Chapter 6

The poet Homer seem'd to stand before me.And again in his Epicharmus he says—For I seem'd to be dreaming, and laid in the tomb.Therefore, as soon as we are awakened, we despise those things which we have seen, and do not regard them as we do the things which we have done in the forum.XVII. But while these visions are being beheld, they assume the same appearance as those things which we see while awake. There is a good deal of real difference between them; but we may pass over that. For what we assert is, that there is not the same power or soundness in people when asleep that there is in them while waking, either in intellect or in sensation. What even drunken men do, they do not do with the same deliberate approbation as sober men. They doubt, they hesitate, they check themselves at times, and give but a feeble assent to what they see or agree too. And when they have slept off their drunkenness, then they understand how unreal their perceptions were. And the same thing is the case with madmen; that when their madness is beginning, they both feel and say that something appears to them to exist that has no real existence. And when their frenzy abates, they feel and speak like Alcmæon;—But now my heart does not agreeWith that which with my eyes I see.But even in madness the wise man puts restraint upon himself, so far as not to approve of what is false as if it were true. And he does so often at other times, if there is by[pg 048]chance any heaviness or slowness in his senses, or if those things which are seen by him are rather obscure, or if he is prevented from thoroughly examining them by the shortness of the time. Although the whole of this fact, that the wise man sometimes suspends his assent, makes against you. For if there were no difference between his perceptions, he would either suspend it always or never.But from the whole character of this discussion we may see the worthless nature of the argument of those men who wish to throw everything into confusion. We want judgment, marked with gravity, consistency, firmness, and wisdom: and we use the examples of men dreaming, mad, or drunk. I press this point, that in all this discussion we are speaking with great inconsistency. For we should not bring forward men sunk in wine or sleep, or deprived of sense, in such an absurd manner as at one time to say there is a difference between the perceptions of men awake and sober and sensible, and those of men in a different condition, and at other times that there was no difference at all.They do not even perceive that by this kind of argument they are making out everything to be uncertain, which they do not wish to do. I call that uncertain which the Greeks call ἄδηλον. For if the fact be that there is no difference between the appearance that a thing presents to a madman and to a person in his senses, then who can feel quite sure of his own sanity? And to wish to produce such an effect as that is a proof of no ordinary madness. But they follow up in a childish manner the likenesses of twins, or of impressions of rings. For who of us denies that there are such things as likenesses, when they are visible in numbers of things? But if the fact of many things being like many other things is sufficient to take away knowledge, why are you not content with that, especially as we admit it? And why do you rather insist upon that assertion which the nature of things will not suffer, that everything is not in its own kind of that character of which it really is? and that there is a conformity without any difference whatever in two or more things; so that eggs are entirely like eggs, and bees like bees? What then are you contending for? or what do you seek to gain by talking about twins? For it is granted that they are alike; and you might be content with that. But you try to make[pg 049]them out to be actually the same, and not merely alike; and that is quite impossible.Then you have recourse to those natural philosophers who are so greatly ridiculed in the Academy, but whom you will not even now desist from quoting. And you tell us that Democritus says that there are a countless number of worlds, and that there are some which are not only so like one another, but so completely and absolutely equal in every point, that there is no difference whatever between them, and that they are quite innumerable; and so also are men. Then you require that, if the world be so entirely equal to another world that there is absolutely not the slightest difference between them, we should grant to you that in this world of ours also there must be something exactly equal to something else, so that there is no difference whatever or distinction between them. For why, you will say, since there not only can be, but actually are innumerable Quinti Lutatii Catuli formed out of those atoms, from which Democritus affirms that everything is produced, in all the other worlds, which are likewise innumerable,—why may not there be a second Catulus formed in this identical world of ours, since it is of such a size as we see it?XVIII. First of all I reply, that you are bringing me to the arguments of Democritus, with whom I do not agree. And I will the more readily refute them, on account of that doctrine which is laid down very clearly by the more refined natural philosophers, that everything has its own separate property. For grant that those ancient Servilii who were twins were as much alike as they are said to have been, do you think that that would have made them the same? They were not distinguished from one another out of doors, but they were at home. They were not distinguished from one another by strangers, but they were by their own family. Do we not see that this is frequently the case, that those people whom we should never have expected to be able to know from one another, we do by practice distinguish so easily that they do not appear to be even in the least alike?Here, however, you may struggle; I will not oppose you. Moreover, I will grant that that very wise man who is the subject of all this discussion, when things like one another come under his notice, in which he has not remarked any[pg 050]special character, will withhold his assent, and will never agree to any perception which is not of such a character as a false perception can never assume. But with respect to all other things he has a certain art by which he can distinguish what is true from what is false; and with respect to those similitudes he must apply the test of experience. As a mother distinguishes between twins by the constant practice of her eyes, so you too will distinguish when you have become accustomed to it. Do you not see that it has become a perfect proverb that one egg is like another? and yet we are told that at Delos (when it was a flourishing island) there were many people who used to keep large numbers of hens for the sake of profit; and that they, when they had looked upon an egg, could tell which hen had laid it. Nor does that fact make against our argument; for it is sufficient for us to be able to distinguish between the eggs. For it is impossible for one to assent to the proposition that this thing is that thing more, than by admitting that there is actually no difference at all between the two. For I have laid it down as a rule, to consider all perceptions true which are of such a character as those which are false cannot be. And from this I may not depart one finger's breadth, as they say, lest I should throw everything into confusion. For not only the knowledge of what is true and false, but their whole nature too, will be destroyed if there is no difference between one and the other. And that must be very absurd which you sometimes are in the habit of saying, when perceptions are imprinted on the mind, that what you say is, not that there is no difference between the impressions, but only that there is none between certain appearances and forms which they assume. As if perceptions were not judged of by their appearance, which can deserve or obtain no credit if the mark by which we are to distinguish truth from falsehood be taken away.But that is a monstrous absurdity of yours, when you say that you follow what is probable when you are not hindered by anything from doing so. In the first place, how can you avoid being hindered, when what is false does not differ from what is true? Secondly, what judgment can be formed of what is true, when what is true is undistinguishable from what is false? From these facts there springs unavoidably ἐποχὴ, that is to say, a suspension of assent: for which[pg 051]Arcesilas is more consistent, if at least the opinions which some people entertain of Carneades are correct. For if nothing can be perceived, as they both agree in thinking, then all assent is taken away. For what is so childish as to talk of approving of what is not known? But even yesterday we heard that Carneades was in the habit, at times, of descending to say that a wise man would be guided by opinion, that is to say, would do wrong. To me, indeed, it is not so certain that there is anything which can be comprehended, a question which I have now spent too much time in discussing, as that a wise man is never guided by opinion, that is to say, never assents to anything which is either false or unknown.There remains this other statement of theirs, that for the sake of discovering the truth, one ought to speak against every side, and in favour of every side. I wish then to see what they have discovered. We are not in the habit, says he, of showing that. What then is the object of all this mystery? or why do you conceal your opinion as something discreditable? In order, says he, that those who hear us may be influenced by reason rather than led by authority. What if they are influenced by both? would there be any harm in that? However, they do not conceal one of their theories, namely, that there is nothing which can be conceived. Is authority no hindrance to entertaining this opinion? It seems to me to be a great one. For who would ever have embraced so openly and undisguisedly such perverse and false principles, if there had not been such great richness of ideas and power of eloquence in Arcesilas, and, in a still greater degree, in Carneades?XIX. These are nearly the arguments which