44 BC
CATO
OR, AN ESSAY ON OLD AGE
by Cicero
translated by W. Melmoth
Electronically Enhanced Text (c) Copyright 1996, World Library(R)
TO TITUS POMPONIUS ATTICUS.
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Ah, could my numbers charm thy anxious breast
And lull the sorrows of thy soul to rest;
Would'st thou not deem the poet's lenient lay
More worth than sums of countless gold could pay?
[Ennius, Ann. x.]
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For well may I address you, my friend, in those lines of the
honest bard,
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Far less for wealth than probity renowned,
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with which he opens his poem inscribed to Flamininus. I am
sensible at the same time that when the poet adds,
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Each rising sun beholds thy ceaseless grief,
And night returning brings thee no relief.
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he holds a language by no means applicable to you. I perfectly
well know the moderation and equanimity you possess; and that you have
derived from Athens, not only an honourable addition to your name, but
that calm and philosophic spirit which so peculiarly distinguishes
your character. Nevertheless, I have reason to believe that the
present unpleasing posture of public affairs sometimes interrupts your
tranquillity of mind; as it frequently, I confess, discomposes my own.
But it is not my present purpose to offer you any consolation upon
that subject: the case requires a very powerful application; and I
will reserve what I have to say upon it to some future opportunity. My
design at this time is only to communicate to you a few reflections
concerning Old Age: the infirmities whereof we are now beginning to
feel, or at least are advancing fast towards them: and I am desirous
of rendering the burthen as easy as possible to you and to myself. I
am well convinced indeed that as you have hitherto borne its weight,
so you will continue to support its increasing pressure, with the same
good sense and composure of mind which you have so happily
discovered upon every other important occasion. However, having
resolved to publish some reflections upon the subject, I determined to
address them to you, who have a peculiar claim to this pledge of my
affection: and it is a present to which we may both of us have
recourse with equal advantage. For myself, at least, the
considerations I now lay before you have had so happy an effect on
my own mind, as not only to reconcile me to all the inconveniences
of old age, but to render it even an agreeable state to me.
Can we sufficiently then express our sense of the obligations we owe
to philosophy, who thus instructs her disciples how to pass through
every successive period of human life with equal satisfaction and
complacency? The advantages to be derived from her precepts, in
other important situations, is a topic upon which I have frequently
had occasion to expatiate, and shall often perhaps resume: but in
the papers I now send you, my purpose is to consider those
advantages with respect only to our declining years. To have put these
reflections into the mouth of an imaginary character, like the
Tithonus of Aristo, would have made but little impression upon the
reader: in order therefore to give them the greater force, I have
represented them as delivered by the venerable Cato. To this end I
have introduced Scipio and Laelius, as expressing to him their
admiration of the wonderful ease with which he supported his old
age: and this gives him occasion to enter into a full explanation of
his ideas upon the subject. If you should think that he discovers,
in this conversation, a richer vein of literature than appears in
his own compositions, you must impute it to the acquaintance he
afterwards made with the Greek authors, whose language and philosophy,
it is well known, he passionately studied in the latter end of his
long life. I have only to add, that in delivering the sentiments of
Cato, I desire to be understood as fully declaring my own.
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SCIPIO.- I have frequently, Cato, joined with our friend Laelius, in
admiring that consummate wisdom and virtue, which upon all occasions
so eminently distinguishes your character; but particularly, in that
singular ease and cheerfulness with which you seem to bear up under
those years which are pressing upon you. I could never observe that
they are attended with the least inconvenience to you: whereas the
generality of men, at your time of life, usually complain of old age
as the heaviest and most insupportable of burthens.
CATO.- There is nothing, my friends, in the circumstance you have
remarked, that can justly, I think, deserve your admiration. Those
indeed who have no internal resource of happiness, will find
themselves uneasy in every stage of human life: but to him who is
accustomed to derive all his felicity from within himself, no state
will appear as a real evil into which he is conducted by the common
and regular course of nature. Now this is peculiarly the case with
respect to old age: yet such is the inconsistency of human folly, that
the very period which at a distance is every man's warmest wish to
attain, no sooner arrives than it is equally the object of his
lamentations. It is usual with men at this season of life to
complain that old age has stolen upon them by surprise, and much
sooner than they expected. But if they were deceived by their own
false calculations, must not the blame rest wholly on themselves? For,
in the first place, old age surely does not gain by swifter and more
imperceptible steps on manhood, than manhood advances on youth; and in
the next, in what respect would age have sitten less heavily upon
them, had its progress been much slower, and, instead of making his
visit at fourscore years, it had not reached them till four hundred?
For the years that are elapsed, how numerous soever they may have
been, can by no means console a weak and frivolous mind under the
usual consequences of long life. If I have any claim therefore to that
wisdom which you tell me, my friends, you have often admired in my
character (and which I can only wish indeed were worthy of the opinion
you entertain of it, and the appellation the world has conferred
upon me), it consists wholly in this, that I follow nature as the
surest guide, and resign myself with an implicit obedience to all
her sacred ordinances. Now it cannot be supposed that nature, after
having wisely distributed to all the preceding periods of life their
peculiar and proper enjoyments, should have neglected, like an
indolent poet, the last act of the human drama, and left it
destitute of suitable advantages. Nevertheless, it was impossible
but that in the life of man, as in the fruits of the earth, there
should be a certain point of maturity, beyond which the marks of decay
must necessarily appear: and to this unavoidable condition of his
present being, every wise and good man will submit with a contented
and cheerful acquiescence. For to entertain desires repugnant to the
universal law of our existence; what is it, my friends, but to wage
war, like the impious giants, with the gods themselves?
LAELIUS.- You will confer, then, a very acceptable service on both
of us, Cato (for I will venture to answer for my friend Scipio as well
as for myself), if you will mark out to us by what means we may most
effectually be enabled to support the load of incumbent years. For
although we are at present far distant from old age, we have reason,
however, to expect- at least to hope- that it is a period we shall
live to attain.
CATO.- Most willingly, Laelius, I yield to your request,
especially as you assure me that my compliance will be equally
agreeable to both of you.
SCIPIO.- Yes, my venerable friend; like travellers who mean to
take the same long journey you have gone before us, we should be
glad (if it be not imposing too much trouble upon you) that you
would give us some account of the advanced stage at which you are
now arrived.
CATO.- I am ready, Scipio, to the best of my power, to give you
the information you desire. And, indeed, I am the more qualified for
the task you assign me, as I have always (agreeably to the old
proverb) associated much with men of my own years. This has given me
frequent opportunities of being acquainted with their grievances;
and I particularly remember to have often heard Caius Salinator and
Spurius Albinus (men of consular rank and nearly of the same age as
myself) bewail their condition. The principal subject of their
complaint was, in the first place, that they were no longer capable of
enjoying the sensual gratifications without which, in their
estimation, life was of no value; and in the next, that they found
themselves neglected by those who had formerly paid their court to
them with the greatest attention. But they imputed their grievances, I
think, to a wrong cause. For had they arisen merely from the
circumstance of their age, they would have been common to myself,
and to every other man of the same advanced years. But the fact is
much otherwise; and I have known many, at that period of life, who
passed their time without the least repining- who neither regretted
that they were released from the dominion of their passions, nor had
reason to think themselves treated with disrespect by any of their
connections. In fact, the true grievance, in all complaints of this
kind, lies in the man and not in the age. They whose desires are
properly regulated, and who have nothing morose or petulant in their
temper and manners, will find old age, to say the least of it, is a
state very easily to be endured, whereas unsubdued passions and a
froward disposition will equally embitter every season of human life.
LAELIUS.- Your observations, Cato, are undoubtedly just. Yet some,
perhaps, may be apt to say, that your ample possessions, together with
the power and influence of your rank and character, have very much
contributed to soften the inconveniences of old age, and render it
more than usually easy to you, but that these are advantages which
cannot possibly fall to the lot of many.
CATO.- I must acknowledge that the circumstances you mention have
some beneficial influence, but I can by no means admit that the
whole depends upon them. When a certain native of the paltry island of
Seriphos told Themistocles, in an altercation which arose between
them, that he was indebted for the lustre of his fame not to the
intrinsic splendour of his actions, but to the country in which he had
the good fortune to be born. "It may be so," replied the Athenian
general, "for if I had received my birth at Seriphos, I could have had
no opportunity of producing my talents; but give me leave to tell you,
that yours would never have made a figure though you had been born
in Athens." The same sentiment is justly applicable to the case in
question; for although it must be confessed that old age, under the
pressure of extreme indigence, cannot possibly prove an easy state,
not even to a wise and virtuous mind, yet without those essential
qualities it must necessarily prove the reverse, although it should be
accompanied with every external advantage. Believe me, my young
friends, the best and surest guard against the inconveniences of old
age, is to cultivate in each preceding period the principles of
moral science, and uniformly to exercise those virtues it
prescribes. The good seeds which you shall thus have sown in the
former seasons of life will, in the winter of your days, be
wonderfully productive of the noblest and most valuable fruit-
valuable not only as a possession which will remain with you even to
your latest moments (though, indeed, that circumstance alone is a very
considerable recommendation), but also as a conscious retrospect on
a long life marked with an uninterrupted series of laudable and
beneficent actions affords a perpetual source of the sweetest and most
exquisite satisfaction.
When I was very young I conceived as strong an affection for Quintus
Maximus (the celebrated General who recovered Tarentum) as if we had
been of equal years. There was a dignity in the deportment of this
excellent old man, which was tempered with singular politeness and
affability of manners, and time had wrought no sort of alteration in
his amiable qualities. He was not, it is true, at a time of life which
could properly be called infirm age when I first began to cultivate
his friendship; but he was certainly, however, advanced in years,
for I was not born till the year before his first consulate. In his
fourth, I served as a very young man in the army he commanded at
Capua; and five years afterwards I was his Quaestor at Tarentum.
From that post I succeeded to the Edileship; and four years after,
in the consulate of Tuditanus and Cethegus, I was chosen Praetor. It
was at this period that, by the advice and eloquence of my venerable
friend, who was now become extremely old, the Cincian law concerning
donatives was enacted. This great man led our troops to battle in
his old age with as much spirit as if he had been in the prime and
vigour of life; and when Hannibal, with all the gaiety of a youthful
conqueror, was exulting in the success of his arms, he gave a check to
his victories by a cool and patient perseverance in avoiding a general
engagement. It is to this part of his judicious conduct that those
famous lines of my friend Ennius allude:-
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'Twas his to save the State by wise delay,
Regardless what the censuring world might say.
