earlier, as a reprise of something he had tried in De Senectute, a confirmation that this is the right direction? Or does it represent a further development in the post-Caesarian trajectory? De Senectute and De Amicitia have commonly been seen as standing apart from both the major dialogues of the Caesarian period and De Officiis as more personally motivated and less technical.33 I have argued that, far from being a digression from the mainstream of Cicero’s philosophical output, these works, together with De Fato, represent his first tentative steps in a new direction. The treatment of old age, presented, as we have seen in the previous chapter, as shared by the author and the dedicatee and as having an obvious universal relevance, does in fact seem to have been a digression. But the subject of friendship had much more topical relevance in the period following Caesar’s assassination. De Amicitia shows an integration of philosophical ideas with questions of relevance to the state that has been an important feature of Cicero’s philosophical work throughout and that will culminate in the composition of De Officiis.34 This is not to deny the personal significance of the subject for Cicero, whose relationship with Atticus was the only constant through all his changes of fortune. But in this case, as so often, the personal and the political are hard to disentangle. Many of those who participated in the assassination had long-standing ties of amicitia with Caesar, a circumstance that could not but raise questions about the meaning of the institution and its place in Roman politics. Two further facts add to this general picture. The first is Cicero’s correspondence with Matius, prompted by the 33 E.g., Powell 1990a.7: “the Cato and Laelius . . . are not works of academic philosophy . . . but constitute a more intimate and personal expression of Cicero’s own ideas and preoccupations.” 34 On the political relevance of Cicero’s presentation of amicitia, see Gotter 1996b. The difference between De Senectute and De Amicitia, both in the resonance of the topic and the overall tone, is noted by Zetzel 1972.177.

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allegation that Cicero disapproved of Matius’ grief at Caesar’s death.35 At the center of the exchange is tension between loyalty to the state and loyalty to a friend, presented by Cicero in philosophical terms reminiscent of the treatise. The second is the contestation of obligations imposed by amicitia in the public conflict between Cicero and Antony, which is known to us from Cicero’s first two Philippics and from the exchange of letters between the two men.36 The uncertain dating of the treatise37 and of the correspondence with Matius makes it difficult to map these texts against one another, but at the very least they demonstrate that the meaning of amicitia was an issue that was both important and contested during this general period.38 The treatise can hardly then be seen as an escape from the hard realities of the day. It was, quite the contrary, a philosophical engagement with those very realities.39 That such a relationship between the subject of the treatise and current events is part of Cicero’s intention for his work can be seen in the preface. After establishing his personal connection to Quintus Mucius Scaevola the Augur, from whom he claims to have heard Laelius’ discourse on 35 Cicero’s letter to Matius: Fam. 11.27 (SB 348); Matius’ response: Fam. 11.28 (SB 349). Griffin 1997 is an excellent study of the interconnections between the exchange and the dialogue. Cf. Bringmann 1971.270–77. For a brief discussion in the context of Caesar’s friendships, see Steel 2009.123–24. For the discussion of the date, August or October, as well as further bibliography, see Shackleton Bailey’s introduction to his commentary on Fam. 11.27 (SB 348; 1977.489). For an analysis of the strategies Cicero uses to heal the breach caused by his disapproval of Matius, Hall 2009a.60–66. 36 In the first Philippic, delivered at the senate meeting held on September 2, Cicero paid lip service to his friendship with Antony while criticizing his actions. Antony reacted with anger and accused Cicero of violating their amicitia (Phil. 2.3, cf. Phil. 5.19), a charge that Cicero then took up in the second Philippic, a speech with a fictional date of September 19, but which he never delivered. In accusing Cicero, Antony read out a flattering letter from him (Att. 14.13B; SB 367B), an action that Cicero in turn characterized as a violation (Phil. 2.7). For a concise narrative of these events in their larger historical context, see Ramsey 2003.9; cf. Rawson 1994.476–77, Gotter 1996a.26–30, Osgood 2006.41–42; with a focus on Cicero’s textual production, Butler 2002.113–15. For the uneasy politeness of the letters exchanged by the two men, see Hall 2009a.93–99. 37 On the date of De Amicitia, see Powell 1990a.5–6; cf. Zetzel 1972.177–78, Bringmann 1971.215. 38 Bringmann 1971.207 in arguing against linking the composition of De Amicitia to the “so-called Mattius affair” rightly emphasizes that this episode represents a chance survival of what must have been a fairly typical example of Caesar’s friends’ continuing loyalty to him after his death. 39 Cf. Long 1995.222: “The ties of amicitia were an urgent problem in the confusion following the assassination of Caesar.” Habinek 1990.166–67 discusses both the topical and the broader political significance of the subject. For a reconstruction of the political implications of De Gloria, sent to Atticus on July 11th (Att. 16.2.6; SB 412), see Long 1995.223– 24 with the following discussion of glory in De Officiis. On De Gloria, cf. Bringmann 1971.196–205.

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friendship, Cicero appeals directly to Atticus for the first time in the work: cum saepe multa, tum memini domi in hemicyclio sedentem, ut solebat, cum et ego essem una et pauci admodum familiares, in eum sermonem illum incidere, qui tum forte multis erat in ore. meministi enim profecto, Attice, et eo magis, quod P. Sulpicio utebare multum, cum is tribunus plebis capitali odio a Q. Pompeio qui tum erat consul dissideret, quocum coniunctissime et amantissime vixerat, quanta esset hominum vel admiratio vel querela. itaque tum Scaevola cum in eam ipsam mentionem incidisset, exposuit nobis sermonem Laeli de amicitia . . . . (Amic. 2–3) Since I often think of him, so I remember him sitting in a semicircular recess in his house, as was his custom, and on this occasion I myself was present and a few close associates. He started to talk about the matter that was at the time discussed by many. For you, Atticus, must certainly remember, and especially because you spent much of your time in the company of Publius Sulpicius, when that man, a tribune of the plebs, went against Quintus Pompeius, who was consul at the time, with violent hatred, a man with whom he had lived in close and loving harmony, you must remember how greatly people were astonished or even aggrieved. And so then Scaevola, after he made mention of this very subject, reported to us the discourse of Laelius on friendship . . . . It is the violent reversal in the two former friends’ sentiments towards each other that occasions Scaevola’s comment and the general discussion that provides the background for it. And yet Cicero represents the topic of friendship as more than a simply personal matter. In fact, he carefully portrays it as arising directly from the political situation of the day. The two men are holders of public office, a tribune and a consul. Even if we knew nothing further about their conflict, the implication would be clear: a falling out between friends who have an important part in the running of the state cannot help but be played out in the political arena; its effects of necessity go far beyond the personal. The friendships of elite men— how they are formed, how stable they are, what makes them endure, in other words, the subject of the treatise—have a direct bearing on the public interest. Cicero emphasizes this broader resonance by expanding his description of the public’s admiratio, “surprise,” even “shock,” with querela, a word that indicates considerable emotional involvement, perhaps even a feeling of grief. The point, however, would have been much more obvious to Cicero’s contemporary readers than it appears to us, for they would remember, as Cicero expects Atticus to remember, or know about the affair and the

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events surrounding it.40 For it was by no means an isolated private episode that raised eyebrows, but rather a crucial first step in the escalation of the conflict between Marius and Sulla in 88 BC. The reader may also remember that, apart from its large-scale consequences, the personal costs of the affair were high: the son of Pompeius was killed in the violence that followed the consuls’ suspension of public business in order to block Sulpicius’ legislation, and Sulpicius himself was killed, having been declared a public enemy by the senate after Sulla’s march on Rome. On this our sources agree.41 But none of them mentioned the prior amicitia of the tribune and the consul. They didn’t need to: there was plenty of violence and hatred in the narrative as it was, and their interest was in the major power struggle between Marius and Sulla. Cicero, however, in taking the seemingly personal out of its larger context, was blaming the disasters that followed, both public and private, at least in part on a failure of friendship. The importance of the institution and its proper functioning for the well being of the state was thus implicitly established. As personally important as this subject was for Cicero and Atticus, Cicero nonetheless introduced it in a way that connected it to the presentation of his earlier treatises, the core of his philosophical encyclopedia. He thus created a theoretical framework, rooted in Greek philosophical thought, for an institution whose stability would be of obvious benefit both to individuals and, more importantly, to the state. I have suggested above that, despite their many similarities, De Amicitia constitutes a departure from the type of treatise first seen in De Senectute. Both projects focused on practical ethics, but whereas Cicero initially portrayed his effort as a side-project, he later came to view it as the next stage of his philosophical encyclopedia. The comparison between the two prefaces—in particular, the way in which Cicero handles the dedications and presents his reasons for choosing his topic—supports this conclusion. As we have seen in chapter 5, in the preface to De Senectute Cicero devotes a lot of his energy to the dedicatee, and in a particularly 40 Atticus

would of course have a more intimate knowledge of the events as they concerned Sulpicius, having been not only a close associate, as Cicero here indicates, but also a relative. Nepos (Att. 2) attributes Atticus’ disinclination to pursue a senatorial career to his having been exposed to danger due to his relationship with Suplicius (propter affinitatem P. Sulpicii . . . non expers fuit illius periculi). 41 The main sources are App. BC 1.55–61, Plut. Sul. 8–10 and Mar. 34–35, and Liv. Per. 77. Many of the details of the events are controversial, but the broad outline is not in doubt. In a detailed reconsideration of Sulpicius’ motivations that rightly rejects an account based on party politics, Powell (1990b) argues that Sulpicius miscalculated in expecting support from Pompeius and others. Such a misapprehension of the nature and stability of his amicitia would be especially relevant in the context of the treatise and in the political climate in which Cicero composed the work. For a general narrative that sees a change of allegiance on the part of Sulpicius, see Keaveney 2005.45–63; cf. Seager 1994.165–73.

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personal way: he explores his state of mind through a literary allusion and carefully establishes the connection between himself and Atticus in light of the theme of the treatise, old age. I have argued that even this very personal approach to the subject allows him to extend the bond between himself and Atticus to include the reader. But he does this primarily on the level of the individual. In the dedication of De Amicitia Cicero pays tribute to his relationship with Atticus (“reading this discourse, you will recognize yourself”42), but he balances the benefits of the treatise for their relationship with its public benefits: digna mihi res cum omnium cognitione tum nostra familiaritate visa est, “this subject, in my opinion, is as worthy of being made known to all as it is of our closeness.”43 This treatise, then, is an important moment in the evolution of Cicero’s project, the place where a new direction towards practical ethics is reframed in terms familiar from the Caesarian treatises. This new direction receives its fullest and final expression in Cicero’s last great treatise, De Officiis.

From Quintus the Elder to Marcus the Younger: The Pattern of Dedications Before I conclude my discussion with a look at De Officiis, I want to turn once again to the question of the dedicatee. For that is another area in which the three major groups of treatises—pre–civil war, Caesarian, and post-Caesarian—show significant shifts that contribute to an understanding of the evolution of Cicero’s thinking about his philosophical production over time. Let me begin by summarizing what we know. The major works of the 50s—De Oratore and De Re Publica44—are dedicated to Quintus.45 None of our sources mention the identity of the dedicatee of the lost Hortensius, the first post–civil war philosophical treatise.46 But the rest of the Caesarian treatises show a pattern that is quite clear: virtually 42 Amic.

