CHAPTER TWO

On a More Personal Note

PHILOSOPHY IN THE LETTERS

Cicero tells only important things.

Michel Foucault, Technologies of the Self

I would not send you a letter so full of myself except that I long to have you understand . . . .

Caroline C. Briggs

AN EXAMINATION of Cicero’s own reasons for writing the philosophical treatises is an essential part of any attempt to understand this body of work. In trying to consider his motivation, however, we are faced with an often confounding multiplicity of goals that he presents in the treatises themselves. He alternately assigns the impulse behind these compositions variously to his desire to benefit his fatherland and fellow-citizens, his need for activity in the absence of a public career that had previously occupied his days, and his desire to find consolation after the devastating loss of his daughter. The differences between these claims make it virtually impossible to take all of the professed goals as equally accurate representations of Cicero’s actual motivation.1 Moreover, the decision as to which claims are to be taken more seriously and which interpreted primarily as rhetorical devices directed at forming audience reaction significantly affects how we understand the production of the corpus. Thus, if one thinks that the main reason behind the mass production of the more technically philosophical works of 45–44 was the need to take consolation in philosophy following the death in February 45 of Tullia, Cicero’s beloved daughter, then the author’s claims that the corpus was meant to be an important contribution to the future of the republic are bound to be taken less seriously, as secondary and rhetorical. Conversely, taking at face value the more state-oriented claims regarding motivation would mean giving less weight to the notion that the works were written as consolation in a time of personal suffering. While it would be naïve, and fruitless, to deny that there was a real multiplicity of reasons behind the creation of a corpus as large and diverse as Cicero’s philosophical works, an attempt to determine which of the reasons the author alleges are more likely to be rhetorical exaggerations, and why, should contribute to a better understanding of the corpus as a whole.

Yet, judging the validity of individual reasons as well as their relative importance is no easy task. Cicero himself never explicitly examines the interrelations among the various motivations that he invokes in the prefaces. In fact, as will become clear in my discussion of individual prefaces in the following chapters, he often leverages mutually contradictory positions against each other when it is rhetorically convenient. Avoiding explicit statements about the hierarchy of the forces that motivate his project was clearly very much to his advantage in communicating with a heterogeneous potential audience. That is, Cicero may have discussed different reasons for writing philosophy in the prefaces to his treatises not because they accurately represented his actual motivations, but because they served an important rhetorical function, helping him to represent himself and his project so as to appeal to his readers. They were, thus, an essential part of the self-justification that the prefaces perform. In addition to Cicero’s need to justify different aspects of his project with different motivational accounts, the variety of potential prejudices in the audience itself no doubt further complicated this representational process, even to the extent of introducing contradictory reasons. Given, then, that the author had a vested interest in obscuring much that was relevant to understanding his motivation in the interest of improving his works’ chances at positive reception, it is difficult to come to any conclusions based exclusively on Cicero’s own claims in the prefaces.

If we conduct our investigation exclusively in the realm of the treatises, coherent arguments can be (and have been) advanced for either of the proposed motivations behind the writing of these works, and little basis will be available for evaluating the strength of these respective arguments save one’s personal inclination and intuition.2 Thus, in trying to do justice to Cicero and his philosophical output, it is important to find a vantage point outside the treatises themselves from which the various competing claims can be evaluated. Such a perspective can be gained by examining the references to philosophy, writing, and intellectual life more generally that are to be found in Cicero’s correspondence. Given the highly rhetorical nature of the letters and, in particular, Cicero’s care in adapting each letter to the perceived expectations of the addressee, the addressee’s own views on these matters will function as constraints on Cicero’s expression, as will the particular persuasive goals that he is pursuing in each individual letter.3 Yet, although we can never know what the historical Cicero truly thought about philosophy’s potential in public, as well as his own, life, we can nonetheless measure the more abstract hortatory claims that the prefaces make about philosophy against the more practically engaged function that philosophy plays in the letters.⁴

My discussion of the correspondence falls into four sections. The first looks at Cicero’s recourse to philosophy as a deliberative resource in times when important decisions have to be made, and discusses a complex series of interactions that showcases Cicero’s beliefs about philosophy’s potential for improving character. The second examines how he constructs the relationship between philosophy and politics. The third moves to consider his representation of philosophy, and writing more generally, in relation to the traditional division of elite activities between the spheres of otium and negotium. The final section treats the issue of philosophy as consolation and confronts the view that Cicero’s grief for Tullia motivated his philosophical writings.

PHILOSOPHY AS A BASIS FOR ACTION

If we are to evaluate Cicero’s claim that he wrote philosophy as a service to the well-being of the state, one issue needs to be illuminated, namely, the question of philosophy’s ability to actively influence people’s beliefs and actions.5 That is, if the goal of writing philosophical treatises is, by educating men about ethics and knowledge, to change their relationship to the republic and turn them into loyal citizens of a Ciceronian bent, thus improving the condition of the state, then the author must necessarily believe in philosophy’s power to produce such change.6 I will in fact argue that a number of letters from different periods demonstrate Cicero’s persistent belief in philosophy, on the one hand, as a tool that men can use in making decisions with implications for the state, and, on the other hand, as a force that can affect and change an individual’s character for the better. But the way in which philosophy is drawn into Cicero’s deliberation shows development: philosophical models start out as relatively inert references and, as the ever-worsening political situation reveals the failure of traditional structures, gradually become more integrated into practical decision-making.

The letters in which references to philosophical deliberation as a basis for action occur are addressed, not unexpectedly, to men whom Cicero could expect to be generally sympathetic to philosophical argumentation. Thus, the tone is never exhortatory, as it is in the prefaces to the philosophica; rather, the references appear within the framework of Cicero’s providing his correspondents with an account of his thinking on particularly important issues. This presentation not only provides a great point of access to how Cicero perceives the political forces in play on a given issue, but also reveals what types of deliberative resources and strategies he deems relevant to political deliberation at different times. His heightened awareness of his own thought processes and his resulting double function as both the agent and an observer of his own actions lead to his being explicit about what he is thinking and also about how he is framing those thoughts. The resulting layer of built-in self-analysis is extremely valuable: it identifies the deliberative resources he employs at times when important decisions have to be made, and it reveals that his use of particular types of resources is highly self-conscious. The focus of the discussion that follows will be on letters from the period leading up to and contemporaneous with the production of the philosophical treatises that are at the center of this study, the period in which philosophy becomes more central to Cicero’s thinking. I begin, however, by looking at a letter that significantly predates this period; this letter will both demonstrate the presence of intellectual motivation in Cicero’s deliberation before the civil war and allow us to see how his use of this type of deliberative resource evolves over time.

The close of year 60 found Cicero in a precarious position. He had been riding high following his disclosure of the Catilinarian conspiracy in 63, but was not able to consolidate his influence in the changing political landscape. His testimony in the Bona Dea trial made a dangerous and implacable enemy of Publius Clodius Pulcher.7 He looked for support to Pompey, recently returned from the East, but his cautious support for the land bill to benefit Pompey’s veterans may not have been satisfactory in the general’s eyes. Caesar, who was to be consul for the following year, was cementing his relationship with Pompey, and planning to introduce an agrarian bill that Cato and his allies were set to oppose bitterly. Cicero was facing a series of important political choices, the first having to do with the upcoming agrarian bill.⁸ In a letter to Atticus written during this period, in which he tries to evaluate his political options and think through the likely consequences of each for his career, Cicero makes clear that the method he is going to use for organizing and presenting his thoughts lies in the extra-political, intellectual sphere. This he identifies as the Socratic method, but in fact his discussion ranges much more widely:⁹

Venio nunc ad mensem Ianuarium et ad in qua sed tamen ad extremum, ut illi solebant, est res sane magni consili. nam aut fortiter resistendum est legi agrariae, in quo est quaedam dimicatio sed plena laudis, aut quiescendum, quod est non dissimile atque ire in Solonium aut Antium, aut etiam adiuvandum, quod a me aiunt Caesarem sic exspectare ut non dubitet. nam fuit apud me Cornelius, hunc dico Balbum, Caesaris familiarem. is adfirmabat illum omnibus in rebus meo et Pompei consilio usurum daturumque operam ut cum Pompeio Crassum coniungeret. hic sunt haec: coniunctio mihi summa cum Pompeio, si placet, etiam cum Caesare, reditus in gratiam cum inimicis, pax cum multitudine, senectutis otium. sed me mea illa commovet quae est in libro tertio:

‘interea cursus, quos prima a parte iuventae
quosque adeo consul virtute animoque petisti,
hos retine atque auge famam laudesque bonorum.’

haec mihi cum in eo libro in quo multa sunt scripta Calliope ipsa praescripserit, non opinor esse dubitandum quin semper nobis videatur (Att. 2.3.3-4; SB 23)

I come now to the month of January and to my political plans, in which matter I will discuss each side, in the Socratic way, but at the end, as his followers used to, will lay out the side that pleases me. It is certainly a matter that deserves serious thought; for either I must strongly resist the agrarian law, in which case it will be contentious, but full of glory, or I must be quiet, which is not so different from going to Solonium or Antium, or I must even help it along, which they say is what Caesar expects me to do, with no doubt in his mind. For Cornelius came to see me, I mean that Balbus, Caesar’s friend. He insisted that Caesar would use my and Pompey’s advice in all things and work to join Crassus with Pompey. Here I would get the following: real closeness to Pompey, and if I want it, with Caesar too, reconciliation with my enemies, peace with the people, rest for my old age. But the conclusion I wrote for book three unsettles me:

Meanwhile the path which from your earliest youth

and as a consul you pursued with virtue and spirit,

continue to follow and increase your fame and praise of all good men.

Since it was Calliope that recommended this to me in that book, in which much was written in a properly aristocratic way, I think I cannot doubt that this must always be deemed the best way: “One omen is best: to defend one’s country.”

The deliberation is presented as formally derived from the school of Socrates; that is, for Cicero, from the New Academy. What Cicero is promising is a rational discussion of the pros and cons of the two positions in similar terms that will result in a preference for one of the two. That, however, is not what he proceeds to do. Instead, he presents three options: resistance, neutrality, and support. Neutrality receives only a cursory consideration that equates it with a voluntary withdrawal from political life.10 Support for Caesar is considered at great length, with the focus on its practical advantages, outlined first by Balbus in terms that are flattering to Cicero in that they highlight his political influence and then, more frankly, by Cicero himself in a way that takes his political status into account but is also concerned with his safety and security. Resistance, the position Cicero chooses, is not discussed with the same parameters in mind. Apart from the brief mention of dimicatio, struggle, that would be involved and that provides a counterpoint to pax and otium, peace and leisure, in the discussion of the advantages to be derived from supporting Caesar’s law, the focus here is not on practical consequences, but rather on the projected external reactions, both the immediate (praise), and the more long-term (glory).

This direction is signaled in the first mention, plena laudis, and is developed at the end of the passage with the support of literary quotations. The form of deliberation followed here, then, does not conform fully to arguing in utramque partem. Instead, the decisive factor appears to be rather traditional: Cicero turns to an exemplum to guide him to proper action. What is far from traditional, however, is the extreme circularity of this appeal. It is not unusual for an outside observer or advisor to recall a man’s earlier achievements in an effort to inspire him to new actions.11 Here, however, Cicero seeks to inspire himself not by looking back on his great deeds, but on a representation of his character by Calliope as imagined by him in a poem that celebrates his consulship. This he presents as an external exhortation, emphasizing the authority of Calliope ipsa, and the normative nature of her address, praescripserit, as well as justifying his inclination to obey her call by the presence of other sentiments expressed in the poem.¹²

Why does Cicero appeal to a philosophical method of decision-making, but then fail to follow through and resort instead to a highly externalized self-image to guide him? While the two modes do not coalesce into a coherent deliberative model, they do share a normative, prescriptive quality, and would thus seem to indicate a desire on Cicero’s part to lock himself into a decision guided by externally imposed modes of thought that he approves of apart from any specific situation. The practical advantages that would accrue to him from supporting Caesar are clearly very appealing, and so it would seem that he needs the force of a philosophical framework and an exaggerated version of himself in a poem of praise to resist them. The ambivalence that he still feels is apparent in the final quote he chooses to state his decision. Hector is here speaking to Polydamas in book twelve of the Iliad. The context surrounding Hector’s noble sentiment is his refusal to listen to Polydamas’ interpretation of the portent of the eagle and the snake, but the reader is likely to remember that his resistance to Polydamas’ cautious advice not to push further towards the Greek ships will ultimately prove disastrous.13 The choice of this quotation thus reflects Cicero’s own ambivalence about the wisdom of his apparently noble choice.¹⁴

What about the collection of resources Cicero uses to direct himself to a decision, or, at least, to present the process of his decision-making to Atticus? It is rather eclectic, but the extra-political, nontraditional models dominate and ultimately prevail. Even the traditional paradigm of appealing to an exemplum is employed in a way that is generalized through the use of the muse of history as the mouthpiece, rather than specific, and intellectualized, as it appeals to Cicero the thinker instead of directly summoning Cicero the consul, the agent. This assemblage, though lacking internal consistency, outweighs the practical political considerations on this occasion by virtue of its intellectual pedigree. Cicero goes where the invocation of Socrates and Hector summon him, though well aware of the danger inherent in his choice. The very framework carries weight in that these sources seem to be used deliberately to give him the extra push towards what he sees as a difficult, but honorable decision.

An appeal to intellectual and, more specifically, philosophical resources in deliberation about a proper course of actions is most frequent in the letters of the civil war and Caesarian period. It was a time when the need to make difficult choices in unpredictable circumstances was becoming more common, and Cicero’s need to place his choices of the moment into a larger framework seems to increase correspondingly. The prominence of intellectual and philosophical means in providing this larger framework is particularly significant for understanding his thought during this time. My first example comes in a series of letters addressed to Servius Sulpicius Rufus in late April of year 49, when both men found themselves in a similar situation following the departure of Pompey from Italy and Caesar’s occupation of Rome. In a personal meeting at the end of March, Cicero had refused Caesar’s request to appear in the senate and speak favorably or, at least, to remain neutral.15 Servius, who did attend the meeting, spoke in a manner that was not to Caesar’s liking. The two consulars sought each other’s advice on whether to follow Pompey or remain in Italy. The first letter that Cicero wrote to Servius followed Servius’ inquiry, made through a close friend, as to Cicero’s whereabouts. In the course of the letter Cicero outlines the situation, both personal and political, and presents possible ways in which the deliberation could proceed. The passage central to my purposes follows Cicero’s identification of Servius as the perfect partner for considering the question. Its immediate goal is to explain what makes Servius the right man with whom to deliberate (and to flatter him through the approbation implied in the description). At the same time, the statement’s implications are more general: the sources that Cicero identifies as necessary for correct deliberation can only fulfill their function of flattering the addressee if the addressee recognizes them as drawing on a more general ideal:

nec enim clarissimorum virorum, quorum similes esse debemus, exempla neque doctissimorum, quos semper coluisti, praecepta te fugiunt. (Fam. 4.1.1; SB 150)

For neither the examples of the most renowned men, whom we ought to resemble, nor the teachings of the most learned, whom you have always cultivated, escape your notice.

In this rather brief summary of Servius’ deliberative qualifications, the first element, exempla clarissimorum virorum, refers to the traditional view that what should guide the Roman citizen in his decisions, if he is to achieve fame and immortality, is the mos maiorum, contained in the actions of the ancestors transmitted in history.¹⁶ What makes even this part of the statement less traditional, however, is the fact that Cicero puts it on an equal footing with another set of deliberative resources: in the conventional framework, the mos maiorum is all-embracing and self-sufficient; nothing beyond it is necessary to make the right choice.17

Cicero’s second element, doctissimorum praecepta, is a reference to philosophy, and, faute de mieux, Greek philosophy.¹⁸ I have already discussed in chapter 1 the difficulty in presenting philosophy as a positive force in Roman public life. Cicero’s struggles with the ingrained perception of philosophy as incompatible with productive service to the state, and, by implication, with the mos maiorum that motivates citizens in that service, will also constitute an important part of my discussion of the prefaces to the philosophica. It is thus particularly significant to find this pairing of tradition and philosophy in his private correspondence as the combination that he and men like him need to act well. That this combination is mirrored by the content of Cicero’s treatises, works that illustrate Greek philosophical thought with Roman exempla, further suggests the importance of joining the two in Cicero’s thought.¹⁹

In addition to the treatises themselves, the letters provide an example of Cicero’s blending of the two types of resources, albeit in modified form, in his analysis of his own situation. In a letter to Papirius Paetus composed in the summer of 46 he describes the indignities and uncertainties of life under Caesar.²⁰ In concluding the description, Cicero writes:

etenim, cum plena sint monumenta Graecorum quem ad modum sapientissimi viri regna tulerint vel Athenis vel Syracusis, cum servientibus suis civitatibus fuerint ipsi quodam modo liberi, ego me non putem tueri meum statum sic posse ut neque offendam animum cuiusquam nec frangam dignitatem meam? (Fam. 9.16.6; SB 190)

And indeed, since the records of the Greeks are full of how very wise men endured kingship, whether in Athens or in Syracuse, when, though their states were enslaved, they themselves somehow remained free, shouldn’t I think that I can preserve my position in such a way that I neither offend anyone nor break down my dignity?

