The Republic and The Laws (Oxford World's Classics) (18 page)

‘If, then, you abandon hope of returning to this place where great and eminent men have their full reward, of what value, pray, is your human glory which can barely last for a tiny part of a single year? If, therefore, you wish to look higher and to gaze upon this eternal home and habitation, you will not put yourself at the mercy of the masses’ gossip nor measure your long-term destiny by the rewards you get from men. Goodness herself must draw you on by her own enticements
*
to true glory. As for what others say about you, that’s their concern. They’ll say it anyhow. All that is said is confined within those small areas that you see. In no case does a person’s reputation last for ever; it fades with the death of the speakers, and vanishes as posterity forgets.’

When he had finished, I said ‘From boyhood, Africanus, I have followed in your footsteps and those of my father,
*
and have not let your reputation down. But if, as you say, there is a kind of path for noble patriots leading to the gate of heaven, then, in view of the great reward you have set before me, I shall now press on with a much keener awareness.’

‘By all means press on,’ he replied, ‘and bear in mind that
you are
not mortal, but only that body of yours.
You
are not the person presented by your physical appearance. A man’s true self is his mind,
*
not that form which can be pointed out by a finger.

Remember you are a god, if a god is one who possesses life, sensation, memory, and foresight, and who controls, regulates, and moves the body over which he is set, as truly as the supreme god rules the universe. And just as the god who moves the universe, which is to some extent mortal, is eternal, so the soul which moves the frail body is eternal too.

‘Whatever is in constant motion
*
is eternal. What imparts motion to something else, but is itself moved by another force, must come to the end of its life when its motion ceases. Therefore only that which moves itself never ceases to be moved, because it never loses contact with itself. Moreover, in the case of everything that moves, this is the source and primary cause of motion. But the primary cause has no beginning; for while everything arises from that primary cause, it itself cannot arise from anything else, for if it
were
produced by something else, it would not be the primary cause. But if it never comes into being neither does it ever die. For once the primary cause is dead it will not be restored to life by anything else; nor will it create anything else from itself, in as much as everything must arise from the primary cause. Hence the origin of motion comes from that which is moved by itself. That, moreover, cannot be born or die, or else the whole firmament must necessarily collapse and the whole of nature come to a standstill; nor could it obtain any force which would deliver that initial push to set it in motion.

‘Since, then, it is clear that what moves by itself is eternal, who could deny that this property is possessed by minds? Everything that is propelled by an external force is inanimate; but an animate being is moved by its own internal power, for that is the peculiar property and function of the mind. If the mind is the one and only entity that moves itself, surely it has never been born and will never die.

‘Be sure to employ it in the best kinds of activity. Now the best concerns are for the safety of one’s country. When the mind has been engaged in and exercised by those concerns it will fly more quickly to this, its dwelling-place and home. And it will do so the more readily if, when still enclosed in the body, it already ventures abroad and, by contemplating what lies beyond, detaches itself as much as possible from the body. As for the souls of those who devote themselves to bodily pleasures and become, so to speak,
their willing slaves, and are impelled by the lusts that serve pleasure to violate the laws of gods and men—those souls, on escaping from their bodies, swirl around, close to the earth itself, and they do not return to this place until they have been buffeted about for many ages.’

He departed, and I awoke from sleep.
*

ATTICUS
: I recognize that clump of trees and also this oak
*
which belongs to the people of Arpinum; I have often read about it in
Marius. It
that oak still survives, this must be it; and indeed it’s a very old tree.

QUINTUS:
It does survive, my dear Atticus, and it always will; for it was sown by the imagination. No stem tended by a farmer can last as long as one planted by a ‘poet’s verses.

ATTICUS
: And how, may I ask, is that, Quintus? What kind of a thing is it that poets plant? I suspect you are flattering your brother to solicit support for yourself!
*

QUINTUS:
No doubt you’re right. But as long as Latin literature has a voice, this place will have an oak-tree called after Marius; and, as Scaevola
*
says about my brother’s poem, ‘it will grow grey o’er countless centuries’. Or perhaps the Athens you love has managed to keep the olive-tree
*
on the Acropolis alive for ever? Or the tall young palm which they point out today on Delos is the very one that Homer’s Ulysses
*
said he had seen there? Many other things in many places have survived longer by virtue of tradition than they could possibly have lasted in the course of nature. So let this now be that ‘acorn-laden oak’
*
from which ‘the tawny messenger of Jove in wondrous form’ once flew. But when weather or old age has destroyed it, there will still be a tree in this place which they can call Marius’ oak.