5: quam legens te ipse cognosces. 4. 44 The date of De Legibus, a work that Cicero did not complete and publish (it is not mentioned in the catalogue in Div.2), is controversial. I accept the prevailing view that dates the conception and the bulk of the composition to the late 50s, following De Re Publica. On the issues of dating and stages of composition, see Dyck 2004.5–12. The dialogue does not have prefaces in the author’s voice, one of the results of its incompleteness. It is most likely that, had it been completed in the 50s, it too would have been dedicated to Quintus, one of the interlocutors. Of the six partially surviving books of De Re Publica, only the first book preserves a preface. The beginning, where Quintus would have been addressed by name, is missing, but he is addressed again (tibi) in the last section of the preface (Rep. 1.13). 45 See Stroup 2010.191–202 on the complex dynamics of dedication of De Oratore and the Brutus. 46 Stroup 2010.197 suggests that it was dedicated to Atticus. 43 Amic.

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all, both rhetorica and philosophica, are dedicated to Brutus.47 There are three exceptions. Two of the three, the self-addressed Consolatio and De Senectute, dedicated to Atticus, were, as we saw, singled out by Cicero himself in his catalogue (De Divinatione, book two) as outside of the core of his project. The third, Academica, contains no explicit dedication, but a dedicatory letter that has been preserved tells us that Cicero dedicated it to Varro (Fam. 9.8; SB 254). De Divinatione itself, a work that, I have argued, is transitional, with its composition being completed after Caesar’s death, contains no explicit dedication. Of the post-Caesarian works, De Amicitia is dedicated to Atticus, Topica to Trebatius Testa, and De Officiis to Cicero’s son Marcus. We do not know to whom De Fato and De Gloria were dedicated. Given the available evidence, how can we interpret these dedication patterns? The first set of dedications to Quintus provides a point of departure. A dedication to a brother can play a similar role in establishing and mediating the relationship between the author and the reader as a dedication to a friend: the reader has access to a personal, intimate exchange between Cicero and someone to whom he is very close. In fact, the bare fact of second-person address can activate the network of association and identification. But the invocation of a sibling in this context somewhat restricts the reader’s scope for entering into the relationship: the connection with a sibling is of necessity exclusive while the number of amici is potentially infinite. A familial relationship, unlike amicitia, does not extend in obvious ways beyond the purely personal. Cicero’s choice thus hints at a desire to give these works a public face that would locate them in the sphere of otium, part of an exchange of an even more intimate nature than that between friends. This fits well with the supporting, subsidiary role that Cicero publically assigns to his intellectual pursuits during the time when he is politically active.48 Hortensius must, unfortunately, remain a mystery. But it is clear that during the years when Cicero was producing the bulk of his philosophical works, the core of his project, Brutus was his dedicatee of choice.49 Given the nature of the relationship between Cicero and Brutus, never particularly close,50 we cannot interpret Cicero’s decision here as a personal one, a sign of affection. Another interpretation would have it that 47 These are Brutus, Orator, Paradoxa Stoicorum, De Finibus, Tusculans, and De Natura Deorum. 48 The composition of these works in the mid and late fifties, as Cicero is sidelined politically after the formation of the First Triumvirate, is of course no coincidence. On his position during this period, see, e.g., Mitchell 1991.181–204. 49 The first dedication that we are certain of, the Brutus, is presented as a return on Brutus’ De Virtutibus, one of the referents of litterae at Brut. 11 and 12, presented as the stimulant that encouraged Cicero to write again (the other referent is Atticus’ Annales). 50 Cf. Douglas 1966.xviii–xix. See also Gotter 1996a.221–23.

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the repeated dedications were an attempt on Cicero’s part to strengthen the bond between them. This is more plausible, and must in part be true,51 but it is not sufficient to explain the entire stream of dedications. Surely there were other relationships that could have benefited from such a gesture,52 and it is hard to see what the advantage of volume would have been after a certain point. Cicero and Brutus’ shared interest in philosophy and oratory is no doubt significant, but, again, by no means sufficient to explain such exclusive focus. The correspondence with Atticus does not offer much help. The dedication of De Finibus is mentioned at Att. 13.12.3 (SB 320, quoted below) in terms that make clear that Atticus is, as ever, acting as a mediator between Cicero and Brutus53 and that Brutus welcomes the dedication in general terms (eum non nolle). Cicero returns to the Orator in May of 44 in the context of Atticus’ urging that he write and send to Brutus a contio (Att. 14.20.3; SB 374). Cicero expresses frustration at Brutus’ lack of receptiveness to Cicero’s rhetorical theory as well as to his oratorical practice. He mentions that he dedicated the Orator to him almost at his own request, ipsius precibus paene adductus. It is difficult to read back from this to the reality of the earlier situation. Cicero is irritated by Brutus’ stubborn adherence to his own style: Brutus had rejected Cicero’s draft of an edict, also offered up at Atticus’ prompting. This reminds Cicero of the ungrateful reception of the Orator: Brutus had informed both the author and Atticus that he could not agree with Cicero’s views (non modo mihi sed etiam tibi scripsit sibi illud quod mihi placeret non probari). So Cicero is irritated and remembering that Brutus himself had asked for the dedication adds more weight to his resistance to Atticus’ present request. Paene, moreover, hints that this is not quite accurate: “you could almost say I dedicated it to him because he asked.” But the same letter offers a hint of different nature. As Atticus and Cicero negotiate about Cicero’s addressing ever more texts to Brutus now, 51 Cf.

Rawson 1983.211: “The Brutus itself was not the only work that Cicero dedicated at this time to his important and able young friend, with whom he was anxious for so many reasons to be on close terms”; Dyck 1996.11: “Most of his [Cicero’s] literary projects of these years aimed to secure the allegiance of one of the leading members of the younger generation, M. Brutus.” 52 Caelius had asked for a treatise in 51 (Fam. 8.3.3; SB 79). It is not difficult to see that such a dedication would confer prestige on the recipient and could have become, had Cicero wanted it, a useful social tool. Cicero refers in general terms to those who expressed the wish to appear in his dialogues as characters at Att. 12.12.2 (SB 259): incredibile est quam ea quidam requirant, “it is unbelievable how much demand for it there is in certain circles.” Given this enthusiasm, it is all the more remarkable that Cicero stays with Brutus so consistently. See Stroup 2010.183–85 on requests for dedications. 53 On the close relationship between Brutus and Atticus, see Shackleton Bailey 1965.52– 53. On Atticus’ attempts to mediate in the rather unsavory affair of Brutus’ usury during Cicero’s tenure as governor of Cilicia, see Rawson 1983.177–80, Mitchell 1991.223–24.

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after the Ides, they also seem to have a disagreement about his role in the future of the state. Cicero writes: quod errare me putas qui rem publicam putem pendere in Bruto, sic se res habet: aut nulla erit aut ab isto istiusve servabitur, “as to your thinking that I am wrong when I think that the republic depends on Brutus, here is how things are: either it will cease to exist or it will be saved by him, or by his friends.”54 Cicero sees Brutus as the one person who can be trusted to further the interests of the state. Of course, the fact of the conspiracy and the assassination plays into his belief. But it is not a stretch to extend a similar sentiment backwards. Despite occasional glimmers of hope and activity, Cicero in the post–civil war years was generally pessimistic and resigned to his circumstances. Brutus, himself an author of philosophical works,55 became Cicero’s link to the political life of the state, or what was left of it, even a symbol of his hopes for the state.56 By publically addressing his philosophical works to Brutus, then, Cicero accomplished two things. He reinforced his point that his work was meant to benefit the state by dedicating it to an active statesman, thus directing it to the place where it might have some chance of fulfilling his intentions. At the same time, rhetorically, he claimed public significance for the corpus, a significance that, I would argue, it could not have achieved if he had dedicated these works to his brother, similarly sidelined after being pardoned by Caesar, or to Atticus, an equestrian whose political influence was anything but public. How does the dedication of the Academica to Varro fit into the model that I am building?57 For Varro was in the exact same position as Cicero, a Pompeian pardoned by Caesar and allowed to return to Italy. Cicero’s relationship with Varro, like his relationship with Brutus, was never as familiar as Cicero would have wished it to be, and Cicero was eager for 54 In reading istiusve I depart from Shackleton Bailey and adopt the reading of the majority of the manuscripts (only b reads istisve). Shackleton Bailey rejects istiusve because it excludes Brutus: istiusque would solve that problem, but that is not what we have. His choice is quite plausible—Atticus would know to whom Cicero was referring. But I think that in the context, with its focus on Brutus, istiusve gives better sense. I would interpret it as positing a situation in which Brutus himself, for whatever reason, is unable to carry on. The hope would then be that his group of associates could continue his work. 55 On Brutus’ philosophical views, see Sedley 1997. Gotter 2000 provides the best biographical sketch; cf. Gotter 1996a.213–32. 56 On this larger political meaning of the dedications to Brutus, cf. Henderson 2006.174– 75, who notes “the unquestionably fundamental authority of Brutus to sign for SPQR”; see also Gildenhard 2007.93–95. Wassmann 1996, ch. 7, following Strasburger 1990, reads all the dedications and the choices of speakers in dialogues of this period as specifically antiCaesarian. Dugan 2005.233–48 effectively reads the Brutus as Cicero’s response to Brutus’ De Virtute, designed to encourage him to follow his ancestors by becoming a tyrannicide. 57 For a different interpretation, see Wassmann 1996.229–32, who treats the choice of Varro as parallel to that of Brutus.

