Chapter 3 focuses on liberty and servitude, and the way in which these conditions – defined in Roman law in terms of the status of individual persons – are predicated of collective bodies described as civitates and populi in Roman political philosophy. Machiavelli’s relationship to this particular conception of liberty has been at the centre of much recent literature on classical, early modern, and contemporary republicanism, but his theory of freedom requires closer scrutiny, not least because of its relationship to a line of thinking about popular self-government which had been used by humanists to articulate a theory of popular sovereignty from the late fourteenth to the early sixteenth century in Renaissance Florence. This chapter shows how the key concepts of this thesis come from Cicero’s philosophy, which conveys to the humanists an influential account of how to constitute the entity which he calls the populus as the ultimate bearer of public authority. Cicero’s view of ‘the people’ as the master of its own affairs informs his definition of the res publica as res populi – literally, a ‘thing of the people’ – and this chapter shows how it informs the very basis of the classical republican tradition which Machiavelli inherits and reworks.

Any proper investigation of Machiavelli’s conceptualization of the state has to commence where his own investigation begins: with his definition of what states are. Accordingly, this chapter elucidates the particular theory of definition which informs Machiavelli’s theory of lo stato. Machiavelli is continually preoccupied with what we ‘call’ things – or how we ‘nominate’ them, as he sometimes puts it. These are matters of definition in a technical sense, pursued according to a set of argumentative procedures derived from the pages of the ancient Roman rhetorical theorists Cicero and Quintilian. This chapter reconstructs their theory of definition, showing how they classify things in rhetorical argument, before turning to illustrate the theory in action in Roman antiquity by examining how the concept of the civitas – the crucially important political noun used in classical Latin to denote ‘the city’, ‘city-state’, or ‘citizenry’ – is handled in the writings of Cicero, Seneca, and Augustine. The second section of the chapter analyses the reception of this theory and its application to the idea of the civitas in medieval and Renaissance political culture in order to explain how and why Machiavelli comes to rely upon it.

This chapter discusses the social and professional contexts for the emergence of the Italian humanists as a new cultural “class,” and traces the classical and Christian antecedents of their formation of a substantive discourse on secular vocation.

This chapter further situates my Kantian account of thought experiments among competing views. I identify problems for contemporary accounts and contrast epistemological questions (How do thought experiments justify?), which guide most of the current scholarship, with Kant’s emphasis on cognition [Erkenntnis] (What makes concepts meaningful?). I note that metaphilosophical questions on the relationship between conceivability and possibility are not relevant for thought experiments if they are an apparatus for cognition, which is neutral toward the truth or actuality of the objects of cognition. Contemporary accounts that begin with Kuhn’s epistemological question differ on what the basis of knowledge might be. Leading approaches appeal to logic, stored knowledge, and intellectual intuition. I will briefly sketch here some of the basic approaches.

For Cicero, effective Republican leadership entailed both morality and agency. Morality meant actions that supported the Republic, while agency was required for such actions to be carried out. It is difficult to subsume any theory of leadership under a single word, but I argue that Cicero’s leadership theory can be signified by consilium. This term encapsulates the best mental and moral aspects of leadership as well as the actions and results of acting on behalf of the Republic. It is inherently tied to the practice of Republican politics, a practice that was fundamentally transactional. Cicero used this idea of consilium to support his acceptance of Octavian as an ally against Antony. According to his theory of consilium, Cicero acted correctly against Antony, but Octavian ultimately exposed the flaws in Cicero’s theory when he refused to participate in traditional Republican transactional politics.

Tusculans 1 offers a multi-faceted refutation of the proposition ‘death is an evil’, accomplished in part through a detailed doxography of a wide range of philosophers of different schools. This survey is far from a jumble of contradictory views, however: Cicero avoids dogmatic insistence on the arguments of any single school and has instead crafted a minimally sectarian protreptic designed to convince readers of any philosophical persuasion that death is not an evil, an approach whose origin he traces back to Socrates’ reflections on death in Plato’s Apology. Furthermore, I argue that this approach amounts to a direct challenge to Cicero’s philosophical rivals, a group of Epicurean authors writing in Latin – including, I speculate, Lucretius – whom Cicero had criticiaed in several prefaces for their narrow-minded dogmatism. In Book 1 Cicero therefore tackles a topic of perennial interest, illustrates how philosophy can and should be written, and attempts to marginalise his Epicurean opponents.

In Tusculans 1 Cicero gives a lengthy rebuttal of the thesis that death is an evil. This raises a puzzle: how can such a one-sided presentation aspire to reveal whether it is more plausible that death is or is not an evil? Invoking the Tusculans’ practical aim – the removal of emotional disturbance – does not fully satisfy, since it is unclear how effective persuasion can be if the contrary position does not receive a fair hearing. I show that as main speaker in the book Cicero warns against over-confidence in embracing positions that one wishes to be true; and I argue that as author Cicero portrays the interlocutor of Tusculans 1 as a salutary example of how not to approach the kind of questions about death with which the work engages. We are encouraged to see the interlocutor’s failure as one not of character but of inexperience in philosophical method.

