Book 2, Chapter 3

7 There is a certain class of people who wish to be called philosophers, and who are said to have written a great many books in Latin. I do not despise those books: I have never read them. But their authors themselves declare that they write without clarity, arrangement, elegance, or adornment; and I have no interest in reading that offers no pleasure. No one with even a moderate education is ignorant of what the adherents of that school say and think. Since they themselves take no pains over how they say it, I cannot see why anyone should read them except their own circle of like-minded believers.

8 Everyone reads Plato and the other Socratics, and then the thinkers who took their start from them—even readers who do not accept their views or pursue them with any particular enthusiasm. Epicurus and Metrodorus, by contrast, are scarcely picked up by anyone outside their own following. In the same way, these Latin writers are read only by those who think their doctrines sound. My own view is that whatever is committed to writing should deserve the attention of every educated reader. If I cannot fully achieve that myself, I am no less convinced that this is what ought to be done.

9 I have therefore always liked the Peripatetic and Academic practice of arguing both sides of every question, not only because there is no other way to discover what is probable in each case, but also because it provides the best possible exercise in speaking. Aristotle was the first to employ it, and his followers continued it. In our own time Philo, whose lectures I often attended, established the practice of teaching the rules of rhetoric at one time and those of philosophy at another. Encouraged by my friends to adopt this practice, I spent on it what time I had available at Tusculum. After devoting the morning to speaking, as we had the day before, we went down in the afternoon to the Academy. I shall present the discussion held there not as a narrative, but in almost the very words in which our conversation and debate took place.

7 There is a type of person who wants to be called a philosopher, and people say they’ve written a great many books in Latin. I don’t look down on those books. How could I, when I’ve never read them? But their authors themselves openly say that their writing has no clarity, organization, grace, or polish. So I don’t bother with reading that offers no pleasure. Anyone with even a modest education knows what the people in that school say and think. Since they don’t care how they say it, I don’t see why anyone should read them except others who share their views.

8 Everyone reads Plato, the other Socratic writers, and their successors, even people who disagree with them or aren’t particularly keen to follow their ideas. But hardly anyone outside their own followers picks up Epicurus or Metrodorus. In the same way, only people who think these Latin writers are right read them. I think anything put into writing ought to deserve a readership among all educated people. Even if I can’t quite manage that myself, I still think that’s how it should be done.

9 For me, the appeal of the Peripatetics and the Academy has always been their habit of making a case on either side of any issue. Only that approach lets us work out what’s probably true in each case. Besides, nothing gives you better practice in speaking. Aristotle pioneered it, and those who came after him followed his lead. In our lifetime Philo, whose lectures I attended often, began giving instruction in public speaking at one time and in philosophy at another. Friends encouraged me to do likewise. That’s what I’ve been doing with the time available to me at Tusculum. As on the previous day, our morning went on speaking exercises; in the afternoon we walked down to the Academy. What follows isn’t a narrative account of our discussion there. It’s more or less the actual wording of the conversation and arguments.