The study of philosophy is certainly of long standing with us; but yet I do not find that I can give you the names of any philosopher before the age of Laelius and Scipio, in whose younger days we find that Diogenes the Stoic, and Carneades the Academic, were sent as ambassadors by the Athenians to our senate.
And as these had never been concerned in public affairs, and one of them was a Cyrenean, the other a Babylonian, they certainly would never have been forced from their studies, nor chosen for that employment, unless the study of philosophy had been in vogue with some of the great men at that time; who, though they might employ their pens on other subjects—some on civil law, others on oratory, others on the history of former times—yet promoted this most extensive of all arts, the principle of living well, even more by their life than by their writings.
So that of that true and elegant philosophy (which was derived from Socrates, and is still preserved by the Peripatetics and by the Stoics, though they express themselves differently in their disputes with the Academics) there are few or no Latin records; whether this proceeds from the importance of the thing itself, or from men’s being otherwise employed, or from their concluding that the capacity of the people was not equal to the apprehension of them.
But, during this silence, C. Amafinius arose and took upon himself to speak; on the publishing of whose writings the people were moved, and enlisted themselves chiefly under this sect, either because the doctrine was more easily understood, or because they were invited thereto by the pleasing thoughts of amusement, or that, because there was nothing better, they laid hold of what was offered them.
And after Amafinius, when many of the same sentiments had written much about them, the Pythagoreans spread over all Italy: but that these doctrines should be so easily understood and approved of by the unlearned is a great proof that they were not written with any great subtlety, and they think their establishment to be owing to this.
And as these had never been concerned in public affairs, and one of them was a Cyrenean, the other a Babylonian, they certainly would never have been forced from their studies, nor chosen for that employment, unless the study of philosophy had been in vogue with some of the great men at that time; who, though they might employ their pens on other subjects—some on civil law, others on oratory, others on the history of former times—yet promoted this most extensive of all arts, the principle of living well, even more by their life than by their writings.
So that of that true and elegant philosophy (which was derived from Socrates, and is still preserved by the Peripatetics and by the Stoics, though they express themselves differently in their disputes with the Academics) there are few or no Latin records; whether this proceeds from the importance of the thing itself, or from men’s being otherwise employed, or from their concluding that the capacity of the people was not equal to the apprehension of them.
But, during this silence, C. Amafinius arose and took upon himself to speak; on the publishing of whose writings the people were moved, and enlisted themselves chiefly under this sect, either because the doctrine was more easily understood, or because they were invited thereto by the pleasing thoughts of amusement, or that, because there was nothing better, they laid hold of what was offered them.
And after Amafinius, when many of the same sentiments had written much about them, the Pythagoreans spread over all Italy: but that these doctrines should be so easily understood and approved of by the unlearned is a great proof that they were not written with any great subtlety, and they think their establishment to be owing to this.
—from Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 4.3
Cicero tells us that while the early Romans were most certainly philosophical in their attitudes, they did not pursue philosophy as a formal discipline until fairly late, and even then, the prominent practitioners were visitors from foreign lands. Diogenes, of the Stoic school, was originally from Babylon, and Carneades, of the Academic school, was originally from Cyrene.
I recall the great excitement when an esteemed scholar from the Continent agreed to come to our college as a visiting professor, and he was lavished with all sorts of titles and awards, almost as if he were royalty. Few of us were brave enough to say it out loud, but there was a simmering feeling that we were confusing a love of wisdom with a lust for fame. Was philosophy supposed to be about our excellence in daily living, or was it to be reduced to putting on some elaborate show?
We may be concerned about whether we are living up to task if we don’t wrap it up in the most glamorous appearances, as if honor is defined by an outer glory instead of the inner virtues. The Romans did not have to apologize for being latecomers to the philosophical game, because philosophy isn’t about playing some sort of game. While the “great men” of Rome may not have written many impressive books of philosophy, Cicero argues that their character was manifested by their deeds, which matter far more than the contents of any volume.
