The Republic and The Laws (Oxford World's Classics) (6 page)

753

Traditional date for foundation of Rome

509

Expulsion of Tarquinius Superbus

494–440

Struggle of the Orders (i.e. between patrician and plebeian families)

450

Publication of the Twelve Tables (the earliest code of Roman law, framed by a Committee of Ten; see
R.
2. 6T-3; L. 1. 17)

340–264

Roman expansion in Italy

264–241

First Punic War

218–202

Second Punic War

202

Scipio defeats Hannibal at Zama in North Africa

197–133

Operations in Spain

185

Birth of Scipio Aemilianus

167

Polybius, the Greek historian, is brought to Rome

155

Carneades the Sceptic comes to Rome

149–146

Third Punic War

146

Carthage sacked by Scipio Aemilianus

144

The Stoic Panaetius comes to Rome

133

The tribunate and death of Tiberius Gracchus

Scipio Aemilianus captures Numantia in Spain

129

Death of Scipio Aemilianus

123–122

The tribunates and death of Gaius Gracchus

106

Marius defeats Jugurtha in North Africa

Birth of Cicero

102–101

Marius defeats the Teutones and Cimbri

98–91

War between Rome and her Italian Allies

87

Cicero studies with the Sceptic Philo of Larissa in Rome

82–80

Dictatorship of Sulla

78

Cicero studies philosophy in Athens with Antiochus of Ascalon

63

Cicero consul; Catiline’s insurrection crushed

61

Trial and acquittal of Clodius

60

The so-called ‘First Triumvirate’ of Pompey, Caesar, and Crassus

58

Cicero goes into exile

57

Cicero returns

54–52

Cicero writing the
Republic

53

Cicero becomes an augur

52–51

Cicero writing the
Laws

51–50

Cicero Governor of Cilicia

49

Caesar crosses the Rubicon; the Civil War begins

47–44

Dictatorship of Caesar

45

Cicero’s main philosophical works

44

Cicero’s
Philippics
against Antony

43

Cicero is murdered on the insistence of Antony

[Seventeen leaves are missing at the beginning of our manuscript. Half way through his preface Cicero is criticizing the Epicureans for their lack of patriotism.]

(Had it not been for his sense of patriotic duty, X) would not have delivered (our country) from invasion; nor would Gaius Duilius, Aulus Atilius, and Lucius Metellus have rescued it from the Carthaginian menace; the two Scipios
*
would not have extinguished with their blood the spreading conflagration of the second Punic war; later, when it had broken out with greater fury, Quintus Maximus would not have sapped its strength; Marcus Metellus would not have beaten it down; and Publius Africanus
*
would not have dragged it back from the gates of this city and penned it up within the enemy’s walls.

1

Or take Marcus Cato,
*
an obscure man without consular ancestors, a man to whom all of us who follow the same calling look up to as a kind of model, guiding us to perseverance and probity. He might certainly have enjoyed his retirement at Tusculum
*
— a healthy spot within easy reach of town. But that maniac, as those fellows call him, without being compelled by any necessity, chose to be buffeted by these stormy waves right into extreme old age, instead of enjoying the delightfully tranquil and easy life which they extol. I say nothing of those countless individuals who in peace and war have brought salvation to this country; and I shall not mention the names of those who are close to the memory of this generation, for I do not want anyone to complain that he or one of his family has been left out. I simply state this basic fact: nature has given to mankind such a compulsion to do good, and such a desire to defend the well-being of the community, that this force prevails over all the temptations of pleasure and ease.

Yet it is not enough to possess moral excellence
*
as a kind of skill, unless you put it into practice. You can have a skill simply by knowing
how
to practise it, even if you never do; whereas moral excellence is entirely a matter of practice. Its most important field of practice, moreover, is in the government of a state,
*
and in the achievement (in reality, not just in words) of those things which our friends in their shady nooks make such a noise about. For nothing is laid down by philosophers—nothing right and honourable at any rate—which has not been brought into being and established by those who have drawn up laws for states. Where does devotion come from? Who gave us our religious observances? What is the source of law, either the law of nations or this civil law of ours? From where did justice, good faith, and fair dealing come? Or decency, restraint, the fear of disgrace, and the desire of praise and honour? Or fortitude in hardship and danger? Why, from those men who have taken these values, already shaped by teaching, and either established them in custom or confirmed them in law. In fact Xenocrates, one of the most illustrious philosophers, when asked what his pupils got from him, is said to have answered ‘to do of their own free will what they are compelled to do by law’. So then, the statesman
*
who, by official authority and legal sanctions obliges everyone to do what barely a handful can be induced to do by philosophy lectures, must take precedence over the teachers who theorize about such matters. For what philosophy lecture is so fine that it deserves to be set above the public law and customs of a well-ordered state? For my own part, I consider what Ennius calls ‘great and commanding cities’ superior to little villages and outposts; similarly, in my view, those who govern such cities by their counsel and authority are in wisdom itself
*
far above those without any experience of public affairs. We are led by a powerful urge to increase the wealth of the human race; we are keen to make men’s lives safer and richer by our policies and efforts; we are spurred on by nature herself to fulfil this purpose. Therefore, let us hold that course which has always been followed by the best men, ignoring the bugle for retreat, which tries to recall those who have already advanced.

Against these well-known and well-established principles our opponents set, first, the hardships which have to be endured in
defending the state—surely a flimsy objection in the eyes of anybody alert and diligent, and one to be treated with contempt not only in matters of such moment but even in things of less importance, such as one’s pursuits or social duties or even one’s everyday occupations. They point, in addition, to the dangers of public life, using the despicable fear of death to deter brave men— men who normally think it more miserable to decay in the natural course of old age than to have the chance of laying down, as a supreme gift to their country, the life which in any case would have to be given back to nature.