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the exchange of dedications to bring them closer.58 But the dedication in this case was not public: the brief preface sets the stage without a direct address to any dedicatee. Varro is introduced as a character in the dialogue, a public homage in itself,59 but the presentation of the work to Varro took place privately, in a letter. Significantly, the plan to find some way of including Varro in a work of Cicero’s dates back at least to 54 BC, when Cicero was working on De Re Publica, with Atticus, always the mediator between the two, prompting Cicero in this direction both in 54 and in 45. In the earlier exchange, Atticus asked that Varro be mentioned somehow within the body of the treatise. Cicero sees no possibility for such a gesture given the setting of his works in the past, but does suggest that he might address one of the prefaces to Varro.60 The idea is reintroduced by Atticus in the middle of year 45.61 In the meantime, Varro had pledged a work to Cicero, but had been taking a long time completing it.62 In his response to Atticus, Cicero outlines a plan: nunc illam peri; Telw`n suvntaxin sane mihi probatam Bruto, ut tibi placuit, despondimus, idque tu eum non nolle mihi scripsisti. ergo illam ΔAkadhmikhvn, in qua homines nobiles illi quidem sed nullo modo philologi nimis acute loquuntur, ad Varronem transferamus. etenim sunt Antiochia, quae iste valde probat. Catulo et Lucullo alibi reponemus, ita tamen si tu hoc probas; deque eo mihi rescribas velim. (Att. 13.12.3; SB 320) 58 For an analysis of the tensions, see Wiseman 2009.107–29, who sees Varro rather than Cicero as truly in the service of the Roman people; for a different view of the difference between their Caesarian projects that emphasizes Varro’s incorporation of Caesar’s views on religion in the Antiquities, see Bloomer 1997.53–55; for bibliography on the relationship, see ch. 2, n.82. 59 Giving someone a part in the dialogue and dedicating the work to him are not always clearly differentiated, but Cicero does distinguish the two in this case: in Att. 13.19.5 (SB 326) he writes that he is happy with Varro as an interlocutor, but still unsure about the dedication. The two types of homage are joined together in Att. 13.18 (SB 325). 60 itaque cogitabam, quoniam in singulis libris utor prohoemiis ut Aristoteles in iis quos ejxwterikou;~ vocat, aliquid efficere ut non sine causa istum appellarem, id quod intellego tibi placere, “so I was thinking that since I am affixing prefaces to individual books, just as Aristotle in those books he called exoteric, I could name him not inappropriately; I understand that this would please you” (Att. 4.16.2; SB 89). Cicero refers back to this earlier discussion in similar terms in 45: quod ad me de Varrone scribis, scis me antea orationes aut aliquid id genus solitum scribere ut Varronem nusquam possem intexere, “as to what you write to me concerning Varro, you know that earlier I used to write speeches or other things of a sort that did not allow me to insert Varro” (Att. 13.12.3; SB 320). 61 Atticus claimed that Varro was jealous of others who had become part of Cicero’s work: Att. 13.13–14.1 (SB 321) and 13.18 (325). 62 Varro did dedicate books V–XXV of De Lingua Latina to Cicero, but there is no further evidence that would allow us to date them with any more certainty than between the date of this letter and Cicero’s death.

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Now, that composition On Ends, which I rather like, I designated for Brutus, with your approval, and you wrote to me that he is well disposed to the idea. Therefore, that Academica, in which characters, noble without a doubt, but not scholarly by any stretch, speak in rather too clever a manner—let us transfer it to Varro. For the views are Antiochean, which he very much approves. We’ll pay our debt to Catulus and Lucullus in another place, and do this, that is, if you are agreeable; please write me back about this matter. This makes clear another issue that sets this dedication outside of the main group: the dialogue was not originally intended for Varro.63 We have no indication to whom Cicero initially planned to dedicate it when it was set in the past, but we do know that, before he wrote the version with Varro, he had already changed the identity of the speakers and had created a version with Cato and Brutus as interlocutors (Att. 13.16.1; SB 323). Even after writing the Varronian version, Cicero, anxious about Varro’s approval, had concerns about how the gesture would be received and considered once again changing the addressee—to Brutus, the default dedicatee of this period.64 The dedication of the Academica to Varro is thus atypical for a number of reasons: the pressure from Atticus, the longterm negotiations between Cicero and Varro for an expression of their intellectual bond, and Cicero’s multiple alterations of the characters assigned to the work. All of these factors make the choice not to attach an addressed preface to the dialogue but to express the dedication in a letter appear logical. Cicero’s hesitations and the final shape of his dedication also make clear the significance of his dedications to Brutus. If we imagine that the pattern were reversed, that the bulk of Cicero’s philosophical works under Caesar had been dedicated to a man like Varro, a fellow senior statesman, now on the sidelines after his pardon and similarly engaged in large-scale intellectual projects, the public positioning of the project would change. It would likely be interpreted as a retired politician’s attempt to escape from the disappointments of contemporary politics. The constant summoning of Brutus prevents this from being the case. De Divinatione, the first work that was put into circulation after the Ides of March, marks, like the Hortensius, the first treatise composed after the civil war, a transition to a new stage in Cicero’s thinking about the place of his philosophical project. Those who refer to the treatise as 63 The

dedication to the second version has been preserved. The beginning of the surviving part of the earlier version, Lucullus, is lost. For the different compositional stages, see Griffin 1997; cf. Rösch-Binde 1997.346–94, van der Blom 2010.171–72. 64 Att. 13.25.3 (SB 333): qua re si addubitas, ad Brutum transeamus, “therefore, if you have any doubt, let us transfer it to Brutus.”

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dedicated to Quintus are assuming that dedication based on the fact that Quintus is the only interlocutor.65 But, as we saw in the case of the Academica, that is not necessarily the case. Here we also lack the invaluable evidence that Cicero’s correspondence with Atticus provides for so many of the other works: we have no letters between late December of 45 and April 7 of 44. So we must remain in the dark about any intentions Cicero may have had regarding a dedicatee. The first work in the triad of which it is a part, De Natura Deorum, was dedicated to Brutus, and it is quite possible that Cicero originally planned to add De Divinatione to the long list of works he had already addressed to him. In any case, the fact that revision, whatever its scope may have been, undoubtedly took place after the Ides, coupled with Cicero’s well-attested habit of attaching his prefaces after the main work of composition has been completed, suggests that the decision to leave the work unaddressed was taken after Caesar’s death.66 It seems to reflect the state of affairs at the time. With Caesar gone and the future uncertain, Cicero breaks the long chain of works addressed to Brutus. The regime that had prevented his participation in politics was seemingly destroyed together with its leader, and the function that those dedications had played was, therefore, no longer operative. As we saw, Cicero took the opportunity to look back and reflect on the project and to express his intention to continue producing philosophical works, but his new direction was not yet clear. Thus, an earlier pattern is suspended, but nothing new is put in its place. The new pattern is more difficult to discern, given the gaps in our knowledge. But what we do know is suggestive. The first treatise that followed Caesar’s death is De Fato, which is very likely to have been dedicated to Hirtius,67 though the degree to which this dedication was public, that is, whether Hirtius, Cicero’s interlocutor in the dialogue, was addressed directly in the preface, must remain an open question. In political terms, this dedication would seem to continue the pattern exemplified by the serial dedications to Brutus: Hirtius, consul-designate at the time of Caesar’s death, increased his attentions to Cicero, de facto head of the senatorial opposition to Antony, and was in turn increasingly cultivated by him as representing, along with his co-consul, Pansa, the most stable and promising element among Caesarians.68 Yet it should be noted that, however it 65 Formally, then, it looks similar to the Brutus, which also lacks an address in its preface, but the title itself (used by Cicero in the catalogue in Div. 2.4) constitutes a dedication to Brutus who is one of the interlocutors. In addition, the final exhortatory sections of the dialogue are addressed to Brutus. 66 There is no doubt that the preface to Div. 2 was written after the Ides. I contend that the one to the first book was at the very least revised at that time as well. 67 Cf. Rawson 1985.58 and Dyck 1996.11. 68 See Gotter 1996a.67–69.

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may have been expressed in the preface, Hirtius’ position in relation to Cicero, within the context of the treatise, differed markedly from that of Brutus. Where Brutus was addressed as an equal, an intellectual partner, Hirtius is at best a beginner in the field of artes and litterae. Thus, his choice as an interlocutor is very much in tune with the more didactic form of the dialogue itself. The reasons behind the dedication of De Amicitia to Atticus are certainly multiple. I have argued that this work signals a change of direction in the type of philosophy that Cicero sees as central to his project, but that it also retroactively incorporates De Senectute into the project thus modified. A dedication to a close friend, while infinitely suitable to the subject, would also seem to shift the location of Cicero’s writing back into the sphere of subsidiary activity, where we saw it positioned in the 50s. Topica is also dedicated to a friend, but a very much junior friend. The disparity in age and status, as we saw in chapter 5, allows Cicero to present himself as an authority in a qualitatively different way. The author’s posture now is didactic as well as solicitous. Cicero dispenses with even the minimally dialogic form that he used in De Fato to produce a treatise that is in its entirety a discourse by Cicero addressed to Trebatius. The De Officiis then represents yet a further development of this positioning: Cicero dedicates it to the most appropriate object of his teachings, his son,69 and the work, although much larger in scale and scope, takes the same form as the Topica. It is a continuous discourse that, taken together with an addressed preface, has been described as quasi-epistolary.70 The shift may appear paradoxical: just as Cicero’s philosophical work is becoming more directly relevant to, and more closely engaged with, political issues, his dedication moves in the opposite direction, away from the public sphere and back towards the family and the schoolroom/lecture hall model.71 Yet the two changes of direction are consistent as part of the same trend: as real political engagement becomes a possibility and then a reality, Cicero both moves into the areas of philosophy where practical 69 Another

work that should be mentioned here is Partitiones Oratoriae, perhaps the most explicitly didactic in its form in Cicero’s corpus, that presents a dialogue between Cicero the father and Cicero the son. The dating of the work is highly controversial (see Gaines 2002.447–66, Arweiler 2003.210–14). Gaines, after effectively rejecting attempts to date the dialogue based on dating its setting, leaves the question wide open: between 65 and 44. I find it most plausible that this work was composed in the same general period as the Topica and De Officiis. 70 Gibson and Morrison 2007.9–13, in the context of defining the limits of the epistolary genre. 71 Dyck 1996.10–11 sees the dedications to Brutus and these post-Caesarian dedications to younger men as part of the same turn towards the younger generation. Yet Brutus, though certainly a junior, both is and is treated by Cicero much more as an equal, both in politics and as a fellow philosopher.

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implications are immediate and more clearly apprehended, and at the same time repositions his philosophical activity as subsidiary to his political duties.

The Final Encounter: DE OFFICIIS Cicero’s final work,72 a treatise on appropriate actions,73 is addressed to his son Marcus who, at the time, was studying philosophy in Athens.74 Cicero first mentions the project in a letter to Atticus written from Puteoli, shortly after he left Rome in late October. In the letter, he comments on the appropriateness of the theme to a treatise dedicated by a father to his son: nos hic filosofou`men (quid enim aliud?) et ta; peri; tou` kaqhvkonto~ magnifice explicamus prosfwnou`menque Ciceroni. qua de re enim potius pater filio? “Here we philosophize (for what else is there?) and explicate the subject of appropriate action on a grand scale and address it to Cicero. On what topic can father better address his son?” (Att.15.13a.2; SB 417). On November 5, in response to Atticus’ query about the title of the work, Cicero informs him of his progress (the first two, Panaetian, books of the work are completed), mentions the title, and adds: prosfwnw` autem Ciceroni filio; visum est non ajnoivkeion, “furthermore, I address it to the younger Cicero; it seemed to be not unfitting” (Att. 16.11.4; SB 420). It is difficult to place the decision about the dedication within the frame of the work’s genesis, which is controversial. A. A. Long, motivated by the contrast between the pervasive nature of Cicero’s reworking of Panaetius75 and the rate of composition (if we assume that the first letter coincides with the beginning of the project), wants to see Cicero planning and perhaps even writing already in the summer.76 A. R. Dyck, who argues that we have to take seriously the work’s function as a substitute for an aborted visit to Marcus in Greece, dates the work’s inception to Cicero’s 72 There

is disagreement on how to characterize Cicero’s philosophical position in this work. Cicero himself asserts that, though he is following the Stoics, his own approach remains that of an Academic skeptic (Off. 1.6; cf. 2.7–8). Annas 1989.172 reads the work in this way. Dyck 1996.36–37 finds the univocal nature of the presentation in conflict with Cicero’s earlier Academic method and argues that Cicero’s reasons are rhetorical. 73 I follow Dyck in translating officium/kaqh`kon as “appropriate action” rather than “duty.” For Cicero’s choice of officium and Atticus’ objections, see Dyck 1996.3–8. 74 On Marcus’ unsatisfactory performance as a student, see Dyck 1996.12–13; on his equally disappointing career, 15–16. 75 For a treatment of the relationship between Cicero’s work and Panaetius’ treatise that emphasizes the difference in the orientations of the two works and Cicero’s originality, see Lefèvre 2001. 76 Long 1995.220–21. I agree with Long that it is likely that Cicero had started thinking about a next project once De Gloria was completed, but I also feel that we often underestimate how quickly Cicero was able to work.