The definitions of the emotions in Cicero’s Tusculan Disputations 3 which refer to magnitude are not meant to represent Stoic orthodoxy, and should not be read as direct evidence for the Stoic theory. Cicero’s aims and methods in the Tusculans led him to use non-Stoic accounts of the emotions, in order to offer a kind of consolation that is neutral between Stoic and Peripatetic theories of value. This chapter also discusses the structure of the Tusculans as a unified whole.

An introduction to the historical and philosophical context of Cicero’s Tusculan Disputations and an overview of some general questions to be investigated in the volume, particularly: the question of Cicero’s ‘Socratic method’, his use of dialogue, his claim to argue on both sides of a question, and the relationship between this and his Academic scepticism.

The Tusculan Disputations can be read as a complex of four projects: (1) a set of formal exercises in the schola genre; (2) a therapeutic operation directed against the emotions, and fear in particular, with an agonistic relation to Epicurean predecessors; (3) a project of edification, aiming to reinforce the reader’s commitment to virtue; and (4) an exhibition or advertisement of the powers of philosophy and its advantages to Rome. Together, these dimensions of the Tusculans explain the peculiarities of its argumentation and literary approach. It is plausibly the aspiration to advertise philosophy to Rome (4) which is most fundamental: therapy (2) and edification (3) are projects in which philosophy can usefully display its powers, and the schola form (1) is convenient for doing so. These projects are to be distinguished from that of philosophical inquiry; the Tusculans is informed more by Cicero’s patriotic pragmatism than by his scepticism.

The aim of this chapter is to investigate the teaching of the so-called Peripatetics in the Tusculan Disputations with regard to their views on passions. Such views serve Cicero’s dialectical purposes and his wish to present the debate in Books 3–5 as primarily a dialectical exchange between Stoic ‘lack of passions’ (apatheia) and Peripatetic ‘moderation of passions’ (metriopatheia). Moreover, the Peripatetics are presented as siding with the early followers of Plato, and in particular with Crantor, in a unified camp against the Stoics. I argue that, despite the polemical features of Cicero’s presentation of the Peripatetics in the work, the metriopatheia view merits serious consideration, being much more than just a foil for an argument in favour of Stoicism.

The introductory chapter details what is gained by using the concept of social role when studying power relations in Late Antiquity and how it ties in well with ancient ideas about why people act in the way they do. It shows how Late Antique thought and practice conceptualized social hierarchies in moral terms and argues that precisely the expectation that social and moral hierarchies coincide injects the dynamism in social interactions that this book chronicles. It also underscores that society was conceived of as held together by justice and shows how this was intertwined with hierarchical conceptions of society and the cosmos.

The introduction addresses questions about Kant’s access to Stoic philosophy and other matters about Stoicism in his immediate intellectual context. After this biographical and historical contextualisation, the individual chapters are introduced.

The concept of a ‘formula’ (Formel) plays an important, if complicated, role in Kant’s ethics, especially in the Groundwork. The concept of a formula also plays an important role in Stoic accounts of moral reasoning in the Latin sources, Cicero and Seneca. This chapter explores the place and function of this concept in Stoic ethics and its origins in Roman legal theory and practice. It then raises the question of the relationship between the Kantian and Stoic uses of the concept, asking whether this is a case of direct influence of Stoicism on Kant’s moral philosophy. The chapter comes to no definite conclusion on the question, but aims to provide comparative materials that may help others to address the question.

My introduction considers the rhetorical mechanics of Roman legal writing, and isolates three distinct discursive modes in which legal writing represents the world: the normative, the descriptive, and the constructive. I then discuss the ideological valence of law in the Roman imagination, with reference to Cicero’s description of the ideal magistrate as a “talking law.” I finally provide a plan of the work.

The ancient Romans have been so domesticated that many modern western men (fewer women, perhaps) have been able to imagine themselves, their rusty Latin refreshed, easily adapting to life in the time of Cicero or the younger Pliny. But language is not the only barrier which separates us from the Romans. Entire vocabularies of gesture differ from one culture to another. For Romans, a particular physical movement could have a meaning quite at variance with one a modern Briton might attribute to it – even indicating a category of behaviour for which we have no close equivalent.

Hume’s ‘Of Eloquence’ – in which Hume implores English orators to imitate the sublime style of Demosthenes – has long puzzled readers, for two reasons. First, it is rare for Hume to present ancient examples as suitable for moderns to imitate, particularly where politics is concerned. Second, in the essay’s conclusion, Hume seems to backtrack by encouraging English speakers to give up on sublimity and introduce more order and method into their speeches instead, inviting the accusation of incoherence. In this chapter, I show how reading Hume’s essay through the lens of ancients and moderns is limiting and that a comparison between the political cultures of England and France was central to his analysis. For Hume, the lack of sublimity in Parliament was a specifically English problem with roots in the English national character. If the revival of classical eloquence that Hume desired looked unlikely to him, I argue, this was due less to the unsuitability of sublime speech to a modern society than to the peculiar place of Parliament in Britain’s mixed constitutional order. I also demonstrate that Hume’s closing call for more order and method in English speechmaking was consistent with his earlier endorsement of the sublime.