A. What, when in torments and on the rack?
M. Do you imagine I am speaking of him as laid on roses and violets? Is it allowable even for Epicurus (who only puts on the appearance of being a philosopher, and who himself assumed that name for himself) to say (though, as matters stand, I commend him for his saying) that a wise man might at all times cry out, though he be burned, tortured, cut to pieces, “How little I regard it!”
Shall this be said by one who defines all evil as pain, and measures every good by pleasure; who could ridicule whatever we call either honorable or base, and could declare of us that we were employed about words, and uttering mere empty sounds; and that nothing is to be regarded by us but as it is perceived to be smooth or rough by the body?
What! shall such a man as this, as I said, whose understanding is little superior to the beasts’, be at liberty to forget himself; and not only to despise fortune, when the whole of his good and evil is in the power of fortune, but to say that he is happy in the most racking torture, when he had actually declared pain to be not only the greatest evil, but the only one?
Nor did he take any trouble to provide himself with those remedies which might have enabled him to bear pain, such as firmness of mind, a shame of doing anything base, exercise, and the habit of patience, precepts of courage, and a manly hardiness; but he says that he supports himself on the single recollection of past pleasures, as if any one, when the weather was so hot as that he was scarcely able to bear it, should comfort himself by recollecting that he was once in my country, Arpinum, where he was surrounded on every side by cooling streams. For I do not apprehend how past pleasures can allay present evils.
But when he says that a wise man is always happy who would have no right to say so if he were consistent with himself, what may they not do who allow nothing to be desirable, nothing to be looked on as good but what is honorable? Let, then, the Peripatetics and Old Academics follow my example, and at length leave off muttering to themselves; and openly and with a clear voice let them be bold to say that a happy life may not be inconsistent with the agonies of Phalaris’s bull.
M. Do you imagine I am speaking of him as laid on roses and violets? Is it allowable even for Epicurus (who only puts on the appearance of being a philosopher, and who himself assumed that name for himself) to say (though, as matters stand, I commend him for his saying) that a wise man might at all times cry out, though he be burned, tortured, cut to pieces, “How little I regard it!”
Shall this be said by one who defines all evil as pain, and measures every good by pleasure; who could ridicule whatever we call either honorable or base, and could declare of us that we were employed about words, and uttering mere empty sounds; and that nothing is to be regarded by us but as it is perceived to be smooth or rough by the body?
What! shall such a man as this, as I said, whose understanding is little superior to the beasts’, be at liberty to forget himself; and not only to despise fortune, when the whole of his good and evil is in the power of fortune, but to say that he is happy in the most racking torture, when he had actually declared pain to be not only the greatest evil, but the only one?
Nor did he take any trouble to provide himself with those remedies which might have enabled him to bear pain, such as firmness of mind, a shame of doing anything base, exercise, and the habit of patience, precepts of courage, and a manly hardiness; but he says that he supports himself on the single recollection of past pleasures, as if any one, when the weather was so hot as that he was scarcely able to bear it, should comfort himself by recollecting that he was once in my country, Arpinum, where he was surrounded on every side by cooling streams. For I do not apprehend how past pleasures can allay present evils.
But when he says that a wise man is always happy who would have no right to say so if he were consistent with himself, what may they not do who allow nothing to be desirable, nothing to be looked on as good but what is honorable? Let, then, the Peripatetics and Old Academics follow my example, and at length leave off muttering to themselves; and openly and with a clear voice let them be bold to say that a happy life may not be inconsistent with the agonies of Phalaris’s bull.
—from Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 5.26
There is a certain type of rigid philosopher who frowns upon any sort of rhetoric, perhaps because he remembers reading something long ago about Socrates criticizing the Sophists, and so he assumes that the truth has no place for eloquence. I think it no accident how this unbending fellow is also likely to oppose reason and faith, yet another one of those destructive false dichotomies.
Now I am neither an esteemed scholar nor a gifted writer, but hard experience has taught me that while style can never replace substance, substance can surely be reinforced by style. I should not be ashamed if my emotions are moved by fiery words, as long as they offer their support to a clarity of understanding—let pathos be in a proper service to logos.