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arrival in Puteoli.77 I hope to have shown that Cicero’s choice of dedicatees is rarely motivated by personal reasons alone; and it is clear from the letters as well that it is the appropriateness of the topic to a father’s didactic relationship with his son, rather than a desire to communicate with Marcus via a treatise, that is Cicero’s primary motivation.78 It is at least equally important that this public face of the work brings the treatise into the tradition of fathers’ dedications that goes back to the Elder Cato.79 The circumstances of the dedication provided Cicero with an opportunity once again to look back over his philosophical output and reevaluate its contribution. Marcus’ position as the student of a Greek philosopher invites consideration also of the role of philosophical work in Latin: quamquam te, Marce fili, annum iam audientem Cratippum idque Athenis, abundare oportet praeceptis institutisque philosophiae propter summam et doctoris auctoritatem et urbis, quorum alter te scientia augere potest, altera exemplis, tamen, ut ipse ad meam utilitatem semper cum Graecis Latina coniunxi neque id in philosophia solum sed etiam in dicendi exercitatione feci, idem tibi censeo faciendum, ut par sis in utriusque orationis facultate. quam quidem ad rem nos, ut videmur, magnum attulimus adiumentum hominibus nostris, ut non modo Graecarum litterarum rudes sed etiam docti aliquantum se arbitrentur adeptos et ad discendum et ad iudicandum. (Off. 1.1) Marcus, my son, since it has been a year already that you have been listening to the teachings of Cratippus, and that in Athens, no less, you must be rich in precepts and practices of philosophy due to the highest authority both of your teacher and of the city itself: he is able to furnish you with knowledge; she, with examples. Nevertheless, since I myself have always joined things Greek and Latin to my great benefit, and done so not only in the sphere of philosophy, but also in the practice of speaking, I advise you to do the same, so that you attain equal ability in both languages. And indeed to that very end we appear to have 77 Dyck

1996.8, n.20. For a fuller presentation of his view of the centrality of the fatherson relationship to the generation of the work, see 12–16. 78 Cf. Griffin and Atkins 1991.xvii–xviii, who emphasize the importance of the wider audience, especially the young members of the elite. They cite Cicero’s son-in-law Dolabella and nephew Quintus as examples. 79 Bits of Cato’s Praecepta ad Filium are preserved in Pliny the Elder’s NH. Cicero himself mentions a cautionary letter from Cato to his son (Off. 1.37). On ad Filium see Astin 1978.183 and 332–40. Other dedications to sons before Cicero: the jurist Marcus Brutus, a dialogue on civil law (Cluent. 141, de Orat. 2.223–24; see Leeman, Pinkster, and Rabbie 1989, ad loc.); Scribonius Curio, also a dialogue whose subject is uncertain (Brut. 218: the general anti-Caesarian tenor of the work, set after a senate meeting in 59, is clear, but not how it fits into the work as a whole); see Fantham 2004.50–51 on the two works as preCiceronian Roman dialogues.

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provided a great deal of assistance to our countrymen so that not only those who are ignorant of Greek letters, but even the learned believe that they have gained something of value both for learning and for making judgments. We saw that in the Topica Cicero, through Trebatius, rejected a Greek teacher of rhetoric, a doctissimus rhetor, and instead presented himself as the only instructor who had both the knowledge and the rhetorical skill to teach Trebatius what he needed. Here the picture is strikingly different: in the field of philosophy, teaching appears to be yielded easily to the Greeks, and not only the teaching of abstract knowledge, but also the more practical instantiation of abstract precepts in real life examples, which Athens as the capital city of philosophy is expected to provide. Cicero’s initial presentation of his contribution is, by contrast, rather restricted. There is no suggestion that using the Latin language to express philosophical ideas will be of benefit to Marcus philosophically; rather, the benefit to him will be confined to improving his Latin skills and achieving equal mastery of the material in both languages. Similarly, what had been formulated in the earlier prefaces as benefiting the state, reappears in this preface in more specific terms: adiumentum hominibus nostris. Let us compare this language to what we have seen before. In discussing how his work would benefit the public and the state, Cicero’s preference has been to use forms of prosum.80 Neither adiumentum nor any form of adiuvare occurs in similar contexts of benefiting the state or the prospective readership.81 Prosum conveys the idea of actively benefiting someone or something, working on their behalf, whereas the ad- in adiumentum expresses quite strongly the sense of “additional” help; ornamentum is a common synonym. Hominibus nostris, likewise, is less strong than civibus in many of the earlier passages. Finally, the vague political 80 Div. 2.1: quaerenti mihi multumque et diu cogitanti, quanam re possem prodesse quam plurimis, ne quando intermitterem consulere rei publicae; Div. 2.7: haec studia renovare coepimus ut et animus molestiis hac potissimum re levaretur et prodessemus civibus nostris, qua re cumque possemus; Tusc. 1.5: quae [philosophia] inlustranda et excitanda nobis est, ut, si occupati profuimus aliquid civibus nostris, prosimus etiam, si possumus, otiosi; Luc. 6: quis reprendet otium nostrum, qui in eo non modo nosmet ipsos hebescere et languere nolumus sed etiam ut plurimis prosimus enitimur; Top. 72 haec ita ad te scribuntur ut etiam in aliorum manus sint ventura, detur opera, ut quam plurimum eis quos recta studia delectant prodesse possimus. Cf. Amic. 4: itaque feci non invitus, ut prodessem multis rogatu tuo; Tusc. 2.2: sed tamen in vita occupata atque, ut Neoptolemi tum erat, militari pauca [in philosophia] ipsa multum saepe prosunt et ferunt fructus; Fin. 3.65: impellimur autem natura ut prodesse velimus quam plurimis in primisque docendo rationibusque prudentiae tradendis. In De Officiis the benefits of legal knowledge are described in similar terms: nam in iure cavere, consilio iuvare atque hoc scientiae genere prodesse quam plurimis vehementer et ad opes augendas pertinet et ad gratiam (Off. 2.65). 81 Adiuvare is used in the context of helping philosophy be reborn in Latin at Tusc. 2.5.

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ambitions that he posited for his project earlier have been diluted as well to a more specific and therefore more limited claim of having improved readers’ abilities in learning and forming judgments. Cicero continues in a similar vein in the next section. He leaves the impact of the content of the work up to Marcus’ (and thus the reader’s) judgment (de rebus ipsis utere tuo iudicio), but expresses confidence about the positive effects on his Latinity (orationem autem Latinam efficies profecto legendis nostris pleniorem). He even abandons claims to his authority as a philosopher, sticking to oratory as his true area of expertise, thus reversing the rhetorical move that we discussed in chapter 4 of presenting philosophical practice as a natural outgrowth of his oratorical experience: nam philosophandi scientiam concedens multis, quod est oratoris proprium, apte, distincte, ornate dicere, quoniam in eo studio aetatem consumpsi, si id mihi assumo, videor id meo iure quodam modo vindicare, “for while I yield to many in the knowledge of how to do philosophy, if I appropriate that which belongs to the orator, namely, to speak appropriately, clearly, elegantly, I think that it is, in a certain sense, my right to claim it as my own” (Off. 1.2). What we have seen before was a tension between, on the one hand, the image of a philosophical desert in which Cicero alone was able and willing to practice philosophy, and, on the other, a world crawling with mediocre philosophers. Here, we have neither: Cicero not only opens up the field, but willingly acknowledges the superior qualifications not just of some, but of many. During the Caesar years he was heavily invested in being primus in the philosophical arena, but that distinction has lost much of its weight since he is once again competing in the political arena: one of the few surviving senior consulars, he is in an open confrontation with Antony now and is considering how to react to the rise of Octavian while consulting with all the major players in person and by letter.82 His earlier posture could only be maintained so long as he excluded the Greeks from consideration and limited “philosophy” to what he was doing in Latin and for a Roman audience. By choosing to admit a Greek philosopher to the first clause of the preface to his new work, he changes the terms in which the reader is to think of the philosophical enterprise. The language he uses to refer to it, scientia philosophandi rather than philosophia, emphasizes the technical, professional aspects of philosophy as a discipline. Scientia is also what is ascribed to Cratippus in the passage quoted above.83 Cicero’s own 82 Cf. Dyck 1996.8–10, Long 1995.219–24; Griffin and Atkins 1991.xii–xv. Gotter 1996a is the most detailed historical treatment of Cicero’s political position between the Ides and his death; see esp. 137 and 145 on the role of his correspondence. Stone’s (2008) discussion of the influence of Off. on Cicero’s rhetoric in the Philippics is often reductive. 83 In the preface to book one of De Re Publica, Cicero opposes scientia and ars as abstract knowledge to the exclusively practical nature of virtus: nec vero habere virtutem satis

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primary achievement, by contrast, is relocated to the fields where it used to center, to oratory and politics.84 It is in this context that Cicero, in a passage we discussed in chapter 4, finally comes to propose Demetrius of Phaleron as the best model for joining together oratory and philosophy. Demetrius, after all, was first and foremost a statesman. As Cicero proceeds to define the subject of the work in front of us, he cites its relevance in concrete and vigorous terms: nam cum multa sint in philosophia et gravia et utilia accurate copioseque a philosophis disputata, latissime patere videntur ea quae de officiis tradita ab illis et praecepta sunt. nulla enim vitae pars neque publicis neque privatis neque forensibus neque domesticis in rebus, neque si tecum agas quid neque si cum altero contrahas, vacare officio potest, in eoque et colendo sita vitae est honestas omnis et neglegendo turpitudo. (Off. 1.4) For while within philosophy there are many subjects both weighty and beneficial that philosophers have discussed with care and eloquence, I  think that it is the teachings on the subject of appropriate actions handed down by them that have the broadest relevance. For there is no part of life, in matters public or private, in the marketplace or at home, if you are conducting business that concerns yourself or if you enter into a partnership with another, there is nothing that can be without appropriate action and in cultivating it all integrity in life is found; in neglecting it, all baseness. A.A. Long, in a seminal paper,85 has transformed our understanding of this work in its immediate political and biographical context. He has argued for the radical nature of Cicero’s project of reconceptualizing the ways Romans think of the relationship between utilitas and honestas. In Long’s analysis, Cicero uses the tools of Greek philosophy to lend stability to Roman ideology, which recent cataclysmic events have revealed as est quasi artem aliquam, nisi utare; etsi ars quidem cum ea non utare scientia tamen ipsa teneri potest, virtus in usu sui tota posita est, “But it is not sufficient to possess virtue, as if some skill, if you do not use it; for while a skill, when you do not use it, can nonetheless be possessed based on knowledge, virtue is located entirely in the exercise of it” (Rep. 1.2). He uses the word commonly to refer to professional knowledge. It occurs very frequently in De Oratore, where the knowledge base of a good orator is being established. 84 Cf. Tusc.1.7, discussed in ch. 4, where very similar language is used to describe rhetorically effective philosophy: hanc enim perfectam philosophiam semper iudicavi, quae de maximis quaestionibus copiose posset ornateque dicere, “For I have always judged to be the most excellent the kind of philosophy that which knows how to discuss the most important questions with elegance and eloquence.” 85 Long 1995.