Antiochus used to urge at Alexandria, and many years afterwards, with much more positiveness too, in Syria, when he was there with me, a little before he died. But, as my case is now established, I will not hesitate to warn you, as you are my dearest friend, (he was addressing me,) and one a good deal younger than myself.Will you, then, after having extolled philosophy with such panegyrics, and provoked our friend Hortensius, who disagrees with us, now follow that philosophy which confounds what is true with what is false, deprives us of all judgment, strips us of the power of approval, and robs us of all[pg 052]our senses? Even the Cimmerians, to whom some god, or nature, or the foulness of the country that they inhabited, had denied the light of the sun, had still some fires which they were permitted to avail themselves of as if they were light. But those men whom you approve of, after having enveloped us in such darkness, have not left us a single spark to enable us to look around by. And if we follow them, we become bound with such chains that we cannot move. For when assent is taken away, they take away at the same time all motion of our minds, and all our power of action; which not only cannot be done rightly, but which cannot possibly be done at all. Beware, also, lest you become the only person who is not allowed to uphold that opinion. Will you, when you have explained the most secret matters and brought them to light, and said on your oath that you have discovered them, (which, indeed, I could swear to also, since I learnt them from you,)—will you, I say, assert that there is nothing which can be known, comprehended, or perceived? Beware, I entreat you, lest the authority of those most beautiful actions be diminished by your own conduct.And having said this he stopped. But Hortensius, admiring all he said very greatly, (so much, indeed, that all the time that Lucullus was speaking he kept lifting up his hands; and it was no wonder, for I do not believe that an argument had ever been conducted against the Academy with more acuteness,) began to exhort me, either jestingly or seriously, (for that was a point that I was not quite sure about,) to abandon my opinions. Then, said Catulus, if the discourse of Lucullus has had such influence over you,—and it has been a wonderful exhibition of memory, accuracy, and ingenuity,—I have nothing to say; nor do I think it my duty to try and deter you from changing opinion if you choose. But I should not think it well for you to be influenced merely by his authority. For he was all but warning you, said he, jestingly, to take care that no worthless tribune of the people, of whom you know what a number there will always be, seize upon you, and ask of you in the public assembly how you are consistent with yourself, when at one time you assert that nothing certain can be discovered, and at another time affirm that you yourself have discovered something. I entreat you, do not let him terrify you. But I would rather have you disagree[pg 053]with him on the merits of the case itself. But if you give in to him, I shall not be greatly surprised; for I recollect that Antiochus himself, after he had entertained such opinions for many years, abandoned them as soon as he thought it desirable. When Catulus had said this, they all began to fix their eyes on me.XX. Then I, being no less agitated than I usually am when pleading important causes, began to speak something after this fashion:—The discourse of Lucullus, O Catulus, on the matter itself, moved me a good deal, being the discourse of a learned and ingenious and quick-witted man, and of one who passes over nothing which can be said for his side; but still I am not afraid but that I may be able to answer him. But no doubt such authority as his would have influenced me a good deal, if you had not opposed your own to it, which is of equal weight. I will endeavour, therefore, to reply to him after I have said a few words in defence of my own reputation, as it were.If it is by any desire of display, or any zeal for contentious disputes, that I have been chiefly led to rank myself as an adherent of this school of philosophy, I should think not only my folly, but also my disposition and nature deserving of severe censure; for if obstinacy is found fault with in the most trifling matters, and if also calumny is repressed, should I choose to contend with others in a quarrelsome manner about the general condition and conduct of my whole life, or to deceive others and also my own self? Therefore, if I did not think it foolish in such a discussion to do what, when one is discussing affairs of state, is sometimes done, I would swear by Jupiter and my household gods, that I am inflamed with a desire of discovering the truth, and that I do truly feel what I say. For how can I avoid wishing to discover the truth, when I rejoice if I have discovered anything resembling the truth? But although I consider to see the truth a most beautiful thing, so also do I think it a most disgraceful one to approve of what is false as if it were true. Not, indeed, that I am myself a man who never approve of anything false, who never give assent to any such thing, and am never guided by opinion; but we are speaking of a wise man. But I myself am very apt to adopt opinions, for I am not a[pg 054]wise man, and I direct my thoughts, steering not to that little Cynosura,The nightly star, which shining not in vain,Guides the Phœnician sailor o'er the main,as Aratus says;—and those mariners steer in a more direct course because they keep looking at the constellation,Which in its inner course and orbit briefSurely revolves;—but looking rather towards Helice, and the bright north star, that is to say, to these reasons of a more expansive kind, not polished away to a point; and therefore I roam and wander about in a freer course. However, the question, as I said just now, is not about myself, but about a wise man. For when these perceptions have made a violent impression on the intellect and senses, I admit them, and sometimes I even assent to them, but still I do not perceive them: for I do not think that anything can be perceived. I am not a wise man, therefore I submit to perceptions and cannot resist them: but Arcesilas, being on this point in agreement with Zeno, thinks that this is the most important part of the power of a wise man, that he can guard against being entangled, and provide against being deceived. For there is nothing more incompatible with the idea which we have of the gravity of a wise man than error, levity, and temerity. Why, then, need I speak of the firmness of a wise man? whom even you too, Lucullus, admit to be never guided by mere opinion. And since this is sanctioned by you, (if I am dealing irregularly with you at this moment, I will soon return to the proper order of your arguments,) just consider what force this first conclusion has.XXI. If the wise man ever assents to anything, he will likewise sometimes form opinions: but he never will form opinions: therefore he will never assent to anything. This conclusion was approved of by Arcesilas, for it confirmed both his first and second proposition. But Carneades sometimes granted that minor premiss, that the wise man did at times assent: then it followed that he also was at times guided by opinion; which you will not allow; and you are right, as it seems to me: but the first proposition, that the wise man, if he expresses assent, must also be guided by opinion, is denied by the Stoics and their follower on this point, Antiochus.[pg 055]For they say that they can distinguish what is false from what is true, and what cannot be perceived from what can. But, in the first place, even if anything can be perceived, still the very custom of expressing assent appears to us to be perilous and unsure. Wherefore, as it is plain that is so faulty a proceeding, to assent to anything that is either false or unknown, all assent must rather be removed, lest it should rush on into difficulties if it proceeds rashly. For what is false is so much akin to what is true, and the things which cannot be perceived to those which can, (if, indeed, there are any such, for we shall examine that point presently,) that a wise man ought not to trust himself in such a hazardous position.But if I assume that there is actually nothing which can be perceived, and if I also take what you grant me, that a wise man is never guided by opinion, then the consequence will be that the wise man will restrain all assent on his part; so that you must consider whether you would rather have it so, or let the wise man sometimes form opinions. You do not approve of either, you will say. Let us, then, endeavour to prove that nothing can be perceived; for that is what the whole controversy turns upon.XXII. But first I must say a few words to Antiochus; who under Philo learnt this very doctrine which I am now defending, for such a length of time, that it is certain that no one was ever longer studying it; and who wrote on these subjects with the greatest acuteness, and who yet attacked it in his old age with no less energy than he had defended it in his youth. Although therefore he may have been a shrewd arguer, as indeed he was, still his authority is diminished by his inconsistency. For what day, I should like to know, will ever dawn, which shall reveal to him that distinctive characteristic of what is true and what is false, of which for so many years he denied the existence? Has he devised anything new? He says the same that the Stoics say. Does he repent of having held such an opinion? Why did he not cross over to some other school, and especially to the Stoics? for this disagreement with the Academy was peculiarly theirs. What? did he repent of Mnesarchus or Dardanus, who at that time were the chiefs of the Stoics at Athens? He never deserted Philo till after the time when he himself began to have pupils.