What Cicero is appealing to here is a conflation of the two paradigms he offered Servius. Instead of using the examples of great statesmen and the teachings of philosophers, he is invoking what may be termed virorum sapientissimorum exempla. Practicing philosophy well under conditions of tyranny has been elevated to the same exemplary status as active participation in the political process, and is seen as providing a way of transcending the enslaved condition. Greek philosophers here serve as models for a Roman statesman forced to become a full-time philosopher.

Returning to the correspondence with Servius, we see that while the first letter sets out the general parameters of the decision to be made, the following letters, which contain actual reflections on the matter, provide a number of examples of Cicero’s use of philosophical argumentation in the deliberative process. Ad Familiares 4.2.2 (SB 151) frames the discussion in terms of the honorable (honestum, rectum, rectissimum), and the expedient (quid expediat), concluding that the two are identical for those who desire to be honorable themselves (ii qui esse debemus, boni). (Virtually the same terms are used in a letter on the same subject to L. Mescinius Rufus, 5.19.1-2 [SB 152].) The philosophical argument between what is right and what is profitable is at least as old as Plato’s Republic,21 and the identity of the two is uniformly advocated by those who champion virtue as the highest good.²² At the same time, it is significant that we find Cicero using boni in this context. While the term has philosophical currency, its presence in this passage cannot be divorced from Cicero’s continuous politically charged use of boni in promoting his vision of the positive elements within the state.²³ The political and the philosophical seem to overlap in Cicero’s thought here. We can see, moreover, how the philosophical can in fact be potentially useful to Cicero’s political goals. While his use of the term in a political context is so flexible as to be almost arbitrary,²⁴ giving boni a philosophical basis by connecting it with the abstract concept of the “good” that can be assumed to have a firm definition within a coherent system of thought in effect creates the illusion that its meaning in political contexts is more stable as well.25

Another letter that preceded the exchange with Servius by a month and a half, Ad Atticum 9.4 (SB 173), shows Cicero himself appealing to philosophy as a way to determine the correct way to act. While any letter penned by Cicero cannot be taken to present the author’s thought in an entirely direct and unmediated way, it is in the letters to Atticus, the man who comes closest to fulfilling the Aristotelian (and the Ciceronian) definition of a friend as alter ego, that we find Cicero at his most sincere.²⁶ The letter starts out with Cicero lamenting the state of affairs that precludes the two friends from engaging in their accustomed discourse (familiariter) and leaves him at a loss for subject matter (egeo argumento epistolarum). He then proceeds to list a series of questions that are on his mind regarding the decision he is facing in view of the conflict between Pompey and Caesar:27

Whether one should remain in one’s country when it is under a tyranny; whether one should work to bring about the overthrow of the tyranny in every way possible, even if on account of it every part of the state will be put at risk; whether one should beware of the one overthrowing (the tyranny) lest he take it upon himself; whether one should try to help his country, which is under tyranny, by choosing the right time for diplomacy rather than making war; whether living in peace having found a place to retire somewhere in his country, which is under a tyrant, befits a statesman, or whether one should instead undergo every danger for the sake of freedom; whether one should bring war upon his land and besiege it, when it is under tyranny; whether even if one does not approve of the overthrow of tyranny through war, one should nevertheless support the best men; if in political matters one must face danger together with one’s benefactors and friends, even if they do not seem to have reached good decisions in all matters; if a man who benefited his country greatly and on account of that very fact suffered irreparable damage and incurred ill-will should invite danger on behalf of his country or one should allow him at some point to take thought for himself and his household, letting go of political resistance against those in power.

The relevance of these questions to Cicero’s situation and the decision over which he agonizes during this time is clear: the reader can supply the names of Pompey and Caesar as the tyrant and the liberator, who may well turn into a tyrant, and will see clearly the reference to Cicero’s suppression of the Catilinarian conspiracy and the exile that followed the great statesman’s benefaction to his ungrateful country. Despite this transparency, a number of features significantly distinguish this letter from other discussions of the current political circumstances in the letters of this time-period.

In the first place, it is noteworthy that Cicero chooses to phrase his questions in a generalized normative manner, instead of openly referring to the specifics. The consistent use of the Greek verbal adjective, an impersonal and abstract way of expressing obligation, emphasizes Cicero’s goal in attempting this mode of deliberation: he wants to universalize the issues so that he can arrive at the most proper decision. As we know, Cicero did in this case follow the philosophical imperative and chose the side to which his loyalty and his sense of right directed him instead of the course of neutrality and safety. He almost immediately realized that it was a disaster in practical terms and left Pompey’s camp as soon as he felt that he had fulfilled what duty required, but, in the years that followed, he remained content in the realization that on this occasion he chose to follow his convictions.

Here, in his quest for the moral imperative, Cicero does not follow the familiar path of Roman tradition that he demonstrated on many occasions in his speeches by recalling to mind how famous Romans of the past had acted in similar situations and extracting lessons from their behavior.28 Thus, his choice of language is significant and conscious: the entire list is presented in Greek, the language proper to the type of philosophical discourse that Cicero is invoking by framing the questions abstractly.²⁹ What we see here is Cicero practicing what he is later going to preach in the treatises: the application of philosophy to decision-making in matters important to the state.30 In those later years, we see Cicero, no longer capable, in his new circumstances, of following the call of virtue, trying to inspire his readers, and especially the younger generation, to incorporate philosophical thinking into their deliberations.

The questions set out by Cicero remind one, in their phrasing, not only of a philosophical search for truth, but also of the kinds of questions posed as exercises in rhetorical declamation.³¹ And in fact, in the section that follows the list of questions, Cicero tells Atticus that he has been thinking about these issues and arguing opposing positions one after the other (in his ego me consultationibus exercens et disserens in utramque partem tum Graece tum Latine). Far from diminishing the philosophical value of his deliberation,³² this constitutes a further foreshadowing of the philosophical treatises of the 40s, in many of which Cicero will present opposing philosophical arguments in a consciously rhetorical manner, through the use of different speakers and a dialogue form.³³ It is tempting to speculate about what use Cicero made of the two languages on this occasion. Did he alternate from question to question? Did he choose a language for each side, and if so, was he consistent? We cannot know what his practice actually was, but the occasion is significant, for we find Cicero, in a time of serious personal and political crisis, expressing Greek philosophical ideas in Latin.

This letter represents, moreover, a further development in Cicero’s use of the deliberative mode in utramque partem. In the first instance, in the letter from 60 discussed above, we saw Cicero alluding to the method of deliberating but not actually applying the paradigm rigorously. An intermediate stage, also dealing with the issue of deciding on the appropriate course given the conflict between Pompey and Caesar, can be seen in a letter to Atticus written in mid-February of 49, asking for advice:

maximis et miserrimis rebus perturbatus, cum coram tecum mihi potestas deliberandi non esset, uti tamen tuo consilio volui. deliberatio autem omnis haec est, si Pompeius Italia excedat, quod eum facturum esse suspicor, quid mihi agendum putes. et quo facilius consilium dare possis, quid in utramque partem mihi in mentem veniat explicabo brevi. (Att. 8.3.1; SB 153)

Disturbed by my truly terrible situation, although I have no ability of deliberating with you face to face, nonetheless I wanted to make use of your counsel. But the entire deliberation lies in the following question: if Pompey leaves Italy, which I suspect he will, what do you think I must do? And in order to allow you better to give your advice, I will briefly lay out what comes into mind in favor of each course of action.

In this case, Cicero proceeds in the way he formally outlines in the beginning, summarizing in turn the arguments in favor of each choice, discussing the likely consequences of either decision should Pompey or Caesar emerge victorious in the end,34 and coming back again and again to the limitation imposed on his freedom of action by the fact that he is still in possession of the fasces in expectation of his Cilician triumph.³⁵ The form that his presentation takes is a combination of the particular and the general. For the most part, specifics of his situations are referred to and the main players are mentioned by name. He also frames his case in the traditional way, by invoking exempla from the Roman past:³⁶ he appeals to the precedent of Lucius Philippus, Lucius Flaccus and Quintus Mucius, who remained in Rome under Cinna’s dominatio.37 He singles out Mucius as the one who articulated his desire to sacrifice himself rather than bear arms against his country. A counterexample is provided not by a Roman, but by a Greek: Thrasybulus, who was exiled by the Thirty Tyrants but then defeated the Thirty and their Spartan supporters, eventually restoring democratic government to Athens.³⁸ Cicero is using the exempla, whose range he expands to include Greek figures, to think about the analogous decision that he must make, either to leave his fatherland to join the party whose goals are closest to his own or to reject the horrible option of taking up arms against Rome.³⁹ Yet within this discussion a more generalized type of deliberation also takes place, which anticipates the fully generalized questions of Att. 9.4 (SB 173): Cicero switches from considering his obligation to Pompey as an amicus to thinking about what is expected of a man like him, a vir fortis et bonus civis.⁴⁰ In a similar move, in another letter to Atticus written a week and a half later Cicero quotes Scipio’s description (in book five of his De Re Publica) of the ideal statesman, moderator rei publicae, measures Pompey against that standard, and finds him lacking.⁴¹ We can then see 9.4 as a culmination of Cicero’s gradual integration of a philosophical mode of deliberation into his practical thinking. First alluded to and carrying some weight by virtue of its association with the philosophical way of thinking, then applied more formally as a framework when he asks the philosophically-minded Atticus for advice, until finally, penetrating into the body of the discussion itself through a more generalized look at his situation, the philosophical model emerges as in itself sufficient to guide his actions without any need to deal directly with specifics. The philosophical model seems to prove more appealing as the particulars of the situation become increasingly uncertain and difficult to control.

Along these same lines, there are moments when Cicero’s despair at his inability to come to the right decision using rational means leads him to outbursts of frustration because intellectual resources seem to be failing him. A letter of mid-March 49, written shortly after Pompey left Italy, Att. 9.10, shows him angry at his decision not to follow Pompey (amens) and so overcome by longing that he is led to compare his relationship with Pompey to a love-affair (sicut nunc emergit amor, nunc desiderium ferre non possum, nunc mihi nihil libri, nihil litterae, nihil doctrina prodest, “now my love bursts forth, now I can not endure the longing, now books, letters, learning are of no use to me” (Att. 9.10.2; SB 177).

A bitterly ironic reference to exactly the kind of philosophical deliberation that Cicero once employed in making his decision and later found insufficient comes in a letter addressed to Paetus, written at a very different time, late in the year 46, when the political situation following Caesar’s departure for Spain seemed stable and, thus, to Cicero, hopeless (nor is he very proud of his own conduct during this time):42

miraris tam exhilaratam esse servitutem nostram? quid ergo faciam? te consulo, qui philosophum audis. angar, excruciem me? quid assequar? deinde quem ad finem? (Fam. 9.26.1; SB 197)

You wonder that our slavery is so cheery? What am I to do then? I ask you for advice; you are the one who listens to a philosopher. Should I suffer? Should I torment myself? What would I accomplish? Then to what end?

The normative tone of the Latin deliberatives here is reminiscent of the verbal adjectives of Att. 9.4.2 (SB 173), discussed above. In that earlier letter the phrasing of the questions suggested the author’s inclination towards the imperative of virtue dictated by Greek philosophy. Here he implies negative answers and emphasizes the self-destructiveness and futility of trying, in his present circumstances, to come to terms with the philosophically motivated course of action. He pushes against Paetus’ imagined disapproval by directing him to the content of the lectures he is probably attending in Naples: Cicero is enjoying himself, so Paetus the Epicurean should be pleased. Instead, the imaginary Paetus exhorts Cicero to live in litteris. This occasions a new burst of frustration with intellectual life as having a modus: one has to do something else, so Cicero is dining with friends. The tone of this letter is in sharp contrast to that of the treatises, especially to the prefaces in which Cicero consistently emphasizes philosophy’s potential to be useful in all eventualities and the imperative to follow its precepts regardless of circumstances. At this later stage the philosophically based action has been displaced from Cicero’s life, where due to his helpless circumstances it is of little use, into his writing. Unable to practice virtue in the way philosophy dictates, he can at least teach virtue in the hopes of inspiring his readers to know and follow what is proper better than he can himself.43

I conclude this section by looking at another intriguing piece of evidence, provided by Ad Atticum 16.5 (SB 410), a letter that will move our focus from deliberative modes to the role of philosophy in the formation and improvement of character. This letter describes the character transformation undergone by Quintus the Younger, the wayward nephew of both Cicero and Atticus. The description is a deliberate fake, as we know from an earlier letter that Cicero sent to Atticus by special courier and which is fortunately preserved as well, Ad Atticum 16.1 (SB 409). This letter indicates that Quintus, who was staying with Cicero and visited Brutus with him, was putting pressure on his uncle to use him as a courier and send a letter to Atticus, to whose house he was traveling next. The young man’s excessive eagerness aroused Cicero’s suspicions that the letter would not reach Atticus unread; thus, he penned the false praise of Ad Atticum 16.5.⁴⁴ Shackleton Bailey’s comment on Ad Atticum 16.5.2 expresses surprise that Cicero would expect someone of Quintus’ intelligence to be taken in by the letter given the “stilted style of this paragraph.” Yet Quintus’ father had accepted his transformation as genuine, and Cicero’s decision to send a letter to warn Atticus indicates that he expected that Atticus himself might be taken in. Thus, though we may feel that, had the letter been genuinely meant, Cicero would have demonstrated a shocking level of credulity, it must nevertheless be acknowledged in its general lines to have been sufficiently in character and reflective of his thought to appear plausible to Atticus and to the expected over-reader, Quintus himself.