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precarious in its underpinnings. Here, in presenting his subject, Cicero is emphatic as to its universal applicability (latissime patere86) to virtually every area of life in which elite Romans are likely to find themselves engaged.87 Finally, to show how urgent it is that his intended audience reach a correct understanding of officium, he makes their claim to honestas depend entirely on their understanding of what he is about to tell them. Approaching the audience through the dedication to Marcus harmonizes perfectly with these all-embracing claims. Cicero says that he chose the subject based on his son’s age and his own authority (quod et aetati tuae esset aptissimus et auctoritati meae, Off. 1.4). The audience consists of beginners, adulescentes, about to embark on a life of public service and intellectual engagement that Cicero, the father, the consular, the orator, and the philosopher, is looking back on. They are in need of global instruction, precepts they can apply in every area of endeavor. The treatise, coming at what is for us the end of Cicero’s philosophical output is actually introduced as the first installment of a prospective new incarnation of the philosophical project directed to the younger generation (multa posthac).88 The work that has been called Cicero’s political testament,89 an afterthought to his planned cycle,90 was meant to be a new beginning. Cicero uses the preface to book two to flesh out what is implied in auctoritati meae, to give, once again, an overview of his career and justify his near-exclusive occupation with writing philosophy during the Caesar years. Much of what he says is familiar: there are those whose judgment he generally values (boni) who are strongly opposed to philosophy and don’t understand why someone of Cicero’s stature would devote to it his time and effort. In other prefaces we have seen Cicero engage in some detail with the variety of reasons that might lead someone to be against philosophy as practiced by Cicero. Here they are collapsed into a very general hostility that is left unexplored: Cicero is in a stronger position now and need not engage with the details of individual objections. The account that follows shows a progression in the presentation of the role of philosophy that is similar to the progression we saw in the preface to 86 TLL

s.v. CAPVT ALTERVM II A patent ea, quae ad multa pertinent vel referri possunt aut in multis valent sim.; quantum pateant indicatur per: adv. late. 87 Cf. Off. 1.7: quibus [praeceptis] in omnis partis usus vitae conformari possit, “by these precepts all aspects of everyday life can be shaped.” 88 Philippson 1939.1173 suggests that the reference here and in Att. 15.14.6 (SB 402) may be to the lost De Virtutibus. 89 Long 1995.214. 90 Dyck 1996.1; see 36–39, where he puts Off. together with Consolatio as lying outside of the main corpus of the philosophica. It is largely the didactic and moralistic slant of the work that is responsible for his conclusion. While I agree with his view of Off., I see it as the culmination of the development that begins after Caesar’s death, not to be seen in isolation.

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book one, moving from limited and partial claims to the assertion of universal relevance and great significance.91 He begins by making a clear distinction between the early part of his career, spent in public service, and the enforced otium under Caesar that led him to the writing of philosophical works, an honorable option preferable to the others that were available: giving in to grief or pleasure or resigning himself to total idleness.92 In speaking of his pre–civil war service to the state he omits all mention of his intellectual projects, referring only to the publication of his speeches and presenting his turn to writing as a reaction to the silencing of the traditional arenas for a statesman’s speech, the senate and the courts.93 Then, the rhetoric of a return to philosophy that is so prominent in the Caesarian prefaces, the rhetoric of continuity reappears (me ad philosophiam retulissem, I brought myself back to philosophy). As a youth Cicero was enthusiastic in the study of philosophy, but once his life of public service had begun in earnest, he had little time for it.94 Finally, before he makes a transition to the main body of the book by discussing his Academic principles, he sets out an evaluation of his philosophical achievement: maximis igitur in malis hoc tamen boni adsecuti videmur, ut ea litteris mandaremus, quae nec erant satis nota nostris et erant cognitione dignissima, “therefore I think that amid such great misfortune I was nonetheless able to achieve something good, namely, that I entrusted to writing matters that were not sufficiently well known to our fellow citizens and yet were most deserving of their knowledge” (Off. 2.5). Cicero presents his contribution as a “good.” This term that in his usage draws together the philosophical and the political is here given special resonance by his reference to the opponents of philosophy as the boni.95 It is particularly shortsighted and inexplicable that “good” men cannot see the “good” that his writings have produced. The essence of this good is a pared down version of what we saw in many of the prefaces: making the appropriate and necessary knowledge 91 Dyck

1996.60 sees the progression in the preface to book one as from personal and literary to more generally applicable. 92 Off. 2.2: nec me angoribus dedidi . . . nec rursum indignis homine docto voluptatibus, “I did not indulge in my suffering . . . nor did I in turn abandon myself to pleasures unworthy of a man of learning.” Cf. Sallust’s justification of his decision to spend his retirement in writing by eliminating the other, unworthy, options (ch. 1, under the heading “Sallust, or Anxiety about Writing”) and Off. 2.4: nihil agere autem cum animus non posset, “ when my spirit was unable to do nothing.” 93 Off. 2.3: illae scilicet litterae conticuerunt forenses et senatoriae, “those speeches that used to be given in court and in the senate fell silent.” Cf. the reference to the breaking of a long silence in the first sentence of Pro Marcello: diuturni silenti, patres conscripti, quo eram his temporibus usus, “ that long silence, conscript fathers, that had been my habit in these times.” 94 Off. 2.4. 95 On Cicero’s use of the term, cf. ch.2, “Philosophy as Basis for Action,” with nn.23–25.

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available to his countrymen. What follows is most likely a summary of the lost Hortensius, but we can also see it as a mini-version of the famous hymn to philosophy found in the preface to the last book of the Tusculans (Tusc. 5.5).96 Given that Cicero often returns to the general theme of his protreptic in his prefaces, it is safe to assume that the differences between its treatment in the Tusculans and De Officiis reflect his changed approach to the subject. One such significant difference is that in the Tusculans, as in the Caesarian prefaces by and large, Cicero used the term philosophia, whereas here what he praises is sapientia. We saw in chapter 3 that Cicero juxtaposes the two terms in the preface to the first book of the Tusculans in a way that both grants the Romans superiority in sapientia and allows for additional content to philosophia that can be of use to them. Here, instead, he equates the two: philosophia is studium sapientiae; the definition of sapientia is given by old philosophers. This definition, knowledge of things human and divine and of the causes that control them, is broad enough that everyone should acquiesce in praising such a discipline: cuius studium qui vituperat haud sane intellego quidnam sit quod laudandum putet, “I can hardly understand what sort of a thing a man who disparages the pursuit of wisdom could find praiseworthy” (Off. 2.5). This totalizing statement is followed immediately, as so often, by a retreat. Having made a great, sweeping claim for philosophy, Cicero then identifies delight for the mind and a rest from cares (oblectatio animi requiesque curarum) as the foremost benefits that this pursuit can furnish. The grand claim is thus weakened by assigning to philosophy a subsidiary role of the sort that Cicero had proposed for the arts at the height of his career in the Pro Archia.97 The addition that philosophy is also the way to attain constancy and virtue cannot quite recover the ground Cicero yielded by highlighting philosophy’s auxiliary functions. Conceptualized in this way, philosophy cannot hope to attain the parity with politics that Cicero, with some qualifications, assigned to it in the treatises of the Caesarian period. Paradoxically, as Cicero’s renewed engagement in politics guides him to philosophical topics whose political implications become more and more obvious, this very change in his circumstances and selfconception leads him to consign philosophy to an ancillary position. 96 At the end of this praise passage, Cicero directs the reader to a “certain other work” for the full protreptic to philosophy. Cf. Straume-Zimmermann 1976.33. She does not list the Tusc. 5.5 passage among her testimonia because there is no explicit reference to the earlier work and no parallels to later writers’ citations from it. 97 See Zetzel 2003.124–26 on Cicero’s approach to the value of culture as instrumental in this speech; on culture as “nourishment of eloquence” in the Pro Archia, Narducci 1997.8–11; on the exchange and the blurring of the boundaries between the poet and the orator in the speech, Dugan 2005.31–40; on Archias’ value to Rome’s glory specifically as a poet who writes in Greek, Steel 2001.82–98.

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The final preface engages for one last time with the question of otium and writing, and in doing so it draws on the two customary sources of Cicero’s thought: the mos maiorum and Greek philosophy. He reaches back now into the Roman past to bring back two great men who featured as authoritative speakers in his dialogues, Cato the Elder and Scipio Africanus. Cato, Cicero says, wrote down a favorite saying of Scipio’s: numquam se minus otiosum esse quam cum otiosus, nec minus solum quam cum solus esset, “he was never less at leisure than when he was at leisure, never less alone than when he was alone” (Off. 3.1).98 Cicero presents Scipio’s attitude with its hint at the energizing effects of leisure and solitude, as an unattainable ideal that he can admire but not emulate. In this initial presentation, it is a failure on Cicero’s part, a sign of his shortcomings when seen against the great men of the past, that he experiences his solitude and his otium as discomforts. The next section begins with sed: of course, there is an important difference between Cicero’s circumstances and Scipio’s. The language that he used to describe the state in crisis under Caesar, the suspension of normal activity in the senate and in the courts, returns here, this time in an implied reference to Antony’s deleterious doings. These conditions result in two different definitions of otium: Scipio’s is the outcome of a desire for rest and recovery (studium requiescendi); Cicero’s, of the unavailability of his normal occupation (negotii inopia).99 For otium to function in the ideal way, Cicero is suggesting, it has to be actively sought out. His otium, because it is forced, cannot but lead him to seek a substitute activity. At this point Cicero departs from modeling himself exclusively on the maiores and invokes a philosophical model for dealing with misfortune: he must find some way to squeeze out some good, quid boni, from evils, mala. This justifies his making use of his otium and, in contrast to Africanus, writing. Scipio left no written testament of his retirement, but he is still held up as the superior model. It is unease, a desire to escape solitude and idleness, that leads Cicero to write. Yet the old model is simply not applicable in present-day circumstances. It can be praised, but the conditions that made it possible are no more. For dealing with the new kind of otium, philosophy is a necessary tool, and philosophy leads to writing. Furthermore, the terms in which Cicero praises Scipio are ambiguous enough that we might well wonder whether we are to take his admiration at face value. When he says nulla enim eius ingenii monumenta mandata litteris, nullum opus otii, nullum solitudinis munus extat, “no monuments to his talent have been entrusted to letters, there is no work that was the outcome of his leisure, no service that was the product of his solitude” 98 One of a number of quotations that clearly resonated with Cicero: he uses it, in slightly different form, in Rep. 1.27. 99 Off. 3.2.