[pg 056]But from whence was the Old Academy on a sudden recalled? He appears to have wished to preserve the dignity of the name, after he had given up the reality; which however some people said, that he did from a view to his own glory, and that he even hoped that those who followed him might be called Antiochians. But to me it seems, that he could not stand that concourse of all the philosophers. In truth, there are among them all, some common principles on the other points; but this doctrine is peculiar to the Academicians, and not one of the other philosophers approves of it. Therefore, he quitted it; and, like those men who, where the new shops stand, cannot bear the sun, so he, when he was hot, took refuge under the shade of the Old Academicians, as those men do under the shade of the old shops near the pillar of Mænius. There was also an argument which he was in the habit of employing, when he used to maintain that nothing could be perceived; namely, asking whether Dionysius of Heraclea had comprehended the doctrine which he had espoused for many years, because he was guided by that certain characteristic, and whether he believed the doctrine of his master Zeno, that whatever was honourable was the only good; or, whether he adopted the assertion which he defended subsequently, that the name of honourableness is a mere phantom, and that pleasure is the chief good: for from this change of opinion on his part he wished to prove, that nothing can be so stamped on our minds by the truth, that it cannot also be impressed on them in the same manner by falsehood; and so he took care that others should derive from his own conduct the same argument which he himself had derived from Dionysius.XXIII. But we will argue this point more at length another time; at present we will turn what has been said, Lucullus, to you. And in the first place, let us examine the assertion which you made at the beginning, and see what sort of assertion it is; namely, that we spoke of the ancient philosophers in a manner similar to that in which seditious men were in the habit of speaking of illustrious men, who were however friends of the people. These men do not indeed pursue good objects, but still wish to be considered to resemble good men; but we say that we hold those opinions, which you yourselves confess to have been entertained by the most illustrious philosophers. Anaxagoras said, that snow was[pg 057]black: would you endure me if I were to say the same? You would not bear even for me to express a doubt on the subject. But who is this man? is he a Sophist? for by that name were those men called, who used to philosophize for the sake of display or of profit. The glory of the gravity and genius of that man was great. Why should I speak of Democritus? Who is there whom we can compare with him for the greatness, not merely of his genius, but also of his spirit? a man who dared to begin thus:“I am going to speak of everything.”He excepts nothing, so as not to profess a knowledge of it. For indeed, what could there possibly be beyond everything? Who can avoid placing this philosopher before Cleanthes, or Chrysippus, or all the rest of his successors? men who, when compared with him, appear to me to be in the fifth class.But he does not say this, which we, who do not deny that there is some truth, declare cannot be perceived: he absolutely denies that there is any truth. He says that the senses are not merely dim, but utterly dark; for that is what Metrodorus of Chios, who was one of his greatest admirers, says of them, at the beginning of his book on Nature.“I deny,”says he,“that we know whether we know anything or whether we know nothing; I say that we do not even know what is ignorance and knowledge; and that we have no knowledge whether anything exists or whether nothing does.”Empedocles appears to you to be mad; but to me he seems to utter words very worthy of the subjects of which he speaks. Does he then blind us, or deprive us of our senses, if he thinks that there is but little power in them to judge of those things which are brought under their notice? Parmenides and Xenophanes blame, as if they were angry with them, though in no very poetical verses, the arrogance of those people who, though nothing can be known, venture to say that they know something. And you said that Socrates and Plato were distinct from these men. Why so? Are there any men of whom we can speak more certainly? I indeed seem to myself to have lived with these men; so many of their discourses have been reported, from which one cannot possibly doubt that Socrates thought that nothing could be known. He excepted one thing only, asserting that he did know that he knew nothing; but he made no other[pg 058]exception. What shall I say of Plato? who certainly would never have followed up these doctrines in so many books if he had not approved of them; for there was no object in going on with the irony of the other, especially when it was so unceasing.XXIV. Do I not seem to you, not, like Saturninus, to be content with naming illustrious men, but also sometimes even to imitate them, though never unless they are really eminent and noble? And I might have opposed to you men who are annoying to you, but yet disputants of great accuracy; Stilpo, Diodorus, and Alexinus: men who indulged in far-fetched and pointed sophisms; for that was the name given usually to fallacious conclusions. But why need I enumerate them, when I have Chrysippus, who is considered to be the great support of the portico of the Stoics? How many of the arguments against the senses, how many against everything which is approved by ordinary practice, did he not refute! It is true that I do not think very much of his refutations; but still, let us grant that he did refute them. Certainly he would never have collected so many arguments to deceive us with their excessive probability, unless he saw that it was not easily possible to resist them.What do you think of the Cyrenaic School? philosophers far from contemptible, who affirm that there is nothing which can be perceived externally; and that they perceive those things alone which they feel by their inmost touch, such as pain, or pleasure. And that they do not know what colour anything is of, or what sound it utters; but only feel that they themselves are affected in a certain manner.We have said enough about authors: although you had asked me whether I did not think that since the time of those ancient philosophers, in so many ages, the truth might have been discovered, when so many men of genius and diligence were looking for it? What was discovered we will consider presently, and you yourself shall be the judge. But it is easily seen that Arcesilas did not contend with Zeno for the sake of disparaging him; but that he wished to discover the truth. No one, I say, of preceding philosophers had said positively, no one had even hinted that it was possible for man never to form opinions: and that for a wise man it was not only possible, but indispensable. The opinion of Arcesilas[pg 059]appeared not only true, but honourable and worthy of a wise man.Perhaps he asked of Zeno what would happen if a wise man could not possibly perceive anything, and if to form mere opinion was unworthy of a wise man? He answered, I suppose, that the wise man never would form mere opinion, since there were things which admitted of being perceived. What then were they? Perceptions, I suppose. What sort of perceptions then? In reply to this he gave a definition, That it was such as is impressed and stamped upon and figured in us, according to and conformably to something which exists. Afterwards the question was asked, whether, if such a perception was true, it was of the same character as one that was false? Here Zeno saw clearly enough that there was no perception that could be perceived at all, if the perception derived from that which is, could possibly resemble that which is derived from that which is not.Arcesilas was quite right in admitting this. An addition was made to the definition; namely, That nothing false could be perceived; nor anything true either, if it was of such a character as that which was false. But he applied himself diligently to these discussions, in order to prove that no perception originated in what was true of such a kind that there might not be a similar one originating in what was false. And this is the one subject of controversy which has lasted to this day. For the other doctrine, that the wise man would never assent to anything, had nothing to do with this question. For it was quite possible for a man to perceive nothing, and nevertheless to be guided at times by opinion; which is said to have been admitted by Carneades. I, indeed, trusting rather to Clitomachus than to Philo or Metrodorus, believe that he argued this point rather than that he admitted it.XXV. However, let us say no more about this. Undoubtedly, when opinion and perception are put an end to, the retention of every kind of assent must follow; as, if I prove that nothing can be perceived, you would then grant that a philosopher would never assent to anything. What is there then that can be perceived, if even the senses do not warn us of the truth? But you, O Lucullus, defend them by a common topic; and to prevent you from being able to do so it was, that I yesterday, when it was not otherwise necessary, said so[pg 060]much against the senses. But you say that you are not at all moved by“the broken oar”or“the dove's neck.”In the first place, I will ask why?