Before I discuss the content of the letter, some background is in order. Quintus the Younger occupies a special place in the correspondence between Cicero and Atticus, because the two men have the same blood relationship to him and in particular because he is the offspring of a marriage that they arranged and repeatedly patched up. Unlike the letters about Quintus the Elder and Pomponia, the young man’s parents, in which each correspondent predictably takes a defensive stance on behalf of his sibling, Cicero’s references to the younger Quintus show his expectation that he and Atticus are in full agreement about the young man. The relationship between Quintus and his two uncles goes through a number of stages. He first appears in letters from Cilicia, traveling to and within the province in the company of his younger cousin, Marcus. Cicero the unwilling governor is making the best of his year of exile, as he perceives it, by at least providing an educational opportunity for his son and nephew. The two boys are often treated identically, though there are indications that Quintus is in need of some guidance. Cicero’s paternal attitude towards Quintus at this point can be taken for granted.45

A letter of April 49, however, makes a reference to Quintus’ problematic character as a familiar topic of discussion (nosti reliqua) between the two men.⁴⁶ It is clear that Quintus is now seen as a potential source of danger to Cicero, but that the latter is still trying to take him in hand. The danger became realized when Quintus, having followed Pompey to Greece with his father and having been pardoned by Caesar following Pompey’s defeat, took it upon himself to slander his uncle Cicero in the Caesarian circles given the slightest opportunity. Even before he was received by Caesar, young Quintus presented himself as Cicero’s professed enemy (se mihi esse inimicissimum) and prepared to accuse his uncle in Caesar’s presence.⁴⁷ As late as August of 45, he is still found portraying his uncle (and, now, his father as well) as dangerous enemies of Caesar and his regime (Att. 13.37.2; SB 346). So it was that in the years immediately before and after the civil war, Quintus the Younger proved first a painful disappointment, then a source of embarrassment, and at last a potential danger to his uncles.⁴⁸

The situation remained unchanged in the months directly following Caesar’s assassination. Quintus expressed his loyalty to the dictator’s memory in an ostentatious manner that upset and worried his relatives, and then he found a place for himself at Antony’s side.49 The surprising change in Quintus’ attitude and behavior is first mentioned in the letter of June 44, and his reported protestations of dislike for Antony’s regime are initially met with suspicion both by Cicero and Quintus the Elder. However, the latter, to his brother’s dismay, is quickly won over by expressions of filial duty and affection.⁵⁰ On July 3rd Quintus appeared at his uncle’s house and a couple of days later accompanied him to Puteoli to reconcile with Brutus.⁵¹ It is against this background that the letter praising Quintus needs to be read. I will quote the relevant section in its entirety:

nunc audi quod pluris est quam omnia. Quintus filius⁵² fuit mecum dies compluris et, si ego cuperem, ille vel pluris fuisset; sed quam diu fuit, incredibile est quam me in omni genere delectarit in eoque maxime in quo minime satis faciebat. sic enim commutatus est totus et scriptis meis quibusdam quae in manibus habebam et adsiduitate orationis et praeceptis ut tali animo in rem publicam quali nos volumus futurus sit. hoc cum mihi non modo confirmasset sed etiam persuasisset, egit mecum accurate multis verbis tibi ut sponderem se dignum et te et nobis futurum; neque se postulare ut statim crederes sed, cum ipse perspexisses, tum ut se amares. quod nisi fidem mihi fecisset iudicassemque hoc quod dico firmum fore, non fecissem id quod dicturus sum. duxi enim mecum adulescentem ad Brutum. sic ei probatum est quod ad te scribo ut ipse crediderit, me sponsorem accipere noluerit eumque laudans amicissime mentionem tui fecerit, complexus osculatusque dimiserit. quam ob rem etsi magis est quod gratuler tibi quam quod te rogem, tamen etiam rogo ut, si quae minus antea propter infirmitatem aetatis constanter ab eo fieri videbantur, ea iudices illum abiecisse mihique credas multum adlaturam vel plurimum potius ad illius iudicium confirmandum auctoritatem tuam. (Att. 16.5.2: SB 410)

Now hear what is worth more than all else. Quintus was with me for a number of days, and, if I wanted, would have stayed even longer; but as long as he was here, it is amazing how he pleased me in everything and especially in that respect in which he used to be the least satisfactory. For he is so entirely transformed both by certain writings of mine which I happened to have with me, and by my uninterrupted discourse and teachings that he will have such disposition towards the republic as we desire him to have. After he had not only assured me of this, but also convinced me, he pleaded with me insistently in many words to assure you that he would be worthy of both you and me; and he was not asking that you believe (in his changed attitude) straightaway, but, that once you yourself observed it, you treat him with affection. And unless he had convinced me of this and I had judged that the transformation I am describing would remain firm, I wouldn’t have done what I am about to narrate. For I took the young man with me to Brutus. And he (Brutus) was so persuaded of what I’ve been telling you that he in his own right trusted (Quintus), wasn’t willing to accept me as a guarantor, and, in praising him, made a most friendly mention of you, then, having embraced and kissed him, let him go. For this reason, although there is more to congratulate you on than to ask you for, nonetheless I do ask you that, if any of his previous actions, on account of the weakness of his age, seemed to be rather inconstant, you judge that he has cast them off and believe me that the weight of your opinion will add much, or, rather, the most significant, influence towards confirming his new judgment.

Cicero’s goal, as we know, is to write a letter that will convince the snooping Quintus that his uncle was thoroughly taken in by his professions of change. What is significant for my purposes are the types and the hierarchy of reasons Cicero advances to justify this apparent change to Atticus. Even though both Cicero and Atticus, as Quintus must have been aware, were already informed of his intention to change sides, Cicero represents the change as having largely occurred under his roof and through his personal influence. This in itself would not seem suspicious to Quintus or Atticus, as this is not a simple exaggeration, but rather a convention common to the genre of litterae commendaticae, which locates the request made of the addressee entirely within the relationships between the writer and the addressee, on the one hand, and the writer and the man recommended in the letter, on the other.53

Within the functioning of this generic convention, the author of a letter would normally place emphasis on the particular aspects of the relationships involved that he expected would appeal to his correspondent.⁵⁴ In this case, however, the existence of a specific expected over-reader, who was in fact the more important addressee, rather complicates the situation. Cicero writes what he expects will appear plausible to Quintus. That, in turn, is his perception of what Quintus sees as important to Cicero in his relationship with Atticus. The influences Cicero specifies as having affected change in Quintus are his own writings, scriptis meis, his conversation, adsiduitate orationis, and his teachings, praecepta. The arrangement of the three elements in a descending tricolon puts the most weight on the first element. Thus, the oratio and the praecepta in question must be related to, and follow from, the content of whatever work(s) Cicero gave Quintus to read. These are likely to be texts that he was working on at the time: the two possibilities that are cited by Shackleton Bailey are the lost De Gloria and De Officiis. De Officiis is a particularly tempting suggestion because of its prescriptive ethical content and explicit didactic intent: after all, the work is dedicated to Quintus’ cousin, Cicero’s son Marcus.⁵⁵

While the account of how Cicero influenced Quintus through these means is insincere, the fact of Quintus’ expected over-reading assures the accuracy of the description of the interaction that took place between uncle and nephew. Cicero must in fact have given Quintus some of his writings to read and then discussed their implications for Quintus’ own behavior. That means that Cicero felt that his works did have potential for use as a pedagogical and deliberative tool.56 He viewed the younger Quintus as a man without ethical potential and did not believe that philosophy alone could reform his character, but nonetheless offered his writings to Quintus with the avowed goal of improving his character. This lends credence to Cicero’s hope, expressed in the prefaces to the treatises, that his work of making philosophy available and sufficiently Roman might affect a change in the younger generation of the elite. For, after all, he felt that philosophy was able to influence him in no small matter, his regard for his own reputation:

de fama nihil sane laboro; etsi scripseram ad te tunc stulte ‘nihil melius’; curandum enim non est. atque hoc ‘in omni vita sua quemque a recta conscientia traversum unguem non oportet discedere’ viden quam an tu nos frustra existimas haec in manibus habere? (Att. 13.20.4; SB 328)

I certainly don’t worry at all about my reputation; although I had written to you stupidly back then that “nothing is better”; for one must not concern oneself with it. And this, “no one should depart from his upright conscience even a nail’s breadth in all of his life,” do you see how philosophically it is expressed? You don’t think that I’ve been busying myself with these things in vain, do you?

PHILOSOPHY AND POLITICS

A number of letters touch on Cicero’s views of the relationship between philosophy, as a discipline and a practice, and political life. This is an issue of central importance for contextualizing the claims that Cicero makes in the prefaces to the philosophica about philosophy’s potential as an alternative to traditional public life under circumstances of forced political inactivity. Specifically, the notion that there is a complementary and mutually dependent relationship between traditional political activity and intellectual activity broadly defined (studia), and philosophy in particular, is in evidence in Cicero’s earliest surviving correspondence with Atticus. This early appearance of the pattern whereby disappointment or restriction in the political arena leads to a greater investment in intellectual life could be seen as corresponding to the traditional otium/negotium paradigm, though it exhibits significant differences from the Ciceronian take on that model as presented in a more public context, the Pro Archia being the best example. That speech argued for greater recognition of the importance of intellectual engagement—in this case with poetry in particular—but nonetheless assigned it a decidedly secondary position. It was a way for the statesman to recharge so that he could return to his traditional negotia refreshed and better able to fulfill his duty to the state.57 What we see in the letters differs in that the two types of activity are posited as choices, so that a statesman who is unable to perform his functions as desired can imagine redirecting his energies into intellectual life.

In the summer of 61, in the aftermath of Clodius’ trial and in anticipation of the consular elections on July twenty seventh, Cicero’s position was somewhat precarious, and he felt this state of affairs particularly acutely, coming as it did so soon after his triumphant consulship. At the end of a long letter addressed to Atticus in early July, he discussed, among other things, the lex de ambitu proposed by Lurco, one of the tribunes.⁵⁸ The bill stipulated that those who promised bribes in a tribe would only be punished if money actually changed hands. Cicero found the proposal absurd. At the end of the discussion of the matter, his indignation seems to overflow, his irritation with the bill compounded by frustration at Pompey’s promotion of Afranius’ candidacy for the consulship, a travesty in Cicero’s view:

sed heus tu, videsne consulatum illum nostrum, quem Curio antea vocabat, si hic factus erit, fabam mimum futurum? qua re, ut opinor, id quod tu facis, et istos consulatus non flocci facteon. (Att. 1.16.13; SB 16)

But, alas, do you see that that consulship of ours, which Curio used to refer to as apotheosis, if he [Afranius] is elected, will become a matter for vulgar ridicule? So, I think, one must engage in philosophy, what you are doing, and reckon those consulships of theirs of no import.

At this point Cicero leaves off his discussion of public affairs, finally fed up, and turns to personal matters, including poetry. In this context Cicero mentions epigrammata that Atticus composed for the shrine of Amalthea that he built on his Buthrotum estate:⁵⁹ epigrammatis tuis, quae in Amaltheo posuisti, contenti erimus, praesertim cum et Thyillus nos reliquerit et Archias nihil de me scripserit, “we’ll have to content ourselves with the epigrams you have placed in your Amaltheum, especially since Thyillus has abandoned us and Archias has written nothing about me” (Att. 1.16.15; SB 16). These poems have been connected to a passage in Nepos’ Life of Atticus that describes, among Atticus’ literary compositions, books containing brief verse descriptions of the accomplishments of great Romans that were placed under their imagines.60 Given the rest of the sentence, the epigrammata Cicero is referring to have him as their subject, as they are to provide him some partial consolation for the neglect he has suffered from other poets whom he had expected to celebrate his achievements.⁶¹ The tone, and the mention of Archias, a year after the latter’s trial, seems to bring us back to the model set out in Cicero’s speech on that occasion: Cicero is turning now to Atticus’ celebration of him both as a temporary escape from the frustrations of the political life and to find inspiration in a literary representation of his greatness. This discussion of poetry, following as it does the mention of turning to philosophy as practiced by Atticus, lies behind Shackleton Bailey’s interpretation of as meaning “literary studies” and his accompanying comment that “how far philosophia corresponds to ‘philosophy’ depends on the context.”⁶²

I suggest, however, that the discussion of poetry does not illustrate what Cicero was proposing, if only at a moment of intense frustration, in the earlier passage, but rather represents a retreat from it and a return to the more traditional paradigm. The earlier appeal to Atticus as exemplifying what Cicero is invoking, namely, the downgrading of the highest magistracy on the scale of priorities, indicates that Cicero is not referring to any individual activities that Atticus engages in, but rather to his decision not to pursue a senatorial career. then represents more than literary pursuits, more than philosophical practice even; it connotes intellectual activity as a replacement for active political life. The hybrid facteon, a Greek formation given to a Latin verb,⁶³ is then itself a playful illustration of where the model here proposed could lead: a life of action, still Roman at its foundations, but conceived of in a Greek manner. It is a glimpse of an alternate path. But no more than that.

What makes this brief gesture significant is the frequent recurrence of such momentary flirtations with an alternative in times of political difficulties. The alternative is often philosophically based, though sometimes more broadly conceived as studia or litterae. It continues to crop up during the period leading up to Cicero’s exile. In Ad Atticum 2.5.2 (SB 25), written in April 59 when Cicero is navigating a difficult course vis-à-vis the triumvirs, he hints at a temptation, the possibility of the augurate, only immediately to correct himself:

vide levitatem meam! sed quid ego haec, quae cupio deponere et toto animo atque omni cura sic, inquam, in animo est; vellem ab initio, nunc vero, quoniam quae putavi esse praeclara expertus sum quam essent inania, cum omnibus Musis rationem habere cogito. (Att. 2.5.2; SB 25)

Look at my fickleness! Why should I bother with these things, which I want to set aside and to devote all my spirit and all my efforts to philosophy? That, I say, is what is in my heart. If only those had been my wishes from the beginning; but now, since I have learned from experience how empty are the things that I considered most glorious, I intend to deal with all the Muses.

Here, as in the previous letter, disappointment with the options currently available to him in the political arena and with the general state of affairs is what leads Cicero to invoke the intellectual alternative. Once again, it is not a thoroughly worked-out program for replacing his current commitments, but rather a general reference to the intellectual sphere as the natural place to turn to for a substitute. Nor is it entirely serious, as Cicero’s self-conscious comment on the temptation that a prestigious priesthood poses despite his alleged commitment to intellectual remove clearly indicates. Yet such offhand comments continue to turn up. Frustrated with the triumvirs again, Cicero urges Atticus: qua re, mihi crede, iuratus tibi possum dicere nihil esse tanti, “therefore, trust me, let’s give ourselves to philosophy. I can swear to you that nothing is more valuable” (Att. 2.13.2; SB 33).

More firmly rooted is the reference in a letter of late April–early May of 59, written in Formiae in response to Atticus’ reaction to the newly proposed agrarian bill. The letter shares with the others in this group an overall sense of disappointment and frustration. The desire to turn away from politics is here expressed entirely within a philosophical framework:

nunc prorsus hoc statui ut, quoniam tanta controversia64 est Dicaearcho, familiari tuo, cum Theophrasto, amico meo, ut ille tuus longe omnibus anteponat, hic autem utrique a me mos gestus esse videatur. puto enim me Dicaearcho adfatim satis fecisse; respicio nunc ad hanc familiam quae mihi non modo ut requiescam permittit sed reprehendit quia non semper quierim. qua re incumbamus, o noster Tite, ad illa praeclara studia et eo unde discedere non oportuit aliquando revertamur. (Att. 2.16.3; SB 36)

Now I have indeed decided, since there is such a great dispute between your intimate Dicaearchus and my friend Theophrastus, as your man puts the practical life ahead of all others by far, but mine prefers the contemplative, that I appear to have gratified each of them. For I think I have certainly done more than enough for Dicaearchus; now I look back to that camp that not only allows me to take some rest, but scolds me for not having always been at peace. Therefore, let us, my dear Titus, direct our attention to those splendid studies and finally return to that place which I should never have left.

The general sentiment expressed in this letter is largely the same as in those discussed above: political life has produced only disappointments, so it is time to set politics aside and return to the more potentially satisfying intellectual pursuits. What is different in this formulation, however, is that both alternatives are here framed, for the first time, as philosophically based choices. Cicero is no longer conceiving of his options as political versus the intellectual, but as a decision between two philosophical approaches, a choice motivated primarily not by practical, but by philosophical considerations.⁶⁵ As in the deliberative letters discussed in the previous section, Cicero’s correspondence here shows episodic, but deepening forays into the philosophical sphere.

What then about the more traditional way of conceiving of studia and intellectual activity—as located securely in the realm of otium, as meant to provide relaxation and diversion from the daily political labors—the view that, despite all the efforts to elevate their status, lies at the foundation of Cicero’s defense of Archias? It too crops up in a letter of this period (and it would be surprising if it did not). In asking Atticus to oversee the transfer of a library into his possession and professing his great desire for the books, Cicero identifies his studia as a refuge to which he devotes all the time he can spare from the toil of the courts (Att. 1.20.7; SB 20).66 In April 55, a similar sentiment arises in regard to the library of Faustus Sulla, as Cicero is anticipating his meeting with Pompey:

ego hic pascor bibliotheca Fausti. fortasse tu putabas his rebus Puteolanis et Lucrinensibus. ne ista quidem desunt, sed mehercule ut a ceteris oblectationibus deseror et voluptatibus cum propter aetatem tum⁶⁷ propter rem publicam, sic litteris sustentor et recreor maloque in illa tua sedecula quam habes sub imagine Aristotelis sedere quam in istorum sella curuli tecumque apud te ambulare quam cum eo quocum video esse ambulandum. sed de illa ambulatione fors viderit aut si qui est qui curet deus. (Att. 4.10.1; SB 84)

Here I feast on Faustus’ library. Perhaps you thought it was all that Puteolan and Lucrine stuff. Certainly, that is not lacking either. But as surely as all others delights and pleasures fail me, given both my age and the state of the republic, so I am sustained and reborn through letters and prefer to sit in that little seat that you have under the likeness of Aristotle than in those men’s curule seat, and to walk with you at your house than with him, with whom I see that I must walk. But about that walk may fortune take care and if there is some divinity that concerns itself with it.