Time proves the merit of the glorious deed,
His fame still rising as the years succeed.
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How wonderful was the judgement he displayed, and the vigilance he
exerted, in retaking the city of Tarentum! I remember when Salinator
(who, after having been driven by the besiegers from the city, retired
to the citadel) was boasting to Maximus, in my presence, that it was
by his means he regained possession of the town. "Very true,"
replied Maximus, with a smile; "for if you had not lost it, I
certainly could never have recovered it." Nor were his spirit and
abilities more conspicuous as a soldier than a statesman. In his
second consulship, when C. Flaminius, in direct opposition to the
authority of the Senate, was dividing among the soldiers the conquered
lands in the provinces of Gaul and Picentia, he had the courage
singly, and unsupported by his colleague Carvilius, to withstand, as
far as it was possible, the popular measures of that factious tribune.
And even when he was Augur, he had the honest boldness, upon a
particular occasion, openly to declare that "every omen ought to be
considered as favourable or inauspicious, as the interest of the State
determined."
But there is no trait among the many shining qualities which adorned
this great man's character that I observed with warmer admiration than
the fortitude with which he supported the death of his illustrious
son. The funeral oration he pronounced upon that affecting occasion is
in everybody's hands; and which of the philosophers, I will venture to
ask, does not sink in our esteem after the perusing of this
admirable performance? The truth is, it was not solely in the
conspicuous paths of the world, and when he was acting in the public
view, that this excellent man was truly great; he appeared still
greater in the private and domestic scenes of life. How pleasing and
instructive was his conversation! how profound his knowledge of
antiquity! how deep his skill in the laws and institutions
concerning augury! To which I may add, that he was better acquainted
with the Grecian literature than is usual for a Roman. His memory,
too, was so remarkably faithful, that there was not a single event
of any note that had happened in the wars, either with our
neighbours in Italy or with the more distant nations, with which he
was not perfectly well acquainted. In short, from my first
connection with him, I as eagerly embraced every opportunity of
enjoying his society as if I had then presaged, what the event has
verified, that after his death I should never again meet with so
wise and informing a companion.
I have entered thus minutely into the character and conduct of
Maximus, in order to convince you that it would be an affront to
virtue to suppose that old age, to a man endowed with such
principles and dispositions, could possibly have been a state of
infelicity. It must be acknowledged, at the same time, that it is
not in every one's power to be a Maximus or a Scipio; to enliven the
gloom of declining years by the animating recollection of the towns he
has taken, the battles he has won, and the triumphs that have honoured
his successful arms. But it is not the great and splendid actions of
the hero or the statesman alone that lead to an easy and agreeable old
age; that season of life may prove equally placid and serene to him
who hath passed all his days in the silent and retired paths of
elegant and learned leisure. Of this kind, we are told, was the old
age of Plato, who continued to employ himself with great
satisfaction in his philosophical studies, till death put an end to
them in his eighty-first year. Such, too, was that of Isocrates, who
is said to have composed his famous discourse, intituled
"Panathenaicus," in the ninety-fourth year of his age, and his death
did not happen till five years afterwards. His preceptor, Gorgias of
Leontini, lived to complete his one hundred and seventh year,
continuing his studies with undiminished spirit and application to his
last moments. This celebrated veteran being asked, Why he did not
put an end to such a tedious length of life? "Because," said he, "I
find no reason to complain of old age"- an answer truly noble, and
altogether worthy of a philosopher! They whose conduct has not been
governed by the principles of wisdom and virtue are apt to impute to
old age those infirmities for which their former irregularities are
alone accountable. Far different were the sentiments of Ennius, whom I
just now had occasion to quote; he compares his declining years to
those of a generous steed:
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Who victor oft in famed Olympia's fields,
To sweet repose his age-worn members yields.
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You are not too young, my friend, to remember the person of this
veteran poet, for his death happened so late as the consulate of
Caepio and Philippus, which is not more than nineteen years ago. And
let me observe, by the way, notwithstanding I was at that time full
sixty-five years of age, I spoke in defence of the Voconian law with
great exertion of voice and vehemence of action. But I was going to
remark that this venerable bard, who lived to seventy, bore up under
age and indigence with such wonderful cheerfulness and good humour,
that one would almost have imagined he derived even a satisfaction
from those circumstances which the generality of mankind look upon, of
all others, as the most dispiriting and oppressive.
When I consider the several causes which are usually supposed to
constitute the infelicity of old age, they may be reduced, I think,
under four general articles. It is alleged that "it incapacitates a
man for acting in the affairs of the world," that "it produces great
infirmities of body," that "it disqualifies him for the enjoyment of
the sensual gratifications," and that "it brings him within the
immediate verge of death." Let us therefore, if you please, examine
the force and validity of each of these particular charges.
"Old age," it seems, "disqualifies us from taking an active part
in the great scenes of business." But in what scenes? let me ask. If
in those which require the strength and vivacity of youth, I readily
admit the charge. But are there no other; none which are peculiarly
appropriated to the evening of life, and which, being executed by
the powers of the mind, are perfectly consistent with a less
vigorous state of body? Did Quintus Maximus, then, pass the latter end
of his long life in total inactivity? Tell me, Scipio, was your
father, and my son's father-in-law, the excellent Lucius Paulus,
were the Fabricii, the Curii, and the Coruncanii, utterly bereaved
of all useful energy when they supported the interests of the Republic
by the wisdom of their counsels and the influence of their respectable
authority? Appius Claudius was not only old, but blind, when he
remonstrated in the Senate with so much force and spirit against
concluding a peace with Pyrrhus, to which the majority of the
members appeared strongly inclined. And upon this occasion it was that
he broke forth into those animated expostulations which Ennius has
introduced into his poem:-
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Shall folly now that honoured Council sway,
Where sacred wisdom's wont to point the way?
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together with the rest of those spirited lines with which you are no
doubt well acquainted. This celebrated harangue, which is still
extant, Appius delivered seventeen years after his second consulate,
between which and his first there was an interval of ten years, and
prior to both he had exercised the office of Censor. It is evident,
therefore, that he must have been a very old man at the time of the
Pyrrhic war. And, indeed, the tradition received from our
forefathers has always represented him as such.
It appears, therefore, that nothing can be more void of foundation
than to assert that old age necessarily disqualifies a man for the
great affairs of the world. As well might it be affirmed that the
pilot is totally useless and unengaged in the business of the ship,
because while the rest of the crew are more actively employed in their
respective departments, he sits quietly at the helm and directs its
motions. If in the great scenes of business an old man cannot
perform a part which requires the force and energy of vigorous
years, he can act, however, in a nobler and more important
character. It is not by exertions of corporal strength and activity
that the momentous affairs of state are conducted; it is by cool
deliberation, by prudent counsel, and by that authoritative
influence which ever attends on public esteem, qualifications which
are so far from being impaired, that they are usually strengthened and
improved by increase of years. And in this opinion, my noble
friends, I am persuaded I shall have your concurrence, unless,
peradventure, you look upon me as an useless and idle member of the
commonwealth, because after having regularly passed through the
several gradations of military service, from the private soldier to
the commander-in-chief, and been concerned in each of those capacities
in a variety of engagements, both by sea and land, I now no longer
lead forth our armies to battle. But if I forbear to enter
personally into the fatigues of war, I represent to the Senate its
most proper object, and point out in what manner the operations may
best be carried on. In short, I am perpetually urging the expediency
of declaring war against the Carthaginians, in order to anticipate
them in those hostilities which they have long been meditating against
us. As in truth I shall never cease to be apprehensive of that
commonwealth till it shall no longer have any existence. And may the
glory of extirpating that insidious State be reserved, Scipio, for
your arms, that you may have the honour of accomplishing the great
work which your illustrious ancestor so happily began! Thirty-three
years have now elapsed since the death of that great man, but his
virtues are still fresh on the minds of his fellow-citizens, and
will be had in honourable remembrance throughout all generations.
His death happened the year before I was elected Censor, and nine
years after his second consulate, in which office he was chosen my
colleague. But had the life of this excellent man been extended even
through a whole century, can it be imagined that he would have
considered the closing period of such honourable days as a state to be
regretted? For it was not agility in the robust and manly exercises,
or skill and prowess in the management of arms, it was his
judgement, his counsel, and his authority alone which he would then
have had occasion to display. If abilities of this latter kind were
not the peculiar attributes of old age, our wise ancestors would not
surely have distinguished the supreme Council of the State by the
appellation of Senate. The Lacedaemonians, for the same reason, give
to the first magistrates in their commonwealth the title of Elders.
And, in fact, they are always chosen out of that class of men.
If you look into the history of foreign nations you will find
frequent instances of flourishing communities, which, after having
been well-nigh ruined by the impetuous measures of young and
unexperienced statesmen, have been restored to their former glory by
the prudent administration of more discreet years. "Tell me," says one
of the personages in that dramatic piece of Naevius, called the
School, addressing himself to a citizen of a certain Republic, "tell
me whence it happened that so considerable a State as yours has thus
suddenly fallen to decay?" The person questioned assigns several
reasons, but the principal is "that a swarm of rash, unpractised young
orators had unhappily broken forth and taken the lead among them."
Temerity, indeed, is the usual characteristic of youth, as prudence is
of old age.
But it is farther urged "that old age impairs the memory." This
effect, I confess, it may probably have on those memories which were
originally infirm, or whose native vigour has not been preserved by
a proper exercise. But is there any reason to suppose that
Themistocles, who had so strong a memory that he knew the name of
every citizen in the commonwealth, lost his retentive power as his
years increased, and addressed Aristides, for instance, by the
appellation of Lysimachus? For my own part, I still perfectly well
recollect the names, not only of all our principal citizens now
living, but of their ancestors also. And I am so little apprehensive
of injuring this faculty (as is vulgarly believed) by the perusing
of sepulchral inscriptions, that, on the contrary, I find them of
singular service in recalling to my mind those persons whom death hath
long since removed from the world. In fact, I never yet heard of any
veteran whose memory was so weakened by time as to forget where he had
concealed his treasure. The aged, indeed, seem to be at no loss in
remembering whatever is the principal object of their attention, and
few there are at that period of life who cannot readily call to mind
what recognisances they have entered into, or with whom they have
had any pecuniary transactions. Innumerable instances of a strong
memory in advanced years might be produced from among our celebrated
lawyers, pontiffs, augurs, and philosophers; for the faculties of
the mind will preserve their powers in old age, unless they are
suffered to lose their energy and become languid for want of due
cultivation. And the truth of this observation may be confirmed not
only by those examples I have mentioned from the more active and
splendid stations of the world, but from instances equally frequent to
be met with in the paths of studious and retired life. Sophocles
continued in extreme old age to write tragedies. As he seemed to
neglect his family affairs whilst he was wholly intent on his dramatic
compositions, his sons instituted a suit against him in a court of
judicature, suggesting that his understanding was impaired, and
praying that he might be removed from the management of his estate;
agreeably to a custom which prevails likewise in our own country,
where if a father of a family by imprudent conduct is ruining his
fortunes, the magistrate commonly interposes and takes the
administration out of his hands. It is said that when the old bard
appeared in court upon this occasion he desired that he might be
permitted to read a play which he had lately finished, and which he
then held in his hand; it was his Oedipus in Colonos. His request
being granted, after he had finished the recital he appealed to the
judges whether they could discover in his performance any symptoms
of an insane mind? And the result was that the court unanimously
dismissed the complainants' petition.