—for in the case of the oar, I feel that that which appears to be the case, is not really so; and that in the dove's neck there appear to be many colours, but are not in reality more than one. Have we, then, said nothing more than this? Let all our arguments stand: that man is tearing his cause to pieces; he says that his senses are voracious. Therefore you have always one backer who will plead the cause at his own risk: for Epicurus brings the matter down to this point, that if once in a man's life one of his senses has decided wrongly, none of them is ever to be trusted. This is what he calls being true, and confiding in his own witnesses, and urging his proofs to their just conclusion; therefore Timagoras the Epicurean declares, that when he had twisted his eye with his hand, he had never seen two flames appear out of one candle: for that the error was one of opinion, and not one of his eyes; just as if the question were what the fact is, and not what it appears to be. However, he is just like his predecessors. But as for you, who say that of the things perceived by your senses, some are true and some false, how do you distinguish between them? Cease, I beg of you, to employ common topics: we have plenty of them at home.If any god were to ask you, while your senses are sound and unimpaired, whether you desire anything further, what would you answer? I wish, indeed, he would ask me! You should hear how ill he treats us: for how far are we to look in order to see the truth? I can see the Cumæan villa of Catulus from this place, but not his villa near Pompeii; not that there is any obstacle interposed, but my eyesight cannot extend so far. What a superb view! We see Puteoli, but we do not see our friend Avianus, though he may perhaps be walking in the portico of Neptune; there was, however, some one or other who is often spoken of in the Schools who could see things that were a thousand and eighty furlongs off; and some birds can see further still. I should therefore answer your god boldly, that I am not at all contented with these eyes of mine. He will tell me, perhaps, that I can see better than some fishes; which are not seen by us, and which even now are beneath our eyes, and yet they cannot look up far[pg 061]enough to see us: therefore, as water is shed around them, so a dense air is around us. But we desire nothing better. What? do you suppose that a mole longs for light?—nor would he complain to the god that he could not see far, but rather that he saw incorrectly. Do you see that ship? It appears to us to be standing still; but to those who are in that ship, this villa appears to be moving. Seek for the reason why it seems so, and if you discover it ever so much, and I do not know whether you may not be able to, still you will have proved, not that you have a trustworthy witness, but that he has not given false evidence without sufficient reason.XXVI. What need had I to speak of the ship? for I saw that what I said about the oar was despised by you; perhaps you expect something more serious. What can be greater than the sun, which the mathematicians affirm to be more than eighteen times as large as the earth? How little does it appear to us! To me, indeed, it seems about a foot in diameter; but Epicurus thinks it possible that it may be even less than it seems, but not much; nor does he think that it is much greater, but that it is very near the size it seems to be: so that our eyes are either quite correct, or, at all events, not very incorrect. What becomes then of the exception,“If once...?”However, let us leave this credulous man, who does not believe that the senses are ever wrong,—not even now, when that sun, which is borne along with such rapidity that it is impossible even to conceive how great its velocity is, nevertheless seems to us to be standing still.However, to abridge the controversy, consider, I pray you, within what narrow bounds you are confined. There are four principles which conduct you to the conclusion that there is nothing which can be known, or perceived, or comprehended;—and it is about this that the whole dispute is. The first principle is, that some perceptions are false; the second, that such cannot be perceived; the third, that of perceptions between which there is no difference, it is not possible that some of them can be perceived and that others cannot; the fourth, that there is no true perception proceeding from the senses, to which there is not some other perception opposed which in no respect differs from it, and which cannot be perceived. Now of these four principles, the second and third are admitted by every one. Epicurus does not admit the[pg 062]first, but you, with whom we are now arguing, admit that one too,—the whole contest is about the fourth.The man, then, who saw Publius Servilius Geminus, if he thought that he saw Quintus, fell into a perception of that kind that could not be perceived; because what was true was distinguished by no characteristic mark from what was false: and if this distinctive mark were taken away, what characteristic of the same kind could he have by which to recognise Caius Cotta, who was twice consul with Geminus, which could not possibly be false? You say that such a likeness as that is not in the nature of things. You fight the question vigorously, but you are fighting a peaceably disposed adversary. Grant, then, that it is not; at all events, it is possible that it should seem to be so; therefore it will deceive the senses. And if one likeness deceives them, it will have made everything doubtful; for when that judgment is once taken away by which alone things can be known, then, even if the person whom you see, be really the person whom he appears to you to be, still you will not judge by that characteristic which you say you ought, being of such a character that one of the same kind cannot be false. If, therefore, it is possible that Publius Geminus may appear to you to be Quintus, what certainty have you that he may not appear to you to be Cotta though he is not, since some things do appear to you to be what they are not? You say that everything has its own peculiar genus; that there is nothing the same as something else. That is a stoic doctrine, and one not very credible, for they say that there is not a single hair or a single grain in every respect like another hair or grain. These things could all be refuted, but I do not wish to be contentious; for it has nothing in the world to do with the question whether the things which are seen do not differ at all in any part, or whether they cannot be distinguished from another even though they do differ. But, granting that there cannot be such a likeness between men, can there not be such between statues? Tell me, could not Lysippus, using the same brass, the same composition of metals, the same atmosphere, water, and all other appliances, have made a hundred Alexanders exactly alike? How then could you distinguish between them? Again; if I, with this ring, make a hundred impressions on the same piece of wax, is it possible that there[pg 063]should be any difference to enable you to distinguish one from the other?—or, shall you have to seek out some ring engraver, since you have already found us a Delian poulterer who could recognise his eggs?XXVII. But you have recourse to art, which you call in to the aid of the senses. A painter sees what we do not see; and as soon as a flute-player plays a note the air is recognised by a musician. Well? Does not this argument seem to tell against you, if, without great skill, such as very few persons of our class attain to, we can neither see nor hear? Then you give an excellent description of the skill with which nature has manufactured our senses, and intellect, and the whole construction of man, in order to prevent my being alarmed at rashness of opinions. Can you also, Lucullus, affirm that there is any power united with wisdom and prudence which has made, or, to use your own expression, manufactured man? What sort of a manufacture is that? Where is it exercised? when? why? how? These points are all handled ingeniously, they are discussed even elegantly. Let it be said even that they appear likely; only let them not be affirmed positively. But we will discuss natural philosophy hereafter, and, indeed, we will do so that you, who said a little while ago that I should speak of it, may appear not to have spoken falsely.However, to come to what is clearer, I shall now bring forward general facts on which whole volumes have been filled, not only by those of our own School, but also by Chrysippus. But the Stoics complain of him, that, while he studiously collected every argument which could be brought forward against the senses and clearness, and against all custom, and against reason, when he came to reply to himself, he was inferior to what he had been at first; and therefore that, in fact, he put arms into the hands of Carneades. Those arguments are such as have been ingeniously handled by you. You said that the perceptions of men asleep, or drunk, or mad, were less vigorous than those of men awake, sober, and sane. How do you prove that? because, when Ennius had awakened, he would not say that he had seen Homer, but only that Homer had seemed to be present. And Alcmæon says—My heart distrusts the witness of my eyes.[pg 064]And one may say the same of men who are drunk. As if any one denied that when a man has awakened he ceases to think his dreams true; and that a man whose frenzy has passed away, no longer conceives those things to be real which appeared so to him during his madness. But that is not the question: the question is, how those things appear to us, at the time when they do appear. Unless, indeed, we suppose that Ennius heard the whole of that address—O piety of the soul....(if, indeed, he did dream it), just as he would have heard it if he had been awake. For when awake, he was able to think those things phantoms—as, in fact, they were—and dreams. But while he was asleep, he felt as sure of their reality as if he had been awake. Again, Iliona, in that dream of hers, where she hears—Mother, I call on you....does she not believe that her son has spoken, just as she would have believed it if she had been awake? On which account she adds—Come now, stand here, remain, and hear my words,And once again repeat those words to me.Does she here seem to place less trust in what she has seen than people do when awake?XXVIII. Why should I speak of madmen?—such as your relation Tuditanus was, Catulus. Does any man, who may be ever so much in his senses, think the things which he sees as certain as he used to think those that appeared to him? Again, the man who cries out—I see you now, I see you now alive,Ulysses, while such sight is still allow'd me;does he not twice cry out that he is seeing what he never sees at all? Again, when Hercules, in Euripides, shot his own sons with his arrows, taking them for the sons of Eurystheus,—when he slew his wife,—when he endeavoured even to slay his father,—was he not worked upon by false ideas, just as he might have been by true ones? Again, does not your own Alcmæon, who says that his heart distrusts the witness of his eyes, say in the same place, while inflamed by frenzy—Whence does this flame arise?[pg 065]And presently afterwards—Come on; come on; they hasten, they approach;They seek for me.Listen, how he implores the good faith of the virgin:—