ATTICUS
: I’ve no doubt about that. But here’s a question I want to put—not to you, Quintus, but to the poet himself. Was it your verses that planted this oak, or were you told that this episode was witnessed by Marius as you describe it?

MARCUS
: I’ll answer that, Atticus; but first you must answer this for
me:
is it a fact that after his death Romulus walked up and
down not far from your house
*
and informed Julius Proculus that he himself was a god, Quirinus by name, and ordered a temple to be dedicated to him in that place? And is it true that in Athens (again not far from your old house) Aquilo carried off Orithyia?
*
For that’s what they say.

ATTICUS
: What on earth is the point of that question, and why do you ask it?

MARCUS
: For no reason at all, except to warn you against inquiring too closely into things that are handed down in that way.

ATTICUS
: Still, there are many points in
Marius
which raise the question whether they are fact or fiction; and some people expect you to tell the truth, because you are dealing with the recent past and with a local personality.

MARCUS
: I certainly don’t wish to be thought a liar. But, my dear Titus, the people you mention are being naive; they are demanding in this case the kind of truth expected of a witness rather than a poet. I suppose the same folk believe that Numa conversed with Egeria and that an eagle placed a crown on Tarquin’s head.

QUINTUS
: I take it, Marcus, that in your view one set of rules must be followed in a work of history, another in a poem.

MARCUS
: Yes, because in the former everything is measured by the standard of truth,
*
Quintus, whereas in the latter the main purpose is to entertain. And yet there are countless yarns in Herodotus, the father of history, and in Theopompus.

ATTICUS
: This gives me an opportunity which I’ve been waiting for, and I shan’t let it slip.

MARCUS
: And what’s that, Titus?

ATTICUS
: You have often been asked, indeed pressed, to write a work of history. People think that if you took it on we would succeed in rivalling the Greeks in that genre too. And if you want my own opinion, I think you owe this as a duty not only to the enthusiastic people who enjoy your writings but also to your country, which you once saved and now have the chance to glorify. For, as I myself recognize and have often heard you say, our literature is lacking in the field of history. You above all people could supply this need, since, as you often maintain, this kind of writing is so closely akin to oratory.
*

So do, please, take on this work, and devote some time to an
activity which is still unknown or ignored by our own writers. For after the Annals of the Pontifex Maximus
*
(the most meagre source imaginable), if one comes to Fabius or Cato, whom you are always quoting, or to Piso or Fannius or Vennonius, then, although one of these has more vitality than another, what could be more insipid than the entire group? Coelius Antipater, who was close in time to Fannius, had a bit more spirit in his writing. Though his power was uncouth and primitive, without any polish or finesse, he could have stimulated his successors to write with greater care. But in fact he was succeeded by Gellius,
*
Clodius, and Asellio, who cannot stand comparison with him but hark back, rather, to the older writers with their slackness and incompetence.

I doubt if Macer is worth counting. His verbosity has a certain shrewdness, but it does not come from the learned storehouse of Greek rhetoric but from Latin hacks;
*
his speeches, moreover, contain a good deal of ill-judged elevation and show a total lack of propriety.
*
His friend Sisenna easily surpasses all our writers to date, except, perhaps, those who have not yet published their work,
*
in which case we can have no opinion about them. But he has never been put in your class as an orator; in his history he has a childish ambition: he wants to give the impression that he has read Cleitarchus alone among Greek writers and that he merely aspires to imitate him. If he had managed to equal him he would still have been some way from the best. So this is your task, and yours alone, and people expect it of you—unless Quintus disagrees.

QUINTUS
: Not at all; in fact we have often talked about that. But there is a minor difference of opinion between us.

ATTICUS
: And what is that?

QUINTUS
: From what period should he begin his narrative? I think he should start from the earliest times, since those events are recorded in such a style that they are not even read about. But he himself claims the right to handle the history of his own period in order to include the events in which he himself took part.

ATTICUS
: I’m inclined to agree with him. For things of enormous moment have happened in the memory of our generation. In addition, he will glorify the achievements of his great friend, Gnaeus Pompeius, and will also reach the glorious and unforgettable year
*
of his own consulship. I would sooner he
recounted these events than, as they say, ‘the story of Romulus and Remus’.