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(Off. 3.4), is it possible to go along with the approval that follows without registering that these things—monumenta, opus, munus—are normally highly valued as lasting contributions to the state and to posterity? Is it possible not to wonder whether in fact Cicero’s model is better precisely because it is productive? Another aspect of Cicero’s presentation that invites a comparison that is not necessarily favorable to Scipio is Cicero’s focus on Scipio’s periods of otium while active in public life (otium sibi sumebat aliquando, Off. 3.2) and not during his retirement at the end of his life. The restorative breaks in a life devoted to the state do not have to produce anything beyond renewal for the man of action, but that paradigm does not necessarily apply to prolonged periods of inactivity when no return to public service is anticipated. Furthermore, if Leo’s conjecture is correct, Cato, Scipio’s frequent opponent,100 quoted Scipio in the preface to the Origines,101 next to a sentiment expressed in his own voice: clarorum virorum atque magnorum non minus oti quam negoti rationem exstare oportere, “it is fitting that the leisure of illustrious and great men be no less subject to account than their business.”102 It is very likely then that, in presenting his choice to write, Cato was taking a position contrary to Scipio’s. And Cicero in expressing admiration for Scipio is at the same time aligning his, seemingly inferior, disposition and choices with Cato’s, a model who at the very least rivals Scipio.103 When Cicero next speaks of philosophy, he uses a series of vivid agricultural metaphors that cannot but bring to the reader’s images of actual farming: tota philosophia . . . frugifera et fructuosa nec ulla pars eius inculta ac deserta sit, “all of philosophy is fruit-bearing and fertile and no part of it is uncultivated and left barren” (Off. 3.5). The study of officia is described with two additional words for agricultural productivity, feracior and uberior. It is impossible not to think of Scipio in his retirement as described to us by Seneca, working the land on his simple villa.104 His 100 On Cato’s role in bringing about the circumstances that led to Scipio’s withdrawal from Rome to Liternum, see Scullard 1970.210–24. 101 Leo 1913.269. Leo notes the contrast: “Aber Africanus las und Cato schrieb.” 102 Quoted by Cicero in Planc. 66. In that speech, delivered in 54, Cicero holds this quotation up for praise in the context of his claim that he works to be always in the public eye and aligns himself with Cato by claiming that he himself is never truly otiosus because his “leisure” is occupied with writing speeches. 103 A similar dynamic may be in play in Sallust’s preface to Jug., where an allusion to the same phrase from Cato’s preface (maiusque commodum ex otio meo quam ex aliorum negotiis rei publicae venturum, “a greater benefit will come to the republic from my leisure than from the work of others”) is immediately followed by explicitly invoking the exemplum of Scipio (Jug. 4). 104 Sen. Ep. 86.5: in hoc angulo ille Carthaginis horror cui Roma debet quod tantum semel capta est abluebat corpus laboribus rusticis fessum. exercebat enim opere se terramque (ut mos fuit priscis) ipse subigebat, “In this corner that ‘terror of Carthage,’ to whom Rome owes the fact that it has been captured only once, used to wash his body exhausted from

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literal cultivation has produced one munus, the unwritten one of his undeniably powerful and enduring exemplum. But Cicero does not mention this aspect of his retirement.105 He focuses on the negative, the lack of tangible evidence of intellectual activity. Against it he sets his many munera, the treatises that are the products of his otium. His choice of words encourages the reader to weigh the two patterns, his professed inadequacy notwithstanding. And indeed when he proposes a model for Marcus in closing the preface it is he, not Scipio, who is to be imitated: sustines enim non parvam expectationem imitandae industriae nostrae, magnam honorum, nonnullam fortasse nominis, “you will carry with you not a small expectation of imitating my industry, but a great one that you will achieve similar political honors, and some expectation also that you will perhaps attain a comparable reputation” (Off. 3.6). Cicero’s industria is the first thing that Marcus is urged to emulate (labor occurs twice in the rest of the exhortation), and that industria is not limited to a particular arena. His incredible output during the 40s, mentioned just earlier in the preface, is certainly an important way in which this industria manifested itself. Honores are explicitly political and public, but nomen, like industria, embraces all areas of Cicero’s achievement. Scipio may be a model for Cicero, but in this final didactic moment it is Cicero himself, statesman and philosopher, who becomes the principal exemplum for the new generation of the Roman elite. •

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It is appropriate that Marcus was his father’s last dedicatee. His failure to live up to his father’s expectations was matched by two parallel failures of Cicero’s project.106 He did not succeed in recreating and stabilizing Roman values, and the republic that was the object of his efforts died. Nor was he able to reverse Roman resistance to philosophy. Despite occasional bursts of brilliance and some significant contributions in the political sphere, for the most part philosophy in Rome remained the province of professional intellectuals, important in the education of future elites, working the fields. For it was his habit to occupy himself with work and to cultivate the land with his own hands, as was the custom of the ancestors.” On Scipio in Seneca’s letter, see Henderson 2004, chs.9–12; see Mayer 1991.159 on the exceptional scale on which Seneca develops this exemplum. 105 Nor does Sallust, who both uses Scipio as an exemplum in the preface to Jug. and disparages otium spent in agricultural labor as an occupation worthy of a slave (see ch. 1). I see no compelling reason to agree with D’Arms 1970.9 in dismissing Seneca’s account as his own invention rather than part of a larger tradition, whether or not such a tradition reflects a historical reality. 106 “Failure” is the title that Catherine Steel gives the last chapter of her 2005 book on Cicero’s textual achievement in relation to his public goals.

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but often regarded with suspicion when it transgressed beyond that finite domain. Never again do we see the kind of integration of the political and the philosophical self that Cicero recommended among those whom he could have seen as his potential successors.107 Marcus Aurelius, whom history has judged both one of the best emperors and a preeminent Roman philosopher,108 chose to write his philosophical work in Greek,109 and it was a self-addressed work not meant for circulation,110 written in order to withdraw into himself and there in solitude to seek renewal.111 His Meditations thus stand as witness that philosophy in Rome did not follow the path Cicero had envisioned for it. 107 Seneca, also a statesman and a philosopher, never attempts to reconcile the different parts of his persona in his writings, which has led to centuries of accusations of hypocrisy. Griffin’s study (1976) responds to the problem by demonstrating thematic connections between what we know about Seneca the politician from historical sources and the corpus of his philosophical writings. Seneca’s prefaces do not contain any general engagement with the dedicatees on the subject of philosophy in general. Instead they often focus on the importance of the particular area of philosophy to which a particular treatise is devoted. 108 On the ways in which Marcus’ devotion to philosophy manifested itself in his public life once he became emperor, see Hadot 1998.17–20. Stanton 1969 shows that Marcus’ acts as emperor are not reflections of his philosophical views, but are in line with those of his predecessors. 109 Rutherford 1989.7–8 interprets the choice as due to the influence of Epictetus and reflecting the status of Greek as the language of philosophy. Hadot 1998.51–53 feels that the difficulty of translating technical terms combined with a lack of interest in circulating the work is responsible. It should be noted, however, that writing philosophy in Latin after Cicero and Seneca did not present difficulties that continued deployments of the trope of patrii sermonis egestas might suggest. An important facet of Marcus’ decision is achievement of greater separation between his public and private personae. 110 See Hadot 1998.30–34 on the Meditations as daily notes to self; cf. Brunt 1974. 111 See Rutherford 1989.8–21 on the place of the Meditations in the tradition of selfdirected philosophy and philosophy as therapy.

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Wistrand, M. 1979. Cicero imperator: Studies in Cicero’s Correspondence 51–47 B.C. Göteborg. Wood, N. 1988. Cicero’s Social and Political Thought. Berkeley, CA. Wright, F. W. 1931. Cicero and the Theater. Northampton, MA. Wright, M. R. 1994. Cicero: On Stoic Good and Evil: De Finibus Bonorum et Malorum III and Paradoxa Stoicorum. Warminster. Yon, A. 2002. Cicéron. Traité de destin, Paris. Zetzel, J.E.G. 1972. “Cicero and the Scipionic Circle.” HSCP 76:173–79. ———. 1995. De Re Publica: Selections. Cambridge. ———. 1998. “De re publica and De rerum natura.” In ed. P. Knox and C. Foss, Style and Tradition: Studies in Honor of Wendell Clausen, 230–47. Stuttgart. ———. 2003. “Plato with Pillows: Cicero on the Uses of Greek Culture.” In ed. D. Braund and C. Gill, Myth, History and Culture in Republican Rome: Studies in Honour of T. P. Wiseman, 119–38. Exeter. ———. 2007. “The Influence of Cicero on Ennius.” In ed. W. Fitzgerald and E. Gowers, Ennius Perennis: The Annals and Beyond, 1–16. Cambridge. Zimmermann, B. 1999. “Cicero und die Griechen.” In ed. G.Vogt-Spira und B. Rommel, Rezeption und Identität: Die kulturelle Auseinandersetzung Roms mit Griechenland als europaisches Paradigma, 240–48. Stuttgart.

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Index Locorum

Appian BC 1. 55–61: 203n41 Maced. frg. 6: 175n53 Apuleius Apol. 13: 20n21 Atticus Imagines: 69 Aurelius, Marcus Meditations: 223 Brutus Virt.: 54n22, 166n40 Caesar Analog.: 166n40 Cato the Elder Agr. preface: 32n59 Fil.: 213n79 hist. frg. 2: 221 Charisius p. 241 K: 117n47 Cicero Ac.: 6, 133, 166n40, 205, 207–9 1.5: 112n37 1.4–6, 8: 113n39 1.10–12: 113n39 1.11: 87n93 Amic.: 105n19, 198–205, 211 2–3: 202 4: 181n64, 198n29, 204, 214n80 4–5: 184n68 5: 204n42 9: 24n29 49: 153n13 65: 176n56 68: 153n13

Arch.: 28n45, 68–69, 71–72, 77, 84n87, 219 3: 132n17 14: 29n46 Att. 1.16.13; SB 16: 68 1.16.15; SB 16: 68–69 1.20.7; SB 20: 72–73 2.3.3–4; SB 23: 48–49 2.5.1; SB 25: 51n14 2.5.2; SB 25: 70 2.6.1; SB 26: 79 2.13.2; SB 33: 70 2.16.3; SB 36: 71 4.8.2; SB 79: 63n45 4.10.1; SB 84: 72 4.16.2; SB 89: 208n60 5.20.9; SB 113: 63n45 6.1.12; SB 115: 63n45 6.2.2; SB 116: 63n45 7.1.4; SB 124: 51n14 7.1.8; SB 124: 74n71 7.13.3; SB 136: 63n45 8.3.1; SB 153: 59 8.3.2; SB 153: 60n40 8.3.6; SB 153: 60n37 8.11.1–2; SB 161: 50n12, 60n41 9.4; SB 173: 55–57, 60, 61 9.6.4; SB172: 63n45 9.9.2; SB 176: 60n41 9.10.2; SB 177: 61 9.18; SB 187: 52n15 9.26.1; SB 197: 61 10.4.4; SB 195: 55n25 10.6.2; SB 197: 63n46 10.9A; SB 200A: 81n83 11.10.1; SB 221: 63n47 12.4.2; SB 240: 80n80 12.12.2; SB 259: 206n52 12.14; SB 251: 91n104 12.18; SB 254: 93n107 12.20; SB 258: 91n104 12.21; SB 260: 91n104