The poet Homer seem'd to stand before me.

And again in his Epicharmus he says—

For I seem'd to be dreaming, and laid in the tomb.

Therefore, as soon as we are awakened, we despise those things which we have seen, and do not regard them as we do the things which we have done in the forum.

XVII. But while these visions are being beheld, they assume the same appearance as those things which we see while awake. There is a good deal of real difference between them; but we may pass over that. For what we assert is, that there is not the same power or soundness in people when asleep that there is in them while waking, either in intellect or in sensation. What even drunken men do, they do not do with the same deliberate approbation as sober men. They doubt, they hesitate, they check themselves at times, and give but a feeble assent to what they see or agree too. And when they have slept off their drunkenness, then they understand how unreal their perceptions were. And the same thing is the case with madmen; that when their madness is beginning, they both feel and say that something appears to them to exist that has no real existence. And when their frenzy abates, they feel and speak like Alcmæon;—

But now my heart does not agreeWith that which with my eyes I see.

But now my heart does not agree

With that which with my eyes I see.

But even in madness the wise man puts restraint upon himself, so far as not to approve of what is false as if it were true. And he does so often at other times, if there is by[pg 048]chance any heaviness or slowness in his senses, or if those things which are seen by him are rather obscure, or if he is prevented from thoroughly examining them by the shortness of the time. Although the whole of this fact, that the wise man sometimes suspends his assent, makes against you. For if there were no difference between his perceptions, he would either suspend it always or never.

But from the whole character of this discussion we may see the worthless nature of the argument of those men who wish to throw everything into confusion. We want judgment, marked with gravity, consistency, firmness, and wisdom: and we use the examples of men dreaming, mad, or drunk. I press this point, that in all this discussion we are speaking with great inconsistency. For we should not bring forward men sunk in wine or sleep, or deprived of sense, in such an absurd manner as at one time to say there is a difference between the perceptions of men awake and sober and sensible, and those of men in a different condition, and at other times that there was no difference at all.

They do not even perceive that by this kind of argument they are making out everything to be uncertain, which they do not wish to do. I call that uncertain which the Greeks call ἄδηλον. For if the fact be that there is no difference between the appearance that a thing presents to a madman and to a person in his senses, then who can feel quite sure of his own sanity? And to wish to produce such an effect as that is a proof of no ordinary madness. But they follow up in a childish manner the likenesses of twins, or of impressions of rings. For who of us denies that there are such things as likenesses, when they are visible in numbers of things? But if the fact of many things being like many other things is sufficient to take away knowledge, why are you not content with that, especially as we admit it? And why do you rather insist upon that assertion which the nature of things will not suffer, that everything is not in its own kind of that character of which it really is? and that there is a conformity without any difference whatever in two or more things; so that eggs are entirely like eggs, and bees like bees? What then are you contending for? or what do you seek to gain by talking about twins? For it is granted that they are alike; and you might be content with that. But you try to make[pg 049]them out to be actually the same, and not merely alike; and that is quite impossible.

Then you have recourse to those natural philosophers who are so greatly ridiculed in the Academy, but whom you will not even now desist from quoting. And you tell us that Democritus says that there are a countless number of worlds, and that there are some which are not only so like one another, but so completely and absolutely equal in every point, that there is no difference whatever between them, and that they are quite innumerable; and so also are men. Then you require that, if the world be so entirely equal to another world that there is absolutely not the slightest difference between them, we should grant to you that in this world of ours also there must be something exactly equal to something else, so that there is no difference whatever or distinction between them. For why, you will say, since there not only can be, but actually are innumerable Quinti Lutatii Catuli formed out of those atoms, from which Democritus affirms that everything is produced, in all the other worlds, which are likewise innumerable,—why may not there be a second Catulus formed in this identical world of ours, since it is of such a size as we see it?

XVIII. First of all I reply, that you are bringing me to the arguments of Democritus, with whom I do not agree. And I will the more readily refute them, on account of that doctrine which is laid down very clearly by the more refined natural philosophers, that everything has its own separate property. For grant that those ancient Servilii who were twins were as much alike as they are said to have been, do you think that that would have made them the same? They were not distinguished from one another out of doors, but they were at home. They were not distinguished from one another by strangers, but they were by their own family. Do we not see that this is frequently the case, that those people whom we should never have expected to be able to know from one another, we do by practice distinguish so easily that they do not appear to be even in the least alike?

Here, however, you may struggle; I will not oppose you. Moreover, I will grant that that very wise man who is the subject of all this discussion, when things like one another come under his notice, in which he has not remarked any[pg 050]special character, will withhold his assent, and will never agree to any perception which is not of such a character as a false perception can never assume. But with respect to all other things he has a certain art by which he can distinguish what is true from what is false; and with respect to those similitudes he must apply the test of experience. As a mother distinguishes between twins by the constant practice of her eyes, so you too will distinguish when you have become accustomed to it. Do you not see that it has become a perfect proverb that one egg is like another? and yet we are told that at Delos (when it was a flourishing island) there were many people who used to keep large numbers of hens for the sake of profit; and that they, when they had looked upon an egg, could tell which hen had laid it. Nor does that fact make against our argument; for it is sufficient for us to be able to distinguish between the eggs. For it is impossible for one to assent to the proposition that this thing is that thing more, than by admitting that there is actually no difference at all between the two. For I have laid it down as a rule, to consider all perceptions true which are of such a character as those which are false cannot be. And from this I may not depart one finger's breadth, as they say, lest I should throw everything into confusion. For not only the knowledge of what is true and false, but their whole nature too, will be destroyed if there is no difference between one and the other. And that must be very absurd which you sometimes are in the habit of saying, when perceptions are imprinted on the mind, that what you say is, not that there is no difference between the impressions, but only that there is none between certain appearances and forms which they assume. As if perceptions were not judged of by their appearance, which can deserve or obtain no credit if the mark by which we are to distinguish truth from falsehood be taken away.

But that is a monstrous absurdity of yours, when you say that you follow what is probable when you are not hindered by anything from doing so. In the first place, how can you avoid being hindered, when what is false does not differ from what is true? Secondly, what judgment can be formed of what is true, when what is true is undistinguishable from what is false? From these facts there springs unavoidably ἐποχὴ, that is to say, a suspension of assent: for which[pg 051]Arcesilas is more consistent, if at least the opinions which some people entertain of Carneades are correct. For if nothing can be perceived, as they both agree in thinking, then all assent is taken away. For what is so childish as to talk of approving of what is not known? But even yesterday we heard that Carneades was in the habit, at times, of descending to say that a wise man would be guided by opinion, that is to say, would do wrong. To me, indeed, it is not so certain that there is anything which can be comprehended, a question which I have now spent too much time in discussing, as that a wise man is never guided by opinion, that is to say, never assents to anything which is either false or unknown.

There remains this other statement of theirs, that for the sake of discovering the truth, one ought to speak against every side, and in favour of every side. I wish then to see what they have discovered. We are not in the habit, says he, of showing that. What then is the object of all this mystery? or why do you conceal your opinion as something discreditable? In order, says he, that those who hear us may be influenced by reason rather than led by authority. What if they are influenced by both? would there be any harm in that? However, they do not conceal one of their theories, namely, that there is nothing which can be conceived. Is authority no hindrance to entertaining this opinion? It seems to me to be a great one. For who would ever have embraced so openly and undisguisedly such perverse and false principles, if there had not been such great richness of ideas and power of eloquence in Arcesilas, and, in a still greater degree, in Carneades?

XIX. These are nearly the arguments which Antiochus used to urge at Alexandria, and many years afterwards, with much more positiveness too, in Syria, when he was there with me, a little before he died. But, as my case is now established, I will not hesitate to warn you, as you are my dearest friend, (he was addressing me,) and one a good deal younger than myself.