Did length of days weaken the powers of Homer, Hesiod, or Simonides,
of Stesichorus, Isocrates, or Gorgias? Did old age interrupt the
studies of those first and most distinguished of the Greek
philosophers, Pythagoras or Democritus, Plato or Xenocrates? or, to
descend into later times, did grey hairs prove an obstacle to the
philosophic pursuits of Zeno, Cleanthes, or that famous stoic whom you
may remember to have seen in Rome, the venerable Diogenes? On the
contrary, did not all of these eminent persons persevere in their
respective studies with unbroken spirit to the last moment of their
extended lives?
But not to enter farther into the consideration of old age in
respect to the nobler and more exalted application of the human
faculties, I could name among my friends and neighbours in the country
several men far advanced in life who employ themselves with so much
industry and activity in the business of agriculture that they never
suffer any of the more important articles of their husbandry to be
carried on when they are not themselves present to supervise and
direct the work. I will acknowledge, at the same time, that these
spirited labours of the persons I allude to are not perhaps a matter
of much wonder with regard to those objects of tillage which are
sown and reaped within the year, as no man is so far advanced in age
as not to flatter himself that he may at least survive to enjoy the
benefit of the next harvest. But those rural veterans I am speaking of
are occupied also in branches of husbandry, from which they are sure
that they themselves cannot possibly live to derive the least
advantage:-
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The future shade for times unborn they raise,
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as my friend Caecilius expresses it in his play called The
Youthful Companions. Agreeably to this generous principle, the
oldest husbandman when he is asked, "to what purpose he lays out his
labours in the business of planting?" may well reply, "In obedience to
the immortal gods, by whose bountiful providence as I received these
fields from my ancestors, so it is their will that I should deliver
them down with improvement to posterity."
The poet's sentiment in the verse I just now repeated is far more
just than in those lines he adds:-
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Severe the doom that length of days impose!
To stand sad witness of unnumbered woes,
Ah, had old age no other ills in store,
Too well might man its dire approach deplore;
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for if long life may occasion our being the painful spectators of
many calamities which an earlier death would have concealed from our
view, it may equally afford us the satisfaction of seeing many happy
events which could not otherwise have come within our notice. Not to
mention that disagreeable scenes will unavoidably occur to the young
no less than to the old. But the observation of my dramatic friend
is still more unwarrantable when he farther declares that:-
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Of all the ills which drooping eld await,
'Tis sure the worst to stand the scorn, or hate,
Of happier years. [Terence.]
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Why should he suppose that old age necessarily lays us open to a
mortification of this kind? As men of good sense in the evening of
life are generally fond of associating with the younger part of the
world, and when they discover in them the marks of an amiable
disposition, find a sort of alleviation of their infirmities in
gaining their affection and esteem; so, on the other hand,
well-inclined young men think themselves equally happy to be conducted
into the paths of knowledge and virtue by the guidance and instruction
of experienced age. For my own part, at least, I have reason to
believe that my company is not less acceptable to you, my youthful
friends, than yours most assuredly is to me.
But to resume the particular point under consideration. It appears
that old age is so far from being necessarily a state of languor and
inactivity that it generally continues to exert itself in that sort of
occupation which was the favourite object of its pursuit in more
vigorous years. I will add that instances might be produced of men who
in this period of life have successfully applied themselves even to
the acquisition of some art or science to which they were before
entirely strangers. Thus Solon, in one of his poems written when he
was advanced in years, glories that "he learnt something every day
he lived." And old as I myself am, it is but lately that I acquired
a knowledge of the Greek language, to which I applied with the more
zeal and diligence, as I had long entertained an earnest desire of
becoming acquainted with the writings and characters of those
excellent men to whose examples I have occasionally appealed in the
course of our present conversation. Thus Socrates, too, in his old age
learnt to play upon the lyre, an art which the ancients did not deem
unworthy of their application. If I have not followed the
philosopher's example in this instance (which, indeed, I very much
regret), I have spared, however, no pains to make myself master of the
Greek language and learning.
The next imputation thrown upon old age is, that "it impairs our
strength," and it must be acknowledged the charge is not altogether
without foundation. But, for my part, I no more regret the want of
that vigour which I possessed in my youth, than I lamented in my youth
that I was not endowed with the force of a bull or an elephant. It
is sufficient if we exert with spirit, upon every proper occasion,
that degree of strength which still remains with us. Nothing can be
more truly contemptible than a circumstance which is related
concerning the famous Milo of Crotona. This man, when he was become
old, observing a set of athletic combatants that were exercising
themselves in the public circus: "Alas!" said he, bursting into a
flood of tears and stretching forth his arm, "alas! these muscles
are now totally relaxed and impotent." Frivolous old man; it was not
so much the debility of thy body as the weakness of thy mind thou
hadst reason to lament, as it was by the force of mere animal prowess,
and not by those superior excellences which truly ennoble man, that
thou hadst rendered thy name famous. Never, I am well persuaded, did a
lamentation of this unworthy kind escape the mouth of Coruncanius,
or Aelius, or the late Publius Crassus; men whose consummate abilities
in the science of jurisprudence were generously laid out for the
common benefit of their fellow-citizens, and whose superior strength
of understanding continued in all its force and vigour to the
conclusion of their numerous years.
It must be confessed, however, that the powers of an orator (as
his function cannot be successfully executed by the force of genius
alone, but requires great exertion, likewise, both of voice and
gesture) must necessarily become languid and enfeebled by age.
Nevertheless, there is a certain sweetness of utterance which, I
know not how, is not subject to be impaired by years, and this
melody of voice (old as you see I am) I may venture to say I have
not yet lost. There is, indeed, a species of calm and composed
elocution extremely graceful and perfectly well adapted to advanced
years, and I have frequently observed an eloquent old man captivate
the attention of his audience by the charms of this soft and milder
tone of delivery. But if age should render the orator unequal even
to this less laborious application of his talents, they may still be
usefully exerted. They may be employed in forming young men of
genius (yourself, for instance, Scipio, or our friend Laelius) to a
nervous and manly eloquence. And can there be a more pleasing
satisfaction to an old man, than to see himself surrounded by a circle
of ingenuous youths, and to conciliate by these laudable means their
well-merited esteem and affection? It will not, I suppose, be denied
that old age has at least a sufficient degree of strength remaining to
train the rising generation and instruct them in every duty to which
they may hereafter be called, and there cannot, certainly, be a more
important or a more honourable occupation. Accordingly, I have
always thought it a very considerable happiness to your relations,
Cnaeus and Publius Scipio, together with your two grandfathers, Lucius
Aemilius and Publius Africanus, that they were usually accompanied
by a train of young nobles, who attended them for the advantage of
their instructions. Indeed there is a satisfaction in communicating
useful knowledge of every kind, which must render any man happy, how
much soever time may have impaired the powers of his body, who employs
the talents of his mind to so noble and beneficial a purpose.
But after all, this imbecility of body is more frequently occasioned
by the irregularities of youth, than by the natural and unavoidable
consequences of long life. A debauched and intemperate young man
will undoubtedly, if he live, transmit weakness and infirmities to his
latter days. The virtuous Cyrus, in the discourse which Xenophon
relates he held when he lay on his death-bed, and which happened at
a very late period of life, declares he had never perceived that his
old age had been attended with any sensible decay. I perfectly well
remember Lucius Metellus when I was a boy. Four years after his second
consulate he was chosen chief pontiff, and he presided two and
twenty years in the sacred college. This venerable personage preserved
such a florid old age to his last moments as to have no reason to
lament the depredations of time. If I were to mention myself as an
instance of the same kind, it would be only taking an old man's
allowed privilege. Homer, you know, represents Nestor, although his
years had extended even to the third generation, as frequently
boasting of his extraordinary prowess. And, indeed, he might well be
indulged in the vanity of being the hero of his own true tale; for, as
the poet sings-
-
Words sweet as honey from his lips distilled.
-
And let me remark by the way, that in order to pour forth this
mellifluous and persuasive eloquence great strength of body was by
no means necessary; so much otherwise, that the celebrated general
of the Grecian forces never wishes for ten Ajaxes, but for ten such
officers as Nestor, to be secure of soon laying the walls of Troy
level with the ground.
But I was going to observe that I am now in my eighty-fourth year,
and I wish I had reason to boast with Cyrus that I feel no sensible
decay of strength. But although I do not possess it in the same degree
as when I made my first campaign in the Carthaginian war, in the
course of which I was advanced to the rank of questor; or when, during
my consulship, I commanded the army in Spain; or when four years
afterwards I was military tribune at the battle of Thermopylae; yet
I can with truth, you see, affirm that old age has not totally relaxed
my nerves and subdued my native vigour. My strength has not yet been
found to fail me, either in the Senate or the assemblies of the
people, when my country or my friends, my clients or my hosts, have
had occasion to require my service. The truth is I have never governed
myself by the cautious maxim of that ancient proverb so frequently
quoted, which says, "You must be old soon if you would be old long;"
on the contrary, I would rather abate some years from that season of
my life than prematurely anticipate its arrival. In consequence of
this principle I have hitherto been always open to access whenever any
person desired to be introduced to me for my advice or assistance in
his affairs.
But you will tell me, perhaps, that my strength is much inferior
to yours. Undoubtedly it is, and so is yours to that of Pontius the
athletic centurion, but is he therefore a more valuable man? A
moderate degree of force is sufficient for all the rational purposes
of life, and whoever will not attempt to exert his particular
portion farther than he is well able, will assuredly have no great
cause to regret that he is not endued with a more considerable
share. Milo is said to have walked the full length of the course at
the Olympic games bearing the whole enormous weight of an ox upon
his shoulders. Now tell me which would you choose to possess- this
man's extraordinary powers of body or the sublime genius of
Pythagoras? In a word, my friends, make a good use of your youthful
vigour so long as it remains, but never let it cost you a sigh when
age shall have withdrawn it from you; as reasonably, indeed, might
youth regret the loss of infancy or manhood the extinction of youth.