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Att. (continued) 12.28; SB 267: 91n104 12.38a; SB 279: 91n104 12.38a.1; SB 279: 80n81 12.40.2; SB 281: 80nn80−81 12.41; SB 283: 93n107 12.52.3; SB 294: 6n13; 119n50 13.9.1; SB 317: 63n48 13.12.3; SB 320: 206–9 13.13–14.1; SB 321: 208n61 13.18; SB 325: 208nn59 and 61 13.19.5; SB 326: 208n59 13.20.4; SB 328: 67 13.25.3; SB 333: 209n64 13.26.2; SB 286: 166n40 13.28; SB 299: 100n10 13.37.2; SB 346: 61n42 14.13B; SB 367B: 201n36 14.14.1; SB 368: 64n49 14.17.3; SB 371: 64n49 14.19.3; SB 372: 64n49 14.20.3; SB 374: 206, 117n47 14.20.5; SB 374: 64n49 14.21.3; SB 375: 199n31 15.13a.2; SB 417: 212 15.14.6; SB 402: 217n88 15.19.2; SB 396: 64n50 15.21.1; SB 395: 64n50 15.27.3; SB 406: 64n50 16.1; SB 409: 62 16.2.6; SB 412: 201n39 16.3.1; SB 413: 153n13, 173n47 16.5; SB 410: 62–67 16.6.4; SB 414: 6 16.11.4; SB 420: 212 Brut.: 27n43, 80, 204n45, 205nn47 and 49, 207n56, 210n65 8: 31n53 15–16: 153n13 131: 122n62 218: 213n79 247: 124n65 254: 106n24 330: 193n12 Cael. 33–35: 57n28 Cluent. 141: 213n79 Cons.: 50n12, 94–95, 199, 205, 217n90 de Orat.: 17, 147n49, 198, 204 1.2: 138n31 1.6–11: 129n3 1.12: 132n16

1.219: 31n51 2.22: 41n88 2.116: 133n19 2.156: 17nn12−13 2.223–24: 213n79 3.88: 15n6, 38 3.93–95: 38n79 3.107: 58n32 Div.: 194, 195, 197–99, 205, 209–10 1.127: 195n19 2 pref.: 5 2.1: 214n80 2.1–4: 188–89 2.3: 94, 195n19, 199 2.4: 189, 210n65 2.6: 190–91 2.7: 192, 194n18, 214n80 2.19: 195n19 Dom. 35: 193n14 Fam. 3.9.3; SB 72: 153n13, 166n40 4.1.1; SB 150: 52–53 4.2.2; SB 151: 54 4.3; SB 202: 88n96, 89 4.3.3; SB 202: 72n68 4.4; SB 203: 85n89 4.4.4; SB 203: 72n68 4.5; SB 248: 88n96 4.5.5; SB 248: 50n11 5.1.2; SB 1: 59n36 5.12; SB 22: 160n32 5.14; SB 251: 88n96 5.15; SB 252: 91–93 5.16; SB 187: 88n96 5.19.1–2; SB 152: 54 5.21.2; SB 182: 72n68 6.1; SB 242: 90 6.18.4; SB 218: 67n56 7.3.4; SB 183: 53n19 7.5; SB 26: 156n23 7.6; SB 27: 156n23 7.7; SB 28: 159n29 7.9; SB 30: 156n23 7.18; SB 37: 159n29 7.19; SB 334: 151, 169–70 7.21; SB 332: 165, 166n41 8.3.3; SB 79: 166n40, 206n52 8.16; SB 153: 81n83 8.17; SB 156: 81n83 9.1.2; SB 175: 80–82 9.2.5; SB 177: 84–86, 88, 131n15

Index Locorum 9.3.2; SB 176: 82–84,87 9.6.5; SB 181: 76 9.8; SB 254: 151n5, 205 9.8.1; SB 254: 153n13, 157n27, 159n29 9.12.2; SB 263: 153n13 9.16; SB 190: 53n20 9.16.6; SB 190: 53–54 9.20.3; SB 193: 192n11 9.24; SB 362: 53n20 9.26.4; SB 197: 1 11.27; SB 348: 201n35 11.28; SB 349: 201n35 12.3.2; SB 345: 19n20 12.16.3; SB 328: 153n13, 166n40 15.4; SB 110: 16n7, 73n70, 74–75 15.5; SB 111: 73n70 Fat.: 195–200, 205, 210, 211 1: 195–96 2: 196n20 3: 196–97 4: 196–97 Fin.: 166n40, 205n47, 206 1 pref.: 13–14, 113–27 1.1: 18n17 1.2: 13n1 3.65: 214n80 5.13: 185 5.54: 144n41 Glor.: 6, 66, 153n13, 198n28, 205, 212n76 Hort.: 1, 9, 13, 16n8, 88, 199, 204, 205, 209, 219 frg. 42: 29–30 Inv.: 129 2.163: 26n35 Leg.: 9, 17, 204n44 1.59: 105n18 3.1: 179n59 Luc.: 209n63 5: 13n2 6: 214n80 Marc.: 81n84, 85 1: 218n93 Mur.: 133n18, 134n23 60–66: 17n11 N. D.: 166n40, 195, 198, 205n47, 210 1.6: 137–39 1.7: 139–140 1.7–8: 98–103 1.8: 106n24 1.12: 134n22

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Off.: 10n21, 66, 120n54, 156, 195, 200, 205, 211, 212–22 1 pref.: 213–17 1.3–4: 143–44 1.6: 120n55, 212n72 1.37: 213n79 1.66: 26n35 1.151: 32n59 1.156: 111n34 2 pref.: 217–19 2.6: 193n12 2.7–8: 134n22, 212n72 2.63: 166n41 2.65: 214n80 3 pref.: 220–22 3.121: 153n13 Opt. Gen.: 13–15: 120n52 13: 103n16 15: 103n16 18: 116n46 Orat.: 67n56, 80, 117n47, 166n40, 205n47, 206 69: 133n19 Parad.: 75, 80, 166n40, 205n47 pref.: 131–36, 138, 139 Part.: 211n69 79: 145n43 Phil.: 194 1–2: 201 2.3: 201n36 2.5–6: 154n43 2.7: 201n36 2.28: 19n20 5.19: 201n36 Planc. 66: 221n102 81: 166n41 Prov. 15: 122n62 Rep.: 9, 17, 50n12, 55n25, 60, 86, 198, 199, 204, 208 1.2: 215n83 1.7: 138n31 1.13: 204n44 1.27: 220n98 1.30: 17n12 Sen.: 33n62, 94n110, 198–200, 203, 205, 211 pref.: 173–86 1: 164n 56: 32n59

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Index Locorum

Top.: 36, 37, 41, 124n64, 126, 151, 154, 205, 211, 214 pref.: 156–69, 174, 177, 180, 182, 185, 196n21 2: 126n68 72: 151n6, 214n80 99–100: 171–73 Tusc.: 6, 9, 86n92, 87n93, 129, 166n40, 196–97, 205n47 1.1–6: 103–12 1.5: 136n29, 214n80 1.6–8: 140–49 1.7: 216n84 1.8: 155n21 1.16: 145n42 2.1–2: 15–22, 39 2.2: 214n80 2.4: 13n1 2.5: 106n24, 214n81 2.7: 112n37 3.14–27: 135n26 5.1: 54n22 5.5: 138n31, 219 5.9: 105n18 5.64–66: 114 5.108: 122n62 Ver. 2.7: 31n53 Virt.: 197n26 Dio 42.52.2: 23n28 43.1: 23n28

Hirtius Gal. pref.: 35n67 Homer Il. 12.243: 49, 51 22.100: 51n14 Horace Ep. 1.1.24–26: 22n24 Saec. 60: 38n76 Lactantius Inst. 3.16.5: 29–30 Livy 32.6: 176n54 32.11: 175–76 45.41.12: 92n106 Per. 77: 203n41 Lucilius 88–94 Marx: 121 Macrobius Sat. 3.14.12: 130n10 Nepos Att. 2: 203n40 18.6: 69

Diodorus 30.5: 175n53

Pacuvius trag. 348: 17n13

Donatus Ter. Ph. 611: 120n53

Plato Gorg.: 17n13 Rep.: 86

Ennius Ann. 334–38: 173–74 scen. 376 Vahlen: 15, 20 Euripides Antiop.: 17n13 Gellius 5.15.9: 20n21 5.16.5: 20n21 13.8.4: 17n13 15.11.2: 38n79

Plautus Merc. 591: 160n31 600: 160n31 Ps. 671: 38n76 Pliny the Elder nat. 35.11: 69n60 Pliny the Younger Ep. 7.4.8: 37n74

Index Locorum Plutarch Flam. 4.4: 175n53 Mar. 34–35: 203n41 Sul. 8–10: 203n41 Polybius 6.53–54: 26 27.15.2: 175n53 Priscian G.L. 2.182, 247–48, 402: 120n53 Quintilian Inst. 3.8.9: 22n25 Rhetorica ad Herennium 1.1: 14, 36–42 1.27: 41n87 2.35: 16n7 2.50: 40n84, 41n86 3.40: 41n86 4.1–10: 40n85 4.69: 36n71, 40n82, 41n86 Sallust Cat. 1: 27 3: 23–28 4: 30–34 8: 27 11.1: 21n23 52.29: 31n52 58.4: 31n52 Jug. 1: 27 2: 28

4: 28–29, 34–35, 221n103 31.2: 31n52 Rep. 2.6.2: 31n52 2.10.9: 31n52 Seneca the Younger Ep. 86: 33n64 86.5: 221n104 Sophocles El.: 116 Suetonius Rhet. 25.1: 38n79 Tacitus Ag. 1.1: 52n16 4.3: 15n5 Terence Eun. 72–73: 160n31 Varro L.: 166n40, 208n62 7.109: 38–39 R. 1.14.3: 26n35 1.53: 39n80 3.1.9–3.2.18: 33n65 Vergil Aen. 6. 847–53: 115n44

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Academy/Academic skepticism, 49, 58n33, 130n8, 131–40, 147n47, 195–97 acting, 130nn9−10 Aemilius Paulus, L., 92n106 Afranius, L. (cos. 60), 68 Albucius, T. (praetor 105), 121–22, 125 Alexander the Great, 80n80 amicitia, 55, 59n36, 74, 81n84, 92, 105n19, 113n39, 152–86 passim, 200–204, 211 ancestors. See imagines; mos maiorum/ tradition Antony (M. Antonius), 19n20, 64, 152n10, 166n43, 201, 210, 215, 220 Archias, 69, 71 Archimedes, 36n72, 114 Aristo, 179n58, 183–85 Aristotle, 10, 55, 72–73, 86, 126, 141–44, 147n49, 148, 156–59, 161–62, 168–69, 208n60 ars/artes, 25n32, 82–84, 129n3, 130, 140, 215n83 Atilius, M., 116–17 Atticus (T. Pomponius Atticus), 1, 48, 51, 54n24, 58, 60, 62–73 passim, 75, 79, 91, 93, 117n47, 153n13, 173–183 passim, 198–212; Amaltheum of, 68; closeness to Cicero of, 55, 91, 152n10; role in publication of Cicero’s works of, 5, 154 auctoritas, 131, 183–85, 198, 211, 217. See also mos maiorum/tradition; Cicero, Marcus (M. Tullius Cicero): as expert Augustus, 112n38, 193n15. See also Octavian Aurelius, Marcus 223 Balbus (L. Cornelius Balbus), 35n67, 48–49 Bona Dea affair, 48 boni/bonus/bonum, 54–55, 60, 101, 217–20 Brutus (M. Junius Brutus), 18, 19n20, 21n22, 54n22, 62, 64–65, 66n53, 75, 85,

