Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 1.28

M. Of this kind and nature is the intellect of man. Where, then, is this intellect seated, and of what character is it? Where is your own, and what is its character? Are you able to tell? If I have not faculties for knowing all that I could desire to know, will you not even allow me to make use of those which I have? 

 

The soul has not sufficient capacity to comprehend itself; yet, the soul, like the eye, though it has no distinct view of itself, sees other things. It does not see (which is of least consequence) its own shape; perhaps not, though it possibly may, but we will pass that by. But it certainly sees that it has vigor, sagacity, memory, motion, and velocity; these are all great, divine, eternal properties. What its appearance is, or where it dwells, it is not necessary even to inquire. 

 

As when we behold, first of all, the beauty and brilliant appearance of the heavens; secondly, the vast velocity of its revolutions, beyond power of our imagination to conceive; then the vicissitudes of nights and days, the fourfold division of the seasons, so well adapted to the ripening of the fruits of the earth, and the temperature of our bodies. 

 

And after that we look up to the sun, the moderator and governor of all these things; and view the moon, by the increase and decrease of its light, marking, as it were, and appointing our holy days; and see the five planets, borne on in the same circle, divided into twelve parts, preserving the same course with the greatest regularity, but with utterly dissimilar motions among themselves; and the nightly appearance of the heaven, adorned on all sides with stars; then, the globe of the earth, raised above the sea, and placed in the center of the universe, inhabited and cultivated in its two opposite extremities, one of which, the place of our habitation, is situated towards the north pole, under the seven stars:

 

“Where the cold northern blasts, with horrid sound,

Harden to ice the snowy cover’d ground;”

 

the other, towards the south pole, is unknown to us, but is called by the Greeks ἀντίχθονα: the other parts are uncultivated, because they are either frozen with cold, or burned up with heat; but where we dwell, it never fails, in its season,

 

“To yield a placid sky, to bid the trees

Assume the lively verdure of their leaves:

The vine to bud, and, joyful, in its shoots,

Foretell the approaching vintage of its fruits:

The ripen’d corn to sing, while all around

Full riv’lets glide; and flowers deck the ground.”

 

Then the multitude of cattle, fit part for food, part for tilling the ground, others for carrying us, or for clothing us; and man himself, made, as it were, on purpose to contemplate the heavens and the Gods, and to pay adoration to them; lastly, the whole earth, and wide extending seas, given to man’s use.  

 

When we view these and numberless other things, can we doubt that they have some being who presides over them, or has made them (if, indeed, they have been made, as is the opinion of Plato, or if, as Aristotle thinks, they are eternal), or who at all events is the regulator of so immense a fabric and so great a blessing to men? 

 

Thus, though you see not the soul of man, as you see not the Deity, yet, as by the contemplation of his works you are led to acknowledge a God, so you must own the divine power of the soul, from its remembering things, from its invention, from the quickness of its motion, and from all the beauty of virtue. Where, then, is it seated, you will say? 

—from Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 1.28

 

Reading a chapter like this one is a pleasant encouragement after I have been told by many of the “experts” to no longer waste my time on the philosophy of Cicero. Despite his rhetorical skills, or perhaps because of them, they say the man was a mediocre thinker, who merely parroted different schools, casually strung together pithy sayings, and never bothered to commit to a rigorous argument. 

 

“Taking Cicero seriously as a philosopher,” I was once told, “is much like taking Churchill seriously as a historian.” That hardly had the desired effect on me, since while I knew full well that Churchill was no academic, and that his life’s work was in the practice of politics instead of the halls of higher learning, few writers had managed to inspire me to understand the workings of the 20th century as much as Sir Winston. To grasp the context within which he wrote did not need to detract from the sharpness of his insight. 

 

And so when I look over this section again, I am reminded how Cicero was so much more than a talking head. He here presents what I find to be a subtle and meaningful account of how we can become aware of the way something operates, even as we might not be able to directly perceive its substance. Far from being a rare or extraordinary situation, we regularly learn about the properties of one thing through the medium of another, and often work backwards from observing visible effects to considering invisible causes. 

 

I notice the motion of the leaves and branches, and so I infer the presence of the wind. I can discern the shape of an object behind me by examining the shadow that is cast in front of me. I am painfully conscious that a child is in distress by the distant sound of crying. I have never seen a distinct chunk of what they call love, but I know that my wife possesses it by the evidence of her words and deeds. 

 

The signified may be out of view, and yet the sign will still clearly point the way. 

 

This is also what takes place with the awareness of self, that most defining aspect of human identity, such that I do not comprehend who I am as if I were some sort of object placed before me, capable of being observed and measured in some immediate manner. Even when it comes to my own face, I cannot gaze upon it with my eyes expect through its reflection in something else, and so too when it comes to my own mind, I cannot ponder its identity except through is relationship to other beings surrounding me. 

 

To make any sense of what it means to have an intellect and a will, it is necessary to focus on those powers as they are expressed by way of other creatures. I come to know something of myself as I come to know my world; I become more familiar with what it means to love by the act of loving what surrounds me. 

 

I cannot precisely isolate where my soul is located, or attribute a certain set of dimensions to it, or lay out its constitutive elements, and it can be frustrating to have to contort my perception in such a roundabout manner, yet this in no way means that I am unable to study and meditate upon the nature of my own actions. Who I am is only revealed in the concrete exercise of living, not in any idealized isolation. 

Most if this chapter is actually devoted to illustrating a parallel example, the way in which we similarly come to know the presence of the Divine in the patterns of creation around us. Some might consider this an unnecessary diversion, though I would suggest it to be an incredibly helpful way to further highlight the importance of reflexive and indirect awareness. I cannot see myself face-to-face, and yet I can know who I am. I cannot see God face-to-face, and yet I can know that He is completely present. 

 

Yes, Cicero gets a little wordy here, though I appreciate the way he uses detailed poetic imagery to highlight all the many levels at which we can detect order, purpose, and design from the biggest to the smallest scales. The divine spark in me is a manifestation of the Divine Source of All, and so it comes as no accident that they are both revealed to us by comparable methods. 

 

The people who deny God are often the very same people who deny the soul, and I can’t help but wonder if this is because they are struggling with a willingness to admit to the existence of anything not directly sensible. Would they also question the reality of a subatomic particle that cannot be seen or touched, even though its presence is evident through its effects? 

—Reflection written in 4/1996

IMAGE: Frederik de Wit, Celestial Map (1670)