Nature conducts us, by a regular and insensible progression, through
the different seasons of human life, to each of which she has
annexed its proper and distinguishing characteristic. As imbecility is
the attribute of infancy, ardour of youth, and gravity of manhood,
so declining age has its essential properties, which gradually
disclose themselves as years increase.
I am persuaded, Scipio, I need not tell you what extraordinary
things that ancient host of your ancestors, Massinissa, is still
capable of performing. You have heard, no doubt, that although he is
at this time ninety years of age, he takes long journeys, sometimes on
foot and sometimes on horseback, without once relieving himself
throughout the whole way by alternately changing from the one mode
of travelling to the other; that he is so exceedingly hardy, that no
severity of weather, when he is abroad, can induce him to cover his
head; and that having preserved by these means a thin and active habit
of body, he still retains sufficient strength and spirits for
discharging in person the several functions of his royal station. I
particularise these circumstances as a proof, that by temperance and
exercise a man may secure to his old age no inconsiderable degree of
his former spirit and activity.
If it must be acknowledged that time will inevitably undermine the
strength of man, it must equally be acknowledged that old age is a
season of life in which great vigour is by no means required.
Accordingly, by the laws and institutions of our country, we who are
advanced to a certain age are excused from those offices which
demand robust powers to discharge. Far from being compelled to
undertake what is beyond our force, we are not called upon to exert
our strength even to its full extent. If it be alleged that there
are numberless old men so totally worn out and decayed, as to be
incapable of every kind of civil or social duty, it must be
confessed there are; but may not this debility have arisen from an
original weakness of constitution? a misfortune by no means peculiar
to old age, but common to every period of human life. How great a
valetudinarian was that son of Scipio Africanus, who adopted you for
his heir; so great indeed, that he scarcely ever enjoyed a day of
uninterrupted health. Had he been formed with a less delicate
constitution he would have shone forth a second luminary of the
Commonwealth, for with all the spirit and magnanimity of his
illustrious father he possessed a more improved and cultivated
understanding. What wonder then if age is sometimes oppressed with
those infirmities from which youth, we see, is by no means secure!
As to those effects which are the necessary and natural evils
attendant on long life, it imports us to counteract their progress
by a constant and resolute opposition, and to combat the infirmities
of old age as we would resist the approaches of a disease. To this end
we should be regularly attentive to the article of health, use
moderate exercise, and neither eat nor drink more than is necessary
for repairing our strength, without oppressing the organs of
digestion. Nor is this all: the intellectual faculties must likewise
be assisted by proper care, as well as those of the body. For the
powers of the body, like the flame in the lamp, will become languid
and extinct by time, if not duly and regularly recruited. Indeed the
mind and body equally thrive by a suitable exertion of their powers;
with this difference, however, that bodily exercise ends in fatigue,
whereas the mind is never wearied by its activity. When Caecilius
therefore represents certain veterans as "fit subjects for the comic
muse," he alludes only to those weak and credulous old doting mortals,
whose infirmities of mind are not so much the natural effect of
their years as the consequence of suffering their faculties to lie
dormant and unexerted in a slothful and spiritless inactivity. The
fact in short is plainly this: as irregular indulgences of the amorous
passions, although a vice to which youth is in general more prone than
age, is a vice, however, with which those young men alone are infected
who are unrestrained by principles of virtue; so that species of
delirium which is called dotage, is not a common weakness incident
to every old man in general, but to those only who have trifled away
their frivolous days in idleness and folly. In support of this
observation I will instance the venerable Appius. His family consisted
of four sons, who were arrived at the state of manhood, and five
daughters, together with a numerous train of clients and dependants;
yet, far advanced as he was in years, and totally deprived of his
sight, he would not commit the management of this very considerable
household to any other hands than his own. And he was abundantly equal
to the important charge, having kept the spring and energy of his mind
in constant action, nor suffered himself tamely to sink down under the
weight of incumbent years. In consequence of this spirited conduct
he maintained a more than parental authority over his family; his
commands were obeyed as so many imperial mandates. In fine, feared
by his servants, reverenced by his children, and endeared to all, he
exhibited in his house a striking specimen of that simplicity and good
order, which so eminently distinguished the domestic economy of our
forefathers. Age is truly respectable in the man who thus guards
himself from becoming the property of others, vindicates his just
rights, and maintains his proper authority to the last moments of
his life.
As I love to see the fire of youth somewhat tempered with the
gravity of age, so I am equally pleased when I observe the phlegm of
age somewhat enlivened with the vivacity of youth; and whoever
unites these two qualities in his character, may bear, indeed, the
marks of years in his body, but will never discover the same traces in
his mind. In pursuance of this maxim, I am now employed in adding a
seventh book to my antiquities; in collecting all the ancient
records I can meet with that relate to my subject; in finishing a
revisal of the speeches I made in the several important causes in
which I have been engaged; as also in drawing up some observations
concerning the augural, pontifical, and civil law. And in order to
exercise my memory, I practise the advice of the Pythagorean
philosophers, by recalling to my mind every night all that I have
said, or done, or heard, the preceding day. These are the
employments by which I keep the faculties of my understanding in play,
and preserve them in due vigour: employments in which I have little
reason surely to lament the want of mere animal strength. Nor are my
occupations wholly confined to those of a sedentary nature: on the
contrary, I not only assist my friends in the courts of judicature,
but frequently too, uncalled upon, attend the senate, where I
propose such measures for the consideration of that assembly as I have
previously weighed and duly matured in my own thoughts. And these I
support, not indeed by strength of voice and power of lungs, but by
the better force of reason and argument. But were I so worn down by
age as to be incapable of exerting myself in the manner I have
mentioned, yet one satisfaction nevertheless would still remain with
me; the satisfaction of meditating on these subjects as I lay on my
couch, and of performing in imagination what I could no longer execute
in reality. Thanks, however, to that regular and temperate course of
life I have ever led, I am still capable of taking an active part in
these public scenes of business. In fine, he who fills up every hour
of his life in such kind of labours and pursuits as those I have
mentioned, will insensibly slide into old age without perceiving its
arrival; and his powers, instead of being suddenly and prematurely
extinguished, will gradually decline by the gentle and natural
effect of accumulated years.
Let us now proceed to examine the third article of complaint against
old age, as "bereaving us," it seems, "of the sensual gratifications."
Happy effect indeed, if it deliver us from those snares which allure
youth into some of the worst vices to which that age is addicted.
Suffer me upon this occasion, my excellent young friends, to
acquaint you with the substance of a discourse which was held many
years since by that illustrious philosopher Archytas, of Tarentum,
as it was related to me when I was a young man in the army of
Quintus Maximus, at the siege of that city. "Nature," said this
illustrious sage, "has not conferred on mankind a more dangerous
present than those pleasures which attend the sensual indulgences;
as the passions they excite are too apt to run away with reason, in
a lawless and unbridled pursuit of their respective enjoyments. It
is in order to gratify inclinations of this ensnaring kind that men
are tempted to hold clandestine correspondence with the enemies of the
state, to subvert governments, and turn traitors to their country.
In short, there is no sort of crimes that affect the public welfare to
which an inordinate love of the sensual pleasures may not directly
lead. And as to vices of a more private tendency- rapes, adulteries
and every other flagitious violation of the moral duties- are they not
perpetrated solely from this single motive? Reason, on the other
hand," continued Archytas, "is the noblest gift which God, or
nature, has bestowed on the sons of men. Now nothing is so great an
enemy to that divine endowment, as the pleasures of sense. For neither
temperance, nor any other of the more exalted virtues, can find a
place in that breast which is under the dominion of the voluptuous
passions. Imagine to yourself a man in the actual enjoyment of the
highest gratification that his animal nature is capable of
receiving; there can be no doubt that during his continuance in that
state, it would be utterly impossible for him to exert any one power
of his rational faculties." From hence our philosopher inferred
"that the voluptuous enjoyments are attended with a quality of the
most noxious and destructive kind; since, in proportion to their
strength and duration, they darken or extinguish every brighter
faculty of the human soul."
Archytas expressed these sentiments in a conversation with Caius
Pontius, father of that famous Samnite commander who obtained a
victory over the consuls Spurius Postumius and Titus Veturius, at
the battle of Caudium: and it was related to me by our faithful
ally, and my very worthy host, Nearchus, of Tarentum. My friend
assured me he received this account by tradition from his ancestors:
and he added, that Plato was a party in this conversation. This
circumstance is indeed by no means improbable; as I find that
philosopher visited Tarentum in the consulate of Lucius Camillus and
Appius Claudius.
The inference I mean to draw from the authority I have cited is,
that if the principles of reason and virtue have not been sufficient
to inspire us with a proper contempt for the sensual pleasures, we
have cause to hold ourselves much obliged to old age at least, for
weaning us from those appetites which it would ill become us to
gratify. For the voluptuous passions are utter enemies to all the
nobler faculties of the soul; cast a mist, if I may so express it,
before the eye of reason, and hold no sort of commerce or communion
with the manly virtues.
To illustrate the truth of this assertion by a particular
instance, I will mention a fact concerning Lucius Flamininus, who
was brother to that brave commander Titus Flamininus. It was with much
regret that seven years after he had been raised to the dignity of
consul, I found myself under the necessity of expelling him from the
senate; but I thought his scandalous debaucheries ought not to pass
without marks of public disgrace. This unworthy man when he commanded,
during his consulship, our army in Gaul, was prevailed upon by his
pathic at an entertainment, to put to death one of the prisoners who
were in confinement for a capital offence; and this infamous act
escaped with impunity during the time that his brother Titus was
censor. But when I succeeded him in that office, neither myself nor my
colleague Flaccus, could by any means be induced to think that so
wanton and flagitious an instance of abandoned cruelty and lewdness
ought to pass without severe and distinguished animadversion;
especially as it reflected dishonour, not only on the base perpetrator
himself, but in some measure too on the high office with which he
was invested.