On that topic our opponents wax fluent and eloquent (in their own opinion), reeling off the disasters of highly eminent men and the wrongs they have suffered from ungrateful citizens. Here they cite the familiar Greek examples—how Miltiades, the conqueror and tamer of the Persians, before those wounds which he sustained with his face to the foe in that glorious victory were healed, breathed forth the life that had survived the enemy’s onslaught in the fetters of his own compatriots; how Themistocles, cast out and warned off with threats from the country he had freed, found refuge not in the havens of Greece which he had saved but in the shelter of that foreign land which he had brought low. Yes indeed, the caprice and cruelty of Athens towards her greatest citizens can be illustrated again and again. But the habit which started and multiplied there has also, we are told, spread to this sober, responsible, country of ours. One hears of Camillus’ exile,
*
the wrong done to Ahala, the resentment directed at Nasica, Laenas’ banishment, Opimius’ conviction, Metellus’ departure into exile, the appallingly cruel overthrow of Gaius Marius and the murder of his chief supporters,
*
and the widespread slaughter that followed shortly after. Nowadays they regularly mention my name too; and they speak even more feelingly and affectionately about my case, because (I suppose) they think they were spared to continue in their peaceful way of life as a result of my policy and peril.

Yet I would find it hard to say why, when these very men cross the sea to learn and observe …
[one leaf is missing; the gist seems to be:
They think
we
should be deterred by similar risks from more important enterprises. Again, if they believe that the dangers of travel are justified by the knowledge acquired, why should
our
dangers not be justified by the reward obtained?] … As I was
retiring from the consulship, I swore in a public assembly that the state had been saved
*
by my actions; and the Roman people swore the same oath. (Even if I had never been recalled from exile,) that would have given me ample compensation for the worry and distress caused by all the wrongs I suffered. And yet my misfortunes brought more gain than pain, less vexation than glory; and the joy I derived from being missed by the good was greater that the anguish I suffered from the glee of the wicked. But if, as I say, things had turned out otherwise, what cause would I have for complaint? Nothing surprising, nothing more grievous than expected, happened in return for my great services. I could have reaped richer rewards than anyone else from peace, thanks to the various delights of those studies in which I had engaged since boyhood. Or if some more dreadful calamity had overtaken the people as a whole, I could have suffered, not any special misfortune, but the same misfortune as everyone else. Yet, being the sort of man I was, I did not hesitate to brave the wildest storms and almost the very thunderbolts themselves to protect my countrymen, and, by risking my own life, to win peace and security for the rest. For our country did not give us life and nurture unconditionally, without expecting to receive in return, as it were, some maintenance
*
from us; nor did it engage simply to serve our convenience, providing a safe haven for our leisure and a quiet place for our relaxation. No, it reserved the right to appropriate for its own purpose the largest and most numerous portions of our loyalty, ability, and sagacity, leaving to us for our private use only what might be surplus to its needs.

Furthermore, we should certainly not entertain for one moment the excuses
*
to which they resort in the hope of enjoying a quiet life with an easier conscience—when, for instance, they say that most politicians are worthless, that it is demeaning to be classified with them, and disagreeable and dangerous to come into conflict with them, especially when they have stirred up the mob. Hence, they argue, it is no business for a wise man to take over the reins, since he cannot check the mad, uncontrollable rush of the crowd; nor does it befit a free man to struggle with corrupt and uncivilized opponents, lashed with foul abuse and submitting to outrages which would be intolerable to a person of good sense—as if good, brave, and high-minded men could have any
stronger reason for entering politics than the determination not to give in to the wicked, and not to allow the state to be torn apart by such people in a situation where they themselves would be powerless to help even if they wished to do so.

Again, when they deny that a wise man will take part in politics, who, I ask you, can be satisfied with their proviso
*
—’unless some period of crisis compels him’? As if anyone could face a greater crisis than I did. What could I have done at that time had I not been consul? And how could I have been consul if I had not followed from boyhood the career that would bring a man of equestrian birth like me to the highest office? So the opportunity of rescuing the country, whatever the dangers that threaten it, does not come suddenly or when you wish it, but only when you are in a position which allows you to do so. I find this most astonishing in the writings of intellectuals: they plead their inability to steer the ship when the sea is calm, because they have never been taught and have never cared to acquire such knowledge; and yet they proclaim that they will take the helm when the waves are at their highest! Those gentlemen openly admit, and indeed take great pride in the fact, that they have never learned and do not teach anything about how to set up or maintain a government; they think that expertise in such matters does not befit learned and philosophical men and should be left to people with practical experience in that sort of thing. So what sense does it make to promise assistance to the government only if driven to do so by a crisis, when they cannot manage a much easier task, namely to take charge of the government when there is
no
compelling crisis? Even if it were true that the sage does not voluntarily deign to descend to the technicalities of statecraft, and yet does not shirk that duty if forced by circumstances, I should still think it quite wrong for him to neglect the art of politics; he ought to have everything at his fingertips, for he never knows when he may have to use it.

I have set out these points at some length, because in the present work I have planned and undertaken a discussion of the state. To prevent the project from seeming futile, I had, at the outset, to get rid of people’s scruples about entering public life. Nevertheless, if any readers are swayed by the authority of philosophers, they should pay attention for a moment and listen to men who enjoy
a very great authority
*
and reputation in the highest intellectual circles. Even if they themselves never actually governed, I still think they did the state some service, because they studied and wrote extensively about it. In fact I note that those whom the Greeks called ‘The Seven Wise Men’
*
in almost every case played a central role in political life. Nor, indeed, is there any occupation which brings human excellence closer to divine power than founding new states and preserving
*
those already founded.