MARCUS: I
am aware, Atticus, that this work has long been expected of me. I would not shirk it if I had any free time available. But one cannot embark on a thing of such importance when one’s programme of work is full and one’s mind is already occupied. Two things are needed: freedom from work and freedom from worry.

ATTICUS
: What about the other things you have written— works more voluminous than any of our countrymen have produced? What time, pray, did you have available for
them}

MARCUS
: Oh, bits of spare time crop up which I don’t allow to go to waste. When I am given a short break in the country, my writing has to be fitted into that number of days. But you cannot start a history without setting free time aside; and it cannot be finished in a short period. Moreover, I tend to become confused if, after starting a project, I have to turn to something else. And it’s not so easy to pick up the threads again after breaking off as to take a thing through from start to finish.

ATTICUS
: What you have just described evidently calls for a diplomatic mission
*
or a leisurely carefree holiday of that sort!

MARCUS: 1
was counting rather on the holiday that comes with old age. I would be quite willing to sit on a chair in the good old style advising clients on points of law and carrying out the pleasant and respected function of a reasonably active old age. In that way I would be able to give as much attention as
I
wished to the project which you desire and to many larger and more rewarding matters.

ATTICUS
: Ah, but I’m afraid no one will accept that excuse. You will always have to plead in court, especially now that you have changed and adopted a new style of speaking. Just as your friend Roscius in his old age employed a more relaxed delivery in the sung passages
*
and had the pipes play more slowly, you are gradually modifying those strenuous efforts which you used to make. As a result your delivery is now more akin to a calm philosophical discourse.
*
Since this style can apparently be maintained even in advanced old age,
I
don’t see you getting any respite from court work.

QUINTUS
: I was rather thinking that our people might well
approve of it if you spent your time giving advice on points of law. So when you feel inclined
I
think you should try it.

MARCUS
: That would be fine, Quintus, if there were no risk in trying it. But I suspect that in attempting to cut down my work
I
would actually increase it, and that on top of the court work (which
I
never undertake without preparation and rehearsal)
I
would be faced with this business of interpreting the law. That would be a problem, not so much because of the effort involved as because it would prevent me from giving thought to my speeches. Without that, I have never dared to undertake any major case.

ATTICUS
: Why don’t you explain these matters to us in those ‘bits of spare time’, as you call them, and put together a more thorough account of civil law than others have done? You have always been interested in law from those far-off years when we attended Scaevola’s consultations
*
together, and you have never seemed to be so totally committed to speaking as to neglect the study of civil law.

MARCUS
: You are luring me into a lengthy disquisition, Atticus! Still I will undertake it, unless Quintus would sooner we did something else. Since our time is our own,
I
’m happy to state my views.

QUINTUS
: And I’m happy to hear them. There’s nothing I’d sooner do; and how could I better spend the day?

MARCUS
: Why don’t we follow our usual path, where the seats are? When we’ve had enough walking we can take a rest; and we’ll certainly not be short of entertainment as we discuss the various questions.

ATTICUS
: Count me in. If you like we can go down here by the Liris—along the bank where there’s shade. So now—make a start, please, and tell us your opinions about civil law.

MARCUS
: Shall I? Well, there have been able men, I think, in our country who have regularly expounded civil law and answered people’s questions about it. But although they have promised great things they have dealt with small details. What is so majestic as the law of the land? Yet what is more petty than the function of those who answer queries? It is, of course, necessary for the public, and I don’t mean that the men who performed that task were ignorant of law in general; but they practised what is called civil law only with the intention of making it available
to the people. That, though practically necessary, is intellectually undemanding. So what do you want me to do? What are your instructions? That I should write little handbooks about the regulations for party-walls
*
and gutters?
*
Or list the rules for contracts or court procedure? Such things have been diligently compiled by many writers, and they are less significant, I fancy, than what you expect from me.

ATTICUS
: If you want to know what / expect, it seems logical that since you have written about the best constitution you should also write about its laws. For that, I notice, is what Plato did— your idol and favourite, whom you revere above all others.

MARCUS
: Well, shall we do what he did? With the Cretan Cleinias and the Spartan Megillus, he discussed political institutions and the ideal legal code on a summer’s day, as he describes it,
*
among the cypress trees and wooded paths of Cnossus, often pausing and sometimes resting. So shall we, as we walk by these tall poplar-trees on the green and shady river-bank and occasionally sit down, discuss these same issues rather more fully than the courts require for their purposes?