When the Romans were at their worst, their greed and brutality showed what will happen when we neglect our calling to wisdom and virtue. When the Romans were at their best, their commitment to the true and the good were an example to the whole world, and no bookishness was required to prove it.
Whatever a Cato, or a Cicero, or a Seneca may have written, their principles were at their purest in righteous and resolute action. In this, they have much in common with Lycurgus or Chilon of Sparta, another society that admired a dignity of conduct over any spectacle in words.
Even once the Romans had the leisure to “study” philosophy as a theory, Cicero notes how they didn’t always do a terribly good job at it. I had before never heard of Amafinius, a Roman Epicurean, and I am now told that what little we know about him is limited to a few references by Cicero. He was apparently a thinker with a shallow style and a tendency to oversimplify philosophical problems, which in turn made him quite popular with the sorts of people who sought platitudes in place of profundity.
It would seem that many of the Roman Pythagoreans did much the same, which only goes to show how sound philosophy is not to be judged by the whims of fashion. I have found that this is just as true in our own time, when those who appeal to the lowest common denominator, and spout back whatever sounds the most convenient, receive the greatest praise, while the champions of uncomfortable answers to difficult questions are quickly passed over.
The more things change, the more they stay the same. I must guard myself from being overly impressed by intellectual posturing, and I should always remember why the merit of a philosophy is best measured through the quality of our actions.
Cicero tells us that while the early Romans were most certainly philosophical in their attitudes, they did not pursue philosophy as a formal discipline until fairly late, and even then, the prominent practitioners were visitors from foreign lands. Diogenes, of the Stoic school, was originally from Babylon, and Carneades, of the Academic school, was originally from Cyrene.
I recall the great excitement when an esteemed scholar from the Continent agreed to come to our college as a visiting professor, and he was lavished with all sorts of titles and awards, almost as if he were royalty. Few of us were brave enough to say it out loud, but there was a simmering feeling that we were confusing a love of wisdom with a lust for fame. Was philosophy supposed to be about our excellence in daily living, or was it to be reduced to putting on some elaborate show?
We may be concerned about whether we are living up to task if we don’t wrap it up in the most glamorous appearances, as if honor is defined by an outer glory instead of the inner virtues. The Romans did not have to apologize for being latecomers to the philosophical game, because philosophy isn’t about playing some sort of game. While the “great men” of Rome may not have written many impressive books of philosophy, Cicero argues that their character was manifested by their deeds, which matter far more than the contents of any volume.
When the Romans were at their worst, their greed and brutality showed what will happen when we neglect our calling to wisdom and virtue. When the Romans were at their best, their commitment to the true and the good were an example to the whole world, and no bookishness was required to prove it.
Whatever a Cato, or a Cicero, or a Seneca may have written, their principles were at their purest in righteous and resolute action. In this, they have much in common with Lycurgus or Chilon of Sparta, another society that admired a dignity of conduct over any spectacle in words.
Even once the Romans had the leisure to “study” philosophy as a theory, Cicero notes how they didn’t always do a terribly good job at it. I had before never heard of Amafinius, a Roman Epicurean, and I am now told that what little we know about him is limited to a few references by Cicero. He was apparently a thinker with a shallow style and a tendency to oversimplify philosophical problems, which in turn made him quite popular with the sorts of people who sought platitudes in place of profundity.
It would seem that many of the Roman Pythagoreans did much the same, which only goes to show how sound philosophy is not to be judged by the whims of fashion. I have found that this is just as true in our own time, when those who appeal to the lowest common denominator, and spout back whatever sounds the most convenient, receive the greatest praise, while the champions of uncomfortable answers to difficult questions are quickly passed over.
The more things change, the more they stay the same. I must guard myself from being overly impressed by intellectual posturing, and I should always remember why the merit of a philosophy is best measured through the quality of our actions.
—Reflection written in 1/1999
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