Will you, then, after having extolled philosophy with such panegyrics, and provoked our friend Hortensius, who disagrees with us, now follow that philosophy which confounds what is true with what is false, deprives us of all judgment, strips us of the power of approval, and robs us of all[pg 052]our senses? Even the Cimmerians, to whom some god, or nature, or the foulness of the country that they inhabited, had denied the light of the sun, had still some fires which they were permitted to avail themselves of as if they were light. But those men whom you approve of, after having enveloped us in such darkness, have not left us a single spark to enable us to look around by. And if we follow them, we become bound with such chains that we cannot move. For when assent is taken away, they take away at the same time all motion of our minds, and all our power of action; which not only cannot be done rightly, but which cannot possibly be done at all. Beware, also, lest you become the only person who is not allowed to uphold that opinion. Will you, when you have explained the most secret matters and brought them to light, and said on your oath that you have discovered them, (which, indeed, I could swear to also, since I learnt them from you,)—will you, I say, assert that there is nothing which can be known, comprehended, or perceived? Beware, I entreat you, lest the authority of those most beautiful actions be diminished by your own conduct.

And having said this he stopped. But Hortensius, admiring all he said very greatly, (so much, indeed, that all the time that Lucullus was speaking he kept lifting up his hands; and it was no wonder, for I do not believe that an argument had ever been conducted against the Academy with more acuteness,) began to exhort me, either jestingly or seriously, (for that was a point that I was not quite sure about,) to abandon my opinions. Then, said Catulus, if the discourse of Lucullus has had such influence over you,—and it has been a wonderful exhibition of memory, accuracy, and ingenuity,—I have nothing to say; nor do I think it my duty to try and deter you from changing opinion if you choose. But I should not think it well for you to be influenced merely by his authority. For he was all but warning you, said he, jestingly, to take care that no worthless tribune of the people, of whom you know what a number there will always be, seize upon you, and ask of you in the public assembly how you are consistent with yourself, when at one time you assert that nothing certain can be discovered, and at another time affirm that you yourself have discovered something. I entreat you, do not let him terrify you. But I would rather have you disagree[pg 053]with him on the merits of the case itself. But if you give in to him, I shall not be greatly surprised; for I recollect that Antiochus himself, after he had entertained such opinions for many years, abandoned them as soon as he thought it desirable. When Catulus had said this, they all began to fix their eyes on me.

XX. Then I, being no less agitated than I usually am when pleading important causes, began to speak something after this fashion:—

The discourse of Lucullus, O Catulus, on the matter itself, moved me a good deal, being the discourse of a learned and ingenious and quick-witted man, and of one who passes over nothing which can be said for his side; but still I am not afraid but that I may be able to answer him. But no doubt such authority as his would have influenced me a good deal, if you had not opposed your own to it, which is of equal weight. I will endeavour, therefore, to reply to him after I have said a few words in defence of my own reputation, as it were.

If it is by any desire of display, or any zeal for contentious disputes, that I have been chiefly led to rank myself as an adherent of this school of philosophy, I should think not only my folly, but also my disposition and nature deserving of severe censure; for if obstinacy is found fault with in the most trifling matters, and if also calumny is repressed, should I choose to contend with others in a quarrelsome manner about the general condition and conduct of my whole life, or to deceive others and also my own self? Therefore, if I did not think it foolish in such a discussion to do what, when one is discussing affairs of state, is sometimes done, I would swear by Jupiter and my household gods, that I am inflamed with a desire of discovering the truth, and that I do truly feel what I say. For how can I avoid wishing to discover the truth, when I rejoice if I have discovered anything resembling the truth? But although I consider to see the truth a most beautiful thing, so also do I think it a most disgraceful one to approve of what is false as if it were true. Not, indeed, that I am myself a man who never approve of anything false, who never give assent to any such thing, and am never guided by opinion; but we are speaking of a wise man. But I myself am very apt to adopt opinions, for I am not a[pg 054]wise man, and I direct my thoughts, steering not to that little Cynosura,

The nightly star, which shining not in vain,Guides the Phœnician sailor o'er the main,

The nightly star, which shining not in vain,

Guides the Phœnician sailor o'er the main,

as Aratus says;—and those mariners steer in a more direct course because they keep looking at the constellation,

Which in its inner course and orbit briefSurely revolves;—

Which in its inner course and orbit brief

Surely revolves;—

but looking rather towards Helice, and the bright north star, that is to say, to these reasons of a more expansive kind, not polished away to a point; and therefore I roam and wander about in a freer course. However, the question, as I said just now, is not about myself, but about a wise man. For when these perceptions have made a violent impression on the intellect and senses, I admit them, and sometimes I even assent to them, but still I do not perceive them: for I do not think that anything can be perceived. I am not a wise man, therefore I submit to perceptions and cannot resist them: but Arcesilas, being on this point in agreement with Zeno, thinks that this is the most important part of the power of a wise man, that he can guard against being entangled, and provide against being deceived. For there is nothing more incompatible with the idea which we have of the gravity of a wise man than error, levity, and temerity. Why, then, need I speak of the firmness of a wise man? whom even you too, Lucullus, admit to be never guided by mere opinion. And since this is sanctioned by you, (if I am dealing irregularly with you at this moment, I will soon return to the proper order of your arguments,) just consider what force this first conclusion has.

XXI. If the wise man ever assents to anything, he will likewise sometimes form opinions: but he never will form opinions: therefore he will never assent to anything. This conclusion was approved of by Arcesilas, for it confirmed both his first and second proposition. But Carneades sometimes granted that minor premiss, that the wise man did at times assent: then it followed that he also was at times guided by opinion; which you will not allow; and you are right, as it seems to me: but the first proposition, that the wise man, if he expresses assent, must also be guided by opinion, is denied by the Stoics and their follower on this point, Antiochus.

For they say that they can distinguish what is false from what is true, and what cannot be perceived from what can. But, in the first place, even if anything can be perceived, still the very custom of expressing assent appears to us to be perilous and unsure. Wherefore, as it is plain that is so faulty a proceeding, to assent to anything that is either false or unknown, all assent must rather be removed, lest it should rush on into difficulties if it proceeds rashly. For what is false is so much akin to what is true, and the things which cannot be perceived to those which can, (if, indeed, there are any such, for we shall examine that point presently,) that a wise man ought not to trust himself in such a hazardous position.

But if I assume that there is actually nothing which can be perceived, and if I also take what you grant me, that a wise man is never guided by opinion, then the consequence will be that the wise man will restrain all assent on his part; so that you must consider whether you would rather have it so, or let the wise man sometimes form opinions. You do not approve of either, you will say. Let us, then, endeavour to prove that nothing can be perceived; for that is what the whole controversy turns upon.

XXII. But first I must say a few words to Antiochus; who under Philo learnt this very doctrine which I am now defending, for such a length of time, that it is certain that no one was ever longer studying it; and who wrote on these subjects with the greatest acuteness, and who yet attacked it in his old age with no less energy than he had defended it in his youth. Although therefore he may have been a shrewd arguer, as indeed he was, still his authority is diminished by his inconsistency. For what day, I should like to know, will ever dawn, which shall reveal to him that distinctive characteristic of what is true and what is false, of which for so many years he denied the existence? Has he devised anything new? He says the same that the Stoics say. Does he repent of having held such an opinion? Why did he not cross over to some other school, and especially to the Stoics? for this disagreement with the Academy was peculiarly theirs. What? did he repent of Mnesarchus or Dardanus, who at that time were the chiefs of the Stoics at Athens? He never deserted Philo till after the time when he himself began to have pupils.