The library in this passage plays the same restorative role as the literary studia in Att. 1.20 and the Pro Archia.⁶⁸ Yet the sentiment here has a lot in common with the group of letters discussed above, in which intellectual engagement is conceived of as a potential alternative to the political life. Atticus and Aristotle, representing the philosophical life, are imagined as a possible alternative to Pompey and the sella curulis, the now corrupt political life.69 Cicero both expresses a preference for the contemplative model and allows his sense of duty to hold him to his earlier choice. The two strands in his thought as found in the letters thus coalesce here, and the restorative function of intellectual pursuits emerges as the lesser, albeit more appealing option. It is an attractive refuge at a difficult time when full commitment is not a possible alternative.

I now move to discuss letters addressed to men other than Atticus, all of which come from the 40s and are thus directly relevant to the question of how Cicero presents philosophy in relation to politics during the period leading up to his philosophical treatises. The first letter, written to Cato during Cicero’s term as governor of Cilicia, is part of a publicity campaign designed to induce the senate to vote him a supplication for his military accomplishments in his province as the necessary first step towards a triumph—a measure that Cato was expected to, and, in fact, did, oppose.⁷⁰ As a letter addressed to someone whose relationship with Cicero was far from intimate, and one written primarily to convince the addressee to do something that is advantageous to the author, this is a type of text whose purposefully rhetorical nature renders it less useful as a window into the author’s own thoughts. Conversely, precisely because of its sharply persuasive focus, it can be taken as a fairly accurate representation of Cicero’s perception of, on the one hand, what Cato’s reservations would be in this matter, and, on the other hand, what kind of arguments would likely appeal to Cato and secure his support.

Most of Cicero’s persuasive strategies are part of a common stock to be found in any letter containing a request. The very fact of his writing a personal letter to Cato that includes a detailed account of the military action honors the addressee, since information about the campaign would be available to Cato in the official dispatch that Cicero sent to the senate. Thus, the importance of the account, which occupies most of the letter, lies not in its content so much as in the fact that Cicero is singling Cato out of the senatorial body as someone who deserves to receive a personalized version.71 The letter also contains the standard appeal to the history of the relationship between the two men:⁷² Cicero recalls the occasions on which the two were political allies, the times when Cato expressly praised Cicero in public. He cites Cato’s precedent in having voted in favor of a supplication for Cicero in the aftermath of the Catilinarian conspiracy in 63, makes general references to friendship (amicitia), a commonality of pursuits, and an exchange of favors (studiis et officiis mutuis), and alludes to the relationship between the two men’s fathers⁷³ (necessitudine paterna).⁷⁴ But the part of the letter that stands out is the concluding section, which deals with the philosophical connection between the writer and the addressee:

extremum illud est, ut quasi diffidens rogationi meae philosophiam ad te adlegem, qua nec mihi carior ulla umquam res in vita fuit nec hominum generi maius a deis munus ullum est datum. haec igitur, quae mihi tecum communis est, societas studiorum atque artium nostrarum, quibus a pueritia dediti ac devincti soli prope modum nos philosophiam veram illam et antiquam, quae quibusdam otii esse ac desidiae videtur, in forum atque in rem publicam atque in ipsam aciem paene deduximus, tecum agit de mea laude; cui negari a Catone fas esse non puto. (Fam. 15.4.16; SB 110)

This is my last point: as if unsure in my request, I dispatch philosophy to you, than which no other thing has been dearer to me in life and no greater gift has been bestowed by the gods upon the race of men: therefore, this unity, which you and I share, of pursuits and accomplishments, devoted to and bound by which since boyhood we, virtually alone, have managed to introduce that true and ancient philosophy, which to certain men seems to be a mark of leisure and sloth, into the forum and into public life and almost into the very battle-line, this unity then pleads with you concerning my glory, and I think that it would not be right for Cato to say “no” to it.

This passage articulates a number of ideas that will find expression in many of the prefaces to the philosophical treatises in the following years. The praise of philosophy as the greatest gift to mankind, the emphasis on its continuous importance in Cicero’s life, as well as the reference to philosophical pursuits as shared by the author and the given dedicatee, are common themes. In particular, there are striking parallels with the preface to the Paradoxa Stoicorum, written in the spring of 46 in a very different political climate. In that treatise Cato himself is featured prominently as both an exemplum and as the uncle of the dedicatee, Brutus.75 Here, in a private letter, it is instructive to find that Cicero not only refers to general views that he would later propagate in the treatises, but also articulates the idea of introducing philosophy into political life. Finding it expressed at a time when the republic, though troubled, seemed fairly stable to the two correspondents lends a certain amount of credibility to its expression at a later time when virtually no other options were available to Cicero. What we see here is Cicero’s representation of what he perceives Cato’s thoughts to be on the desired relationship between philosophy and politics. That Cicero took Cato’s views seriously is indicated by another part of the letter that deals with his conduct as a governor: we know from letters to Atticus that Cicero did in fact try to uphold “Catonian” standards of gubernatorial behavior.⁷⁶ Thus, it is tempting, in light of this letter, to interpret the composition of the treatises, at a time when Cicero threw himself headlong into a posthumous campaign to glorify Cato, not only as an attempt to bring into existence a new generation that would embrace Cicero’s own views, but a generation of potential Catos, who would admit philosophy into every area of political life, just as he had done.⁷⁷

Another letter makes reference to the problematic relationship between philosophy and politics, posited by proponents of both. It is addressed to Varro and was written in June of year 46 in expectation of Caesar’s return to Italy. Cicero praises at length Varro’s current life of dedication to scholarship and then goes on to introduce the dichotomy between such a life, conceived by him as in large measure philosophical, and the usual political lifestyle:

quis enim hoc non dederit nobis, ut, cum opera nostra patria sive non possit uti sive nolit, ad eam vitam revertamur quam multi docti homines, fortasse non recte sed tamen multi, etiam rei publicae praeponendam putaverunt? quae igitur studia magnorum hominum sententia vacationem habent quandam publici muneris, iis concedente re publica cur non abutamur? (Fam. 9.6.5; SB 181)

For who would not grant us the following, that, at a time when the state either cannot or is not willing to make use of our services, we return to that life which many learned men, perhaps not correctly, but many of them, nonetheless, thought was to be preferred to public life? Therefore since these pursuits in the opinion of great men contain an exemption from public work, why are we not to spend our time in them, when the state allows it?

What is noteworthy and typical here is Cicero’s inability, even at a time when it would seem most natural and when he is addressing a most sympathetic audience, to wholeheartedly follow the line of thought that champions philosophy, and intellectual pursuits more generally, to the exclusion of engagement in politics. He is so deeply uncomfortable with advocating such a view that he qualifies his endorsement, such as it is, not once, but twice. First with the aside, fortasse non recte, which in effect cancels everything he has said in defense of the scholarly life or, rather, transforms his stance vis-à-vis the ideas he is presenting from that of an endorser to that of a reporter carefully keeping his distance. The second qualification further undermines his support for this view: Cicero suggests that his and Varro’s turn to the contemplative life is acceptable only because they have the permission of the public; it is the state that has let them go, concedente re publica. Finally, in addition to these fairly explicit qualifying statements, Cicero’s insistence on citing the authority of “great men” as the real source of the opinion, and, in particular, his repetition of multi, as if saying “at least there is strength in numbers on this side,” also serve to mark his discomfort.

This formulation reveals Cicero’s ultimate unwillingness to take sides in the controversy. Just as he tried to incorporate philosophy as much as possible into his practice as an active statesman, and gestured towards a whole-hearted acceptance of the contemplative life in times of political difficulties, so in the post-civil war period, when he is debarred from politics, he is yet unable to resign himself to “pure” philosophy. The political ends up permeating everything he does. Thus, the production of the treatises performs a function in his later life that mirrors such diverse episodes in his earlier career as inserting philosophical views in his speeches and conducting his governorship on an ethically correct basis. It reflects his desire to reject the divisive view and bring the two spheres, politics and philosophy, together in a harmonious whole, an enterprise in its nature quite parallel to the other major aspect of the treatises, the bringing together of the Greek and the Roman, theory and exempla.

As far as the letters allow us to supplement what we know based on Cicero’s literary output, then, a rough chronological trajectory of his developing views can be mapped out. We can see occasional recourse to intellectual pursuits in their restorative capacity, combined with gestures towards the possibility of choosing the intellectual over the political in times of crisis in the pre-civil war years, evolving into a comprehensive engagement with philosophy manifested in the process of writing philosophical treatises during the period when he is unable to actively serve the state. This engagement is accompanied, however, by private doubts as to the ultimate validity of the claims he advances for philosophy’s power in his own treatises. The private comments found in Cicero’s letters are as important as the publicly presented ideas of the Pro Archia and the self-justificatory claims in the philosophical prefaces to our understanding of the sources from which the fully developed model of philosophical activity as a substitute for political life will later arise. It is also symptomatic that his reaching out to the intellectual world as a true substitute occurs mainly at times of political insecurity, when Cicero’s political stature and his future prospects are in doubt. Such moments of insecurity could be said to culminate and morph into a permanent state at the time of Caesar’s dictatorship, when we see Cicero reacting by developing a fully worked out model of the intellectual life as a substitute for political engagement.

A question then arises about the place Cicero assigned to intellectual life during his other prolonged period of forced political inactivity, his exile from Rome in the early 50s. In light of later developments, it is striking that the kind of rhetoric about intellectual activity taking the place of politics that we find periodically in the letters, both before and after his exile, and that comes so prominently to the fore in the production of the mid-40s, is entirely absent from the exile correspondence. Why is that? What is the difference between the two periods of exclusion that allows philosophy to emerge for Cicero as an alternative to politics under Caesar but not during exile? The most salient and relevant differences would seem to be the following. First, in the case of exile, it is Cicero alone who is excluded, and not only from the political process, but also from other more basic rights of citizenship. In the 40s, by contrast, Cicero is living through an exclusion that is shared with others; he is part of a class, in fact more than just part: as one of the eldest consulars to survive the civil war, he is seen by some as the leader of this group. Second, while Cicero and others may have had much to complain about the state of the res publica in the early 50s, they saw the basic functioning of the state as still unchallenged. Under Caesar fundamental changes to the institutions of the state, embodied most dramatically in, but not limited to, the role of the dictator, resulted in a political landscape very different from the republican model. What then, does the fact that Cicero turns to philosophy under Caesar, but not during exile tell us about the nature of his project?

One important conclusion is that for him philosophy is not ultimately a matter of private otium, a pastime that can provide solace to an individual. It is, rather, a tool to be used in the public sphere, different in kind, but not necessarily function, from more traditional forms of public service. He does not turn to it as a source of consolation or to create an alternate private world for himself in exile, but engages in philosophical writing only when he, along with an entire class of men who had been devoted to public life, found himself marginalized. Then he presented it as a substitute for a corrupted political process. Cicero’s doubts about the ultimate ability of philosophy to act as a satisfactory substitute do not alter the basic motivations behind his project.

WRITING AS A PRIMARY OCCUPATION

In addition to references to philosophy as a discipline, Cicero’s letters contain his thoughts about writing in general as his primary occupation.78 These references help illuminate Cicero’s position in the philosophica, on the one hand, because during this period his writing and reading was centered on philosophy. On the other hand, as we saw in chapter 1, Cicero’s presentation and justification of philosophy forms part of a larger discourse the goal of which is the broadening of the scope of traditional activity to include intellectual pursuits.⁷⁹ Thus, his references to writing and intellectual activity more generally reflect both his specifically philosophical focus and its place within that broader discourse.

In the discussion of Sallust’s prefaces in the previous chapter we saw that one of the strategies he used to combat the perception that intellectual activity was mere otium was to apply to writing language suggestive of hard work. Similar rhetoric in Cicero’s prefaces is given substance by his own description of writing as arduous and sometimes the opposite of true otium in his correspondence from various periods. In a letter to Atticus written during Cicero’s time away from Rome in the spring of Caesar’s consulship, he outlines the difference between otium and writing:

quod tibi superioribus litteris promiseram, fore ut opus exstaret huius peregrinationis, nihil iam magno opere confirmo; sic enim sum complexus otium ut ab eo divelli non queam. itaque aut libris me delecto, quorum habeo Anti festivam copiam, aut fluctus numero (nam ad lacertas captandas tempestates non sunt idoneae); a scribendo prorsus abhorret animus. etenim quae constitueram magnum opus est. ita valde Eratosthenes, quem mihi proposueram, a Serapione et ab Hipparcho reprehenditur. quid censes si Tyrannio accesserit? et hercule sunt res difficiles ad explicandum et nec tam possunt quam videbantur et, quod caput est, mihi quaevis satis iusta causa cessandi est. (Att. 2.6.1; SB 26)

What I promised you in my previous letter, that a piece of writing would come out of my time away, I am no longer willing to stand by as strongly. For I have embraced my leisure so much that I can’t be torn away from it. So I either take my pleasure in books, of which I have a very pleasant number here at Antium, or I count the waves (for the weather is not right for fishing). My mind truly recoils from writing. And in fact that geographical work which I had planned is a serious task. Eratosthenes, whom I had planned to follow, is strongly criticized by Serapio and Hipparchus. What do you recommend I do if Tyrannio follows suit? And indeed, the subject is hard to explain and monotonous and not as easy to embellish as it seemed, and, what is at the root of the problem, anything seems a good enough reason to give up.

Otium for Cicero in this letter is idleness, a cessation from activity. We might expect that all intellectual pursuits would fall under this category, but that is not the case. Cicero clearly distinguishes between a passive intellectual activity, such as reading, which forms part of his otium as much as passing time on the beach, and the active process of writing, which is presented as requiring serious effort both in terms of substance—he must reconcile contradictory sources to produce a coherent account of the subject—and of style—he has discovered that his material is not congenial to the florid style he had planned to employ for this particular work. Thus, writing is work, difficult, demanding, and draining. Other reasons can cause Cicero to characterize the process of writing as difficult. Writing the Cato is a political minefield: how will Caesar and his men react? Even more fraught with peril is the notorious letter of advice to Caesar that Cicero struggles over, consulting precedents for inspiration, much as he does in the work on geography.80 When he is able to return to writing after Tullia’s death, it is a sign of recovered ability to tackle difficult work, and not an escape into otium.⁸¹

But the letters most relevant to my purpose here cluster largely in the period of intense composition of treatises in the years 46 through 44. The first group of letters is addressed to Varro, a fellow scholar and writer. The first of these (Ad Familiares 9.1 [SB 175]) precedes, and the next two (Ad Familiares 9.3 [SB 176] and 9.2 [SB 177]), follow the composition of the rhetorical works Brutus and Orator and the Paradoxa Stoicorum, a work that is highly rhetorical in tone and structure, but philosophical in content.⁸² The earlier letter is an account of Cicero’s return to intellectual activity following his stint in Pompey’s army:

scito enim me, postea quam in urbem venerim, redisse cum veteribus amicis, id est cum libris nostris, in gratiam. etsi non idcirco eorum usum dimiseram, quod iis suscenserem sed quod eorum me subpudebat; videbar enim mihi, cum me in res turbulentissimas infidelissimis sociis demisissem, praeceptis illorum non satis paruisse. ignoscunt mihi, revocant in consuetudinem pristinam teque, quod in ea permanseris, sapientiorem quam me dicunt fuisse. (Fam. 9.1.2; SB 175)

For I want you to know that, after I came back to Rome, I regained the favor of my old friends, that is, books; although I had not abandoned my familiarity with them for the reason that I was angry at them, but because I was somewhat ashamed in front of them; for it seemed to me that, when I flung myself into the most uncontrollable things with the least loyal allies, I had not sufficiently obeyed their teachings. They forgive me, they call me back to our original habits, and they say that you, because you remained loyal to them, were wiser than I.