I have frequently heard from some of my friends who were much my
seniors, a traditionary anecdote concerning Fabricius. They assured
me, that in the early part of their lives they were told by certain
very old men of their acquaintance, that when Fabricius was ambassador
at the court of Pyrrhus, he expressed great astonishment at the
account given him by Cineas, of a philosopher at Athens (for a
philosopher, it seems, he styled himself), who maintained that the
love of pleasure was universally the leading motive of all human
actions. My informers added that when Fabricius related this fact to
Manius Curius and Titus Coruncanius, they both joined in wishing
that Pyrrhus and the whole Samnite nation might become converts to
this extraordinary doctrine, as the people who were infected with such
unmanly principles could not fail, they thought, of proving an easy
conquest to their enemies. Manius Curius had been intimately connected
with Publius Decius, who in his fourth consulate (which was five years
before the former entered upon that office) gloriously sacrificed
his life to the preservation of his country. This generous patriot was
personally known likewise both to Fabricius and Coruncanius, and
they were convinced by what they experienced in their own breasts,
as well as from the illustrious example of Decius, that there is in
certain actions a natural grace and beauty that captivate by their
intrinsic charms; and which, with a noble contempt of what the world
calls pleasure, every great and generous mind will ardently and
invariably pursue.
I have dwelt the longer upon this article, in order to convince you,
that the little relish which old age leaves us for enjoyments of the
sensual kind, in so far from being a just imputation on this period of
life, that on the contrary it very considerably raises its value. If
age render us incapable of taking an equal share in the flowing
cups, and luxuriant dishes of splendid tables, it secures us too
from their unhappy consequences- from painful indigestions, restless
nights, and disordered reason. Accordingly, the divine Plato justly
represents pleasure as the bait by which vice ensnares and
captivates her deluded votaries. But if this enticement cannot
always be resisted, if the palate must sometimes be indulged, I do not
scruple to say that an old man, although his years will guard him from
excess, is by no means excluded from enjoying, in a moderate degree,
the convivial gratifications. I remember frequently to have seen, when
I was a boy, that illustrious commander who obtained our first naval
victory over the Carthaginians, the venerable Duilius, returning
from evening entertainments of this festive kind, preceded by a
considerable number of flambeaux and instruments of music. He seemed
particularly fond of being distinguished by such a pompous and
splendid train; and indeed he is the first instance of a man not
invested with a public character, that ventured to appear with this
sort of ostentatious parade, a privilege, however, which in
consideration of his heroic achievements, he might well be allowed
to assume.
But to pass from the practice of others to my own, I will
acknowledge that I always took a singular satisfaction in
frequenting the meetings of those little societies which are known
by the name of confraternities, and which were first instituted when I
was quaestor, on occasion of the statue of Cybele being received
into our public worship. At the return of these anniversary assemblies
I used to partake with my brethren of the society in their festive
meals- never to excess, indeed; but, however, with a certain freedom
natural to the gay spirits which usually animate that period of
life, and which gradually subside as more serious years advance. But
the principal satisfaction I received from these entertainments
arose much less from the pleasures of the palate than from the
opportunity they afforded me of enjoying the company and
conversation of a very large circle of my friends. Agreeably to this
way of thinking our ancestors distinguished these kinds of amicable
feasts by the name of convivial banquets, as being chiefly
calculated for the more rational purposes of social and friendly
intercourse; whereas the Greeks denominate them by a term expressive
merely of eating and drinking, as if those two articles, which ought
to be considered as the least and lowest objects of the meeting,
were first and principal in their estimation. For my own part, I
receive so much pleasure from those hours which are thus devoted to
cheerful discourse, that I love to prolong my meals, not only when the
company is composed of men of my own years (few of which, indeed,
are now remaining), but when it chiefly consists of such young persons
as yourselves; and I acknowledge my obligations to old age for
having increased my passion for the pleasures of conversation at the
same time that it has abated it for those which depend solely on the
palate. I would not, however, be thought so professed an enemy to
the latter as to deny that, within certain limits, they may very
reasonably, perhaps, be indulged; and I declare, for the
satisfaction of those who are unwilling to part with this kind of
gratifications, that I do not find old age is a disqualification for
the enjoyment of them. On the contrary, I take delight in joining
those social parties where, agreeably to a good old custom
instituted by our ancestors, a president of the club is appointed, and
am much diverted to hear him deliver out his important edicts. I
rejoice, too, in those moderate and refreshing cups which Socrates
recommends in Xenophon's Banquet, and am well pleased with those
artificial methods of cooling, or warming the wine, as the different
seasons of the year invite. Even when I am in the country among my
Sabine neighbours I allow myself the same kind of indulgences, as I
every day add one to the number of their evening societies, which we
generally lengthen out by a variety of amusing conversation till the
night is far advanced.
If it be farther objected "that the pleasures of the senses are
not so exquisite in old age as in youth," my answer is that neither is
the inclination towards them equally strong; and certainly there can
be no loss where there is no desire. Sophocles, when he was become
old, being asked if he engaged in amorous commerce with the fair
sex? "Heaven forbid!" replied the venerable bard; "and glad I am to
have made my escape from the tyranny of so imperious a passion." The
truth is, to be deprived of enjoyments of this kind may be an uneasy
state perhaps to those who are stimulated by warm desires; but where
the passion is sufficiently subdued and extinguished, the privation is
more eligible than the fruition- if, indeed, one can properly be
said to be deprived of a pleasure who is utterly void of all
inclination towards it. I maintain, therefore, that there is more
satisfaction in being delivered from the dominion of this passion than
in its highest gratification.
If it must be admitted that in the fine season of life the soul
receives a stronger and more exquisite impression from the pleasures
of the senses, it will also be admitted, in the first place, that
these pleasures are in themselves but of little value; and in the
next, that notwithstanding old age cannot enjoy them in their utmost
extent and perfection, yet it is not absolutely, however, excluded
from them. If a spectator who sits in the first row of the theatre
enters more thoroughly into the beauties of Turpio's acting than he
who is placed in the remotest ranks, the latter, nevertheless, is
not totally debarred from all share in the entertainment. In the
same manner, if youth holds a less obstructed communication with the
sensual gratifications than the circumstances of age will admit, an
old man, though not equally, perhaps, affected with delight, feels
at least as quick a relish of them as is necessary to content his more
subdued desires.
But whatever may be the condition of old age with respect to the
instances I have been examining, inestimable surely are its advantages
if we contemplate it in another point of view; if we consider it as
delivering us from the tyranny of lust and ambition, from the angry
and contentious passions, from every inordinate and irrational desire-
in a word, as teaching us to retire within ourselves, and look for
happiness in our own bosoms; if to these moral benefits naturally
resulting from length of days be added that sweet food of the mind
which is gathered in the fields of science, I know not any season of
life that is passed more agreeably than the learned leisure of a
virtuous old age.
It was thus, Scipio, that your father's intimate friend, Caius
Gallus, employed himself to the very last moments of his long life;
and I saw him expire, I had almost said, in measuring the distances of
the heavenly orbs, and determining the dimensions of this our earth.
How often has the sun risen upon his astronomical meditations? how
frequently has the night overtaken him in the same elevated studies!
And with what delight did he amuse himself in predicting to us, long
before they happened, the several lunar and solar eclipses! Other
ingenious applications of the mind there likewise are- though of a
lighter nature, indeed- which may greatly contribute to enliven and
amuse the concluding scene of human life. Thus Naevius in composing
his poem on the Carthaginian war, and Plautus in writing his two
last comedies, filled up the leisure of their latter days with
wonderful complacency and satisfaction. I can affirm the same of our
dramatic poet, Livius, whom I remember to have seen in his old age,
for although the first play he brought upon the stage was in the
consulate of Cento and Tuditanus, six years before I was born, yet his
death did not happen till I was nearly arrived at manhood. To those
venerable personages whom I have already named, I might add Licinius
Crassus, celebrated for his consummate skill in the pontifical and
civil laws of his country, as also Publius Scipio, who very lately,
you know, was elected chief pontiff. These, together with every one of
the rest whom I have mentioned, I saw in the last period of life
pursuing their respective studies with the utmost ardour and alacrity.
But let me not forget to add to this memorable list the example of
Marcus Cethegus, whom Ennius justly styled the "soul of eloquence,"
and whom I likewise saw in his old age exercising even his
oratorical talents with uncommon force and vivacity.
Tell me now, can the gay amusements of the theatre, the splendid
luxuries of the table, or the soft blandishments of a mistress, supply
their votaries with enjoyments that may fairly stand in competition
with these calm delights of the intellectual pleasures? pleasures
which, in a mind rightly formed and properly cultivated, never fail to
improve and gather strength with years. What Solon, therefore,
declares in the verse I just now cited, that he "learnt something in
his old age every day he lived," is much to his honour; as, indeed, to
be continually advancing in the paths of knowledge is one of the
most pleasing satisfactions of the human mind.
From the pleasures which attend a studious old age, let us turn
our view to those which at that season of life may be received from
country occupations, of which I profess myself a warm admirer. These
are pleasures perfectly consistent with every degree of advanced
years, as they approach the nearest of all others to those of the
purely philosophical kind; they are derived from observing the
nature and properties of this our earth, which yields a ready
obedience to the cultivator's industry, and returns with interest
whatever he deposits in her charge; if not always, indeed, with
equal increase, yet always with some.
But the profit arising from this principle of fertility is by no
means, in my estimation, the most desirable circumstance of the
farmer's labours. I am principally delighted with observing the power,
and tracing the process, of Nature in these her vegetable productions.
Thus when the ground is sufficiently broken and prepared, the seedsman
disseminates the grain, which is afterwards harrowed into the bosom of
the earth, by the vital warmth and moisture of which it is gradually
expanded and pushed forth into the green blade; this blade shoots up
into a knotted stem, which is nourished and supported by the various
fibres of the root. The stem terminates in the ear, wherein the
grain is lodged in regular order, and defended from the depredations
of the smaller birds by a number of little bearded spikes. And let
me add (for I take great pleasure in bringing you acquainted with
every article that contributes to soothe and alleviate my bending
years) that I am particularly entertained with marking the growth of
the vine, and following it in its progress from the seed-plot to its
perfect maturity. Not to enlarge on that wonderful power with which
Nature has endowed every species of the vegetable kingdom- of
continuing their several kinds by their respective seeds, and which
from the smallest grain, as the fig, or from little stones, as the
vine, most amazingly swell into large trunks and branches- not to
dwell, I say, on this method of generation common to all the various
tribes of plants on the face of the earth, is it possible to observe
the different modes of propagating the vine by suckers, by layers,
by the root, or by slips, without being affected with the most
pleasing admiration? This shrub, which by its form is a trailing
plant, must necessarily creep upon the ground, unless it be supported,
for this reason. Nature has furnished it with little tendrils, which
serve as a sort of claws to lay hold of whatever stands within its
reach, in order to raise itself into a more erect posture. And here
the art of the husbandman is required to check its luxuriant growth,
to train the irregular and depending shoots, and to prevent them, by a
judicious pruning, from running into wood. After the vines have
undergone this autumnal dressing they push forth in spring from the
joints of the remaining branches little buds, which are
distinguished by the name of gems. From this gem the future grapes
take their rise, which gradually increase in size by the nourishment
they draw from the earth, in conjunction with the genial warmth of the
sun. At their first appearance they are extremely bitter, but in
process of time, and when duly matured, they acquire a most sweet
and delicious flavour. In the meanwhile, being covered and guarded
by the leaves, they receive a moderate degree of heat without being
too much exposed to the solar rays.