But from whence was the Old Academy on a sudden recalled? He appears to have wished to preserve the dignity of the name, after he had given up the reality; which however some people said, that he did from a view to his own glory, and that he even hoped that those who followed him might be called Antiochians. But to me it seems, that he could not stand that concourse of all the philosophers. In truth, there are among them all, some common principles on the other points; but this doctrine is peculiar to the Academicians, and not one of the other philosophers approves of it. Therefore, he quitted it; and, like those men who, where the new shops stand, cannot bear the sun, so he, when he was hot, took refuge under the shade of the Old Academicians, as those men do under the shade of the old shops near the pillar of Mænius. There was also an argument which he was in the habit of employing, when he used to maintain that nothing could be perceived; namely, asking whether Dionysius of Heraclea had comprehended the doctrine which he had espoused for many years, because he was guided by that certain characteristic, and whether he believed the doctrine of his master Zeno, that whatever was honourable was the only good; or, whether he adopted the assertion which he defended subsequently, that the name of honourableness is a mere phantom, and that pleasure is the chief good: for from this change of opinion on his part he wished to prove, that nothing can be so stamped on our minds by the truth, that it cannot also be impressed on them in the same manner by falsehood; and so he took care that others should derive from his own conduct the same argument which he himself had derived from Dionysius.

XXIII. But we will argue this point more at length another time; at present we will turn what has been said, Lucullus, to you. And in the first place, let us examine the assertion which you made at the beginning, and see what sort of assertion it is; namely, that we spoke of the ancient philosophers in a manner similar to that in which seditious men were in the habit of speaking of illustrious men, who were however friends of the people. These men do not indeed pursue good objects, but still wish to be considered to resemble good men; but we say that we hold those opinions, which you yourselves confess to have been entertained by the most illustrious philosophers. Anaxagoras said, that snow was[pg 057]black: would you endure me if I were to say the same? You would not bear even for me to express a doubt on the subject. But who is this man? is he a Sophist? for by that name were those men called, who used to philosophize for the sake of display or of profit. The glory of the gravity and genius of that man was great. Why should I speak of Democritus? Who is there whom we can compare with him for the greatness, not merely of his genius, but also of his spirit? a man who dared to begin thus:“I am going to speak of everything.”He excepts nothing, so as not to profess a knowledge of it. For indeed, what could there possibly be beyond everything? Who can avoid placing this philosopher before Cleanthes, or Chrysippus, or all the rest of his successors? men who, when compared with him, appear to me to be in the fifth class.

But he does not say this, which we, who do not deny that there is some truth, declare cannot be perceived: he absolutely denies that there is any truth. He says that the senses are not merely dim, but utterly dark; for that is what Metrodorus of Chios, who was one of his greatest admirers, says of them, at the beginning of his book on Nature.“I deny,”says he,“that we know whether we know anything or whether we know nothing; I say that we do not even know what is ignorance and knowledge; and that we have no knowledge whether anything exists or whether nothing does.”

Empedocles appears to you to be mad; but to me he seems to utter words very worthy of the subjects of which he speaks. Does he then blind us, or deprive us of our senses, if he thinks that there is but little power in them to judge of those things which are brought under their notice? Parmenides and Xenophanes blame, as if they were angry with them, though in no very poetical verses, the arrogance of those people who, though nothing can be known, venture to say that they know something. And you said that Socrates and Plato were distinct from these men. Why so? Are there any men of whom we can speak more certainly? I indeed seem to myself to have lived with these men; so many of their discourses have been reported, from which one cannot possibly doubt that Socrates thought that nothing could be known. He excepted one thing only, asserting that he did know that he knew nothing; but he made no other[pg 058]exception. What shall I say of Plato? who certainly would never have followed up these doctrines in so many books if he had not approved of them; for there was no object in going on with the irony of the other, especially when it was so unceasing.

XXIV. Do I not seem to you, not, like Saturninus, to be content with naming illustrious men, but also sometimes even to imitate them, though never unless they are really eminent and noble? And I might have opposed to you men who are annoying to you, but yet disputants of great accuracy; Stilpo, Diodorus, and Alexinus: men who indulged in far-fetched and pointed sophisms; for that was the name given usually to fallacious conclusions. But why need I enumerate them, when I have Chrysippus, who is considered to be the great support of the portico of the Stoics? How many of the arguments against the senses, how many against everything which is approved by ordinary practice, did he not refute! It is true that I do not think very much of his refutations; but still, let us grant that he did refute them. Certainly he would never have collected so many arguments to deceive us with their excessive probability, unless he saw that it was not easily possible to resist them.

What do you think of the Cyrenaic School? philosophers far from contemptible, who affirm that there is nothing which can be perceived externally; and that they perceive those things alone which they feel by their inmost touch, such as pain, or pleasure. And that they do not know what colour anything is of, or what sound it utters; but only feel that they themselves are affected in a certain manner.

We have said enough about authors: although you had asked me whether I did not think that since the time of those ancient philosophers, in so many ages, the truth might have been discovered, when so many men of genius and diligence were looking for it? What was discovered we will consider presently, and you yourself shall be the judge. But it is easily seen that Arcesilas did not contend with Zeno for the sake of disparaging him; but that he wished to discover the truth. No one, I say, of preceding philosophers had said positively, no one had even hinted that it was possible for man never to form opinions: and that for a wise man it was not only possible, but indispensable. The opinion of Arcesilas[pg 059]appeared not only true, but honourable and worthy of a wise man.

Perhaps he asked of Zeno what would happen if a wise man could not possibly perceive anything, and if to form mere opinion was unworthy of a wise man? He answered, I suppose, that the wise man never would form mere opinion, since there were things which admitted of being perceived. What then were they? Perceptions, I suppose. What sort of perceptions then? In reply to this he gave a definition, That it was such as is impressed and stamped upon and figured in us, according to and conformably to something which exists. Afterwards the question was asked, whether, if such a perception was true, it was of the same character as one that was false? Here Zeno saw clearly enough that there was no perception that could be perceived at all, if the perception derived from that which is, could possibly resemble that which is derived from that which is not.

Arcesilas was quite right in admitting this. An addition was made to the definition; namely, That nothing false could be perceived; nor anything true either, if it was of such a character as that which was false. But he applied himself diligently to these discussions, in order to prove that no perception originated in what was true of such a kind that there might not be a similar one originating in what was false. And this is the one subject of controversy which has lasted to this day. For the other doctrine, that the wise man would never assent to anything, had nothing to do with this question. For it was quite possible for a man to perceive nothing, and nevertheless to be guided at times by opinion; which is said to have been admitted by Carneades. I, indeed, trusting rather to Clitomachus than to Philo or Metrodorus, believe that he argued this point rather than that he admitted it.

XXV. However, let us say no more about this. Undoubtedly, when opinion and perception are put an end to, the retention of every kind of assent must follow; as, if I prove that nothing can be perceived, you would then grant that a philosopher would never assent to anything. What is there then that can be perceived, if even the senses do not warn us of the truth? But you, O Lucullus, defend them by a common topic; and to prevent you from being able to do so it was, that I yesterday, when it was not otherwise necessary, said so[pg 060]much against the senses. But you say that you are not at all moved by“the broken oar”or“the dove's neck.”In the first place, I will ask why?—for in the case of the oar, I feel that that which appears to be the case, is not really so; and that in the dove's neck there appear to be many colours, but are not in reality more than one. Have we, then, said nothing more than this? Let all our arguments stand: that man is tearing his cause to pieces; he says that his senses are voracious. Therefore you have always one backer who will plead the cause at his own risk: for Epicurus brings the matter down to this point, that if once in a man's life one of his senses has decided wrongly, none of them is ever to be trusted. This is what he calls being true, and confiding in his own witnesses, and urging his proofs to their just conclusion; therefore Timagoras the Epicurean declares, that when he had twisted his eye with his hand, he had never seen two flames appear out of one candle: for that the error was one of opinion, and not one of his eyes; just as if the question were what the fact is, and not what it appears to be. However, he is just like his predecessors. But as for you, who say that of the things perceived by your senses, some are true and some false, how do you distinguish between them? Cease, I beg of you, to employ common topics: we have plenty of them at home.