At the time of the letter, dated by Shackleton Bailey late in year 47 or early in 46, Cicero had recently returned to Rome, pardoned by Caesar, after the time spent in the limbo of Brundisium. Varro, also forgiven by Caesar, seems to have been about to return to Italy. Even the part of the letter quoted above, though primarily devoted to things intellectual, is colored by the political circumstances of the correspondents. Cicero’s phrasing results in the creation of an imagined parallel letter, which he is emphatically not writing to Varro, in which only one item is changed, the identity of veteres amici: if the reader substitutes “Caesar and Caesarians” for “books,” virtually nothing else needs to be changed for the letter to make perfect sense. Moreover, this second letter is the one Cicero might have been expected to write under the circumstances: Cicero had foolishly followed Pompey against Caesar’s friendly and explicit advice (and that of other Caesarians close to him, most notably Caelius83); the decision turned out to be disastrous; Caesar forgave him, and now, back in Rome, he was reestablishing his relationships with the Caesarians.⁸⁴ The correspondences are striking, and the only exception has to do with Varro’s position vis-à-vis these amici. The unexpressed thrust of this section of the letter is precisely the fact that Cicero is not acknowledging his former and newly acquired obligations to Caesar and not apologizing for having been disloyal to them. Highlighting the importance of his relationship with books has the effect of dismissing his new state of dependence on Caesar and his men. Thus, his discussion of books becomes highly political and his return to intellectual activity is equivalent to his rejection of Caesar’s regime and his refusal to cooperate with it.85

But if we set aside the political undertones conveyed through the language Cicero uses in this passage, the letter is an explicit statement of the author’s relationship to books. In the first place, it should be noted that the books in question must be primarily philosophical: their content is referred to as teachings, praecepta, and they are imagined as passing judgment on the relative sapientia, a term that can mean both “wisdom” and “philosophy,” of their readers. The overall structure of Cicero’s relationship to these books is predicated on the necessity that he obey their teachings (paruisse): disobedience leads to disaster and shame (subpudebat). Cicero’s loyalty to Pompey’s cause is portrayed as misguided and failed, due to his misplaced fides in that relationship (infidelissimis sociis), and his refusal to reassign his loyalty, fides, to Caesar’s party is implicit. Instead, in the resulting political vacuum, books become the truly loyal amici and socii, to whom Cicero now transfers his obligations and his creative and political energies.

The next two letters that Cicero addressed to Varro date to April of 46. Written a few days apart, they contain Cicero’s advice to Varro on the behavior appropriate to their changed circumstances. Varro is by now in Italy, in fact, at his Tusculan villa, and both men are contemplating moving down to the Bay of Naples. During the time between the compositions of the two letters, however, Cicero has received the news of Caesar’s victory at Thapsus, which solidified his rule and gave it a new appearance of permanence. In both letters Cicero devotes some attention to the role of literature in his life and that of his correspondent. The first focuses mainly on the changed function of intellectual pursuits in the new political circumstances:

quamvis enim sint haec misera, quae sunt miserrima, tamen artes nostrae nescio quo modo nunc uberiores fructus ferre videntur quam olim ferebant, sive quia nulla nunc in re alia acquiescimus sive quod gravitas morbi facit ut medicinae egeamus eaque nunc appareat, cuius vim non sentiebamus, cum valebamus. (Fam. 9.3.2; SB 176)

For though the circumstances are wretched, and wretched they are indeed, nevertheless our pursuits seem now in some way or another to bear more plentiful fruit than they once used to, either because now we find respite in nothing else, or because the severity of the disease results in our need for a remedy and that remedy comes to the fore, the strength of which we were not able to perceive while healthy.

Even in times when he is barred from politics and devotes most of his energies to writing, Cicero is still not quite comfortable with acknowledging that artes are fully independent. He recognizes that his greater focus on the intellectual is due to the desperate condition of the political. Yet, as this letter shows, he is willing to find good in this forced immersion in the artes. That good is not derived from any notion of ars gratia artis, but rather from the fructus, the tangible benefit of ars, is central to his understanding of the concept. The adjective he uses for comparison, uber, “fruitful,” serves to reinforce the emphasis on productivity. The comparison is in favor of the new state: it is no surprise that the inability to engage in any other productive activity would result in increased productivity in the new area of concentration. Cicero, however, phrases this fairly intuitive conclusion with a twist: his language moves away from activity, from cultivation, to its opposite, the idea of a cessation from activity, a state of peace and repose, conveyed by acquiescimus. This first reason that he offers as an explanation of the comparative uberiores is thus paradoxical in nature: it presents inactivity so intensely concentrated that it has become productive. The only kind of fructus one might reasonably expect from pure rest is rest itself. Thus, the first alternative presented by Cicero is basically escapism, reading and writing as a means of avoiding the dreadful state of current affairs.

The second alternative is quite different. Whereas the first presumed that the earlier state of affairs, when artes occupied a place alongside politics, was the better one, the second lessens the distinction between the two periods. Both are now interpreted as stages of the same disease, morbus, though the earlier period at the time appeared to be the state of health (valebamus). The difference between the two periods is not in their natures, which are basically the same, but in the strength of the disease and whether or not it is perceived as such by the sufferers. This second account is decidedly more favorable to the artes and their potential contribution. As the disease intensifies and is revealed as such to its victims, medicine is applied, with the result that the state becomes qualitatively different; it becomes a state of health. The political undertones place a grave burden on the task of writing, the same burden that is cited in the prefaces to the philosophica: writing, according to Cicero, has the ability to restore the health of the state. On this interpretation, then, characterizing activity as a remedy is not an indication of its insignificance but on the contrary, of its potential power. Such a characterization is not then part of the escapist model of writing, as becomes especially clear in this particular case where the genuinely escapist possibility, that intellectual life provides mere rest, is offered as an alternative to its function as remedy.

The same themes are treated at greater length in the following letter, when the severity of the disease, to take up Cicero’s metaphor, can be said to have increased, with Caesar now virtually unopposed:

modo nobis stet illud, una vivere in studiis nostris, a quibus antea delectationem modo petebamus, nunc vero etiam salutem; non deesse si quis adhibere volet, non modo ut architectos verum etiam ut fabros, ad aedificandam rem publicam, et potius libenter accurrere; si nemo utetur opera, tamen et scribere et legere si minus in curia atque in foro, at in litteris et libris, ut doctissimi veteres fecerunt, navare86 rem publicam et de moribus ac legibus quaerere. (Fam. 9.2.5: SB 177)

Only let this be fixed: to live together in our pursuits, from which before we sought only pleasure, but now also safety; not to fail, if someone wants to summon us, not only as architects, but also as builders for building up the republic, and rather, to respond to the summons with swiftness and joy; if no one should make use of our labor, nonetheless both to read and write “Republics” and, if less so in the senate house and the forum, then in letters and books, as the most learned of the ancients did, to devote ourselves to the republic and to explore questions about customs and laws.

The subject is here approached from a different angle: in the previous letter, Cicero’s focus was on the artes and their changed function under the new circumstances. In this letter, concentration is on the people, Cicero and Varro, and the aim is to outline a future life plan for them given the newly strengthened regime. Whatever the approach, however, the outcome is largely the same: the future as Cicero sees it is limited to the intellectual, since he is excluded from participating in the usual political life. The characterization of intellectual pursuits, studiis nostris, realigns the metaphors used in the first letter. Cicero concentrates now on the temporal development of the function of intellectual activity: from its earlier hobby-like status of simply providing pleasure (delectationem), it has acquired a new health-giving role as medicine (salutem). The earlier stage is thus analogous to the first alternative offered in the previous letter, that of artes providing rest.⁸⁷ Cicero’s choice thus rests with the interpretation of intellectual pursuits as medicine, the stronger of the two alternatives.

A continuing involvement with books is the first element of the future life as Cicero outlines it for himself and his correspondent.88 What might follow will depend on external factors, on whether an undetermined external agent (quis) is going to call upon them to participate in the rebuilding of the commonwealth. It is interesting at this point to speculate about the identity of this agent. Two main possibilities suggest themselves. The first is that Caesar, now that the civil conflict is virtually over and his rule is unchallenged, will be inclined to return the state to its earlier pattern of governance and, as he has done in his other endeavors, invite men like Cicero to participate. That Cicero felt this was possible during this period is attested by his speech Pro Marcello, delivered in September of 46, only a few months after this letter was written, in which he outlines the steps Caesar would need to undertake to set the country back on track.⁸⁹ A second possibility foresees the opposite situation. It is predicated on the absence of Caesar from the political scene. Though Cicero was unaware of the actual conspiracy, his hints at Brutus’ tyrannicidal lineage indicate that he was aware of and encouraging of that option. Ultimately, the indeterminate nature of quis seems appropriate, as Cicero’s main hope and goal is the restoration of the republic, as he understands it; the exact manner in which it is to be accomplished is secondary.

Thus, in the hoped-for event that they are called upon to rebuild their former world, the role that Cicero and Varro are to play is clear: with the status quo reinstated, they would return to their accustomed political occupations as members of the governing elite. The alternative, that quis does not materialize and things continue as they are, remaining, in the words of the previous letter, most wretched, miserrima, is clearly more realistic, especially immediately after Thapsus. Cicero’s statement here is one of his clearest on the function of intellectual activity as a substitute for the traditional public activity.

The transition is built on the word republic, res publica, and its Greek equivalent, A standard term for the state and the constitution, it is also the title of a number of philosophical works, most notably Plato’s Republic and Cicero’s De Re Publica, modeled after the former, but also of Aristotle’s works describing the government of various Greek city-states. In a typical rhetorical move, Cicero creates a temporary identity between a republic that one can govern and a Republic that one can read or write.90 The implication is that, as was the case with the Greek treatises and Cicero’s own earlier writings, any work that bears on the subject of government, be it descriptive, like Aristotle’s, or utopian, like Plato’s (Cicero’s De Re Publica, focusing on the actual Roman republic with an idealizing slant, can be said to be a combination of the two modes⁹¹), is inevitably itself political. Therein lies the significance of Cicero’s choice of a work to mention in this context. He could have made a more general reference to reading and writing, leaving open the possibility that he intended a real withdrawal from the political. Choosing to refer to an overtly political work as his example indicates his refusal to withdraw and his commitment to pursuing the political in so far as he is able.

THE CONSOLATION OF PHILOSOPHY

An issue that remains to be treated is the significant number of references, in both the letters and the treatises themselves, to the writing of philosophical works as cures, designed to lessen the author’s personal suffering.92 These references have on occasion been used to suggest that Cicero did not always view his works’ potential impact on the readers as the preeminent, or even a significant, goal in composing them. References to grief and the role of philosophy in relieving it have been used to transfer the focus onto Cicero and his own psychological state. This has allowed for an interpretation of the treatises as self-directed and even self-indulgent, and has contributed to giving less weight to the other reasons for his writing that Cicero advances in the prefaces, such as their role as an effective substitute for traditional political activity and their potential political impact.93

There are many reasons to disagree with such an interpretation. I have already discussed one of these references, in Ad Familiares 9.3, where the comparison of literary production to medicine is not an indication of its limitations, but, on the contrary, a sign that Cicero sees it as a potentially powerful tool capable of restoring the republic to a state of political health. It is undoubtedly the case, however, that not all such references can be so interpreted. In many instances it is clear that Cicero does mean the kind of medicine that can be expected to provide only temporary relief, not the sort that would restore health altogether. My goal in this section is to provide an interpretation that, without denying the real emotional content that may lie behind such references in the treatises and the letters, gives an account of their significance in terms of their rhetorical function by analyzing the timing and context of their occurrences in the letters.

First of all, it is important to counter an incorrect assumption that lies behind the view that personal grief is Cicero’s primary motivation in writing the philosophical works of 45 and 44. There is a tendency to assume that, whenever Cicero makes references to grief and to writing and philosophy as the medicines that relieve it, the grief in question is over the death of his daughter, Tullia.⁹⁴ That Tullia’s death was a severe blow to her father, and one from which he took a long time to recover, is undeniable.⁹⁵ But the references to grief and remedy are by no means confined to the period following her death in February 45. In fact, many letters written before that date contain the theme and treat it in the same general manner as the letters that followed the event.

The grief referred to in those earlier letters is caused by the political situation, the overturning of the traditional republican government, and is thus analogous to the political disease referred to in Ad Familiares 9.2, rather than to the personal experience of parental loss found in the letters that follow Tullia’s death.96 Once that is taken into account, the interpretation of Cicero’s philosophical activity as primarily a cure for personal pain becomes difficult to uphold. We might imagine a man overcome by his daughter’s unexpected death looking for distraction and poring over books that seem to promise that her soul will be immortal, and then working out such arguments for himself (and Cicero is in that position in the months immediately following Tullia’s death). However, such “psychological” engagement with philosophy is not the one invoked when the condition to be alleviated is a state of political ill health that came into being and revealed its implications only gradually. The fact that the lost Hortensius, a treatise that formed an essential part of Cicero’s philosophical project of the forties, was begun before Tullia’s death provides further support for this interpretation.⁹⁷

It is more plausible, both based on the evidence, and on psychological grounds, that after his daughter’s death the project that had been already conceived and begun as a result of other motivations took on an additional personal dimension as a source of relief.⁹⁸ Acknowledging the possibility of this additional psychological motive is not, however, equivalent to denying the existence and the importance of the motivational nexus that was in place prior to Cicero’s loss.⁹⁹ Examination of the contexts in which individual references to writing and philosophy as sources of consolation are found will allow us to decide whether they are consistent with the notion that the self-consolatory impulse is the most significant element among the reasons that Cicero presents.

Many of the references to alleviation of grief as a motivation for writing are found in letters of consolation, and that in itself is significant.100 One of the most extensive treatments of the theme is in a letter to Servius Sulpicius Rufus, Ad Familiares 4.3 (SB 202), written in September of 46. At the beginning of the letter Cicero identifies what motivates him to address Servius with a consolation: he has heard that Servius was handling the changed political situation quite badly, taking it more to heart than others in the same position.¹⁰¹ After exhorting Servius to find consolation in his noble actions and the high opinions of his fellow-citizens, Cicero proceeds to discuss internal sources of consolation. The stated goal of the letter is to alleviate Servius’ depression by indicating the kinds of solacia that have been helpful to Cicero himself, namely, intellectual activity.¹⁰² Yet he appears to assign this pursuit such limited scope that it might seem to support the view that Cicero saw his own practice of philosophy as personally, but not politically, significant:

quare non equidem te moneo, sed mihi ita persuasi, te quoque in iisdem versari rebus, quae etiam si minus prodessent, animum tamen a sollicitudine abducerent. (Fam. 4.3.4; SB 202)

Therefore I do not indeed advise you, but have thus persuaded myself, that you also are engaged in the same things which, although they were of less benefit, nonetheless would lead your spirit away from anxiety.

However, it is important not to take this passage out of context: the stated purpose of the letter, a consolatio, was to relieve Servius’ mental state of extreme distress, sollicitudo. The last sentence devoted to the main topic of the letter, before Cicero moves on to briefly mention Servius’ son, completes a perfect kuklos. It looks back to the beginning of the first sentence (vehementer te esse sollicitum) and is meant to emphasize that the letter has fulfilled its function and that Cicero has thus done his duty as a friend in providing Servius with a way to console himself and improve his mental condition. The intended function of the letter accounts for Cicero’s choice in representing his own intellectual activity as having a limited, primarily consolatory, significance: he focuses on the benefits of philosophy that Servius, whose interest in the field is more limited (his main intellectual focus is the study of jurisprudence), could be expected to share fully.

That Cicero regularly adapts his rhetoric to his addressee is well demonstrated by another letter of consolation, to Aulus Manlius Torquatus, who was then living in exile in Athens, Ad Familiares 6.1 (SB 242). The motivation for this letter, written in the beginning of year 45, is identical to that of the letter to Servius Sulpicius Rufus: Cicero has heard that Torquatus is bearing his situation badly.103 Yet in the case of Torquatus, there are no shared interests in literature and philosophy, and so Cicero does not offer intellectual pursuits as a way to heal. Quite the contrary, very much in contrast to the letter to Servius and those to Varro, he explicitly denies their ability to provide consolation and instead commends the strength of Torquatus’ spirit and assures him that he has committed no wrong:

cuius tanti mali [communis periculi rei publicae], quamvis docti viri multa dicant, tamen vereor ne consolatio nulla possit vera reperiri praeter illam quae tanta est quantum in cuiusque animo roboris est atque nervorum: si enim bene sentire recteque facere satis est ad bene beateque vivendum, vereor ne eum qui se optimorum consiliorum conscientia sustentare possit miserum esse nefas sit dicere. (Fam. 6.1.3; SB 242)

And of this, so great, an evil [the general danger to the republic], although the learned men say many things, I nonetheless fear that no true consolation can be found except that, which is only so great as the strength and vigor of each man’s spirit: for if thinking well and acting properly is sufficient for a good and happy life, I fear that it is not right to call that man wretched who can sustain himself by the consciousness that his intentions were of the best kind.

