CIC. It seems to me that what has just been said has some connection and
analogy with the impression that I see on the next shield, where stands
a gnarled and rugged oak, against which the wind is raging, and it is
circumscribed by the legend, "ut robori robur," and here is the tablet,
which says:
33.
Old oak, that spread'st thy branches to the air,
And firmly in the earth dost fix thy roots;
No shifting of the land, no mighty elements,
Which Heaven from the stormy north unlocks;
Nor whatso'er the gruesome winter sends,
Can tear thee from the spot where thou art chained.
Thou art the veritable portrait of my faith,
Which, fixed, remains 'gainst every casual chance.
Ever the self-same ground dost thou
Grasp, cultivate and comprehend; and stretch
Thy grateful roots unto the generous breast.
Upon one only object I
Have fixed my spirit, sense, and intellect.
TANS. The legend is clear, by which the enthusiast boasts of having the
strength and vigour of the oak, and as before said of being ever the
same in respect to the one only phoenix, and in the next preceding one,
conforming himself to that moon which ever shines so brightly and is so
beautiful, and also in that he does not resemble this antichthon between
our earth and the sun in so far as it changes to our eyes, but in that
it ever receives within itself an equal amount of the solar splendour,
and through this remains constant and firm against the rough winds and
tempests of winter, through the stability that he has in his star, in
which he is planted by affection and intention, as the roots of the oak
twist and weave themselves into the veins of the earth.
CIC. I hold it better worth living in quiet and without vexation than to
be forced to endure so much.
TANS. That is a maxim of the Epicureans which, being well understood,
would not be considered so unworthy as the ignorant hold it to be,
seeing that it does not detract from what I have called virtue, nor
does it impair the perfection of firmness, but it rather adds to that
perfection as it is understood by the vulgar, for Epicurus does not hold
that, a true and complete strength and firmness which feels and bears
inconveniences, but that which bears them and feels them not. He does
not consider him perfect in divine heroic love, who feels the spur, the
check, or remorse or trouble about other love; but him who has no
feeling of other affections; so that being fixed in one pleasure, there
is no displeasure that has any power to jostle him or dislodge him from
his place. And this it is to touch the highest blessedness of this
state, to have rapture and no sense of pain.