There cannot, surely, be a landscape more pleasing to the eye, as
well as more profitable to the owner, than a plantation of this
kind. It is not, however, as I have already declared, the utility
resulting from this species of agriculture with which I am principally
charmed; the mere cultivation itself of this generous plant, and the
observing of its nature and properties, abstracted from all
considerations of emolument, afford me a most amusing occupation; in
short, every circumstance that relates to the management of this
useful shrub, the regular arrangement of the vine props, the forming
of them into arcades, the pruning some of the branches, and fixing
layers of others, are employments in which I take much delight. To
this I may add the cutting of proper channels for supplying the
plantation with water, the stirring of the earth round their roots,
and the trenching of the ground- works which are in themselves
extremely entertaining, and which greatly contribute at the same
time to ameliorate and fertilise the soil. As to the advantage of
manure (an article which Hesiod has not taken the least notice of in
his poem on husbandry), I have sufficiently explained my sentiments in
the treatise I formerly published on the same subject. Homer,
however (who flourished, I am inclined to think, many ages before
Hesiod), in that part of the Odyssey where he represents Laertes as
diverting his melancholy for the absence of Ulysses by cultivating his
little farm, particularly mentions the circumstance of his manuring it
with compost.
But the amusement of farming is not confined to one species of
agriculture alone, to the cultivation of vineyards or woodlands, of
arable or meadow grounds; the orchard, the kitchen-garden, and the
parterre contribute also to diversify its pleasures- not to mention
the feeding of cattle and the rearing of bees. And besides the
entertainment which arises from planting, I may add the method of
propagating trees by the means of engrafting, an art which is one of
the most ingenious improvements, I think, that ever was made in the
business of horticulture.
I might proceed to point out many other pleasing articles of rural
occupations, if I were not sensible that I have already been too
prolix. But if the love I bear to this agreeable art, together with
that talkative disposition which is incident to my time of life (for I
would not appear so partial to old age as to vindicate it from all the
infirmities with which it is charged)- if I have dwelt longer, I
say, upon this subject than was necessary, I rely, my friends, on your
indulgence for a pardon. Suffer me, however, to add that Manius
Curius, after having conquered the Samnites, the Sabines, and even
Pyrrhus himself, passed the honourable remainder of his declining
years in cultivating his farm. The villa in which he lived is situated
at no great distance from my own, and I can never behold it without
reflecting, with the highest degree of admiration, both on the
singular moderation of his mind and the general simplicity of the
age in which he flourished. Here it was, while sitting by his
fireside, that he nobly rejected a considerable quantity of gold which
was offered to him on the part of the Samnites, and rejected it with
this memorable saying, "that he placed his glory not in the
abundance of his own wealth, but in commanding those among whom it
abounded." Can it be doubted that a mind raised and ennobled by such
just and generous sentiments must render old age a state full of
complacency and satisfaction?
But not to wander from that scene of life in which I am myself
more particularly concerned, let us return to our farmers. In those
good days I am speaking of, the members of the senate, who were always
men advanced in years, were called forth from their fields as often as
the affairs of the state demanded their assistance. Thus Cincinnatus
was following his plough, when notice was brought to him that he was
created Dictator. It was during his exercise of this high office
that his master of the horse, Servilius Ahala, in consequence of the
spirited orders he received from the Dictator, seized upon Spurius
Maelius, and instantly put him to death before he had time to
execute his traitorous purpose of usurping the reins of government.
Curius, too, and all the rest of the venerable senators of that age,
constantly resided at their villas. For which reason a particular
officer was appointed (called a courier, from the nature of his
employment) whose business it was to give them notice when there was a
meeting of the senate.
Now tell me, my friends, could the old age of these respectable
patriots, who thus amused their latter years in cultivating their
lands, be justly deemed a state of infelicity? In my opinion,
indeed, no kind of occupation is more pregnant with happiness; not
only as the business of husbandry is of singular utility to mankind in
general, but as being attended also (to repeat what I have already
observed) with peculiar and very considerable pleasures. I will add,
too, as a farther recommendation of rural employment (and I mention it
in order to be restored to the good graces of the voluptuous) that
it supplies both the table and the altar with the greatest variety and
abundance. Accordingly, the magazines of the skilful and industrious
farmer are plentifully stored with wine and oil, with milk, cheese,
and honey, as his yards abound with poultry, and his fields with
flocks and herds of kids, lambs, and porkets. The garden also
furnishes him with an additional source of delicacies; in allusion
to which the farmers pleasantly call a certain piece of ground
allotted to that particular use their dessert. I must not omit,
likewise, that in the intervals of their more important business,
and in order to heighten the relish of the rest, the sports of the
field claim a share in the variety of their amusements.
I might expatiate on the beauties of their verdant groves and
meadows, on the charming landscape that their vineyards and their
olive-yards present to view; but to say all in one word, there
cannot be a more pleasing nor a more profitable scene than that of a
well-cultivated farm. Now old age is so far from being an obstacle
to enjoyments of this kind that, on the contrary, it rather invites
and allures us to the fruition of them. For where, let me ask, can a
man in that last stage of life more easily find the comforts in winter
of a warm sun or a good fire? or the benefit in summer of cooling
shades and refreshing streams?
In respect to the peculiar articles of rural diversions, let those
of a more firm and vigorous age enjoy the robust sports which are
suitable to that season of life; let them exert their manly strength
and address in darting the javelin, or contending in the race; in
wielding the bat, or throwing the ball; in riding, or in swimming; but
let them, out of the abundance of their many other recreations, resign
to us old fellows the sedentary games of chance. Yet if they think
proper even in these to reserve to themselves an exclusive right, I
shall not controvert their claim; they are amusements by no means
essential to a philosophic old age.
The writings of Xenophon abound with a variety of the most useful
observations; and I am persuaded it is altogether unnecessary to
recommend them to your careful perusal. In his treatise entitled
"Oeconomics," with what a flow of eloquence does he break forth in
praise of agriculture! an art above all others, you will observe,
which he deemed worthy of a monarch's attention. In view to this, he
introduces Socrates informing his friend Critobulus, that when
Lysander of Lacedaemon, a man of great and eminent virtues, was
deputed by the confederate states to the Court of Sardis with their
respective presents to the younger Cyrus, that great prince, no less
distinguished by his genius than by the glory of his reign, received
him in the most gracious manner; and, among other instances of
affability, conducted him to an enclosure laid out with consummate
skill and judgement. Lysander, stricken with the height and regularity
of the trees, the neatness of the walks and borders, together with the
beauty and fragrance of the several shrubs and flowers, expressed
great admiration not only at the industry, but the genius that was
discovered in the scene he was surveying; upon which the prince
assured him that the whole was laid out by himself, and that many of
the trees were even planted by his own hand. Lysander, astonished at
this declaration from the mouth of a monarch whom he beheld arrayed in
all the splendour of Persian magnificence, replied with emotion, "O,
Cyrus, I am now convinced that you are really as happy as report has
represented you; since your good fortune is no less eminent than
your exalted virtues."
The good fortune to which Lysander alluded is an article of felicity
to which old age is by no means an obstacle; as the pleasure resulting
from every rational application of the intellectual faculties, but
particularly from the study of husbandry is consistent even with its
latest period. Accordingly tradition informs us that Valerius
Corvus, who lived to the age of a hundred, spent the latter part of
his long life in the cultivation and improvement of his farm. It is
remarkable of this celebrated person that no less than forty-six years
intervened between his first and his last consulship, so that his
career of honours was equal to that period which our ancestors
marked out for the commencement of old age. But his felicity did not
terminate with his retiring from public affairs; on the contrary, he
was in one respect at least even happier in the latter part of his
life than when he filled the first offices of the state; as his
great age, at the same time that it exempted him from the fatigue of
bearing an active part in the administration of the commonwealth,
added weight and influence to his general credit and authority.
The crown and glory of grey hairs is, indeed, that kind of authority
which thus arises from a respectable old age. How considerable did
this appear in those venerable personages- Caecilius Metellus and
Atilius Calatinus! You remember, no doubt, the singular and celebrated
eulogy inscribed on the monument of the latter: that "All nations
agreed in esteeming him as the first of Romans." The influence he
maintained over his fellow-citizens was certainly founded upon the
most unquestionable claim, since his merit was thus universally
acknowledged and admired. To the instances already mentioned, I
might add our late chief pontiff Publius Crassus, together with Marcus
Lepidus, who succeeded him in that dignity. And, if it were necessary,
I might enlarge this illustrious list with the revered names of Paulus
Aemilius, Scipio Africanus, and Fabius Maximus, the latter of whom I
have already taken occasion to mention with peculiar esteem. These
were all of them men of such approved and respected characters, that
even their very nod alone carried with it irresistible authority. In a
word, that general deference which is ever paid to a wise and good old
man, especially if his virtues have been dignified by the public
honours of his country, affords a truer and more solid satisfaction
than all the pleasures which attend on the gay season of life.
But let it be remembered, my noble friends, that when I speak thus
advantageously of that portion of life we are now considering, I would
be understood to mean only that respectable old age which stands
supported on the firm foundation of a well-spent youth. Agreeably to
this principle, I once declared upon a public occasion that "miserable
indeed must that old man be whose former life stood in need of an
apology"- a sentiment which, I had the satisfaction to observe, was
received by the whole audience with uncommon applause. It is not
merely wrinkles and grey hairs which can command that authoritative
veneration of which I have been speaking. He alone shall taste this
sweet fruit of revered age, whose former years have been distinguished
by an uniform series of laudable and meritorious actions.