The rhetoric of writing as a remedy does indeed reach its peak in the letters written following Tullia’s death. With one exception, all of these are addressed to Atticus, and it is thus in the most intimate and private of Cicero’s writing that we find this imagery.104 Even in the letters to Atticus, its use is limited to a couple of months immediately following Cicero’s stay with Atticus during his worst period of grief. In the period from March to May Cicero relies more and more on his claim that writing provides a necessary medicine. He finds that he now needs to fend off criticism, Atticus’ own and that of others, reported by Atticus, that he is taking an excessively long time to recover from a domestic misfortune. Cicero’s response is twofold: on the one hand, in an appeal to Atticus as a close friend he emphasizes the need for healing and the ability of literary occupation to provide it, implying that he will return to a more active life that would satisfy Atticus once the process of healing is complete; on the other hand, by providing Atticus with things to say in response when others criticize him, he underscores the fact that writing itself is an activity that shows that he has in fact sufficiently and respectably recovered from his grief and now has energy to occupy himself with important tasks.

A letter that deals very directly with his grief for Tullia and literature’s role in Cicero’s recovery is Ad Familiares 5.15 (SB 252). Written in May 45, it is a response to Lucius Lucceius’ epistolary summons to abandon grief, a letter-consolatio that, like remarks reported by Atticus, contains within it rather harsh criticism of Cicero’s prolonged mourning.¹⁰⁵ In defending himself against Lucceius’ censure, Cicero chooses to foreground writing as a new type of remedy, one appropriate to the new political circumstances in which they find themselves. He agrees with Lucceius’ feeling that the appropriate reaction to loss is to return, after a short period of mourning, to active life, but he disagrees with him on what would constitute appropriate activity:

illius tanti vulneris quae remedia esse debebant ea nulla sunt. quid enim? ad amicosne confugiam? quam multi sunt? Habuimus enim fere communis; quorum alii occiderunt, alii nescio quo pacto obduruerunt. . . . sed casu nescio quo in ea tempora nostra aetas incidit ut, cum maxime florere nos oporteret, tum vivere etiam puderet. quod enim esse poterat mihi perfugium spoliato et domesticis et forensibus ornamentis atque solaciis? litterae, credo. quibus utor assidue; quid enim aliud facere possum? sed nescio quo modo ipsae illae excludere me a portu et perfugio videntur et quasi exprobrare quod in ea vita maneam in qua nihil insit nisi propagatio miserrimi temporis. Hic tu me abesse urbe miraris, in qua domus nihil delectare possit, summum sit odium temporum, hominum, fori, curiae? itaque sic litteris utor, in quibus consumo omne tempus, non ut ab iis medicinam perpetuam, sed ut exiguam oblivionem doloris petam. (Ad Fam. 5.15.1–4; SB 252)

The remedies that ought to have been there for such a great wound do not exist. For what shall I do? Run to friends for help? How numerous are they? For we had most of our friends in common, of whom some have fallen, others for whatever reason have grown harsh. . . . But as a result of some misfortune, our age has fallen into such a state that, at a time when we ought to be flourishing, it is shameful even to be alive; for what could be a refuge for me, stripped of all the sources of pride, both private and public? Literature, I believe, which I am occupied with constantly, for what else could I do? But somehow even it seems to shut me out of haven and refuge, as if to reproach me for remaining in that life in which nothing exists but prolongation of a most wretched time. And yet do you wonder that I stay away from the city, in which my home could offer me no delights, and the hatred of the times, the men, the forum, and the senate house, is overwhelming? So I spend all my time with books, not to find permanent relief, but some forgetfulness of my grief.

Apart from the implied accusation that Lucceius is not acting as a good enough friend to justify the way in which he addressed Cicero, the focus of the letter is to demonstrate that different responses to grief are appropriate at different times. Lucceius’ ideal response, Cicero indicates, belongs to a time now past, in which the public sphere was truly open and provided opportunity for distractions. Cicero’s own response is represented as more in tune with the times than the course advocated by Lucceius; namely, that a man of Cicero’s stature should immerse himself in activity beneficial to the state, a consciousness of performing useful actions being an essential element in overcoming grief.106

Cicero, in fact, does not disagree with this basic principle. He instead points out that Lucceius is mistaken concerning where the proper sphere for such activity is located. As in many other contexts, Cicero argues that writing philosophy is the only possible substitute for the traditional public business of a free republic. Yet literature is depicted as a less efficient substitute here than in many other places, especially in the prefaces to the treatises, and even that degree of help is qualified by Cicero’s reference to a gap between the ideals expressed in what one reads and the realities of one’s life. The reason why Cicero depicts literature in this letter as a less effective substitute lies in part in his estimate of Lucceius’ reaction. He assumes that Lucceius has limited trust in the utility of philosophy in the public sphere, and is therefore unlikely to accept such a substitution. The mention of shared pursuits refers to Lucceius’ own activity as a writer of history. But history-writing alongside active public life is a well-established traditional model, quite different from Cicero’s solitary engagement with philosophy, and so Cicero accordingly downgrades his claims for philosophy. At the same time, the rhetoric of this letter, taken together with his contemporary correspondence with Atticus, points to the fact that at the height of his grief Cicero is looking to books and writing to assuage his private grief. Many of the contemporary letters to Atticus in fact show that his intellectual pursuits are failing to console him, that only the building of a shrine to his daughter would be able to help him in his grief.107

Both in the treatises and the letters, depending on the correspondent, there is a strong strand of apologia in Cicero’s presentation of his engagement with philosophy in general, and with the production and publication of the treatises in particular, that clearly aims to counteract Roman distrust of philosophy, and intellectual activity more generally, as an occupation. One of his self-justificatory devices is to present, in addition to the politically and philosophically grounded reasons for his undertaking, a number of “softer” motivations that fall within the traditional framework of elite activity.¹⁰⁸

An appeal to grief is exactly such an additional reason. The perceived incompatibility between the pursuit of philosophy and public service is what will likely arouse distrust toward Cicero’s claims for the political potential of his philosophical undertakings. A reason for writing that is based on the personal feelings of grief and dislocation will counteract that potential hostility by locating his motivation for the project and, implicitly, its goals, within the more personal sphere of the author’s life. Such a shift relieves some of the anxiety provoked by the public claims: a multiplicity of causes diminishes the importance of any single one, and those readers who feel that philosophy is inappropriate in the public sphere may be more comfortable with the corpus if given a way to see it as springing from the author’s personal situation.109 There is, moreover, a pattern in how the different motivations for writing philosophy presented in the prefaces are distributed through the letters; critical is Cicero’s judgment as to how sympathetic to philosophy each addressee is likely to be. In the treatises, by contrast, there is an accumulation of reasons, for Cicero must address multiple readers at the same time.

It is the case, however, that the intense grief Cicero experienced following Tullia’s death did play a definite a role in his philosophical preoccupations and production. It certainly induced him to write his philosophical Consolatio. What we know of that work, which survives only in fragments, only serves to confirm a distinction between the primary motivations for its composition from that of the other treatises. There is a built-in circularity in the dedicatory status of the Consolatio: it is addressed to the author himself,¹¹⁰ and therefore enclosed within the private sphere in a way that no other treatise is. The need for self-justification and image building that plays such an important part in the other treatises is consequently significantly diminished. This work is also singled out in the retrospective account of the philosophical corpus found in the preface to book two of De Divinatione: in the case of the other treatises, their contents and their position within the overall corpus are highlighted; but when it comes to the Consolatio, Cicero seems at a loss for words and emphasizes only its medicinal function:

nam quid ego de Consolatione dicam? quae mihi quidem ipsi sane aliquantum medetur, ceteris item multum illam profuturam puto. (Div. 2.3)

For what should I say about the Consolatio? Which certainly heals me to some extent, and in a similar way I think it will be of much benefit to the rest.

Like the other treatises, the Consolatio is destined for publication and expected to play a positive role in the lives of readers. The difference lies in the areas of life to which it is expected to contribute. The rest of the corpus is addressed to the Roman elite primarily in their capacity as citizens and is meant to have public implications; the orientation of the Consolatio is confined to their private lives.

•    •    •

Two main points have emerged from the discussion of references to philosophy and writing in Cicero’s letters. First, while he often claims that literary activity is a means of withdrawal from politics, the analysis of his actual discussion of such activity in the letters reveals that it is fundamentally politicized: it responds to the current political situation and intends to influence the future of the state. In both treatises and letters, then, Cicero blurs the traditional boundary between the political and philosophical spheres. The extent to which philosophy is integral to his thinking about questions that arise in the public arena grows over time in parallel to the deterioration of political conditions. Similarly, the idea that philosophy could offer a viable alternative to public engagement is presented in increasingly strong terms. Second, it has become clear that the references to intellectual activity in the letters do not present a stable picture, but are painstakingly adapted to the author’s perception of the addressee’s character and expectations as well as to Cicero’s own specific goals. The rhetorical transformation that takes place from one letter to another is particularly significant in the case of a potentially controversial subject, such as philosophy in fact was in the elite Roman context. Against this background of conflicting needs and competing claims, the task of Cicero’s prefaces—presenting his philosophical project to a far from uniform readership—appears daunting indeed. The following chapters will discuss some of Cicero’s strategies in managing the challenge of an indeterminate audience.

1Wassmann 1996, ch. 2 considers the main possibilities. Cf. Griffin 1997 on the complex and often contradictory motivation for the composition of the Academica.

²E.g., Strasburger 1990 and Wassmann 1996 argue that the treatises are not just politically engaged, but an act of pointed resistance against Caesar; advocacy of the consolatory function for the treatises is quite pervasive and will be discussed later in the chapter. Three recent books on the Tusculans demonstrate the variety in their titles: Gildenhard’s focus is on the didactic, Koch’s on the therapeutic, and Lefèvre’s on the political.

³On the rhetorical nature of the letters and their influence of the addressee, see Leach 1999, esp. 143–50, the discussion of ethos as applied to the correspondence (cf. Meyer 1999); Wilcox 2002. See also Hall 2009a (cf. 1996a), who uses politeness theory to illuminate the rhetoric of the letters in terms of aristocratic etiquette and the expectations it creates for both the writer and the addressee. On the tension between “documentary” and “literary” readings, Gunderson 2007. Griffin 1995 uses philosophical allusions in the letters to gauge the level of philosophical knowledge of Cicero’s correspondents (cf. Boyancé 1936.302–306).

⁴On the sincerity of Cicero’s letters and their utility for ascertaining his motives, cf. Brunt 1986.12 on the group of letters surrounding Cicero’s deliberations at the start of the civil war: “There are . . . phases in Cicero’s life when his intimate correspondence discloses the real beliefs and feelings present to his conscious mind and no doubt often enough the unconscious prejudices and interests from which they emanated.”

⁵The title of this section refers to the title of Jean Boes’ 1990 study of philosophy in Cicero’s letters, La philosophie et l’action dans la correspondance de Cicéron. Boes, in part responding to Carcopino’s attack on Cicero, uses the letters to recover the Cicero whose actions are largely in accord with his philosophical views. His tendency is to generalize the “philosophical” to include anything that can be characterized as moral or decent, which allows him to construe many actions that are comprehensible within a traditional Roman political and social framework as derived from Cicero’s philosophical views; at the same time he often ignores the occasions on which Cicero’s actions seem to be entirely motivated by self-interest.

⁶For an excellent discussion of the controversial issues surrounding the relationship between the philosophical views and actions of Roman politicians, see Griffin 1989.

⁷On Clodius and his relationship with Cicero, see Tatum’s 1999 study.

⁸For a discussion of the political issues surrounding agrarian legislation during this period, see Gruen 1974.387–404 (397–401 on Caesar’s bill); in the context of other agrarian measures, Gargola 1995, ch. 9, esp. 176–79.

⁹Rawson 1983.106–107 treats the letter in its political context and sees it as a moment when Cicero begins “to think a little more deeply about the subject [of Greek political philosophy].”

¹⁰Leonhardt 1999.27 does not consider it a third option.

¹¹E.g., Servius Sulpicius’ exhortation in his letter of consolation to Cicero following his daughter’s death, Fam. 4.5.5 (SB 248): noli te oblivisci Ciceronem esse, “do not forget that you are Cicero.”

¹²Cf. the remarks of P. White 2010.109–10 on Cicero’s confidence in the influence of texts on their authors. He cites this letter as well as Att. 8.11 (and the self-addressed Consolatio, the culminations of this tendency), a letter of February 49 that discusses the situation and the characters of Pompey and Caesar. The beginning of this letter makes similar use of an externalized form of his own views to judge his present circumstances. Cicero tells Atticus that he has been reflecting on the figure of the moderator rei publicae that he produced in De Re Publica, proceeds to quote his Scipio from book five, and then chastises Pompey (Gnaeus noster) for failing to ponder such issues and accuses both Pompey and Caesar of aiming at dominatio only (Att. 8.11.1–2; SB 161). As in the case of his appeal to Calliope in his poem, his own thoughts and opinions seem to acquire extra normative force when they are given literary shape. The move from using a poem to using a treatise is symptomatic of the development in Cicero’s thought and his greater focus on philosophy in the civil war and Caesarian years.

¹³Cf. Redfield’s reading of Polydamas’ role as Hector’s “alter ego, the voice in his ear of warning or restraint,” whose abandonment in the case of this portent signals the beginning of Hector’s tragic failure (1975.143–47). See also Bushnell 1988.31–35 on Hector’s resistance to Polydamas’ interpretation because it “conflicts with the sense of his duty to defend his city” (34).

¹⁴Cicero associates himself with Hector frequently in the letters, and Polydamas is explicitly evoked twice as the voice of Hector’s conscience right before his final encounter with Achilles (Il. 22.100). On the first occasion, the legation to Egypt that was offered to Cicero in 59 (Att. 2.5.1; SB 25), Cato, the conscience of the optimates, who would disapprove, is cast as Polydamas; on the second, how to address the issue of Caesar’s standing for the consulship in absentia in 50 (Att. 7.1.4; SB 124), it is Atticus himself.

¹⁵The meeting is described in Att. 9.18.

¹⁶Cf. Tacitus’ definition of the role of history in the first sentence of the Agricola: clarorum virorum facta moresque posteris tradere, “to hand down to posterity the deeds and characters of illustrious men.” On the functioning of mos maiorum, see Roller 2009.214–15: “The past is regarded as offering lessons and models (exempla) to guide the reader in his own day; actors in any given present can discover from the successes and failures of past actors what their own duties and obligations are, and how to fulfill them.” See further Roller 2009, 2004; Walter 2004, chs. 2 and 8; Hölkeskamp 1996. On Cicero’s own use of exempla, see van der Blom 2010; in the letters, Oppermann 2000; cf. Walter 2004.66–70 on the entire corpus.

¹⁷Cf. Moatti 1997.191 on Servius’ own more radical departure from tradition in his famous legal opinion: he cites no authority or precedent and relies entirely on logic.

¹⁸See Brunt 1986 for a discussion of Cicero’s conception of his duty in the correspondence from this period in light of his views as articulated later in De Officiis, as well as a detailed overview of his actions and motivations.

¹⁹For a similar equal pairing of the traditional and the intellectual, cf. Fam. 7.3.4 (SB 183), a letter written in 46, in which Cicero justifies his actions during the civil war to M. Marius: sed tamen vacare culpa magnum est solacium, praesertim cum habeam duas res, quibus me sustentem, optimarum artium scientiam et maximarum rerum gloriam, “but nevertheless it is a great solace to be without fault, especially since I have two things that sustain me, the knowledge of the best arts and the glory of the greatest deeds.”

²⁰Not much is known about Paetus, but the correspondence reveals a close and comfortable relationship between the two men and a commonality of pursuits. For an analysis of the correspondence with Paetus, see Leach 1999, and the detailed study of Demmel 1962. See Griffin 1995.335–39 for an exploration of the philosophical dynamics in Fam. 9.16 (SB 190) and 9.24 (SB 362).

²¹For a detailed discussion of Cicero’s use of honestum and utile in the letters to Atticus from the same period and its value for his deliberation, see Leonhardt 1995. Cf. Michel’s (1977) discussion of philosophical and rhetorical elements in this group of letters.

