Ad Familiares 5.16
Ad Familiares 5.16
Headnote
Cicero to Titius, written from Rome around March 52 BC (the manuscripts: Scr. Romae, ut videtur, circ. m. Mart. a. 702). The recipient — a Titius otherwise unknown, perhaps the senator of that name attested in the early 40s — has lost children, more than one, in what Cicero calls “this most calamitous and pestilent year” (hoc gravissimo et pestilentissimo anno): the early months of 52 BC, in which Clodius had just been killed on the Appian Way, the Senate house had been burnt over his pyre, and Rome was without proper magistrates, sliding toward the sole consulship of Pompey. The plague Cicero glances at is real but secondary; what makes this year “pestilent” in the writing is the political ruin behind the plague. The letter is a letter of consolation in the strict ancient sense — the consolatio as literary form, with its inherited topoi — and it is unusually substantive among Cicero’s surviving examples of the genre, set late in his fifty-fourth year, well before his own great bereavement (the death of Tullia in 45 BC, which would produce the lost Consolatio and shape book 1 of the Tusculans).
The argument moves through the standard philosophical commonplaces, knowingly. The opening topos — we are men, born under this law, our life set up as a target for all the weapons of fortune — is the Stoic-Academic commonplace Cicero will rework into the Latin theoretical literature of his last years (cf. Tusc. 3, the lost Consolatio, De Senectute). The classical disjunction on death — if perception remains, what is in question is immortality, not death; if it does not, no wretchedness can be felt — is the schoolroom argument Cicero will attribute in different forms to Socrates and to Epicurus and rework in his own voice in Tusc. 1. What is distinctive here is the third move, the political one: the standard commonplaces no longer carry their old force, because the times do not let them. The state itself has become a worse evil than death; the children Titius has lost have been spared by the immortal gods from a condition of life worse than the loss. That argument — not in the philosophers — is Cicero’s contribution, and it tells us where he stood in March 52 BC: still able to mobilise the schools, no longer able to believe what their consolation was originally for. The letter closes on the topos of anticipating the medicine of time — doing now, by reason, what duration will do of itself — a figure that points forward to the explicit programme of the Tusculans.