But besides those more important advantages I have already pointed
out as attending an honourable old age, it may be further observed
that there are certain customary deferences and attentions which,
although they may be considered perhaps as common and insignificant
ceremonials, are undoubtedly, however, very honourable marks of
general respect. Observances of this kind are strictly practised in
our own country, as indeed they likewise are in every other, in
proportion to its advancement in civilised and polished manners. It is
said that Lysander, whom I just now took occasion to mention, used
frequently to remark that Lacedaemon, of all the cities he knew, was
the most eligible for an old man's residence; and it must be
acknowledged there is no place in the world where age is treated
with so much civility and regard. Accordingly it is reported that a
certain Athenian, far advanced in years, coming into the theatre at
Athens when it was extremely crowded, not one of his countrymen had
the good manners to make room for him; but when he approached that
part of the theatre which was appropriated to the Lacedaemonian
ambassadors, they every one of them rose up and offered him a place
among them. Repeated claps of applause immediately ensued from the
whole assembly; upon which one of the spectators remarked, "that the
Athenians understood politeness much better than they practised it."
There are many excellent rules established in the Sacred College
of which I am a member; one of these, as it relates to the
particular circumstance immediately under consideration, I cannot
forbear mentioning. Every augur delivers his opinion upon any question
in debate according to his seniority in point of years; and he takes
precedency of all the younger members, even although they should be in
the highest degree his superiors in point of rank.
And now I will venture once more to ask if there is a pleasure in
any of the mere sensual gratifications which can equal the
satisfaction arising from these valuable privileges thus conferred
on old age? To which I will only add that he who knows how to enjoy
these honourable distinctions with suitable dignity to the
conclusion of his days, may be considered as having supported his part
on the great theatre of the world with uniform spirit and propriety,
and not, like an unpractised player, to have disgracefully failed in
the last finishing act of the drama.
I shall be told, perhaps, that if we look into the world, we shall
find "petulance, moroseness, and even avarice itself are infirmities
which generally break out and discover themselves in old age." But the
fact is, these moral diseases of the mind are rather the
constitutional imperfections of the man in whom they reside, than
necessary defects inseparable from the wane of life. Indeed, this
peevishness of temper may- I will not say be justified- but
certainly at least in some measure excused from that suspicion which
old men are too apt to entertain of their being generally marked by
the younger part of the world as objects of their scorn and
derision. Add to this, that where the constitution is broken and
worn out, the mind becomes the more sensible of every little
offence, and is disposed to magnify unintentional slights into real
and designed insults. But this captious and irritable disposition
incident to this season of life may be much softened and subdued in
a mind actuated by the principles of good manners and improved by
liberal accomplishments. Examples of this kind must have occurred to
every man's experience of the world, as they are frequently
exhibited also on the stage. What a striking contrast, for instance,
between the two old men in Terence's play called The Brothers! Mitio
is all mildness and good humour; whereas Demea, on the contrary, is
represented as an absolute churl. The fact, in short, is plainly this:
as it is not every kind of wine, so neither is it every sort of
temper, that turns sour by age. But I must observe at the same time
there is a certain gravity of deportment extremely becoming in
advanced years, and which, as in other virtues, when it preserves
its proper bounds, and does not degenerate into an acerbity of
manners, I very much approve. As to avarice, it is inconceivable for
what purpose that passion should find admittance into an old man's
breast. For surely nothing can be more irrational and absurd than to
increase our provision for the road, the nearer we approach to our
journey's end.
It remains only to consider the fourth and last imputation on that
period of life at which I am arrived. "Old age, it seems, must
necessarily be a state of much anxiety and disquietude, from the
near approach of death." That the hour of dissolution cannot
possibly be far distant from an old man is most undoubtedly certain;
but unhappy indeed must he be, if in so long a course of years he
has yet to learn that there is nothing in that circumstance which
can reasonably alarm his fears. On the contrary, it is an event either
utterly to be disregarded, if it extinguish the soul's existence, or
much to be wished, if it convey her to some region where she shall
continue to exist for ever. One of those two consequences must
necessarily ensue the disunion of the soul and body, there is no other
possible alternative. What then have I to fear, if after death I shall
either not be miserable, or shall certainly be happy? But after all,
is there any man, how young soever he may be, who can be so weak as to
promise himself, with confidence, that he shall live even till
night? In fact, young people are more exposed to mortal accidents than
even the aged. They are also not only more liable to natural diseases,
but, as they are generally attacked by them in a more violent
manner, are obliged to obtain their cure, if they happen to recover,
by a more painful course of medical operations. Hence it is that there
are but few among mankind who arrive at old age; and this (to remark
it by the way) will suggest a reason why the affairs of the world
are no better conducted. For age brings along with it experience,
discretion, and judgement; without which, no well-formed government
could have been established, or can be maintained. But not to wander
from the point under our present consideration, why should death be
deemed an evil peculiarly impending on old age, when daily
experience proves that it is common to every other period of human
life? Of this truth, both you and I, Scipio, have a very severe
conviction in our respective families: in yours, by the premature
decease of your two brothers, who had given their friends a most
promising earnest that their merit would one day raise them to the
highest honours of the state; and in mine, by the loss of my truly
excellent son.
It will be replied, perhaps, that "youth may at least entertain
the hope of enjoying many additional years; whereas an old man
cannot rationally encourage so pleasing an expectation." But is it not
a mark of extreme weakness to rely upon precarious contingencies,
and to consider an event as absolutely to take place, which is
altogether doubtful and uncertain? But admitting that the young may
indulge this expectation with the highest reason, still the
advantage evidently lies on the side of the old; as the latter is
already in possession of that length of life which the former can only
hope to attain. "Length of life," did I say? Good gods! what is
there in the utmost extent of human duration that can properly be
called long, even if our days should prove as numerous as those of
Arganthonius, the king of the Tartessi, who reigned, as history
tells us, eighty years, and lived to the age of a hundred and
twenty? In my own opinion, indeed, no portion of time can justly be
deemed long that will necessarily have an end, since the longest, when
once it is elapsed, leaves not a trace behind, and nothing valuable
remains with us but the conscious satisfaction of having employed it
well. Thus, hours and days, months and years glide imperceptibly away-
the past never to return, the future involved in impenetrable
obscurity. But whatever the extent of our present duration may
prove, a wise and good man ought to be contented with the allotted
measure, remembering that it is in life as on the stage, where it is
not necessary in order to be approved, that the actor's part should
continue to the conclusion of the drama; it is sufficient, in whatever
scene he shall make his final exit, that he supports the character
assigned him with deserved applause. The truth is, a small portion
of time is abundantly adequate to the purposes of honour and virtue.
But should our years continue to be multiplied, a wise man will no
more lament his entrance into old age than the husbandman regrets,
when the bloom and fragrancy of the spring is passed away, that summer
or autumn is arrived. Youth is the vernal season of life, and the
blossoms it then puts forth are indications of those future fruits
which are to be gathered in the succeeding periods. Now the proper
fruit to be gathered in the winter of our days is, as I have
repeatedly observed, to be able to look back with self-approving
satisfaction on the happy and abundant produce of more active years.
But to resume the principal point we were discussing. Every event
agreeable to the course of nature ought to be looked upon as a real
good, and surely none can be more natural than for an old man to
die. It is true, youth likewise stands exposed to the same
dissolution, but it is a dissolution contrary to Nature's evident
intentions, and in direct opposition to her strongest efforts. In
the latter instance, the privation of life may be resembled to a
fire forcibly extinguished by a deluge of water; in the former, to a
fire spontaneously and gradually going out from a total consumption of
its fuel. Or to have recourse to another illustration, as fruit before
it is ripe cannot, without some degree of force, be separated from the
stalk, but drops of itself when perfectly mature, so the disunion of
the soul and body is effected in the young by dint of violence, but is
wrought in the old by a mere fulness and completion of years. This
ripeness for death I perceive in myself, with much satisfaction; and I
look forward to my dissolution as to a secure haven, where I shall
at length find a happy repose from the fatigues of a long voyage.
Every stage of human life, except the last, is marked out by certain
and defined limits; old age alone has no precise and determinate
boundary. It may well therefore be sustained to any period, how far
soever it may be extended, provided a man is capable of performing
those offices which are suited to this season of life, and preserves
at the same time a perfect indifference with respect to its
continuance. Old age under these circumstances, and with these
sentiments, may be animated with more courage and fortitude than is
usually found even in the prime of life. Accordingly Solon, it is
said, being questioned by the tyrant Pisistratus, what it was that
inspired him with the boldness to oppose his measures, bravely
replied, "My old age." Nevertheless, the most desirable manner of
yielding up our lives is when Nature herself, while our
understanding and our other senses still remain unimpaired, thinks
proper to destroy the work of her own hand, as the artist who
constructed the machine is best qualified to take it to pieces. In
short, an old man should neither be anxious to preserve the small
portion of life which remains to him, nor forward to resign it without
a just cause. It was one of the prohibitions of Pythagoras "not to
quit our post of life without being authorised by the Commander who
placed us in it, that is, not without the permission of the Supreme
Being."
The epitaph which the wise Solon ordered to be inscribed on his
monument, expresses his wish that his death might not pass
undistinguished by the sorrowful exclamations of his surviving
friends. It was natural, I confess, to desire to be remembered with
regret by those with whom he had been intimately and tenderly
connected; yet I am inclined to give the preference to the sentiment
of Ennius, in those famous lines-
-
Nor loud lament nor silent tear deplore
The fate of Ennius when he breathes no more.
-
In this poet's estimation, death, which opens the way to
immortality, is by no means a subject of reasonable lamentation. The
act of dying may indeed be attended with a sense of pain; but a
pain, however, which cannot be of long continuance, especially to a
man greatly advanced in years. And as to the consequence of death,
it must either be a state of total insensibility, or of sensations
much to be desired. This is a truth upon which we ought continually to
meditate from our earliest youth, if we would be impressed with a just
and firm contempt of death; as without this impression it is
impossible to enjoy tranquillity. For as death is a change which,
sooner or later, perhaps even this very moment, we must inevitably
undergo, is it possible that he who lives in the perpetual dread of an
event with which he is every instant threatened, should know the
satisfaction of possessing an undisturbed repose and serenity of mind?
