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In Tusculans 2 the interlocutors discuss the value of physical pain. They swiftly agree that it is not the greatest evil but take longer to consider whether it is bad or, as the Stoics think, merely indifferent. Enduring pain is taken to be an indication of courage and manliness (virtus) and this is undermined by the claim that physical pain is not bad. Therefore neither the Epicureans nor the Stoics provide a wholly satisfactory account of the value of physical pain and its relationship to virtue.
(1) Marcus Antonius made peace with the Cretans, which was observed for a while.1 Later they considered how best to structure matters for their own benefit, and the oldest and wisest advised that an embassy should be sent to Rome in order to defend themselves against the charges that had been made, and to attempt to propitiate the senate with reasonable words and petitions.2 Thus thirty of their most distinguished men were sent to Rome as envoys. They went around individually to the homes of the senators, and by putting forth every kind of vocal entreaty, they won over the leaders of the senate. (2) Then they were brought before the senate and made a sensible defense against the charges, recounting precisely their own services and alliance with the empire, calling upon them to consider these to merit their restoration to their previous favor and alliance.
The Carthaginians, by bringing Masanassa into the war, were believed to have terminated their treaty with the Romans. When they sent envoys, they were given the answer that they knew what must be done.1 The answer was obscure, which left the Carthaginians deeply disturbed.2
This chapter focuses on Cicero’s treatment of the emotions in Books 3 and 4, and more specifically on his account of the dispute between the Stoics and the Peripatetics. At first sight, the dispute seems uncomplicated: the Stoics advocate the complete absence of emotions whereas the Peripatetics hold that emotions should rather be moderated or controlled. But Cicero’s stress on the idea that emotions are beliefs seems to come at the expense of other central parts of the theory of emotions, most prominently the theory of action. I argue that these features of his presentation serve him in securing a thesis that he is keen to defend in Book 5: that virtue guarantees happiness and that this happiness is invulnerable to the accidents of fortune.
An introduction to the historical and philosophical context of Cicero’s Tusculan Disputations and an overview of some general questions to be investigated in the volume, particularly: the question of Cicero’s ‘Socratic method’, his use of dialogue, his claim to argue on both sides of a question, and the relationship between this and his Academic scepticism.
When those in Antioch learned of the death of Antiochos (VII),1 the city not only went into public mourning, but every house was dejected and filled with lamentation. In particular, the wailing of the women inflamed their suffering. They had lost 300,000, including those other than the soldiers who had gone into the interior, and there was no household that was exempt from misfortune.2 Some lamented the loss of brothers, others of husbands, and still others of sons. Many girls and boys were orphaned and deplored their desolation, until time – the best physician for grief – released them from the peak of their suffering.
(1) Fighting about wealth produces contention in humanity and can create great misfortune for those desirous of it. It is the impetus toward unjust and illegal activities, produces all kinds of intemperate pleasures, and leads the foolish to thoughtless activities.1 Thus one can see that such people fall into great misfortune and become the cause of disasters to their cities.
All evils should be avoided by those who are sensible, but especially arrogance, since the expectation of profit invites many to injustice and becomes the cause of great evils to humanity.1 Thus it is the mother city2 of injustice, producing a great many misfortunes not only for private persons but for the greatest of kings.
The Tusculan Disputations can be read as a complex of four projects: (1) a set of formal exercises in the schola genre; (2) a therapeutic operation directed against the emotions, and fear in particular, with an agonistic relation to Epicurean predecessors; (3) a project of edification, aiming to reinforce the reader’s commitment to virtue; and (4) an exhibition or advertisement of the powers of philosophy and its advantages to Rome. Together, these dimensions of the Tusculans explain the peculiarities of its argumentation and literary approach. It is plausibly the aspiration to advertise philosophy to Rome (4) which is most fundamental: therapy (2) and edification (3) are projects in which philosophy can usefully display its powers, and the schola form (1) is convenient for doing so. These projects are to be distinguished from that of philosophical inquiry; the Tusculans is informed more by Cicero’s patriotic pragmatism than by his scepticism.