This chapter has that sort of powerful effect on me, for while I have followed along with Cicero’s arguments throughout the text, I will sometimes feel as if my appetites are continuing to struggle against my intellect. As a great orator, he knew how to appeal to his audience on many levels, and he had the skill to choose the most persuasive tools at the moments when they were most needed. If the passions are dragging their feet, here is a way to put some pep back into their step!
The Auditor continues to be worried about the problem of pain. In a purely technical manner, Cicero could review the previous arguments once again, and yet he now chooses to challenge us with a dare: if even those confused Epicureans can manage to face their agonies with courage, shouldn’t we be able to manage so much more?
Even as I know he is using a fair amount of hyperbole here, and he is trying to make us feel ashamed for being weaker than those he insists are barely any better than animals, it is certainly an effective provocation. It reminds me of a time when a middle school coach told a hesitant runner that his little sister could do a better job, and the boy went on to win the race with ease. Yes, it was rude, and yes, it was played up, but it sure did the trick in the end.
While I don’t like being manipulated, I should not be so proud as to resist being motivated. As much as I would like to think kindly of the Epicurean model, is it not a terrible error to reduce our human dignity to a mere matter of pleasure and pain? And if such a “hedonist” is capable of bearing torture without complaint, why wouldn’t I throw myself into the Bull of Phalaris willingly? Though that is obviously going too far, at least there is now some enthusiasm, where before there was only anxiety.
I am fully aware how suffering is not just an abstraction, and I know all too well why pain cannot simply be wished away. Nevertheless, I am far more than an animal, because I am also gifted with reason and will, the power to rise above the circumstances of fortune by finding my happiness in the excellence of my character. If it takes a swift kick in the rear to remind me of that glorious fact, then so be it.
There is a certain type of rigid philosopher who frowns upon any sort of rhetoric, perhaps because he remembers reading something long ago about Socrates criticizing the Sophists, and so he assumes that the truth has no place for eloquence. I think it no accident how this unbending fellow is also likely to oppose reason and faith, yet another one of those destructive false dichotomies.
Now I am neither an esteemed scholar nor a gifted writer, but hard experience has taught me that while style can never replace substance, substance can surely be reinforced by style. I should not be ashamed if my emotions are moved by fiery words, as long as they offer their support to a clarity of understanding—let pathos be in a proper service to logos.
This chapter has that sort of powerful effect on me, for while I have followed along with Cicero’s arguments throughout the text, I will sometimes feel as if my appetites are continuing to struggle against my intellect. As a great orator, he knew how to appeal to his audience on many levels, and he had the skill to choose the most persuasive tools at the moments when they were most needed. If the passions are dragging their feet, here is a way to put some pep back into their step!
The Auditor continues to be worried about the problem of pain. In a purely technical manner, Cicero could review the previous arguments once again, and yet he now chooses to challenge us with a dare: if even those confused Epicureans can manage to face their agonies with courage, shouldn’t we be able to manage so much more?
Even as I know he is using a fair amount of hyperbole here, and he is trying to make us feel ashamed for being weaker than those he insists are barely any better than animals, it is certainly an effective provocation. It reminds me of a time when a middle school coach told a hesitant runner that his little sister could do a better job, and the boy went on to win the race with ease. Yes, it was rude, and yes, it was played up, but it sure did the trick in the end.
While I don’t like being manipulated, I should not be so proud as to resist being motivated. As much as I would like to think kindly of the Epicurean model, is it not a terrible error to reduce our human dignity to a mere matter of pleasure and pain? And if such a “hedonist” is capable of bearing torture without complaint, why wouldn’t I throw myself into the Bull of Phalaris willingly? Though that is obviously going too far, at least there is now some enthusiasm, where before there was only anxiety.
I am fully aware how suffering is not just an abstraction, and I know all too well why pain cannot simply be wished away. Nevertheless, I am far more than an animal, because I am also gifted with reason and will, the power to rise above the circumstances of fortune by finding my happiness in the excellence of my character. If it takes a swift kick in the rear to remind me of that glorious fact, then so be it.
—Reflection written in 3/1999
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