When I reflect on the conduct of Junius Brutus, who lost his life in
the support of the liberties of his country; on the two Decii, who
rushed to certain death from the same patriotic principle; on Marcus
Atilius, who delivered himself up to the torture of a most cruel
execution, that he might not forfeit his word of honour which he had
pledged to the enemy; on the two Scipios, who, if it had been
possible, would willingly have formed a rampart with their own
bodies against the invasion of the Carthaginians; on Lucius Paulus,
your illustrious grandfather, who by his heroic death expiated the
ignominy we sustained by the temerity of his colleague at the battle
of Cannae; on Marcus Marcellus, whose magnanimity was so universally
respected that even the most cruel of our enemies would not suffer his
dead body to be deprived of funeral honours- when I reflect, I say,
not only on the generous contempt of life which these heroic
personages exhibited, but that whole legions of our troops (particular
instances of which I have produced in my treatise on Roman
Antiquities) have frequently marched, with undaunted courage and
even alacrity, to attacks from which they were well persuaded not
one of them could live to return, it should seem there is little
occasion to enlarge upon the contempt of death. For if the very common
soldiers of our armies, who are frequently raw, illiterate young
peasants, are thus capable of despising its imaginary terrors, shall
old age, with all the superior advantages of reason and philosophy,
tremble at the thoughts of its near approach?
The distaste with which, in passing through the several stages of
our present being, we leave behind us the respective enjoyments
peculiar to each, must necessarily, I should think, in the close of
its latest period, render life itself no longer desirable. Infancy and
youth, manhood and old age, have each of them their peculiar and
appropriated pursuits. But does youth regret the toys of infancy, or
manhood lament that it has no longer a taste for the amusements of
youth? The season of manhood has also its suitable objects, that are
exchanged for others in old age; and these, too, like all the
preceding, become languid and insipid in their turn. Now when this
state of absolute satiety is at length arrived, when we have enjoyed
the satisfactions peculiar to old age, till we have no longer any
relish remaining for them, it is then that death may justly be
considered as a mature and seasonable event.
And now, among the different sentiments of the philosophers
concerning the consequence of our final dissolution, may I not venture
to declare my own? and the rather, as the nearer death advances
towards me, the more clearly I seem to discern its real nature.
I am well convinced, then, that my dear departed friends, your two
illustrious fathers, are so far from having ceased to live, that the
state they now enjoy can alone with propriety be called life. The
soul, during her confinement within this prison of the body, is doomed
by fate to undergo a severe penance. For her native seat is in heaven;
and it is with reluctance that she is forced down from those celestial
mansions into these lower regions, where all is foreign and
repugnant to her divine nature. But the gods, I am persuaded, have
thus widely disseminated immortal spirits, and clothed them with human
bodies, that there might be a race of intelligent creatures, not
only to have dominion over this our earth, but to contemplate the host
of heaven, and imitate in their moral conduct the same beautiful order
and uniformity so conspicuous in those splendid orbs. This opinion I
am induced to embrace, not only as agreeable to the best deductions of
reason, but in just deference also to the authority of the noblest and
most distinguished philosophers. Accordingly, Pythagoras and his
followers (who were formerly distinguished by the name of the Italic
Sect) firmly maintained that the human soul is a detached part, or
emanation, from the great universal soul of the world. I am further
confirmed in my belief of the soul's immortality, by the discourse
which Socrates, whom the oracle of Apollo pronounced to be the
wisest of men, held upon this subject just before his death. In a
word, when I consider the faculties with which the human mind is
endowed; its amazing celerity; its wonderful power in recollecting
past events, and sagacity in discerning future; together with its
numberless discoveries in the several arts and sciences- I feel a
conscious conviction that this active comprehensive principle cannot
possibly be of a mortal nature. And as this unceasing activity of
the soul derives its energy from its own intrinsic and essential
powers, without receiving it from any foreign or external impulse,
it necessarily follows (as it is absurd to suppose the soul would
desert itself) that its activity must continue for ever. But
farther: as the soul is evidently a simple uncompounded substance,
without any dissimilar parts or heterogeneous mixture, it cannot
therefore be divided, consequently it cannot perish. I might add
that the facility and expedition with which youth are taught to
acquire numberless very difficult arts, is a strong presumption that
the soul possessed a considerable portion of knowledge before it
entered into the human form; and that what seems to be received from
instruction is, in fact, no other than a reminiscence, or
recollection, of its former ideas. This, at least, is the opinion of
Plato.
Xenophon, likewise, represents the elder Cyrus, in his last moments,
as expressing his belief in the soul's immortality in the following
terms: "Oh, my sons, do not imagine when death shall have separated me
from you that I shall cease to exist. You beheld not my soul whilst
I continued amongst you, yet you concluded that I had one, from the
actions you saw me perform; infer the same when you shall see me no
more. If the souls of departed worthies did not watch over and guard
their surviving fame, the renown of their illustrious actions would
soon be worn out of the memory of men. For my own part, I never
could be persuaded that the soul could properly be said to live whilst
it remained in this mortal body, or that it ceased to live when
death had dissolved the vital union. I never could believe either that
it became void of sense when it escaped from its connection with
senseless matter, or that its intellectual powers were not enlarged
and improved when it was discharged and refined from all corporeal
admixture. When death has disunited the human frame, we clearly see
what becomes of its material parts, as they apparently return to the
several elements out of which they were originally composed; but the
soul continues to remain invisible, both when she is present in the
body, and when she departs out of it. Nothing so nearly resembles
death as sleep, and nothing so strongly intimates the divinity of
the soul as what passes in the mind upon that occasion. For the
intellectual principle in man, during this state of relaxation and
freedom from external impressions, frequently looks forward into
futurity, and discerns events ere time has yet brought them forth- a
plain indication this what the powers of the soul will hereafter be,
when she shall be delivered from the restraints of her present
bondage. If I should not therefore be mistaken in this my firm
persuasion, you will have reason, my sons, when death shall have
removed me from your view, to revere me as a sacred and celestial
spirit. But although the soul should perish with the body, I recommend
it to you, nevertheless, to honour my memory with a pious and
inviolable regard, in obedience to the immortal gods, by whose power
and providence this beautiful fabric of the universe is sustained
and governed." Such were the sentiments of the dying Cyrus; permit
me now to express my own.
Never, Scipio, can I believe that your illustrious ancestors,
together with many other excellent personages, whom I need not
particularly name, would have so ardently endeavoured to merit the
honourable remembrance of posterity, had they not been persuaded
that they had a real interest in the opinion which future
generations might entertain concerning them. And do you imagine, my
noble friends (if I may be indulged in an old man's privilege to boast
of himself), do you imagine I would have undergone those labours I
have sustained, both in my civil and military employments, if I had
supposed that the conscious satisfaction I received from the glory
of my actions was to terminate with my present existence? If such
had been my persuasion, would it not have been far better and more
rational to have passed my days in an undisturbed and indolent repose,
without labour and without contention? But my mind, by I know not what
secret impulse, was ever raising its views into future ages,
strongly persuaded that I should then only begin to live when I ceased
to exist in the present world. Indeed, if the soul were not
naturally immortal, never, surely, would the desire of immortal
glory be a passion which always exerts itself with the greatest
force in the noblest and most exalted bosoms.
Tell me, my friends, whence it is that those men who have made the
greatest advances in true wisdom and genuine philosophy are observed
to meet death with the most perfect equanimity; while the ignorant and
unimproved part of our species generally see its approach with the
utmost discomposure and reluctance? Is it not because the more
enlightened the mind is, and the farther it extends its view, the more
clearly it discerns in the hour of its dissolution (what narrow and
vulgar souls are too short-sighted to discover) that it is taking
its flight into some happier region?
For my own part, I feel myself transported with the most ardent
impatience to join the society of my two departed friends, your
illustrious fathers, whose characters I greatly respected, and whose
persons I sincerely loved. Nor is this, my earnest desire, confined to
those excellent persons alone with whom I was formerly connected; I
ardently wish to visit also those celebrated worthies, of whose
honourable conduct I have heard and read much, or whose virtues I have
myself commemorated in some of my writings. To this glorious
assembly I am speedily advancing; and I would not be turned back in my
journey, even upon the assured condition that my youth, like that of
Pelias, should again be restored. The sincere truth is, if some
divinity would confer upon me a new grant of my life, and replace me
once more in the cradle, I would utterly, and without the least
hesitation, reject the offer; having well-nigh finished my race, I
have no inclination to return to the goal. For what has life to
recommend it? Or rather, indeed, to what evils does it not expose
us? But admit that its satisfactions are many, yet surely there is a
time when we have had a sufficient measure of its enjoyments, and
may well depart contented with our share of the feast; for I mean not,
in imitation of some very considerable philosophers, to represent
the condition of human nature as a subject of just lamentation. On the
contrary, I am far from regretting that life was bestowed upon me,
as I have the satisfaction to think that I have employed it in such
a manner as not to have lived in vain. In short, I consider this world
as a place which nature never designed for my permanent abode, and I
look upon my departure out of it, not as being driven from my
habitation, but as leaving my inn.
O, glorious day, when I shall retire from this low and sordid scene,
to associate with the divine assembly of departed spirits, and not
with those only whom I just now mentioned, but with my dear Cato, that
best of sons and most valuable of men. It was my sad fate to lay his
body on the funeral pile, when by the course of nature I had reason to
hope he would have performed the same last office to mine. His soul,
however, did not desert me, but still looked back upon me in its
flight to those happy mansions, to which he was assured I should one
day follow him. If I seemed to bear his death with fortitude, it was
by no means that I did not most sensibly feel the loss I had
sustained; it was because I supported myself with the consoling
reflection that we could not long be separated.
Thus to think and thus to act has enabled me, Scipio, to bear up
under a load of years with that ease and complacency which both you
and Laelius have so frequently, it seems, remarked with admiration; as
indeed it has rendered my old age not only no inconvenient state to
me, but even an agreeable one. And after all should this my firm
persuasion of the soul's immortality prove to be a mere delusion, it
is at least a pleasing delusion, and I will cherish it to my latest
breath. I have the satisfaction in the meantime to be assured that
if death should utterly extinguish my existence, as some minute
philosophers assert, the groundless hope I entertained of an
after-life in some better state cannot expose me to the derision of
these wonderful sages, when they and I shall be no more. In all
events, and even admitting that our expectations of immortality are
utterly vain, there is a certain period, nevertheless, when death
would be a consummation most earnestly to be desired. For Nature has
appointed to the days of man, as to all things else, their proper
limits, beyond which they are no longer of any value. In fine, old age
may be considered as the last scene in the great drama of life, and
one would not, surely, wish to lengthen out his part till he sank down
sated with repetition and exhausted with fatigue.
These, my noble friends, are the reflections I had to lay before you
on the subject of old age, a period to which, I hope, you will both of
you in due time arrive, and prove by your own experience the truth
of what I have asserted to you on mine.
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THE END OF CATO OR, AN ESSAY ON OLD AGE
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