At about the same time Marius defeated the Libyan kings Bocchos [I] and Jugurtha in a great engagement, and killed myriads of Libyans, and later took Jugurtha prisoner, who had been captured by Bocchos and was thus pardoned by the Romans for what had brought him into the war.1 Moreover, the Romans, at war with the Kimbrians, were stumbling greatly in Galatia and were exceedingly demoralized.2 Also, at about the same time, certain people came from Sicily and reported an uprising of slaves numbering tens of thousands. When this was announced, all of Rome found itself in a continual crisis, since about 60,000 soldiers had died in the Galatian war against the Kimbrians, and there was a lack of chosen troops to send out.
Epikouros the philosopher said in his treatise Principal Doctrines that the just life is calm but the unjust is mostly full of disturbance.1 Thus in a short statement he completely encompassed true wisdom, which, on the whole, has the power to correct the evil in men. Injustice, being the mother city of evils,2 causes the greatest misfortunes, not only for private citizens but collectively for peoples, populations, and kings.
Those in the Carthaginian army were Iberians,3 Kelts,4 Balearians,5 Libyans, Phoenicians,6 Ligystinians,7 and mixed Hellenic slaves.8
The aim of this chapter is to investigate the teaching of the so-called Peripatetics in the Tusculan Disputations with regard to their views on passions. Such views serve Cicero’s dialectical purposes and his wish to present the debate in Books 3–5 as primarily a dialectical exchange between Stoic ‘lack of passions’ (apatheia) and Peripatetic ‘moderation of passions’ (metriopatheia). Moreover, the Peripatetics are presented as siding with the early followers of Plato, and in particular with Crantor, in a unified camp against the Stoics. I argue that, despite the polemical features of Cicero’s presentation of the Peripatetics in the work, the metriopatheia view merits serious consideration, being much more than just a foil for an argument in favour of Stoicism.
In How to Talk About Love,1 Armand D’Angour offers an eloquent introduction to Plato’s Symposium, which includes a brief but enjoyable look at love in ancient Greek literature and a translation of selections from Plato’s dialogue, accompanied by the original Greek text. The book is part of Princeton University Press’ series on Ancient Wisdom for Modern Readers, which, as the name suggests, aims to repackage ancient texts for the self-help section of bookstores.
The city-state (polis) is undoubtedly one of the most fundamental aspects of Greek history. John Ma’s book is a monumental study of the history of the Greek polis in the very long term.1 It starts from the collapse of the Bronze Age palaces around 1200 bce and takes the story to the end of ancient poleis around 600 ce; alongside the immense temporal extent, Ma impressively covers the whole of the Eastern Mediterranean. In my view, this is unquestionably the most significant contribution to the study of Greek history over the last two decades. It is the first attempt to focus the history of the polis not on the archaic and classical periods, but on the Hellenistic and early imperial poleis. The reason for this, and the most significant contribution of the book, is Ma’s concept of the ‘great convergence’: the spread across the eastern Mediterranean between 400–200 bce of a democratic model of the polis based on citizen equality, assemblies, the provision of public goods, and the disappearance of older models based on oligarchy and characterized by disenfranchised citizens, subject communities, and serf populations. At the same time, the dominance of large-scale geopolitical actors such as the Hellenistic kingdoms and later Rome put an end to the ‘Hundred Years War’ between 450–350 (another important conceptual innovation), in which dominant poleis tried to subjugate and conquer other poleis; after 350 bce, poleis’ attempts at expansion usually incorporated smaller communities on equal terms. The book is structured around the great convergence: earlier chapters examine the diverse world of the poleis before the convergence, while later chapters explore the transformation of the polis and its employment by the Roman Empire, once the Mediterranean stopped being a multipolar world. This very rich book functions both as an excellent survey of numerous Greek communities, as well as an impressive synthesis offering a new periodization of Greek history. It will undoubtedly generate major new debates among Greek historians, which are urgently needed in our field.