²²E.g., Brutus in de Virtute, quoted by Cicero Tusc. 5.1: virtutem ad beate vivendum se ipsa esse contentam, “virtue is sufficient for living a happy life.” This is a view shared by all the major dogmatic schools of Hellenistic philosophy with the exception of Epicureanism, to which Cicero is consistently hostile.

²³For a discussion of how this political usage of boni develops, see Hellegouarc’h 1963. 484–93.

²⁴Cf. Cicero’s frustrated response to Atticus’ generic reference to the expectations of the boni in Att. 7.7.5 (SB 130): nam quod scribis mirificam exspectationem esse mei neque tamen quemquam bonorum aut satis bonorum dubitare quid facturus sim, ego quos tu bonos esse dicas non intellego. ipse nullos novi, sed ita, si ordines bonorum quaerimus. nam singulares sunt boni viri; verum in dissensionibus ordines bonorum et genera quaerenda sunt. senatum bonum putas, per quem sine imperio provinciae sunt . . . an publicanos, qui numquam firmi sed nunc Caesari sunt amicissimi, an faeneratores, an agricolas, quibus optatissimum est otium? “As to what you write, that there are tremendous expectations of me, but that, nonetheless, none of the good, or the good enough men have any doubts about what I am going to do, I do not understand who are the men that you call good. I myself don’t know of any, at any rate, if we are thinking in terms of groups; for there are good individuals, but in conflicts one has to look for groups and types of good men. Do you consider the senate to be good, when because of them the provinces are without governors, or the tax collectors, who are never reliable, but are now most friendly to Caesar, or the money-lenders, or the farmers, whose dearest desire is peace?” Note that both versions of Cicero’s policy of political unity, concordia ordinum and consensus omnium bonorum, are alluded to in this portion of the letter as it deconstructs the vagueness of those concepts by questioning what makes a man bonus. Cicero doubts that such good men occur in large numbers and focuses on the specific kind of self-interest that disqualifies each ordo, from the top down.

²⁵Cf. Att. 10.4.4 (SB 195), where Cicero criticizes both Pompey and Caesar at length, and then writes: et si, ut nos a te admonemur, recte in illis libris diximus nihil est bonum nisi quod honestum, nihil malum nisi quod turpe sit, certe uterque istorum est miserrimus, quorum utrique semper patriae salus et dignitas posterior sua dominatione et domesticis commodis fuit, “And if, as we are admomished by you, we were right to say in those books that nothing is good, except what is honorable, nothing evil, except what is disgraceful, certainly both of those two are most wretched, since both have always ranked the safety and dignity of their country below their own ascendancy and private advantages.” He appeals to a definition he gave of bonum in his De Re Publica as necessarily honestum and uses this definition to render a moral judgment on the two dynasts. On the flexibility and range in the use of Roman political nomenclature, see Lacey 1970, esp. 10–16 on boni (also Gildenhard 2011.74–80 on the meaning of vir bonus in Cicero’s speeches). Particularly relevant is Lacey’s discussion of the shifting categories of boni to be found in the correspondence with Atticus at the start of the civil war (10–11). On the flexibility of the term, see also Hellegouarc’h 1963, esp. 492; on the philosophical influences that informed Cicero and Sallust’s use of the term, 487; on the blend of the ethical and political in such terminology, cf. Earl 1967.19–20.

²⁶This is particularly true of letters, like the one I am about to discuss, in which nothing is asked of Atticus except, perhaps, advice, and where he is addressed primarily as a confidant. The letters that are addressed to Atticus asking for various favors—financial, business, editorial, or familial—not unexpectedly show a more rhetorical quality directed at persuasion, especially in those cases where Cicero anticipates reluctance on Atticus’ part. See Hall’s (2009a.64–65) analysis of one such more formal letter occasioned by Quintus’ rude behavior towards Atticus and Cicero’s need to make amends. For a brief consideration of the complex relationship between Cicero and Atticus in a pedagogical context, see Citroni Marchetti 2009.

²⁷For a brief discussion of this letter in the context of other letters on the subject from the first half of 40, see Michel 1977.395.

²⁸A famous example of the appeal to the mos maiorum as a guide to contemporary behavior is Cicero’s resurrection, through personificatio, of Appius Claudius Caecus to reproach his dissolute descendent, Clodia, in the Pro Caelio, 33–35.

²⁹Nicholson 1994 suggests that the need for heightened secrecy explains Cicero’s use of Greek on many occasions, this one included. However, given both the general transparency of this passage’s contemporary implications and the number of people who would easily understand this kind of Greek, that does not seem a sufficient explanation here. Cf. Adams 2003.329–30, whose examples show that when secrecy is the object, switching to Greek is not sufficient by itself, as Cicero in addition uses “literary or allusive terminology within the Greek,” which is not the case in this letter. Gildenhard 2006 traces the progress in Cicero’s feelings about Caesar as tyrant in the correspondence with Atticus in 49, focusing on the role of Greek exempla. He treats Cicero’s choice of Greek in this letter (203) in the context of this broader pattern.

³⁰Cf. Griffin 1989.34, who emphasizes that philosophy provides Cicero with a framework and the language that he needs but does not in itself supply a clear decision and adduces further examples. On the peculiarly formal and methodological nature of the Roman “intellectual revolution,” see Moatti 1997, ch. 5.

³¹For a discussion of this letter as an example of proto-declamatio directly preceding and related to the more formalized imperial declamation, see Gunderson 2003.104–10.

³²Cf. de Orat. 3.107 where disputationes in utramque partem are treated as belonging both in the sphere of eloquentia and philosophia.

³³Cicero treats this method as both rhetorical and philosophical. Cf. Schofield 1986.47: “Cicero found himself freshly attracted to the skeptical philosophy of the new Academy at the time he composed his philosophical encyclopedia precisely because it gave him as encyclopedist the great rhetorical and expository advantage of argumentum in utramque partem.” See also Leonhardt’s 1999 study. More generally, the desire to heal the separation between rhetoric and philosophy is a constant in Cicero’s thought. I discuss the issue of philosophy vis-à-vis oratory in ch. 4.

³⁴Cf. Leonhardt 1999.31.

³⁵On the issues surrounding Cicero’s triumph, see the detailed study of Wistrand 1979 and, most recently, Beard 2007.187–96.

³⁶A good example of such application of mos maiorum to evaluate behavior is found in a letter of Quintus Metellus Celer to Cicero, complaining of the latter’s treatment of his brother, which he portrays as violating the bonds of amicitia between them. He claims that he, though in command of a province, is forced by the actions of Cicero and his supporters to put on mourning: quae quoniam nec ratione nec maiorum nostrum clementia administrastis, non erit mirandum si vos paenitebit, “and since you have conducted these matters neither in accordance with reason nor with the leniency of our ancestors, it will not be surprising if you come to regret it” (Fam. 5.1.2; SB 1). Metellus’ argument that the circumstances call for clementia is based on the traditional behavior of the ancestors in similar situations. The expected force of such an invocation is both to exhort the addressee to imitate the maiores and to accuse him of un-Roman behavior. In this case, especially given Metellus’ reference to familiae nostrae dignitas earlier in the letter, there is the additional implication that Cicero’s behavior is not up to the standards of Metellus’ maiores due to Cicero’s being a novus homo (cf. Hoffer 2003.96). For recent discussions of this exchange, see Hall 2009a.53–60 and Hoffer 2003; on Cicero’s correspondence with the Metelli, Schneider 1998, ch. 3. On clementia as a republican virtue, see Konstan 2005.

³⁷Att. 8.3.6. On the historical background, see Badian 1964.215–16; on Cicero’s focus on Mucius, killed in 82, as indicating the danger of this choice, Oppermann 2000.186.

³⁸For a contemporary Latin account, see Nep. Thr. Oppermann 2000.186–87 finds the recourse to a Greek example here surprising and offers possible reasons; unnecessarily in my view, since she herself shows (299) that Cicero generally uses both Greek and Roman exempla in the letters, even if the Roman do outnumber the Greek in 50 and 49.

³⁹On Cicero’s use of these exempla, cf. Michel 1977.396.

⁴⁰sitne viri fortis et boni civis esse in ea urbe in qua cum summis honoribus imperiisque usus sit, res maximas gesserit, sacerdotio sit amplissimo praeditus, non futurus <sit, qui fuerit>, subeundumque periculum sit cum aliquo † fore dedecore, si quando Pompeius rem publicam reciperarit, “Is it expected of a brave man and a good citizen that he remain in that city in which he enjoyed the highest honors and commands, conducted affairs of utmost importance, was endowed with the most splendid priesthood, when he will not have the stature he used to have and will be in danger of being in some disgrace if ever Pompey recovers the republic” (Att. 8.3.2; SB 153)?

⁴¹Att. 8.11.1–2 (SB 161), discussed in n.12. In the concluding paragraph of the same letter, Cicero asks Atticus for a copy of On Concord, by Demetrius of Magnesia, in preparation for a peace initiative of some sort: another example of Cicero’s recourse to theoretical intellectual resources in the service of practical political ends (in the end, events ruled out whatever Cicero had in mind and he returned the book to Atticus: Att. 9.9.2; SB 176).

⁴²A self-deprecating comment in a letter from a later period, August 45, to the effect that Caesar could not perceive Cicero as dangerous because he knew that the latter had no courage left in him (scire regem me animi nihil habere, Att. 13.37.2; SB 346) is representative of his self-perception as presented in letters to close friends throughout the period between his return to Italy after Pompey’s defeat and Caesar’s assassination.

⁴³I discuss Cicero’s multiple dedications to Brutus in this light in ch. 6.

⁴⁴For Quintus’ pressure and Cicero’s decision to send a courier in advance, see Att. 16.1.6 (SB 409). On the logistics of delivering Cicero’s letters and issues of confidentiality, see P. White 2010.11–15 and Nicholson 1994.

⁴⁵Before Cilicia, reference to Quintus with Atticus: Ciceronem suavissimum (Att. 4.8.2; SB 79). Quintus and Marcus referred to together in Cilicia: Ciceronibus (Att. 5.20.9; SB 113), Cicerones pueri amant inter se, discunt, exercentur (Att. 6.1.12; SB 115); cf. back in Italy in early 49: de Ciceronibus nostris (Att. 7.13.3; SB 136), uxor, filia, Cicerones pueri (Att. 9.6.4; SB172); Quintus in need of guidance: cui moderabor diligentius (Att. 5.20.9; SB 113), quod [ingenium Quinti] regendo habeo negoti satis (Att. 6.2.2; SB 116).

⁴⁶“you know the rest” (Att. 10.6.2; SB 197).

⁴⁷Quintus’ intentions before actually receiving pardon, Att. 11.10.1 (SB 221).

⁴⁸Among letters that make passing references to Quintus and his outrageous behavior, Att. 13.9.1 (SB 317) stands out: ventum est tamen ad Quintum. multa , sed unum eius modi quod nisi exercitus sciret, non modo Tironi dictare sed ne ipse quidem auderem scribere. . . . sed hactenus, “Then the conversation turned to Quintus. Many things unspeakable, beyond description, but one was of such a sort that, if it weren’t for the fact that the army knows about it, not only would I not dare dictate it to Tiro, I wouldn’t even write it myself . . . . But enough of these things.” Lehmann, Woch. f. Kl. Phil. 13 (1896.56), quoted by Shackleton Bailey 1966.316 ad loc., posited an erasure by the editor of the letters following scribere. Shackleton Bailey believes that Atticus himself erased the passage, which compromised his nephew. While not entirely impossible, it seems surprising then that so many other highly unflattering references to Quintus have remained untouched. P. White 2010.42 accepts this lacuna as one of four certain examples of deletions in the correspondence, which he thinks could be the work of the anonymous editor. I have not come across any suggestion concerning the nature of the episode, but one must imagine something that went far beyond simple family disloyalty to justify this singular erasure.

⁴⁹Quintus wearing a wreath in honor of Caesar at a festival celebrating a civil war victory at Munda, Att. 14.14.1 (SB 368) and 14.19.3 (SB 372). His expressions of loyalty and gratitude to Caesar, 14.17.3 (SB 371) and 14.19.3 (SB 372). Antony’s partisan, 14.20.5 (SB 374). The word Cicero uses to describe Quintus in the last of these, dextella, is only attested here and is a pejorative diminutive of dextra. The passage also contains a bitterly sarcastic reference to the advantages that Cicero and Atticus can expect from their nephew’s new position.

⁵⁰First mention of Quintus’ change, Att. 15.19.2 (SB 396); Quintus senior’s suspicions dispelled, 15.21.1 (SB 395); Quintus’ arrival at Cicero’s, 15.27.3 (SB 406); visit to Brutus, 16.5.2 (SB 410).

⁵¹Hall 2009a.40–41 discusses this aspect of the letter, although he takes no account of its relationship to Att. 16.1 (SB 409).

⁵²filius was added by Tyrrell and is adopted by Shackleton Bailey.

⁵³Amanda Wilcox in her 2002 dissertation has discussed the triangular space created in Roman letters between the sender, the addressee, and a number of potential third points provided by the subject matter of the letter; in letters of recommendation, the recommended. In the letter under discussion the triangle is expanded into a square by the addition of another participant, Brutus. Brutus’ alleged acceptance of Quintus, demonstrated in his farewell embrace and kiss, is put in contact with Brutus’ relationship with Atticus, activated within the letter by Cicero’s reference to Brutus’ mention of Atticus.

⁵⁴See Wilcox 2002, ch. 2. On litterae commendaticae, see also Hall 2009a.30–34, Cotton 1985 and 1986, and Deniaux 1993.

⁵⁵Dyck (1996.8–9, with n.20) dates the composition of De Officiis several months later, around the first specific mention in a letter to Atticus of October 28. For more on the composition and nature of this treatise, see ch. 6. Boes 1990.313 emphasizes the presence of De Gloria on this occasion, a work that is central to his understanding of Cicero’s philosophy, and especially, given the importance of the achievement of immortality to the Roman idea of glory, to what he sees as Cicero’s Platonism.

⁵⁶On the educational potential of his works, cf. Fam. 6.18.4 (SB 218) to Lepta about Orator, in which Cicero thanks Lepta for his approval of the treatise and proceeds to comment on the educational potential of the treatise with Lepta’s young son in mind: Leptam nostrum cupio delectari iam talibus scriptis. etsi abest maturitas aetatis, tamen personare auris eius huiusmodi vocibus non est inutile, “I want our little Lepta to be enjoying such writings already; although he is not yet of a mature age, nonetheless it is not without profit to fill his ears with such words.”

⁵⁷Cf. Zetzel 2003.124–26; Narducci 1997.8–11; Stroup 2010.51–52.

⁵⁸For the background on this measure, which was rejected, see Gruen 1974.223–24. For an alternate explanation of the bill’s intention, see Lintott 1990.8.

⁵⁹For a discussion of the Amaltheum, see Moore 1906.

⁶⁰Nep. Att. 18.6: sub singulorum imaginibus facta magistratusque eorum non amplius quaternis quinisve versibus descripserit, “under the images of each individual he described their deeds and offices in no more than four or five verses.” Varro composed a similar work, mentioned by Pliny together with that of Atticus (nat. 35.11). See Flower 1996.182–83 on Atticus’ verses in the context of other ways of labeling the imagines.

⁶¹On Cicero’s failure to receive a poem from Archias in exchange for his speech and to persuade others to celebrate his consulship, see Dugan 2005.43–54.

⁶²1965.325.

⁶³An example of “code-switching within a word boundary” or “morphological borrowing”; see Adams 2003.27–28 for definition and discussion.

⁶⁴Cicero’s letters, and this passage in particular, are our only source for this controversy, and the fragmentary nature of his references has led to much speculation. For a recent discussion, see Huby 2001, with further bibliography.

⁶⁵The assignment of the preference for the practical life to the Epicurean Atticus has been found puzzling (Huby 2001.314). The formulation may not reflect the actual philosophical views of the two correspondents so much as it serves as an ironic comment on Atticus’ encouragement of continued political activity and, increasingly, compromise, while living the life of a private man himself.

⁶⁶On Cicero’s libraries, see Casson 2001.70–79; cf. Boyancé 1936.300–302.