If any god were to ask you, while your senses are sound and unimpaired, whether you desire anything further, what would you answer? I wish, indeed, he would ask me! You should hear how ill he treats us: for how far are we to look in order to see the truth? I can see the Cumæan villa of Catulus from this place, but not his villa near Pompeii; not that there is any obstacle interposed, but my eyesight cannot extend so far. What a superb view! We see Puteoli, but we do not see our friend Avianus, though he may perhaps be walking in the portico of Neptune; there was, however, some one or other who is often spoken of in the Schools who could see things that were a thousand and eighty furlongs off; and some birds can see further still. I should therefore answer your god boldly, that I am not at all contented with these eyes of mine. He will tell me, perhaps, that I can see better than some fishes; which are not seen by us, and which even now are beneath our eyes, and yet they cannot look up far[pg 061]enough to see us: therefore, as water is shed around them, so a dense air is around us. But we desire nothing better. What? do you suppose that a mole longs for light?—nor would he complain to the god that he could not see far, but rather that he saw incorrectly. Do you see that ship? It appears to us to be standing still; but to those who are in that ship, this villa appears to be moving. Seek for the reason why it seems so, and if you discover it ever so much, and I do not know whether you may not be able to, still you will have proved, not that you have a trustworthy witness, but that he has not given false evidence without sufficient reason.

XXVI. What need had I to speak of the ship? for I saw that what I said about the oar was despised by you; perhaps you expect something more serious. What can be greater than the sun, which the mathematicians affirm to be more than eighteen times as large as the earth? How little does it appear to us! To me, indeed, it seems about a foot in diameter; but Epicurus thinks it possible that it may be even less than it seems, but not much; nor does he think that it is much greater, but that it is very near the size it seems to be: so that our eyes are either quite correct, or, at all events, not very incorrect. What becomes then of the exception,“If once...?”However, let us leave this credulous man, who does not believe that the senses are ever wrong,—not even now, when that sun, which is borne along with such rapidity that it is impossible even to conceive how great its velocity is, nevertheless seems to us to be standing still.

However, to abridge the controversy, consider, I pray you, within what narrow bounds you are confined. There are four principles which conduct you to the conclusion that there is nothing which can be known, or perceived, or comprehended;—and it is about this that the whole dispute is. The first principle is, that some perceptions are false; the second, that such cannot be perceived; the third, that of perceptions between which there is no difference, it is not possible that some of them can be perceived and that others cannot; the fourth, that there is no true perception proceeding from the senses, to which there is not some other perception opposed which in no respect differs from it, and which cannot be perceived. Now of these four principles, the second and third are admitted by every one. Epicurus does not admit the[pg 062]first, but you, with whom we are now arguing, admit that one too,—the whole contest is about the fourth.

The man, then, who saw Publius Servilius Geminus, if he thought that he saw Quintus, fell into a perception of that kind that could not be perceived; because what was true was distinguished by no characteristic mark from what was false: and if this distinctive mark were taken away, what characteristic of the same kind could he have by which to recognise Caius Cotta, who was twice consul with Geminus, which could not possibly be false? You say that such a likeness as that is not in the nature of things. You fight the question vigorously, but you are fighting a peaceably disposed adversary. Grant, then, that it is not; at all events, it is possible that it should seem to be so; therefore it will deceive the senses. And if one likeness deceives them, it will have made everything doubtful; for when that judgment is once taken away by which alone things can be known, then, even if the person whom you see, be really the person whom he appears to you to be, still you will not judge by that characteristic which you say you ought, being of such a character that one of the same kind cannot be false. If, therefore, it is possible that Publius Geminus may appear to you to be Quintus, what certainty have you that he may not appear to you to be Cotta though he is not, since some things do appear to you to be what they are not? You say that everything has its own peculiar genus; that there is nothing the same as something else. That is a stoic doctrine, and one not very credible, for they say that there is not a single hair or a single grain in every respect like another hair or grain. These things could all be refuted, but I do not wish to be contentious; for it has nothing in the world to do with the question whether the things which are seen do not differ at all in any part, or whether they cannot be distinguished from another even though they do differ. But, granting that there cannot be such a likeness between men, can there not be such between statues? Tell me, could not Lysippus, using the same brass, the same composition of metals, the same atmosphere, water, and all other appliances, have made a hundred Alexanders exactly alike? How then could you distinguish between them? Again; if I, with this ring, make a hundred impressions on the same piece of wax, is it possible that there[pg 063]should be any difference to enable you to distinguish one from the other?—or, shall you have to seek out some ring engraver, since you have already found us a Delian poulterer who could recognise his eggs?

XXVII. But you have recourse to art, which you call in to the aid of the senses. A painter sees what we do not see; and as soon as a flute-player plays a note the air is recognised by a musician. Well? Does not this argument seem to tell against you, if, without great skill, such as very few persons of our class attain to, we can neither see nor hear? Then you give an excellent description of the skill with which nature has manufactured our senses, and intellect, and the whole construction of man, in order to prevent my being alarmed at rashness of opinions. Can you also, Lucullus, affirm that there is any power united with wisdom and prudence which has made, or, to use your own expression, manufactured man? What sort of a manufacture is that? Where is it exercised? when? why? how? These points are all handled ingeniously, they are discussed even elegantly. Let it be said even that they appear likely; only let them not be affirmed positively. But we will discuss natural philosophy hereafter, and, indeed, we will do so that you, who said a little while ago that I should speak of it, may appear not to have spoken falsely.

However, to come to what is clearer, I shall now bring forward general facts on which whole volumes have been filled, not only by those of our own School, but also by Chrysippus. But the Stoics complain of him, that, while he studiously collected every argument which could be brought forward against the senses and clearness, and against all custom, and against reason, when he came to reply to himself, he was inferior to what he had been at first; and therefore that, in fact, he put arms into the hands of Carneades. Those arguments are such as have been ingeniously handled by you. You said that the perceptions of men asleep, or drunk, or mad, were less vigorous than those of men awake, sober, and sane. How do you prove that? because, when Ennius had awakened, he would not say that he had seen Homer, but only that Homer had seemed to be present. And Alcmæon says—

My heart distrusts the witness of my eyes.

And one may say the same of men who are drunk. As if any one denied that when a man has awakened he ceases to think his dreams true; and that a man whose frenzy has passed away, no longer conceives those things to be real which appeared so to him during his madness. But that is not the question: the question is, how those things appear to us, at the time when they do appear. Unless, indeed, we suppose that Ennius heard the whole of that address—

O piety of the soul....

(if, indeed, he did dream it), just as he would have heard it if he had been awake. For when awake, he was able to think those things phantoms—as, in fact, they were—and dreams. But while he was asleep, he felt as sure of their reality as if he had been awake. Again, Iliona, in that dream of hers, where she hears—

Mother, I call on you....

does she not believe that her son has spoken, just as she would have believed it if she had been awake? On which account she adds—

Come now, stand here, remain, and hear my words,And once again repeat those words to me.

Come now, stand here, remain, and hear my words,

And once again repeat those words to me.

Does she here seem to place less trust in what she has seen than people do when awake?

XXVIII. Why should I speak of madmen?—such as your relation Tuditanus was, Catulus. Does any man, who may be ever so much in his senses, think the things which he sees as certain as he used to think those that appeared to him? Again, the man who cries out—

I see you now, I see you now alive,Ulysses, while such sight is still allow'd me;

I see you now, I see you now alive,

Ulysses, while such sight is still allow'd me;

does he not twice cry out that he is seeing what he never sees at all? Again, when Hercules, in Euripides, shot his own sons with his arrows, taking them for the sons of Eurystheus,—when he slew his wife,—when he endeavoured even to slay his father,—was he not worked upon by false ideas, just as he might have been by true ones? Again, does not your own Alcmæon, who says that his heart distrusts the witness of his eyes, say in the same place, while inflamed by frenzy—

Whence does this flame arise?

And presently afterwards—

Come on; come on; they hasten, they approach;They seek for me.

Come on; come on; they hasten, they approach;

They seek for me.

Listen, how he implores the good faith of the virgin:—

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