108, 110n32, 117n47, 126, 166n40, 204–11 Caecilius, 116 Caelius (M. Caelius Rufus), 81, 166n40, 206n52 Caesar (C. Julius Caesar): assassination of, 19, 64, 187–204 passim, 210; before civil war, 9, 156n23, during civil war, 50n12, 52, 54n24, 55n25, 56–57, 59, 61, 131; as consul, 48–50, 79; sole rule and dictatorship of, 1–2, 9, 53, 61, 63, 76–78, 80–82, 84–85, 100, 103, 207, 209, 218, 220 Calliope, 48–50 Carneades, 115n43, 134 Catiline, conspiracy of, 48, 57, 74, 102 Cato the Elder (M. Porcius Cato Censorius), 22n26, 24nn29–30, 183–86, 198, 213, 220–21 Cato the Younger (M. Porcius Cato Uticensis), 16n7, 17n11, 48, 51n14, 73–75, 131–39, 209 Cicero, Marcus (M. Tullius Cicero): ambivalent about philosophy 19–21, 42, 77–78, 83, 107, 195; as exemplum to himself, 50; in exile, 57, 77–78; as expert, 108, 110, 127–28, 146–48, 158–63, 167n44, 168, 172, 187–88, 197, 213–16; grief for Tullia, 8, 44, 88, 86–95 passim; hopes for triumph, 59, 73, 153n15; as a new man, 59n36, 144n41, 189; philosophical affiliations, 131–36 passim, 195–98, 212n72, 218; question of originality, 119–21, 212n75 Cicero, Marcus the Younger (M. Tullius Cicero filius), 63, 66, 143, 205, 212–17 passim, 222 Cicero, Quintus (Q. Tullius Cicero), 62–64, 204–5, 210 Cicero, Quintus the Younger (Q. Tullius Cicero filius), 62–67 Cinna (L. Cornelius Cinna), 60

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civil war, 78, 102, 192. See also Caesar (C. Julius Caesar): during civil war; Pompey (Cn. Pompeius Magnus) clementia, 59n36 Clodius (P. Clodius Pulcher), 48, 68, 193n14 comedy, 116, 159–60 concordia ordinum, 55n24, 102 consensus omnium bonorum, 55n24, 102 consolatio/consolation, 35n69, 44–45, 72n68, 78, 86–95 passim, 180. See also metaphors: medical contio, 25, 206 Cratippus, 213–16 declamation/declamatio, 58, 146–48 dedication/dedicatee, 18, 66, 75, 94, 196, 199–204, 204–12 passim, 212–13, 222; reader as substitute dedicatee, 112, 151–52, 166–186 passim, 197–98, 217 deliberation, 46–62 passim Demetrius of Phaleron, 143–44, 216 Demosthenes, 143 Derrida, J., 7 dialogue, 58, 145–48, 187, 197–98, 200; choice of speakers, 110n32, 155, 183–85, 198, 200, 207–9, 220 Dicaearchus, 71 dignitas, 13, 40, 42, 59n36, 100, 118n48, 190 disputatio: in utramque partem, 50, 58–59, 195–98; contra propositum, 145–49, 195–98 Ennius, 15–21 passim, 42, 116, 120n52, 173–79, 184–86 Epicureanism/Epicureans, 17nn10−11, 54n22, 62, 71n65, 110, 115n43, 120, 122n62 ethos, 123, 131 exemplum/exempla, 2–3, 33, 50–54, 59–60, 75, 77, 119n51, 121n57, 122n62, 220–22 Flamininus (T. Quinctius Flamininus), 173–78 Genette, G., 4–5, 150n, 151nn2 and 4, 171n45

gloria/glory, 24–29, 40, 42, 50, 99–101, 142 Greek culture, Roman interactions with, 2–3, 103–8, 114, 121–22, 140–41 Greek experts, 39–42, 106, 141–44, 161–63, 213–16 Greek language, 57–58, 69–70, 117–18, 120–21, 161–63, 223; reading in, 116–19, 124–27, 162. See also translation Hector, 51 Hegel, 7 Hirtius, A., 35n67, 196–98, 210–11 historiography, 22n26, 26–29, 35, 93, 128 humanitas, 114n42, 178–80 imagines: in aristocratic houses, 28–29, in Atticus’ eponymous work, 69 Isocrates, 141–44 jurisprudence, 90, 129, 165–66, 170 Laelius, 176n56, 184n68, 198 Latin language, 58, 69–70, 102, 105, 117–18, 189, 214; reading in, 116–19, 124–27 laudatio funebris, 26 libraries, 72, 156–57 litterae commendaticae, 66 Lucceius, L., 88n96, 91–93, 160n32 Lucilius, 116, 121 Lucretius, 17n10, 99n9, 105n21, 110n32 Lurco (M. Aufidius Lurco), 68 Marius, C., 203 Matius, C., 200–201 Memmius, C., 124n65 memoria/memory, 26–29, 34–35, 41n86, 42, 128 Mescinius Rufus, L., 54, 72n68 metaphors: of adoption, 187–88, 192–94; agricultural, 83, 144, 212–22; business/ financial, 165, 168, 172–73; erotic, 61, 160, 165; legal, 148–49, 160–61, 165; of light, 109, 136; medical, 82–84, 87–88, 91, 94; military, 106 Metellus Celer, Q., 59n36 mos maiorum/tradition: 2–3, 26, 28–29, 33, 52–53, 57, 59–60, 104–8, 121,

General Index 134n23, 135, 150, 155, 174, 184–85, 220–22 Mucius Scaevola Augur, Q., 121, 201 Mucius Scaevola Pontifex, Q., 60 munus, 153, 167, 177–78, 182, 220–22 Neoptolemus, 15–21 Octavian, 215. See also Augustus oratory, 25, 197. See also philosophy: and oratory otium/negotium, 14–15, 19, 21, 49–50, 68, 71–73, 78; and philosophy, 29–30, 78, 136, 138, 205; place of writing in, 14–15, 34–38, 40–42, 78–86 passim, 220–22; as retirement, 30–35, 37, 218, 220–22 Pacuvius, 17, 116 Panaetius, 120n54, 212 Papirius Paetus, L., 1, 53, 61–62 Philippus, L. (cos. 91), 60 philosophica: compositional process, 1, 212–13; as didactic, 46–47, 62–67, 75, 187–90, 197, 199, 204–12 passim, 212–17 passim; objections to, 3, 13–22 passim, 113–27 passim, 137–40, 217–18; as return to an earlier occupation, 34, 131, 137–49 passim, 218; as Romanized Greek knowledge, 2–4, 53, 77, 98–99, 106, 117–19, 185, 203, 220; as unified project, 1, 5–10, 96–127 passim, 155, 187–212 passim. See also dialogue philosophy: as basis for action, 46–67 passim; as contribution to the state, 1–3,21–22, 46–47, 100–101, 106–8, 110, 189, 218; as medicine, 82–84, 86–95; and oratory, 128–49 passim, 191–92, 194; and public service, 9–10, 15–22 passim, 67–78 passim, 132, 134–36, 190–94, 204–12 passim, 217–19; and rhetoric, 41, 129–31; Roman reactions to, 3, 15–17, 222–23; as substitution for/alternative to politics, 9–10, 16, 67–78 passim, 84–86, 92–93, 95, 131–32, 149, 187–95 pithanon, 134 Plato, 10, 54, 86, 121n57, 130, 143 Polybius, 26

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Polydamas, 51 Pompeius, Q. (cos. 88), 202–3 Pompey (Cn. Pompeius Magnus), 9, 48–49, 50n12, 52, 55n25, 56–61, 63, 68, 72–73, 81–82 Pomponia, 63 prefaces, 4–8; avoidance of technical philosophical content in, 7–8, 110; dedicated, 151–52; definition of, 7; dynamic relationship with the reader in, 150–86 passim; epistolary form of, 151, 153n12; used to prepare reader for the work, 7, 148–49; volume of, 5–7 probabilis/probare, 132–34, 136n27, 185 rhetoric, 36–41 passim. See also philosophy: and rhetoric rhetorica, 8–9, 80, 199 Sallust, 14, 22–35 passim, 37, 41–43, 79, 128, 138n32, 218n92, 221n103, 222n105 sapientia, 82, 104–8, 219 schola, 145 Scipio Africanus, 33, 220–22 Seneca the Younger, 33n64, 151n4, 221, 223n107 Shackleton Bailey, D. R., 62, 66, 69 skepticism. See Academy/Academic skepticism Socrates/Socratic, 17n13, 24n29, 48–49, 51, 145n44, 146–48, 179n58 Sophocles, 116 Stoicism/Stoics, 17n11, 131–36, 212n72 studium/studia, 37, 67, 69–72, 74, 84, 105, 123, 219 style, 110–12, 129–31, 135, 143, 145, 149, 162, 206 Sulla (L. Cornelius Sulla), 203 Sulla, Faustus (Faustus Cornelius Sulla), 72 Sulpicius Rufus, P. (tribune 88), 202–3 Sulpicius Rufus, Ser. (cos. 51), 51–53, 72n68, 85n89, 88n96, 89–90 Terence, 116 textual exchange, 111–22, 154–55, 166–67 Theophrastus, 71, 143 Theopompus, 80n80

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General Index

Thapsus, 82, 86 Thrasybulus, 60 Thyillus, 69 Tithonus, 183–85 Torquatus (A. Manlius Torquatus, praetor 52), 90 tradition: literary, 18–21, 97, 116–17, 120–22, 155, 173–86 passim; philosophical, 10, 141–44, 148, 179, 199. See also mos maiorum/tradition tragedy, 115–16 translation, 96–127 passim; domesticating, 97–98, 110n34, 111n36, 116–17, 125–27; foreignizing 97–98, 108n28, 110n34, 111n36

Trebatius Testa, C., 37, 126, 156–73 passim, 177, 179, 180, 182, 205, 211, 214 Tullia, 44, 46, 87–88, 91, 94 Valerius Flaccus, L. (cos. 100), 60 Varro (M. Terentius Varro), 33n65, 38–39, 69n60, 76, 80–86, 90, 108, 110n32, 113n39, 117n47, 126, 151n5, 153n14, 157n27, 159n29, 166n40, 205, 207–9 virtus/virtue, 28–30, 54, 61–62, 215n83 voluntas, 156–58, 164, 167–68, 171–73, 182, 196 Zethus, 17