⁶⁷The transmitted text reads voluptatum; Shackleton Bailey emends and prints: voluptat <ibus cum propter aetatem t>um.

⁶⁸This account is also found in a letter to Mescinius Rufus, Fam. 5.21.2 (SB 182): itaque utor eodem perfugio quo tibi utendum censeo, litterulis nostris, praeterea conscientia etiam consiliorum meorum, “And so I make use of the same haven that I recommend that you use, our literary studies, and, besides, the secure knowledge of what I had planned to achieve.” Written in April of 46, it may seem to indicate that this, weaker, notion of the role of intellectual life as a refuge continues to coexist with the active production of philosophical works. However, the letter is one of many sent to console men who are away from Italy under Caesar, a group that superbly demonstrates Cicero’s ability to adapt his rhetoric to the circumstances of the addressee. Thus, this reference to his literary activity is intended less as an account of his life than as a suggestion of a path to consolation for Mescinius Rufus. Cicero is intentionally downplaying the significance of his writings by presenting them as solely a refugium, presumably the only role such activity could have for his correspondent, an impression furthered by the use of the diminutive litterulis. In a similar vein, see the consolations to Servius Sulpicius Rufus, Fam. 4.3.3 (SB 202), 4.4.4 (SB 203). On the centrality of the relationship with the addressee to the rhetoric of Ciceronian letters of consolation, cf. Wilcox 2005a.

⁶⁹The fact that the choice between Atticus and Pompey is framed in terms of ambulatio is an additional pointer towards Cicero’s preference, since walking, as O’Sullivan 2006 has shown, is strongly associated with philosophical activity.

⁷⁰Cicero’s letter of request to Cato: Fam. 15.4 (SB 110). It is discussed by Wistrand 1979 in the context of Cicero’s claim to a triumph, and by Hutchinson 1988 as an example of war narrative in the correspondence. Cato’s response, Fam. 15.5 (SB 111), has generated much discussion as a result of the common perception that it is insincere and impolite. For a summary of the different interpretations and a compelling explanation of why the letter provoked such a strong reaction in the scholarship (based on the difference between ancient Roman and modern politeness standards), see Hall 1996a. Griffin 1989.35 discusses the philosophical background of the exchange.

⁷¹Cicero’s claim (Att. 7.1.8; SB 124) to have sent a similar letter to virtually every member of the senate would, if known, diminish this personalized facet of the communication somewhat, though the lengthy restatement of the events may have been limited to a few or even unique.

⁷²Jäger 1986.219 notes the sharp contrast between the factual description of the military action and the personal appeal that closes the letter.

⁷³On the convention of mentioning family ties in aristocratic correspondence, see Hall 2009a.56–60.

⁷⁴Previous political alliances and public praise, Fam. 15.4.11–12; general references to the relationship, 15.4.13 (SB 110). Section 12 contains the mention of the honor Cicero did to Cato’s virtue by praising it in his speeches and writings: a me autem haec sunt in te profecta, quae non ego in beneficii loco pono, sed in veri testimonii atque iudicii, ut praestantissimas tuas virtutes non tacitus admirarer (quis enim te id non facit?), sed in omnibus orationibus, sententiis dicendis, causis agendis, omnibus scriptis Graecis Latinis, omni denique varietate litterarum mearum te non modo iis quos vidissemus sed etiam iis de quibus audissemus, omnibus anteferrem, “Furthermore, I have done you the following service, which I do not consider a benefit, but rather a true testimony and judgment, that I did not admire your most outstanding virtues in silence (for who doesn’t admire them?), but in all my speeches, in delivering my opinions in the senate, in conducting court cases, in all my writings, both Greek and Latin, finally, in every type of writing, I put you before not only those whom we ourselves had seen, but also those, of whom we had only heard.” This passage is striking because it seems not so much to reflect Cicero’s practice up to the time of writing, as to presage his part in creating the image of Cato the republican martyr following his suicide.

⁷⁵I discuss the preface to the Paradoxa in detail in ch. 4.

⁷⁶Letters to Atticus from years 51 and 50, passim.

⁷⁷Though Cicero was frequently frustrated by Cato’s doctrinaire inflexibility while he was still alive, Cato’s suicide and Cicero’s sense that there was a need, during this period, for more upright men willing to act on their beliefs, seem to have shifted the balance in retrospect.

⁷⁸See P. White 2010.104–55 on Cicero’s use of literature as a resource for conducting his relationships with his correspondents. Cf. Damon 2008 on literature as “social glue” in Cicero’s correspondence with Caesar.

⁷⁹See Stroup’s 2010 study of the role of texts in creating a late republican “society of patrons.”

⁸⁰The Cato: Att. 12.4.2 (SB 240); consulting Aristotle’s and Theopompus’ letters to Alexander as models for his letter to Caesar: Att. 12.40.2 (SB 281). See Hall 2009b on the constraints on Cicero’s writing in this period.

⁸¹Att. 12.38a.1 (SB 279): . . . animum vacuum ad res difficilis scribendas adferam, “that I can bring a clear mind to writing about these difficult matters”; 12.40.2 (SB 281): legere isti laeti . . . tam multa non possunt quam ego scripsi. . . . nunc ipsum ea lego, ea scribo ut hiqui mecum sunt difficilius otium ferant quam ego laborem, “those allegedly happy men can’t read as much as I have written . . . at this very time I read and write such things that those who are with me bear their leisure with more difficulty than I do my work.”

⁸²The correspondence with Varro is discussed by Leach 1999.165–68. She emphasizes that Cicero reaches out to Varro as a model to be imitated, given their shared background and intellectual interests, in the new conditions of enforced otium. For a view that sees Cicero as critical of Varro for being too easily satisfied with otium, see Kronenberg 2009.89. For the relationship between Varro and Cicero, see Rösch-Binde 1997 (with detailed discussion of the correspondence), Baier 1997.15–27, Wiseman 2009.108–29. Boes 1990.206–18 sees Cicero’s letters to Varro at this time as part of his interest in Stoicism (evidenced by the Paradoxa) and the teachings of Antiochus, whose student Varro had been and whose epistemology is more in tune with that of the Stoics than with the Academic Skepticism that Cicero usually espouses. Such a narrow intra-philosophical motivation for the correspondence is unlikely.

⁸³Caelius’ letter trying to prevent Cicero from leaving Italy to follow Pompey, Fam. 8.16 (SB 153) = Att. 10.9A (SB 200A). Cf. also Fam. 8.17 (SB 156).

⁸⁴Caesar clearly saw Cicero’s decision as an affront to their amicitia, and Cicero himself realized that. On how Cicero’s amicitiae with Pompey and Caesar played into his deliberations and decisions in the run-up to civil war, see Brunt 1986.26–31. Boes argues that Cicero’s association with the Caesarians after his return is motivated primarily by his intent to change their behavior to accord with his own philosophical ideals. (Boes 1990.20–26; cf. 33 “. . . il entre apparemment dans le jeu d’hommes politiques qu’il n’approuve pas, avec l’idée . . . d’exercer sur eux une influence conforme à ses principes.”) That is excessively idealistic. While Cicero certainly did at times hope to exert some influence on policy (a tendency that culminates in the Pro Marcello), the letters reveal that overall he found his association with the Caesarians a necessary, though often humiliating, expedient. He found some consolation in his ability to exercise a limited influence, primarily in the sphere of asking Caesar to pardon exiled Pompeians.

⁸⁵Pace Baier 1997.38–39, who reads the letter, as well as others from the same period, as an expression of pure resignation and pessimism. Leach’s reading of libri in this letter as standing in for Varro and their shared intellectual interest is compatible with my interpretation (1999.153–54, 165).

⁸⁶On the textual issues surrounding this reading, see Hunt 1981.219.

⁸⁷Cf. Cicero’s account of the role of literature during the earlier period, in the Pro Archia, where it is presented in part as a source for oratory, but also, importantly, as a way for the statesman to relax in preparation for his more important political commitments.

⁸⁸Kronenberg 2009.89 reads this passage as Cicero’s exhoration to Varro to imitate him in a more practically oriented use of scholarship, and reads De Re Rustica (ch. 5) as Varro’s “polemical response” to this exhortation with a treatise that is “a parody of political philosophy,” with De Re Publica among his main targets.

⁸⁹On Pro Marcello, see Gotoff 1993 and Leach 1999.163–65; for the common view that the speech was intended to influence Caesar, see Cipriani 1977. Dyer 1990 and Gagliardi 1997 have argued for an ironic reading of the speech as we have it; to their thinking, its intention is to arouse the indignatio of the nobiles. Based on this interpretation, they date the composition of the surviving speech to mid 45. In that framework the surviving text of the Pro Marcello is not a reflection of what Cicero actually said in the senate in September of 46, and thus cannot tell us anything about Cicero’s attitude towards Caesar and his regime during that period. If that is true, for an account of what transpired during the senate meeting we have to rely on Cicero’s letter, in which he informs his correspondent, Servius Sulpicius Rufus, that he felt inspired by what he perceived to be the meaning of the occasion to express his gratitude to Caesar for pardoning Marcellus, an expression of magnitudo animi—still the most positive attitude towards Caesar on Cicero’s part during the post–civil war period. Cicero was certainly tempted to detect long-term political implications in Caesar’s act: ita mihi pulcher hic dies visus est, ut speciem aliquam viderer videre quasi reviviscentis rei publicae, “this day appeared to me to be so beautiful that I seemed to see some image of the republic as if in the process of recovery” (Fam. 4.4; SB 203). In response to Dyer, Winterbottom 2002 argues that a “straight” reading of the speech is consistent with Cicero’s sentiments at the time.

⁹⁰Cf. Moatti 1997.159–61. See Stroup 2010.161–67 on Cicero’s transformation of oratorical performance into a textual act, performed in a “paper forum,” in the Brutus.

⁹¹On De Re Publica, a dialogue that due to the time of its composition lies outside the bounds of this study, see Zetzel 1995, with bibliography.

⁹²On the discussion of grief in the Tusculans and its relationship to Cicero’s personal experience, see Erskine 1997, Koch 2006, Gildenhard 2007, Lefèvre 2008.

⁹³That Cicero wrote philosophical works in large part to relieve his own emotional distress is a commonplace found in most general discussions of Cicero’s philosophical corpus, as well as in discussions of specific philosophical issues in the treatises that begin with a brief account of the corpus and its goals. The view is particularly prevalent in the older scholarship, but can also be found in more recent work: e.g., Fuhrmann 1992.157: “This fateful blow [Tullia’s death] impelled him to concern himself more seriously with philosophy, to seek a refuge in it, and to give his life a new footing and a new substance throughout,” with reference to Ac. 1.11; Dyck 2003.2 on De Natura Deorum: “But the causa efficiens for this as for most of his philosophical writing was the death of his beloved daughter Tullia in childbirth in mid-February 45”; S. White 1995.223–25; Baier 1997.38–40: “Philosophie als Trost.” Cf. also introductions to the translations of, respectively, De Finibus and De Officiis, in the “Cambridge Texts in the History of Philosophy” and “Cambridge Texts in the History of Political Thought” series, Annas 2001.ix and Griffin and Adkins.ix. The inference that personal grief is an important motivating factor is legitimate in the case of a work like the Tusculans that deals with grief (see, e.g., Erskine 1997). Henderson 2006 reads the works arising directly from Cicero’s grief as the ultimate test of philosophy’s efficacy.

⁹⁴On Tullia’s life and her relationship with her father, see now Treggiari 2007, esp. 136–42 on the aftermath of her death.

⁹⁵A long time by Roman standards, as the flow of letters rebuking Cicero for prolonging his mourning, some of which I will discuss later on in this section, testifies.

⁹⁶Parallels between the perception of personal loss and the perception of political disaster are revealed by the fact that letters of consolation were exchanged not only in the case of the loss of a child (as Servius Sulpicius Rufus to Cicero, Fam. 4.5 [SB 248]; Cicero to Titius, Fam. 5.16 [SB 187]; Lucceius to Cicero, Fam. 5.14 [SB 251]); but also to bemoan the demoralizing state of public affairs (Cicero to Servius Sulpicius Rufus, Fam. 4.3 [SB 202]); many letters written to Pompeians in exile contain elements of consolatio as well.

⁹⁷For the date of Hortensius, see Ruch 1958b.35–37 and Bringmann 1971.90–93. Cf. Brittain 2006.ix–x, with n.4.

⁹⁸Cf. the analysis of Bringmann 1971, esp. 96.

⁹⁹Cf. Gildenhard’s (2007.58–59) sensitive analysis of Cicero’s double motivation in the preface to the Academica.

¹⁰⁰On letters of consolation, see Wilcox 2005a. The discussion in Ochs 1993 is brief and is subsidiary to the main focus of the book on funerary ritual and customs. The discussion in Fern 1941, aimed at defining ancient consolation as a genre, has been rendered less useful by modern genre theory. A classic discussion of ancient literary consolation is Kassel 1958.

¹⁰¹vehementer te esse sollicitum et in communibus miseriis praecipuo quodam dolore angi multi ad nos quotidie deferent, “We have been receiving daily reports from many that you are gravely disturbed and, at a time of common misery, are tormented by a certain private grief” (Fam. 4.3.1; SB 202).

¹⁰²hactenus existimo nostram consolationem recte adhibitam esse, quoad certior ab homine amicissimo fieres iis de rebus quibus levari possent molestiae tuae. reliqua sunt in te ipso neque mihi ignota nec minima solacia, aut <ut> quidem ego sentio, multo maxima. quae ego experiens cottidie sic probo ut ea mihi salutem adferre videantur, “Thus far I believe that my consolation has been correctly administered, in as far as you were informed by a man most friendly to you about those matters which could provide relief for your troubles. The remaining sources of consolation are to be found in you yourself; they are not unknown to me, and are by no means negligible, and in fact, I think, much greater. As I experience them on a daily basis, I find them so effective that they appear to bring me a means of deliverance” (Fam. 4.3.3; SB 202).

¹⁰³haec eo scripsi quod mihi Philargyrus tuus omnia de te requirenti fidelissimo animo, ut mihi quidem visus est, narravit te interdum sollicitum solere esse vehementius, “I wrote these things because your Philargyrus, when I asked to know everything about you, told me, as it seemed to me because of his loyalty to you, that every now and then you have been deeply disturbed” (Fam. 6.1.6; SB 242).

¹⁰⁴Att. 12.14 (SB 251), 12 20 (SB 258), 12.21 (SB 260), 12.28 (SB 267), March 45; 12.38a (SB 279), May 45.

¹⁰⁵My reading of the tone on both sides of this exchange differs from that of Wilcox 2005a.244–46, who sees it as the least competitive of all the letters that she considers.

¹⁰⁶For an example of such traditional behavior at a different time, cf. the speech of Lucius Aemilius Paulus following the death of two of his sons, one before and one after his Macedonian triumph: hanc cladem domus meae vestra felicitas et secunda fortuna publica consolatur, “your happiness and the good fortune of the state console me for this destruction of my household” (Livy 45.41.12).

¹⁰⁷Focus on the shrine combined with rejection of writing as only fostering grief, Att. 12.18 (SB 254); shrine as the only consolation, Att. 12.41 (SB 283). Erskine 1997.38 suggests that the shrine may not have been built because Cicero was dissuaded by his “further reading of philosophical literature.” Given Cicero’s familiarity with consolatory literature prior to his loss and his extensive reading at the time when he focuses on the shrine, it appears more likely that this obsessive project, a way of coping with the loss at its most acute, gradually lost its urgency.

¹⁰⁸In addition to explicit reasons that he expected to be more acceptable to his audience, Cicero uses a number of rhetorical strategies that implicitly place the treatises into a traditional framework of elite male activity. I discuss these strategies in chapters four and five.

¹⁰⁹Public claims are applicable to all, and can easily be perceived as imposing on the audience Cicero’s innovative, and potentially suspect, way of dealing with issues of consequence to the state through philosophical means.

¹¹⁰The device of the author depicting himself as the reader of his own treatises is used also in the preface to De Senectute, where, since Cicero presents himself as the dedicatee’s fellow-traveler through old age, he can speak of the readers’ projected reading experience based on his own experience in both composing and reading this dialogue. Yet in De Senectute the fact that two readers, the author and the dedicatee, are present introduces the notion that readers differ and that the material should be presented in a way that is widely applicable. This kind of opportunity for broadening the applicability of the work would be absent in the Consolatio.